The Crisis of Revelation

By Ross McRonald

Fifty-one-year-old Jack Molay is a wealthy, retired engineer who now finds himself with plenty of time to read. Among his reading material are two highly controversial works of nonfiction: Holy Blood, Holy Grail and The Tomb of God. Both books posit that Jesus did not die in the Holy Land, as the Bible says, but rather later in Franceand that his body was buried there.

Molay is surprised when he seemingly makes more sense of these books than the authors. He believes the books are correct; furthermore, he believes he can locate the final resting place of Jesus Christ. He organizes an expedition to southern France and, once there, uses his expertise as a mining engineer to locate a cave that contains two limestone ossuaries filled with bones. His friend and associate, Dr. Ron Campbell, determines that the hand bones show evidence of a crucifixionbut are the bones really the last remnants of Jesus Christ?

Soon, Molay feels as if he and his team are in danger. The Vatican appears, as do other sinister forces planning to thwart their efforts. If Molays suspicions are true, the implications for the entire Christian faith are dramatic. There are those who would do anything to keep Molays discovery a secret; his curiosity could get him killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491712627

Ross McRonald

Ross McRonald is a practicing doctor living in Florida with his wife of more than fifty years, Carole. He is the author of two other books, The Crisis of Revelation and Exit Strategy, a number of peer reviewed original medical research papers as well as articles in medical periodicals. He donates his time to a clinic serving the needy.

Book preview

The Crisis of

Revelation

Ross McRonald

iUniverse LLC

Bloomington

The Crisis of Revelation

Copyright © 2013 Ross McRonald.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-1261-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1263-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-1262-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919014

iUniverse rev. date: 12/14/2013

Contents

Dedication

Preface

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Dedication

T o my wife, who is my love and best friend for more than fifty years. She urged me to write the book and steadfastly encouraged when I got bogged down. Thank you, C arole.

Preface

T his book is fiction. There is a possibility that it might be prophetic as the history and background are based on twenty years of research. The books that are referenced are authentic. I suggest you read them. The dates are as accurate as possible. The paintings by Tener and Poisson exist as do those of Da Vinci. Crucifixion and the cause of death was examined a number of years ago in an article in Scientific American. The places, hotels and restaurants are accurate as my wife and I have a strong affinity for France and have visited on a number of occasions. I encourage you to do your own research and double check the acc uracy.

I hope I haven’t caused the authors and others that I have cited any inconvenience. As for what would happen around the world if this scenario proved accurate I can only speculate but I’m certain that I have only scratched the surface.

Acknowledgements

I t might sound presumptuous but I would like to thank Bart Ehrman, Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett and a number of others who made me recognize that I wasn’t alone.

Philosophy is questions that may never be answered. Religion is answers that may never be questioned.

—Anonymous

Chapter One

H e read the letter again. He’d written it yesterday but postponed mailing it and it sat on his desk overnight. He wasn’t certain why he hadn’t sent it, a reticence. He’d seen something in the book that he thought the authors had overlooked. That was the reason for the letter. But then there was the uncertainty. The book was very provocative and something told him to keep the idea to hi mself.

The title had fascinated him—The Tomb of God. It was on the discount rack at Barnes and Noble and the cover caught his eye. The writers, two Englishmen, reiterated the tale of Beringer Sauniere, a poor priest living in the south of France at the turn of the prior century, who became very rich. The book went on to recount and expand his story, one that had been the subject of a BBC documentary done in the early 70’s based on the book Holy Blood, Holy Grail, written by Lincoln and Baigent. Some have ascribed the wealth to Suaniere finding the ‘Holy Grail’. Much of the same material had been described in Brown’s best seller The Da Vinci Code, including using Sauniere’s name for the murdered curator.

The authors were quick to point out that the ‘Holy Grail’ didn’t necessarily refer to chalice or cup but could be anything from bones to a manuscript. They were less hesitant however, to claim that they had located the site. The sensational title originated from the premise that Mary Magdalene had been buried at the site. It was Lincoln’s contention, bolstered by significant historical evidence, she, and others, including her brother Lazarus, had traveled to the south of France after the crucifixion. This was an area that already was home to a large Jewish population that included extensive lands owned by Herod Antipas.

What had fascinated him was the evidence that Lincoln and the two Englishmen had cited. Being an engineer Jack needed evidence. It was provocative but not being a historian it was difficult to evaluate the validity.

The authors of The Tomb of God claimed to have located the site utilizing complex geographical derivations. Their calculations seemed contrived. But Jack saw something much simpler. It seemed almost self-evident and wondered why the authors missed it. That was what the letter was about. He had pointed out what he had seen in the letter. Then the questions began to creep in. Lincoln, the BBC producer, had discussed a small, powerful cabal that controlled the information. It sounded like a conspiracy theory. Perhaps that is why he hadn’t posted the letter.

Jack we’ve got to leave for the party. Are you ready? His wife’s voiced startled him.

Yes dear. I’m in the den finishing up some things. I’m ready to go. For some reason he didn’t want to leave the letter out so he slid both the letter and the envelope into the top drawer of his desk.

His wife appeared at the den door. She was dressed for the party in a simple black dress and looked terrific. Twenty eight years of marriage hadn’t dulled his ardor. It was the fiftieth birthday for his sales manager. Or more appropriately, his ex-sales manager now that he had sold the company.

What were you doing? She watched as he busied himself straightening his notes that he had taken.

Donna if I told you you’d think I’m crazy; or crazier. But then you already knew that. He paused a moment. I’m looking for the Holy Grail. He smiled as he said it. He knew it would cause a smirk and she gave him a loopy smile to confirm it.

Jack, I think you have too much time on your hands since you sold the company. It was said with some conviction. It was four months since he’d sold his division of the mining equipment company that had been in his family for almost seventy years. Since then he was looking for something to occupy his time and brain. Since the sale he and Donna had spent time traveling and finding ways to invest the almost two hundred million dollars they had made after taxes. But he was bored and she knew it.

He picked up his jacket, switched off the light and went to the door. He helped her get into her full length shearling coat. He opened the car door for her and got in the driver’s side. What would you think if I told you there are some historians who claim that Jesus was married, he waited for the comment to register, to Mary Magdalene. And they may have had children together.

"What brought that up? And where is the evidence? Sounds like more of the Da Vinci Code." The comment was one of curiosity coupled with the skepticism of a historian, Donna Molay’s specialty.

I just finished reading a very interesting book. According to their references a number of people, some with excellent credentials agree with parts of it. You taught history. Did you ever hear anything like that?

She looked at him intently. You’re serious aren’t you? He nodded. "I remember reading about Knights Templars and certainly the story of Parzival. The author, a guy named Wolfram wrote it about twelve hundred and claimed that the Knights were the guardians of the Holy Grail. It’s the same story that Wagner used in his opera. It supposedly takes place around the time of the Albigensian crusade."

What the hell is that?

That was when the Pope sent in legions to southern France and slaughtered fifty thousand people for being heretics. It’s where a monk asked the Pope how to tell the faithful apart. The Pope replied something to the effect ‘kill them all and let the Lord decide’. Nice huh? But frankly it never grabbed my attention.

Jack snickered. You sound like going to that new internist. He never seems to have an answer. Only wants to send you to a specialist. Doctor Campbell wasn’t that way. He usually made the right diagnosis and rarely sent you running around trying to tell your story to another specialist. Boy, I’m sorry he retired.

Well, I’m sorry. It was said with a hint of sarcasm. That’s the sum of my knowledge about the Holy Grail. But as for Jesus being married and having children. That would put a new spin on things.

Not anymore than finding out he didn’t die on the cross. That would really cause a stir. He stared at her. What do you think?

Look, being brought up Jewish we certainly didn’t hold that Jesus was god. But then the Jews are still waiting for the Messiah. My family thought of him as a wise man. Possible a rabbi and rabbis were encouraged to marry. What is the saying? ‘Go forth and multiple’.

"In the book Holy Blood Holy Grail Lincoln argues that the when Jesus is at the marriage at Cana he was told that the wine had run out. He performs a miracle and changes water into wine. Do you know how much he supposedly made? He briefly glanced at her, saw her shake her head and then focused back at the road. He made the equivalent of 120 gallons. That must have been some wedding! They contend that it must have been his wedding because why would they have come to him? And no mention is made as to who’s wedding it was. What do you think?"

What are you alluding to? Now her curiosity was mixed with a degree of concern. I can tell by the way you’re talking you have a new idea; a project. Am I right?

She was hoping the answer was yes. He needed something. He was getting morose, complaining that his life wasn’t going to amount to anything. Since he was just past fifty he thought he was ready for the scrap heap. She was worried. His vibrancy was gone. He was acting old for the first time. But this seemed different. There was a familiar spark in him. Perhaps she could pique his interest. I know an interesting professor at the university that might be of some help. He’s a professor of theology but some say he’s an atheist.

Would they let an atheist teach theology? That seems strange.

He apparently was an ordained minister when he got tenure and then, I guess evolved.

They pulled up in the portico of the Cherry Hills Country Club and a valet rushed over to open Donna’s door.

I always feel funny coming here, she said. Just a few years ago they wouldn’t let a Jew in the place.

Jack had first met her, Donna Goodman, at Colorado in his freshman year. He was smitten from the first. He’d asked her for a date but she refused. He tried again and then she told him that she swore to her parents that she wouldn’t date anyone who wasn’t Jewish. He tried to explain that he really was Jewish but she didn’t believe him.

Jack Molay, or more appropriately Jacques Molay was born in Lyon France. He was the son of Michel and Sarah Molay. His father owned a rather prosperous mining equipment company. Jack was schooled in the local catholic school. He never questioned his background until at fifteen a school project that included a family tree caught his attention.

Going through the family photo album he realized that there weren’t any pictures of his mother’s family. That was odd. He confronted his parents. They were vague, seeming to avoid the questions. Finally after an early Sunday dinner they talked to him.

There aren’t any pictures because they were destroyed. It was too dangerous. His father said.

Jack looked at his father. He was confused. Why?

It was during the war. He shrugged his shoulders in that quintessential Gallic fashion, glanced at his wife and said, He’s fifteen. He should know what happened.

What happened?

Your mother’s family was Jewish. They were rounded up in 1942 and sent to the gas chambers.

Why wasn’t Mom? He stared at his mother. She avoided his look.

Your mother was only three. She was blond and blue eyed. She was taken in by a family in the country without children. They raised her as their own including having her baptized Catholic. She escaped the Holocaust.

What’s the Holocaust? Jack had never heard the term in school.

It was named after the six million Jews who were murdered in the camps.

Six million people? He was incredulous. Why don’t they tell us about that in school?

Sarah finally spoke. Jack, according to Jewish law, having a Jewish mother makes you a Jew.

Me? I don’t have any say in the matter?

Certainly you do. But when you tell a Jew that your mother is or was Jewish they are going to tell you that you are too.

Jack was confused and taken aback. He didn’t know what to do about the school project and in the end got an incomplete saying he didn’t finish it. Instead he began to immerse himself in finding out what happened in Lyon and France during the war. After finding that the school library barely had any information he spent days in the public library researching. He read about Klaus Barbie. He went by the building, one he had passed numerous times before, and realized that his grandparents were probably interrogated there before being sent east. It made him shutter. He grew up that summer. He saw his mother in a new light.

Jack finished his secondary school at eighteen and his father was intent for him to attend the Polytechnic Institute in Paris. Jack had other ideas. He was an excellent skier having won some regional junior down-hills. In addition, he was eager to leave France for a while to clear his head. He wanted to go to the United States; specifically to Colorado and the university. He argued that the school had an excellent engineering department. Finally his mother convinced his father.

Michel, let him go. We can afford it and it will broaden his horizons.

All right, but you must promise me to return for your graduate degree. Besides you’ll need to work in the company. It’ll be yours one day.

In August, after an intensive English course, he packed his bags and skis and headed for Boulder Colorado.

Donna slipped out of her coat and handed it to the girl in the cloak room. She slipped her arm onto Jack’s and they went into the private room where Charles Ranson was having his birthday party. People glanced their way. They were a striking couple. Her dark beauty, slender in what Jack always thought was typically French and he just a shade over six feet but with a bearing that made many think he was taller.

Jack, Donna. Thanks so much for coming. Charles, or Chuck, was shaking Jack’s hand, trying to give Donna a kiss on the cheek all while holding a Martini.

We wouldn’t have missed it Charles, replied Donna. She was the politician in the family. She didn’t dislike him but his charm left her flat. She realized that he was one of the reasons that Jack and his company had made so much money. By the time he finished greeting them he was off to greet another couple.

I’m conjuring up a powerful thirst. I’m going to the bar. You want anything?

She replied, Just a white wine. Sauvignon Blanc if they have it. I’m going to say hello to Harold and Nancy over there, nodding across the room.

Jack was amused. My wife never drank and now loves French wines. Me I like scotch and martinis. How we evolve.

Jack ordered a Famous Grouse on the rocks. He used to drink Johnnie Walker but after being addicted to W.E.B. Griffiths’ books whose heroes always drank Famous Grouse he switched and liked the Grouse better. He picked up Donna’s wine and his drink, turned and almost tripped over Jim Ellison, Chuck’s neighbor.

Jack, it’s nice to see you here. What have you been up to with all your millions? It was well publicized that Jack had sold the company but it still seemed so gauche the way Americans talked about money.

Not much Jim. Been thinking about taking on a new project.

Something interesting I suppose. You never do anything half way.

Jack took that as a compliment. He knew he shouldn’t say anything but he wanted to test out his idea. Been thinking about searching for the Holy Grail.

You and Harrison Ford, or Indiana Jones, he roared.

No, it’s not what you think. There is a growing body of evidence, or more appropriately, questions about whether Christ actually died on the cross. That’s what is interesting me.

Hold up right there! I’m an Evangelical Christian and I don’t take lightly those words. His face had grown stern. That’s contrary to everything that is known.

Well, not really. He didn’t want to try presenting his material but instead asked, Wouldn’t you like to know if the story is true? Wouldn’t you like to know the truth?

The truth? The truth is in the Bible. I find what you’re saying very offensive. It must because you married a Jew. He turned on his heel and walked off.

Jack was stunned. He hadn’t realized both the depth of some people’s convictions but their total adherence to the party line. Then he really got pissed about marry ‘a Jew’.

Given half a chance he would have smacked him.

He walked over to Donna, gave her the wine and said perfunctory hellos to Harold and Nancy. He glanced up in time to see Jim Ellison talking to two other couples and they were shaking heads.

Donna please finish your wine. I don’t feel too well. I’d like to leave.

She gave him a quizzical look but said I’m okay. We can leave. She put the glass on a table behind her, said to Nancy, I’ll call you tomorrow.

They walked to the lobby and retrieved her coat after Jack gave the girl a five dollar tip. They waited until the valet brought up his Porsche, accept the same tip from Jack and remarked, Nice ride.

It’ll do. Jack wasn’t in the best of moods.

Pulling out of the country club Donna finally broke the silence. Want to talk about it?

He hesitated. He wanted to spare her the comment but it was the reason that they left. I’m so stupid. He started. I tried to discuss my idea with that ass, pausing not to swear. then he gets in my face about being an evangelical Christian and how offensive it was to him.

That wasn’t why you wanted to leave. What was it?

He hesitated, his anger rising, pulled the shifter down into second and punched the accelerator. The Porsche rapidly accelerated past two other cars. He said I thought that way because I married a Jew, the prick. This time he couldn’t contain himself. I almost laid him out.

Jack, that wouldn’t solve anything.

No, but it would have made me feel better.

Jack, you were sheltered from anti-Semitism because for fifteen years you didn’t even understand about being Jewish. You grow up with it and you hear all the whispers and snide comments. You hear it in the nail salon, the supermarket, everywhere. You try not to let it get to you but the constant comments eat away. How do you think I feel going to that club? I never say anything but it makes my skin crawl at times.

But to be that dense. Not being at all inquisitive about your own religion amazes me.

Jack, I’m beginning to think that this project or whatever you’re calling it is very important to you. You need to talk to professor Wirtz, the guy I told you about at the university. I’ll reach out to him on Monday.

Her insight into his feelings and calm demeanor reminded him why he fell in love with her besides her great body and spectacular looks. While they drove home in silence he was reminded what it had taken to just to date her and then propose.

He kept asking her to have a cup of coffee until she finally agreed. He told her about finding out that he was Jewish and that his family had perished in the Holocaust and she finally believed him. He used all his French charm even adding to his small accent for emphasis. They had coffee twice more in the Student Union but he hesitated asking for formal date. It wasn’t until he saw her at the finish line of a downhill which he won for Colorado against Wyoming, their main rival. She came up and congratulated him on the win and said how great he looked in his ski outfit, helmeted and tan.

He grinned to himself in the car. It was almost thirty years ago and it still produced a smile.

The following day he asked her to have dinner with him. He had scouted out the only decent French restaurant in Denver. It would be special. They’d take his Corvette. It would be romantic. She accepted, but not for dinner out. He had to come to her home in Denver for dinner with the family. He nearly choked. But he accepted. Thankfully it wasn’t for Shabbos, the meal on Friday night. He’d never been to a Jewish home on Shabbos. He wouldn’t know the prayers. His cover would be blown.

Sunday came and he arrived with two bottles of excellent French wine. One was red and the other white.

She greeted him at the door and looked stunning. It never ceased to amaze him how, well, French she looked. She led him into the study where her father was behind a large desk preparing a very large cigar. After clipping the tip he rolled it few times in his fingers and finally looked up at Jack.

Father, this is Jack, or more appropriately Jacques. I told you about him. Her voice was quiet.

You French or Canadian? He certainly was brusque.

I’m French sir. I’m from outside Lyon. Do you know the city?

Only from stories about the Nazis and that bastard Claude Barbie.

Klaus, Klaus Barbie. Jack was immediately trying to put the correction back in mouth.

It didn’t seem to faze him. Never been to France. Not sure I want to. So you want to start seeing Donna. It was more of a statement than a question.

Yes sir. In the few times we have had coffee I’ve developed a strong feeling for her and want to know her better.

What does your father do?

Sir, I’m not quite certain what you mean?

Your father. What line of business is he in? Seems like a straight forward question.

Oh, I understand. We, the family have a mining equipment company. We manufacture the equipment and sell it throughout Europe and Asia.

Why not in the U.S?

It’s because of mining regulations. It would cost too much to change the designs and get the permits. We have enough business at this time.

You keep saying we. Who are we?

It’s just a comment. My father is the sole owner but I’m expected to take over in a few years. I’m studying engineering at Colorado.

How many people do you hire?

Boy this guy is forward. Why doesn’t he just ask to see our balance sheet? We usually have between six to seven hundred employees. It varies at times.

Jack could see Goodman cock an eye brow. He was impressed.

Let’s go eat before the food gets cold.

Donna followed her father out taking Jack’s hand. It was the first time that they had ever touched. She led him through a large living room into an elegant dining room. There were five seats. Her mother came in and Donna introduced Jack to her as Evelyn. She was very nice looking but was carrying a few too many pounds. But she was as charming as Abe was abrupt.

It’s so nice to meet you Jack. Or should I call you Jacques? And thank you for the wine.

Jack is fine madame. The wine is traditional to take to someone’s home in France.

Donna where is your brother? Evelyn asked.

Robert! Dinner is ready. Her father bellowed.

Ten seconds later a young man of about fourteen bounded into the room. Hi! I’m Robert. You must be that guy from France who’s a great skier. Donna just glared at him. He had said too much.

Yes. I’m Jack and I am from France. He skipped the skiing reference grinning to himself that maybe things would turn out well. The dinner went well. Evelyn asked him to pour the wine. Even though the table setting were beautiful the wine glasses were a bit inappropriate. He guessed wine wasn’t big deal in the Goodman home. When he was ready to leave Donna walked him to the door and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

You did well Frenchman. In time it became their private nickname that they shared. Especially while making love. He left happy.

They pulled into the garage and Jack jumped out and opened her door as she slid out giving him a quick kiss. I’m going to go to bed and watch a bit of TV. Are you coming up?

It was an invitation he didn’t want to miss. You go up I need a night cap after that fiasco. He watched her climb the spiral staircase then went into his den and poured three fingers of single malt and took a large gulp. He pulled out the letter and tore it up.

Chapter Two

T hey passed Sunday at home. Jack, looking for answers was scouring the Internet. But every time he thought he had an answer some other individual proclaimed the whole thing was hogwash. He was confused by the contradictions but realized he wasn’t the only person who thought there was truth to some part of the Grail story. Becoming frustrated he spent the rest of the day watching football on TV. Early Monday Donna reached Dr. Horatio Wirtz, spoke to him about Jack’s idea and got Jack a meeting with Wirtz that afte rnoon.

Molay finally found Wirtz’s office. He had gotten lost but a student took pity on him and led him to the right place. He rapped on the door and heard Enter. Jack found himself in a ten by ten room filled with books and papers. Wirtz was behind his desk apparently reading a student paper, crossing out words and sentences all the while shaking his head. He was neatly tailored in a white shirt and tie. The tip off as a professor was the small, gray goatee.

Sit down Mr. Molay. Please sit down, you’re making me nervous.

Jack took the chair without any books and reached over the desk to shake the professor’s hand. Please call me Jack.

Fine then call me Horatio, he said with a warm smile. Your wife said you have an interest in seeking the Holy Grail.

Please don’t put it that way. It sounds so trite.

Okay. Then tell me what you’re interested in. You don’t look like a nut case. Too many come here with half-baked ideas.

Jack wasn’t certain how to