The Next Of Kin

By Olivia Christian Paasche

WILL the mystical message contained in Angelo’s dreams herald and usher him towards a powerful and unimaginable destiny?

Angelo Marcello Giordani is an Italian missionary priest whose life is plagued by nightmares, visions, and dreams.

THE DREAM. On the morning of his ordination to the priesthood, he has a dream.

Peacefully walking along the seashore in his Franciscan habit, a strange young girl runs frantically after him and calls out to him, addressing him by his full name. She gives him an exquisite white rose and communicates something extraordinary to him. The girl disappears...

Upon waking up, he feels a terrible emptiness. Angelo must now find this mysterious girl, who appears to be so deeply entwined into his destiny—a seeming impossibility.

THE DEVASTATION. The day after his priestly ordination, his younger brother, Michele dies tragically. Angelo’s first priestly duty is to perform the Last Rites to his dying brother.

Could the series of personal tragedies, trials, and tribulations, which see him flung into far-off places like the jungles of Mozambique—and then landing half dead in Zimbabwe, be the Heavenly design, which would finally link him to this mysterious girl—and unlock...

THE DIVINE DECREE?
THE NEXT of KIN is Olivia Christian Paasche’s debut novel about the triumph of the human spirit—and an accidental discovery of the transcendent love of God and His AMAZING GRACE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Christian Paasche
• Release date: Oct 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370422265

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I cannot think of suitable words to convey my profound gratitude to the entire team at REACH PUBLISHERS for their editing skills and creativity! Thank you for your support, commitment and endless patience and for holding my hand along this incredible journey. Thank you a million times.

Aleksandra Galert, thank you so much for the beautiful book cover design! I love it!

I would like to thank my lecturers at North Kent College, Dartford, Kent: Neil Nixon and Michael Ellis. You taught me so much (in that regrettably brief time with you) and, more importantly, you believed in me. Thank you! I miss you all.

Mathew, thank you for the Zulu translations and for all your inspiration.

My five daughters, Leonora, Jacinta, Candace, Yolanda and little Michaela: for all your help and patience. Michaela, thank you for your editing skills and constructive criticism!

Joanna, Colleen, Llewellyn and Julie. April, thank you for the great ideas.

Phoebe, thank you for being a pillar of strength.

Michelle, I know, I know... I did try to cut down on the ellipsis. Surprisingly, I can even pronounce ellipsis without lisping!

Cordelia, thank you for reading my entire unedited manuscript and for all the encouragement.

Aunt Helen, thank you for your powerful ministry. You have touched many lives and taught me so much. Thank you for the Shona translations.

Marcia, thank you for being my friend and for the Portuguese translations.

Sara, and everyone in the Italian community who assisted, thank you for the Italian translations. You are all wonderful!

Finally, a special thank you to all who have ministered the Gospel of Jesus Christ, not only from the pulpit, but wordlessly, by numerous deeds of love, mercy and sacrifice. THANK YOU!

THE NEXT OF KIN

True art is when the soul and spirit of man recognise that they are made in the image of God.

Olivia Christian Paasche

(22/1/2017)

Contents

Acknowledgements

Part One

1. The Dream

2. The Ordination

3. Not Once, Not Twice but Thrice

4. Just Twenty-Four Hours, O Lord!

Part Two

5. Into Your Hands

6. The Brown Habit

7. Far, Far Away

8. Walking in the Shadow of Death

9. Into the Light

10. The Olive Oil

11. Back Into the Shadows

12. The Rose

13. The Two Priests Along the Via Dolorosa

14. Barnabas

15. An Old Irish Blessing

16. The Other Woman

17. Barnabas... Barnabas, My Brother

18. Malady of the Soul

19. Raindrops Falling Over Me

20. The Secret Place

21. The Journey Back

22. Thaddeus

23. Little Angel

24. The Oak Tree

25. Matron Visits

26. Agony in the Garden

27. The Chapel

28. The Message in the Mirror

29. The Vestments

30. Dance with Me

31. Caught Up

32. Out of the Mouths of Babes

33. The Three Men

34. Ave Maria

35. Drifting Away

36. Pentecost Sunday

37. The Big Angel at the Fountain

38. The Farewell

39. Teardrops in the Violin

Part Three

40. Arise, My Love

41. Mozambique

42. The Drumbeat of Heaven

43. The Secret Place Revisited

44. Horses and Chariots of Fire

45. The Zulu Dancers

Part Four

46. Dust to Dust

47. The Airport

Part Five

48. Letters from Heaven

49. An Irish Blessing for Nicole and for You

Author’s Note

Author’s Biography

Part One

Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered.

—Revelation 5:5

Chapter 1

The Dream

In a dream, in the vision of the night, when deep sleep falls on mortals, while they slumber on their beds, then he opens their ears and terrifies them with warnings...

—Job 33:15−16

Rome—Thursday, 27 October 1983

The dream recurred at five thirty in the morning.

Angelo found himself walking along the seashore in the early hours of the morning. He was dressed in his Franciscan brown habit. His hood, which had slipped off his face, allowed the ocean breeze to ruffle his thick dark brown hair.

The rising sun, adorned with beautiful reddish-golden hues, was just beginning to break through the strips of clouds yonder on the horizon. The breeze, fresh and gentle, mingled the fragrance of the ocean with those of the endless skies above.

Meditatively, he held his black leather-bound Bible with hands that were clasped behind his back. He strolled along barefoot, delighting in the feel of the silky sand between his toes. Slowly, he inhaled the whole experience and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he was just in time to see three doves directly above, which were making a spectacular flight display in the dazzling sunlight before flying out into the horizon.

The tide was gradually starting to come in and he felt the cool foaming waves splash and tease his feet. Once again, he inhaled deeply and felt so at peace.

All was well.

Unexpectedly, his heart began to skip. There she was again! Of course, he knew who she was. She looked exactly as she did in the life-sized painting that hung in his childhood home, which depicted her holding a large crucifix of the Lord, surrounded by roses. He had always been fascinated by the incredibly beautiful white rose that had fallen out of the main bunch. It was decorated with red speckles.

Today, here on the shore, her countenance was more compelling than ever. Saint Thérèse... , he whispered.

He stopped walking and stood, completely immobilised, watching her in great wonderment, like a little boy. In one hand, she held a large crucifix of the Lord, which was surrounded by many stunning red roses. She smiled at him and offered him a pure white rose identical to the rose in the picture, but this one was far more exquisite—and did not have any red speckles.

Before accepting the rose, he first kissed the Lord’s nailed feet with deep devotion, lingering long enough to absorb the heavenly perfume from the many other roses.

When he finally took the flower from her, she gazed at him with a certain expression of urgency, infused with compassion and love.

Not a single word was spoken.

He was inexplicably engulfed by overwhelming pain and copious tears ran down his cheeks. As they fell and hit the centre of the rose, the drops changed into a vibrant red liquid, which then splattered onto the pure white canvas of the petals, thus giving the rose the appearance of a speckled white rose.

Although he felt distress rising within him, he could not help noticing how this transformed rose was now identical to the picture in his parents’ home. A replica hung on his wall in the seminary.

He felt himself grow more and more perplexed.

During the struggle to find the meaning of all this, an unexpected wave came and knocked him off balance and totally drenched him. While he wrestled with it for what seemed quite a long time, several other larger waves followed; each seemed to be more powerful than the preceding ones.

When everything became calm again, Angelo became frantic.

He had lost the rose!

He searched everywhere… in the sea, along the shore, but it was not to be found!

The loud pounding on the door jerked Angelo out of his fitful sleep. He found himself tangled up in his bed sheets and, being so confused, he tumbled out of the bed, landing with a thud on the floor.

The knocking continued.

Angelo! My old friend! Is everything all right? It was Carlos, his close friend and one of the seminarians. We are all waiting for you. It is your week to lead the Morning Prayer, remember?

Hearing no reply, Carlos became quite concerned and opened Angelo’s room slightly and peered in. He was very shocked to see Angelo lying on the floor in a tangled mess. Instinctively, the young seminarian leapt forward to assist his tearful friend.

You don’t have to tell me what happened, Angelo. You were having that dream again.

Yes, Carlos…, Angelo nodded slowly, that same dream again! She always comes to me, with such urgency in her eyes and always gives me that exquisite flower… and I… I always lose it. I search everywhere. I become so frantic like a wild person, just looking for it. Always looking, but never finding! Carlos, what can it mean?

It means that you must pray so hard. You will find it! You will! You must!

The soft shaft of light that played across Angelo’s forehead brought a new concern to Carlos. "Angelo, we will have to attend to that nasty bump on your head! I don’t know what we are going to use for an ice pack this time! The cook ordered me to go to confession the last time I pinched the bag of frozen peas! And for three weeks he removed my dessert and gave it to Matteo!"

Angelo raised his hand to his throbbing forehead.

"I must leave you now. Once again, I must take your place and lead the Morning Prayer. Everyone is waiting for you! This is the third time this month you have not been able to attend. The third! Carlos affectionately hugged his friend. You owe me three times over! Everybody complains when I have to take your place. Yes, I know… I am boring. Everybody falls asleep! It’s so easy to fall asleep at six o’clock in the morning and much easier when you have Carlos to be the captain of a sleepy-eyed crew!"

He shook his head and clutched his heart in mock pain. Looking again at his distraught friend, he said more seriously, Angelo, those dreams—we need to discuss them. With that, he departed from Angelo to join the drowsy prayer group.

p

Carlos caught up with his friend later that day. Angelo was sitting in the beautiful grounds of the seminary, writing letters of invitation to his mother, Sofia and his brother, Michele to attend his ordination in six weeks’ time. He felt the excitement rising within him as he placed the final stamp onto the last letter.

It had been four months since he had last seen his baby brother, who was some miles away in Turin, their birthplace, at university studying music. They had so much to catch up on. Being so close-knit meant that those four months were equivalent to four years for the brothers. He knew Michele pined for him.

Mamma had always said that her sons had Papà’s good looks. Angelo, however, thought that it was Michele who was the spitting image of Papà. With long dark lashes that fringed his beautiful golden brown eyes and expressive eyebrows, they always reminded Angelo of a powerful bird, perhaps an eagle in flight. Michele always preferred to wear his thick dark brown hair at shoulder length. He was convinced that, in this way, it was easier for people to tell them apart, especially the girls!

Angelo had already given out a formal invitation to his close family friend, Uncle Serafino Constantini, who was now a respected Monsignor there in Rome. He and Angelo’s late father, Graziano Michelangelo, were very close friends, as good as brothers. They both grew up in the orphanage and developed an inseparable bond. When Papà died, a part of Serafino died too. He mercifully found consolation in the small family, whose need for him grew stronger. The invitation, he knew, was not necessary as Uncle Serafino was himself officiating at the ceremony.

Since Graziano’s death, Serafino was not only the guardian of Angelo’s little family but, despite his own demanding vocation, he also tended to the brothers as if they were his own sons. The family was able to regain its stability beneath the loving and ever-attentive wings of Serafino. He was a true uncle, father, friend and a praiseworthy role model. Serafino was also hugely responsible for Angelo’s decision to become a priest.

Looking up now, Angelo saw his friend approaching. Carlos, isn’t it strange how time flies? he mused. "Some years ago, you and I were total strangers; you from Portugal and I from this beautiful place—Italy. All of us felt the calling to serve God as priests. The time has now come, my dear fellow. In six weeks, it will be the day of our ordination, here in Rome, on that very important day, Thursday, the eighth of December, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary—and my twenty-eighth birthday!"

Carlos settled himself on the bench. He smoothed out his newspaper, before rolling and securing it with an elastic band.

Finally, Carlos, you and I are going to receive the Sacrament of Holy Orders and become consecrated priests! We will celebrate Mass! We will preach the Gospel and give our lives to Christ forever! Oh, we are soon to become priests! Angelo said dreamily.

Impossible! Carlos shook his head, looking pleasantly shocked.

There was silence for a while.

I remember the first day I saw you, Carlos reminisced with a mischievous grin.

"And I remember the first day I saw you," Angelo replied in return with a twinkle.

"So what do you remember? You go first."

I remember saying to myself, I wonder who this tall fellow is, with great big feet and dimples in his cheeks, curly brown hair and a strange little beard! He looks like one of those stupid-looking hairy, but cute furry friends. Perhaps he will be sent to the jungle where he will be dodging coconuts from the mischievous little monkeys in the trees. And to make matters even more interesting, you could not speak even one word of my Italian language! So for a few weeks, I was at liberty to— grinned Angelo.

Okay, okay, I choose to forget that part—even to forgive! The saints suffered worse torments, but now I speak even better than a native Italian, like now. And what else? Carlos clasped his hands and bowed his head in mock humility.

Other things...

"And when I saw you…," Carlos grinned at Angelo, who waited cautiously, I thought to myself…

Yes?

I first saw you holding your violin like a little boy desperately clutching a toy that Mamma gave to console him when he is so far from home. I said to myself, ‘That little rascal is definitely a Mamma’s wet-nosed boy, straight from the cradle. He needs a diaper like a baby and someone to change the poop and play music for him at bedtime and to give him a soother to put in his mouth when he becomes fretful—so he can fall asleep easily. He will never last seminary!’ And I said to myself, ‘I wonder what kind of music he will play on that violin before the end!’

Angelo laughed and playfully slapped Carlos’ head. Carlos retaliated by landing the rolled-up newspaper onto his forehead.

"And what were the other things?" insisted Carlos.

"Oh, that came much later!" said Angelo slowly, nodding his head with a petulant expression.

"Oh, Angelo, you are not still thinking of that time? You must be more forgiving of your Carlos. You are still thinking about the quiz night between us, Franciscans, and the Jesuits, are you not?"

"You made us, Franciscans, get hammered—on the very last question. The last question—which you were supposed to have studied! It was not too much to ask! To this day, the Jesuits still talk about our hilarious defeat!"

"Angelo, knowing that your Carlos was not too smart, why did you not volunteer to learn the genealogy of Christ and yourself recite it in that limited amount of time? The truth is that I panicked and—"

"And then you decided to create your own genealogy! The genealogy of Christ is so awesome and yet you made it up along the way! How many genealogies must Christ have? Carlos, you made the Franciscans suffer an embarrassing defeat—and we had to clean those dreadful public toilets for three whole months! Carlos, for three months—just because you could not remember ‘simple’ genealogy!" Angelo expressed comically.

"Simple? Angelo, are you just repeating what our Jesuit brothers said? They, after all, are the intellectual ones! You said it yourself! Anyway, I must find out from Monsignor Serafino if it is a prerequisite for a seminarian to be able to recite the genealogy of Christ without error before he can be ordained to the priesthood. Ah, my brother, Angelo, even better, maybe there should be a new rule that states: Every priest should recite from memory the genealogy of Christ before every Mass—just to reassure the congregation of his superb mental faculties!"

Carlos continued, However, the most amazing thing is that even in my ever-present struggle to so perfectly recite it, I am continually filled with wonder! Angelo, the genealogy of Christ is a constant source of astonishment! Think of all the saints, sinners and scoundrels involved! We may even have a chance, Angelo!

Angelo gave a hearty laugh. Yes, we must never stop being amazed at the majesty of God’s plan of salvation—even for us! See, Carlos, I am no longer upset when I recall how after those three months of doing those toilet duties, we all seemed to have made incredible advances in maturity, wisdom and tolerance—and humility.

And courage sandwiched with joy, the way Saint Francis and Pier Giorgio Frassati would have it!

Exactly the way Saint Francis and our Pier Giorgio would have it!

Carlos put his hands on Angelo’s shoulder. You know something? I think you are incredible. However, I do not mean incredible as a person...

Angelo grinned.

"But, incredibly right! Angelo, I want to become a missionary and go out into the jungle, hopefully to Mozambique. They speak my Portuguese language. I want to get lost in the jungle. And if the people will not listen, I will become like Saint Francis and Anthony! I will speak to the birds, the fish, the monkeys, the jackals and the hyenas! And they will smile with delight. Even the crocodiles will flash a wide, beady-eyed grin at me! I will risk my life and dodge any coconut thrown at me by my furry friends."

I can see you there already!

Come with me Angelo to Africa! You have been my good friend and I do not wish to part from you. However long it takes to get there, I know I will get there!

To be a missionary, Carlos… I don’t know. I am still thinking. I still don’t know. You are very fortunate that you know exactly what you want. For me, just priesthood is my goal. I have played with the idea of becoming a prison chaplain. I suppose it is a different kind of landscape.

Hmm... pondered Carlos.

For me, the open air... the sun...

And mosquitoes! chipped in Angelo.

Ah yes... those guys! I am not so worried about them. Still, I can dream… Carlos was suddenly alert, "Look, I am talking about dreams now! Oh, I forgot! That’s exactly why I came to see you—about your dreams!"

They sat down again and became sombre as Angelo once again explained his recurring dream to his cherished pal, with whom over the years at the seminary he had formed a close brotherly bond.

When did this dream start? asked Carlos, although he knew the answer.

Just a few weeks ago. October the first. The feast day of Saint Thérèse!

Ah, yes! Carlos ventured, Angelo, why is this dream so important to you? We all dream dreams. They come and go. It’s part of our existence. Don’t you see, Angelo; our ordination is coming up very soon? There will be thirteen of us—survivors. All face down before God. And there will be no turning back. Is it true what they say, ‘Once a priest, always a priest,’ no matter what? My friend, Angelo, it is simply nerves—for all of us. But for you, well, maybe there is an exaggeration of nerves. Even so, they will pass. In six weeks, the agony will all be over and the ecstasy will begin.

Carlos… my dreams… My papà; he paid attention to my dreams. I get these dreams from time to time... Mamma believes that they’re prophetic and so did Papà. Many times I have asked God to remove them. They are a source of great trial to me because the more serious they are, the more they seem to come in the form of a frustrating riddle. I search and search for the meaning. I get so worn out and so unsettled.

They focused on a yellow butterfly as it flitted from one vibrant flower to the next.

The ‘Little Flower’, Saint Thérèse, definitely paid you a visit from heaven, Angelo. Carlos looked at his friend and, in all seriousness, asked, Are you having second thoughts about the priesthood? It is a very normal thing to have, er... cold feet. It is healthy in fact to question, to straighten things out with God before a final commitment.

Carlos, for me, my vocation is everything! From the time I was fourteen years old, hovering between being a boy and a man, I knew that I wanted to become a priest.

Tell me again. I like to hear it. Maybe it would help if we could go back to the beginning. Sometimes in order to move forward, it is necessary to go back to the beginning. I, Carlos, will be your long-suffering and unpaid counsellor, so continue! Your Carlos will listen—as ever!

p

Angelo took Carlos’ newspaper and absently stroked the elastic; his expression reflective. "I was fourteen. Uncle Serafino used to come and visit my home. Now he is Monsignor here in Rome as you very well know. To me, he is Uncle Serafino and, now, even to you. Apart from my brother, Michele, Mamma Sofia and Uncle Serafino, I have no other relatives that I know of. He and Papà were good friends. You know the rest. I enjoyed his visits because we used to have many good discussions and I learnt so much. He told us amazing stories about the saints. I was really drawn to Saint Francis of Assisi and Saint Thérèse, the ‘Little Flower’, because in them I saw all the other saints."

He toyed with the elastic, stretching it and letting it recoil noisily on the rolled-up newspaper. Carlos waited patiently.

In my home, we had large paintings of these two saints. They were wedding gifts from Uncle Serafino to my parents. I spent endless moments just looking at them as the artwork is so amazing. Saint Thérèse is holding a crucifix, which is surrounded by red roses. There is this single pure white rose that is falling out of the main bunch, as if by divine design. To be more accurate, it actually seems to be falling from the Lord’s pierced side. It is different from the others; not only is it white, but it has strange red specks in the centre of each petal. It is as extravagant as it is exquisite, a source of never-ending mystery.

Carlos closed his eyes and saw the mysterious rose.

I must try to explain the painting of Saint Francis: He is somewhere in the hills, kneeling down in his brown habit, before an enormous wooden cross. The Lord on the cross tenderly looks at Francis. Francis, in his kneeling position, places his right hand over his inflamed heart like this... and extends his left hand towards the Lord. Francis’ hands and feet have stigmata, and his heart is pierced and bleeding. His head, tilted towards his right, is upturned in rapture to meet the Lord’s loving gaze. Angelo gave an emotional demonstration.

"It is the look on Saint Francis’ face that will forever draw me. His face is radiant with passionate love for Christ and his eyes, which are so pure, are ablaze with a yearning too deep for human expression. With this, he says it all: ‘My Lord and my God—and my All.’ I wanted the same thing he had! Francis found his real Treasure, his Everything! I, too, wanted that very same thing—enough to forsake everything, everything!"

His listening friend nodded encouragingly.

Truthfully, that feeling was only like the first flicker of a flame. Angelo rested for a moment. The real deep desire came about when Uncle Serafino spoke about a certain sinful woman in the Bible. It is so strange, is it not—even a contradiction, that the action of this woman, well known in the city—a prostitute, could have had a profound effect on a growing boy, to the extent that it was partly because of her I knew I had to become a priest?

Yes?

"Uncle Serafino told it so well:

Jesus was invited to dine at the home of one of the Pharisees. To the shock and horror of everyone, a woman, well known in the city as a prostitute, entered—so daring and impudent. She was carrying an alabaster jar of very expensive ointment.

Carlos smiled in recognition of the story.

"Weeping, she threw herself at Jesus’ feet, drenching them with her tears. Because He is God, He was, therefore, able to ‘hear’ this sinful woman’s inner supplication and feel the outpouring of her pure love and rest in it.

It was as if the Heavenly Father permitted this window in His Son’s life before His sorrowful passion. In the Father’s unfathomable wisdom, He chose, from the crowd, not only someone who had uniquely responded to the great attraction of His love but also a very unrighteous woman to bathe His Son in her love. And no one could have stopped her from running to Him!

Yes, agreed Carlos. "No one could have stopped her from running to Him."

Deep called to deep. There was a fusion, reciprocation and an extraordinary exchange of love taking place beneath the exterior levels, far beyond anything the Pharisee’s condemnatory mind could have ever imagined. Her extravagant kisses were the balm that would assuage the cruel blows and her tears were the cleansing waters for the spittle Christ would have to endure over His face—in addition to the nails that would pierce those very same feet!

Ah, remarked Carlos thoughtfully, this simple creature broke every rule and unknowingly ministered to Him so beautifully and profoundly, before the saga of His sorrowful passion.

Yes! And at the dining table, Angelo lowered his voice, as everyone watched in silence, each on his own judgement seat, she proceeded to do something even more scandalous! She publicly let her hair down and wiped His feet with her hair!

Angelo poked his friend in his ribs and he playfully retaliated. "Padre Serafino informed us that respectable Jewish women always wore their hair bound up and covered with a veil when they went out. Loose, flowing hair was associated with the sensual and nakedness. And, in public places, it was seen to be a means of enticing men to sin. So, this woman did something that was so taboo—she let her hair down in a public place!"

Carlos marvelled and added, "She then tenderly anointed His feet with the perfumed oil and continued, unabashed in her extravagant display of love towards the Lord.

"Ah, and the host, Simon the Pharisee, inwardly challenged Jesus by thinking to himself, ‘If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner!’" Carlos humorously caricatured Simon’s smug look and contemptuous thoughts.

"Uncle Serafino spoke about how Jesus gently admonished Simon, not only about his judgement towards the woman but on three major accounts of his own failings:

When Jesus entered his home, Simon did not do what was customary: he did not give Him any water to wash His feet; he did not give Him any kiss; and, finally, he did not concern himself to anoint Jesus’ head with oil. However, the woman, as sinful as she was, more than made up for all his failings. In humility and on her knees, she openly gave full—even brazen—expression of her love.

Carlos, who could no longer keep silent, added, Wordlessly, she evangelised the heart of the Gospel in all its fullness. Having entered through a higher spiritual portal, she was thus able to give an example of true praise and worship to the Lamb who was to be slain.

"Uncle Serafino discussed the fundamental attitude necessary for a true and fruitful worship, which is carried out every day across the world in the Church, and gave insightful reference to her actions:

"By running with total trust and abandonment to Him who is the Holy Temple and kneeling at His feet as part of her greeting, she publicly proclaimed that she was standing on holy ground.

"In her penitential act, with tears overflowing, she poured out the sorrows over her sins and she filled the heavens with her cry for mercy—her heartrending Kyrie Eleison. She identified Him as a merciful God and High Priest, who had authority to forgive sins." Angelo raised his hands high above his head.

Looking at his excited seminarian brother, Angelo added, By pouring out her most expensive ointment over His feet, she unknowingly anointed His whole body for His imminent burial, thus identifying Him as the Sacrificial Lamb. Unknowingly, she did many other things: after setting Him apart as both King and High Priest, she exalted His divinity, authority, power and grace, and simultaneously exposed her own unworthiness to all.

Carlos nodded and commented passionately, Through the very expensive perfumed ointment, she poured out everything she had to her Lord—to the very last drop—as her gift to Him. She was poor in spirit and had nothing else to give Him except her tears of repentance, brokenness, her love and gratitude.

"I remember very well how Uncle Serafino had tears in his eyes when he explained how this sinful woman had to first break the alabaster jar of costly ointment. It spoke of many things that were needful in her life and in ours as well. In order to make our ascent in Christ, it is necessary that those same elements that tie us to the earth be completely broken!"

Carlos, with tears in his eyes, unconsciously placed his right hand over his heart and closed his eyes for some moments. "Little did she know that Christ would, on His cross, pour Himself out to the very last drop of blood and be completely broken for all His children."

Uncle Serafino filled me with new wonder in his belief that the priestly mandate is the same—to be completely broken and to pour oneself out for love and for the Gospel of Jesus Christ!

The seminarians looked at each other.

Angelo continued, "She sang her Gloria to the Only Begotten Son, the Merciful and Holy One, who alone was her God and her Credo—the one she openly believed in. She adored and communed with the Lord in the deepest part of her soul."

Carlos clasped Angelo’s hands tightly and looked at him intently. This sinner efficaciously touched the strings of His Most Sacred Heart and partook freely of the Bread of Heaven.

"Yes, and, in His dismissal, He forgave her many sins and told her, ‘Your faith has saved you; go in peace.’ In doing so He rewarded this sinful and audacious woman with the first fruits of His redeeming love!

Uncle Serafino was convinced that this woman represents all sinners; it is to such He came. Jesus was won over, even disarmed, when she boldly threw herself at His merciful feet.

Carlos shook his head in wonderment. "Divine Mercy triumphed over Divine Justice. Mercy defended her in the courtroom of Simon the Pharisee’s home. Scales were set forth and it was Simon who was found wanting. This sinful woman, because of her great love, was pardoned and her many sins exonerated. Her garments of shame were removed!"

Clothed with the Greatest Love of all, Angelo looked heavenward, she was able to leave Simon’s house and enter into a newness of life, cleansed, having been transferred from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of His wonderful light.

There was a triumph in Carlos’ voice as he said, This ‘sinful woman’ was the prodigal daughter who came to her senses and ran back home to the Merciful Father. He saw His child from afar and ran to meet her!

Right there in the home of Simon... Angelo sprang up and, using his friend as the prodigal daughter, he demonstrated what the Father had done.

He put a new garment on her! Looking around, Angelo took a double page from the newspaper, made a hole in its centre and placed it over a smiling Carlos.

A ring on her finger! Angelo ran and broke off a length of grass and wound it on his companion’s finger.

New sandals on her feet! Carlos laughed hysterically as Angelo comically scratched his head. Aha! He went to the garden, running here and there and returned. He wove an elaborate design of various flowers: bluebells and carnations, and different types of leaves into Carlos’ sandals and hair.

The longsuffering gardener almost fell from his ladder. He clung to an overhanging olive branch and frantically swung his legs back onto the ladder.

Suddenly, the two friends were surrounded by a small group of fellow seminarians from a bench nearby. They were intrigued by Angelo’s strange antics and watched with growing interest as he flitted like a butterfly, from one place to another, snipping at one plant or another.

When they saw Carlos’ fascinating makeover, they surreptitiously moved closer, hiding behind trees and bushes; however, as they advanced, they could no longer restrain their giggling when they saw Carlos.

Ha! Angelo turned towards them, grinning. He affectionately grabbed Brother Matteo, whose pleasantly plump belly was by now wobbling hysterically like jelly. Bowing theoretically, Angelo victoriously presented his finale, And the Father called for the fatted calf!

Everyone doubled over in joyful mirth.

He beckoned the mischievous friars to come closer. And red hot, with fire in his voice, he said, And the Father called for the celebration of new life to begin, because, he pointed jovially to Carlos, she was lost, but now is found! She was blind, but is now able to see! She knows what she had been, but, more importantly, she now knows who she has become!

Mercy! We give praise! shouted the brothers, weakened by laughing so much.

So, what are you all waiting for? asked Matteo, Let the party begin! He gave a gallant bow and extended his arm towards the prodigal daughter.

Carlos leapt up! He rearranged the newspaper and the flowers over his head, mimicking long flowing hair. Satisfied, with his new look, from top to toe, he fluttered his eyelids and gracefully placed his hand into Matteo’s outstretched hand.

And the party truly began. The others joined in and in good humour, they all did a lively dance that would have truly baffled even King David.

The enraptured gardener beat his head against the olive tree and muffled his hearty laughter.

"You know, our highest calling is to worship God! When I think of how this ‘sinful woman’ anointed Jesus with oil, kissed, then wiped His feet with her hair! Ah, such love! Do you also remember how Mary of Bethany, the sister of Lazarus, did the very same thing? How she got down on her knees and anointed Jesus’ feet, with expensive oil—unknowingly, for His passion and burial? And how the fragrance filled the air? That fragrance was a depiction of the depth of her love! We too are called to love and worship God with our all! With our all!"

On Angelo’s solemn announcement, the group stopped dancing. Breathing heavily, they made an expansive Sign of the Cross over themselves and went their separate ways. Brother Matteo wiped his tear-stained, inflamed cherubic cheeks with his handkerchief, while struggling to get his breath back and then he too moved on.

The puzzled gardener accidentally snipped his prized blossoms as he peered through the olive branches.

The two seminarians were alone once more.

Carlos wiped the tears from his face. Patting his back consolingly, Angelo continued, The fiery arrow came the second time when I was sixteen and my father was dying. Uncle Serafino performed the Last Rites on Papà. I knew then, so deeply, what I must become. When I thought of the picture of Saint Francis and Saint Thérèse and the love of that sinful woman, I wanted to give the Lord my all. Angelo looked straight ahead, past the expanse of the beautiful gardens.

They sat in silence, Carlos thinking back to his own calling.

"Angelo, God has definitely called you. Even without the necessary qualifying doctorate, I can say this with confidence. My own calling was not as dramatic nor as intense as yours. For me, it was the incense. That alone did it for me. As a child, when I went to church, I used to love to sit and watch the incense rise up and to inhale that wonderful fragrance! Ooh... !

I respected our parish priest as he walked around the altar, swinging the censer, which contained the incense. Then, when I saw the young altar server doing that same thing, I myself became an altar server. My parents, may God rest their souls, Carlos bowed his head and made an expansive Sign of the Cross over himself, thought that my desire to become a priest was a passing attraction. But, somehow, the joy of incense did not subside. And so here I am! He shrugged his shoulders.

Oh, how can I forget? Carlos tapped his head as he remembered, The truly most important reason was those little bells that rang at the time of the Consecration! Oh, that for me was the most mystical part! Hey, Angelo! Imagine this: the bells are ringing and the priest has his eyes transfixed on the elevated Host, followed by the Chalice in his hands. And while those bells are still ringing... the extraordinary miracle unfolds: the simple bread and wine undergo transubstantiation into the actual Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ, right there on the altar!

Angelo smiled at his companion and patted his shoulder, My dear Carlos, you are humbler than I can ever be. It was not just the incense or the bells; we both know that! You penetrated the Mystery completely. You went straight to the heart—to the crux of the matter!

It is true; the saints have touched my life too. Like incense, we are still inhaling the fragrance of their divine favours. We are still catching the flowers, the roses that they throw to us from heaven, even if some roses appear to come fresh from the cross!

Carlos looked at his friend thoughtfully, Angelo, I think you have answered the riddle of your own dream. That rose, whatever it signifies, when it gets lost in the turbulent storm, you need to retrieve it. You need to search for it with passion and retrieve it! I will pray always for you that you will find it, discover its nature and keep it close to yourself and never to lose it, no matter what!

And I, your friend Angelo, will pray that you will not lose your sense of the smell of the incense around the altar of God. And that you may continue to hear those little altar bells loud and clear! May your big ears never become accustomed to hearing some other strange little bells! Angelo grinned at his friend.

Carlos gave Angelo a playful punch and soon a wrestling match ensued. It concluded when Angelo accidentally broke off a protruding white rose with faint red speckles when he tripped and landed on his back. This was followed by a spontaneous cry of pain when Angelo’s hand came into contact with the thorns.

"Ah, I am quite certain that that was for insulting my ears. Maybe you should rush with all speed and give that rose to Mary in reparation for the damage you have done to her rose garden and ask her to pardon you for being so careless. In fact, I feel that it is truly needful to ask for her intercession in finding the rose you lost in your dream. Angelo, maybe the saints are already beginning to speak to you!" Carlos gave him a helping hand.

He flinched upon seeing an inexplicable pain in Angelo’s eyes.

The compassionate gardener wiped away his tears and made a silent invocation to God. A gentle wind showered him with refreshing drops from the olive leaves as he looked up.

He sang softly—an ancient lullaby—for Angelo.

And for Carlos.

Chapter 2

The Ordination

The LORD has sworn and will not change his mind: You are a priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.

—Psalm 110:4

Thursday, 8 December 1983

In the early hours of the morning, Angelo had a dream.

This one was to recur for many years.

Angelo once again found himself walking barefoot along the seashore of his hometown in Italy. He was wearing his Franciscan brown habit and was holding his Bible behind his back. His hood had fallen back onto his shoulders and he could feel the cool breeze as it ruffled his hair, as well as the warmth of the sun on his face.

As he strolled serenely, meditating on the sufferings of Christ, he gave praise for the privilege of feeling the soft, silky sand between his toes, instead of the rough ground Christ had to walk on, and also for the gentle breeze on his face instead of the angry blows Christ had received to His face.

He marvelled at how the sun glistened and spread its warmth across the waters. He felt so restful and peaceful.

All was well.

Slowly, he inhaled the whole experience and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he was just in time to see three doves, directly above him, make a spectacular flight display in the dazzling sunlight before flying out into the horizon.

Far away in the distance, Angelo heard the sound of Scottish bagpipes and a most moving celestial rendition of the powerful hymn, Amazing Grace, and found himself transported and enraptured within its sweetness...

Suddenly, he heard a voice calling, Padre! Padre! Padre Angelo! Padre Angelo Marcello Giordani! He turned around slowly and saw a young girl running along the seashore towards him. She was holding out a pearly fresh white rose with a long green stem.

She spoke to him breathlessly, This is for you!

He took it from her and kissed the rose. "Thank you so very much. It is so beautiful but too beautiful for me to keep. See, I have kissed it and now let me give it back to you. Look… I will first put it against my own heart... and now it becomes my present to you. Take it!" he said, smiling endearingly at her.

The young girl, smiling at first and then becoming more solemn, took the rose and declared, No Padre Angelo, it belongs to you! It fell out of your Holy Book! See, now it is my turn to kiss the rose... and now I place it against my own heart and give it back to you!

The little girl had the most striking emerald green eyes and long dark eyelashes. She was of mixed race and so very beautiful. Her curly sandy brown hair was pulled back with a red, tartan ribbon, leaving the hair at the sides loose to be swept up into a delightful array of unruly ringlets by the soft breeze.

His eyes turned to examine the rose. He was fascinated and intrigued by its uniqueness. There were red speckles dotted on the inner parts of the petals. Angelo counted fourteen speckles. It was as if the artist had at first painted the rose pearly white as the primary intention and then, as an afterthought, delicately flicked a fine spray of red paint into the innermost aspect of the petals.

Something stirred deep within Angelo. He was sure that he had seen this rose before. When he turned to thank the little girl for such an extraordinary rose, he found she had disappeared... and the Scottish bagpipes stopped playing.

He searched frantically, looking everywhere for her but she was nowhere to be found.

Angelo woke up falling to the floor with a great thud. He heard himself asking repeatedly and becoming more and more distressed, Where did she go? Where did she go? He groaned loudly. Without any warning, he began to experience two very different types of pain.

The first was a pain that settled deep into his heart and lodged itself like an arrow into the umbilicus of his soul. It was one that would defy all logic or explanation for many years to come.

The other pain was temporary and far less severe in comparison. He raised his hand to his forehead and discovered a throbbing, tender bump that had resulted from his unceremonious fall.

Angelo winced, even more, when he thought about the girl whom he could not find. Before he had time to ponder the meaning of this dream and truly understand why it should inflict so much pain, he heard his door being flung open. Two pairs of feet came scrambling to his rescue. It was his devoted mother, Sofia and brother, Michele.

Maria, Santa Madre di Dio! Cosa ti è successo, figlio mio? What happened to you, my son?

Sofia was even more horrified at the state of her son when Michele switched the light on. She thought that it was truly she who was having the nightmare! Angelo was entangled in blankets and had a nasty purple swelling on his forehead.

Unexpectedly, he began to weep, his shoulders heaved and he became more and more disconsolate. Instinctively, his mother gently placed his head over her bosom and rocked him tenderly as she hummed an ancient lullaby in an attempt to pacify him.

My Angelo, what is it that can cause you so much sorrow, my son?

Dear Lord, what is happening to my son? What is happening also to me? Why do I feel such an ache in my own heart, as if... as if... ?

She implored, "Lord, I should be feeling so much joy, especially today, being his priestly ordination celebration. My heart should be ecstatic, like the other mothers, and jubilant. But why should I feel this way? Forgive me, my Lord, for I cannot understand. And I don’t know what is happening to my Angelo."

Michele was wide awake now. He was all too familiar with the visions and dreams that plagued his precious brother and caused such internal (even physical) sufferings.

Angelo, he knelt down where his mother was and gently took his brother’s hand, what’s going on? Is it one of those dreams again? Were you looking for Saint Thérèse’s rose again? Were you walking along the shore again?

Yes, said Angelo weakly. I was walking along the shore, but this time, it was an entirely new dream. It is all too confusing. I found the rose, but the girl disappeared! She disappeared. When I looked up, she had gone and I could not find her! Michele, I did my best. I searched frantically for her, but could not find her—to thank her. With difficulty, he explained the full dream. And when he came to the final part, he became more distressed.

"It is as if I knew this girl... I know that there is a definite connection—like she is part of me and I a part of her, in a way that I cannot explain. The strange thing is that I should be so glad, so ecstatic that at last, after all the nightmarish struggles, I found the rose—Saint Thérèse’s rose, which I had lost in the many recurring dreams. It seems that in exchange for that treasured rose, I lost the little girl who seemed to be so very dear to me." He looked miserably at Michele.

But I do not know why this dream should bring such suffering within my soul. I cannot understand it. It has come out of nowhere on this special day of mine, my ordination. And I am left weak and without strength and completely broken inside.

He struggled to find the strength to speak. "Mamma, when I looked up, the girl had disappeared. She was gone and I could not find her. In my dream, it seemed so important that I should find her. I do not know what the dream means or who she is and yet... I know who she is... and she addressed me by all my names as if she knew me completely!"

Sofia tenderly kissed her son’s bruise. Angelo, some dreams are only symbolic! That girl could symbolise something that you have yet to discover... She is of mixed race and very beautiful; this could mean that your new pastoral appointment will be in a beautiful multicultural community and perhaps when your designated time there is over, it will cause much grief to you—this is not an uncommon experience for priests.

Michele was very concerned about his brother. The only memory he had of seeing Angelo so distressed was when they were children: Angelo had spent so much time building his magnificent sandcastle, his pride and joy. But when he returned with a final adornment for his castle, he found that it was no longer there—his castle had been swept away by a freak wave.

Although Michele was still so young, he remembered that day and how Angelo cried in Mamma’s arms. The other time was when Papà died. He, Michele, was only fourteen and Angelo was sixteen. Life for the whole family changed in the wake of this devastation. If it wasn’t for Uncle Serafino, whose love and support was so strong, he was certain that the grief was going to annihilate them completely.

Michele spoke to his mother, I will be back. I must call for Uncle Serafino.

You cannot disturb him at this hour! See, Michele, it is three o’clock in the morning!

I would be in trouble with him if I did not call for him! Many times you have said it yourself. I will also bring an ice pack for that nasty swelling on Angelo’s forehead. I think I saw some frozen peas in the cook’s freezer!

With great concern, Monsignor Serafino strode in and, in one sweep, took in the dismal scene before him. Michele had told him everything. Since their papà died, he had taken the role of a father to the best he could and according to the promise he had made to Graziano. These were his sons and one of them was due to receive the Sacrament of Holy Orders in a few hours’ time.

Monsignor was gravely concerned. He took over from Sofia and held Angelo against his heart.

Angelo, you can tell your papà what has happened! Uncle Serafino was very much aware of Angelo’s recurring dreams and nightmares but managed to brush them aside. However, this recent one did not make any sense and he wondered why it should impact Angelo so profoundly. It just didn’t make any sense. He would have to find a way of brushing this one aside too.

Angelo once again related the dream. Monsignor exchanged baffled glances with Sofia.

Angelo, he said, you can be honest with your Uncle Serafino. I am your papà. Are you having second thoughts about your priesthood?

Angelo sat upright as if something suddenly struck him again on his bruised forehead. "No, never, my Uncle Serafino, Papà, I have never had any doubts, never! My existence is nothing without giving my all to God. I want nothing else!"

Sofia looked at Serafino and