Tahrihim: The Cloth of the Dead

By Dale Warrick

The author has crafted a riveting fictional account of one mans struggle with the evil trapped within the burial cloth of Jesus. The story follows the journey of Lucius Maximus, a young Roman soldier. When assigned to guard the tomb of Christ, his life is suddenly changed forever after he touches the shoud of Jesus and is drawn deep into the underworld where evil resides.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Oct 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452521268

Dale Warrick

Reverend Dale Warrick is the senior pastor at the United Methodist Church of Doylestown, Ohio. He has been serving as a local pastor in the East Ohio Conference of the United Methodist faith for eighteen years. Rev. Warrick was born and raised on a farm near Barnesville, Ohio. He has been very happily married to his wife, Rita, for thirty-six years. They have two daughters, Christine and Megan. Rev. Warrick has long been curious about the authenticity of the Shroud of Turin, a cloth thought to be the burial cloth of Jesus. While attending a seminar on the history of the Shroud of Turin in 1995, he learned the cloth was discovered by a French Knight Templar by the name of Geoffroy de Charny returning from the crusades in 1390, near Constantinople. Rev. Warrick began to speculate on how the burial cloth of Christ made the journey from a tomb outside Jerusalem to a city in Turkey. That afternoon he wrote the outline for the story that would ultimately become this book.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 Dale Warrick.

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.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2128-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2127-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2126-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014915594

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/03/2014

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Discovery

Chapter 2 A Knight in Turkey

Chapter 3 The Day that Changed the World

Chapter 4 The Fight

Chapter 5 Raw Recruits Meet

Chapter 6 Lucius is Gone

Chapter 7 A Time for Healing

Chapter 8 The Kindness of a Stranger

Chapter 9 The Life of a Stonecutter

Chapter 10 Lucius Takes a Wife

Chapter 11 Love blossoms

Chapter 12 Tonight, We Steal a Wife

Chapter 13 The Day Lucius Loses His Love

Chapter 14 Lucius Leaves

Chapter 15 A Man Without a Nation

Chapter 16 Lucius Seek Answers

Chapter 17 Red Sky in the Morning, Sailor Take Warning

Chapter 18 Saul the Apostle, I Presume

Chapter 19 The Other Side of the Cloth

Chapter 20 The Mysteries of the Cloth Revealed

Chapter 21 Lucius Understands

Chapter 22 The Cloth Finds a New Resting Place

CHAPTER 1

The Discovery

Date 1341 A.D.

Location: a tiny house on the edge of a small town near Constantinople in Anatolia.

T he walls of the small Turkish home are painted a muted rose by the morning sun. The rays stream in the open window. The dust stirred by the room’s single occupant rises through the beams of light in gentle puffs creating an ever shifting canvas for the sun’s rays to tint. The brilliant display is totally wasted on Nebi bin Ibrahim, the home’s owner. He is too busy preparing for another day to notice the simple beauty created just for him.

Nebi arises early every morning and eats a modest breakfast before he leaves his home to prepare his stand at the market. For Nebi, today is just another boring day in a succession of boring days. He does not suspect for an instant that the chain of events about to happen could possibly change the lives of millions of people. How could he know, how could anyone have suspected, the events of this day and where they would lead. Nebi is a modest shop keeper at least that is what he calls himself, even though he really does not own a shop, but a small stand in the middle of the market where he sells fruits and trinkets. He has no children, or any other family to speak of. His entire life is his small stand in the market. Although he is a lonely man, he likes serving the people from his stand.

The sounds of the market buzz in Nebi’s ears as his hands busily arrange the fresh fruit in the woven thatch baskets in front of his stand. As he finishes, he is particularly pleased with his stand this day. My fruits are the best in the city, Nebi says to himself. My fruits are the best in the city, he announces to the merchants around him. Look! Look at this basket of pomegranates. And these mangos, or my figs and quinces. Have you ever seen such baskets of large and beautiful fruit? Nebi exclaims, while crossing his arms and puffing his chest out with great pride. Most of the surrounding venders did not pay any attention to the old fruit peddler’s boasting. They were too busy preparing their own stands for the day’s customers. Besides, they have heard it all before. Nebi brags about his beautiful wares every morning.

Kemal, the owner of the stand next to Nebi, stops for a moment to complement his friend on the size and the variety of the fruits and vegetables he has to sell. As Kemal’s eyes scan the fruits and their arrangement in front of Nebi’s stand, he notices a small hand reaching between two of the baskets to take a couple of pomegranates. Nebi! Kemal shouts.

What? Nebi replies.

Silently Kemal points his boney finger at the small hand containing two of Nebi’s best pomegranates as it disappears into the mound of baskets.

No you don’t, you little thief, Nebi shouts, as he grabs the wrist of the adolescent robber. In one swift motion, he pulls a young boy from the midst of his fruit, scattering the well-arranged baskets and their contents all over the market.

No you don’t. He shouts again, I’ve got you, and you are not going to get away this time. I have suspected you and your brother are stealing my fruit for some time. Now I’ve caught you. The old merchant stops and looks around for a moment. Where is your brother? he asks.

Over here, yells the older brother, taunting the old man with a pair of his finest mangos. The boy holds the fruit out, twisting them in the air to secure the merchant’s attention. Catch me if you dare, exclaims the boy.

Nebi turns his head to look over his shoulder in the direction of the older boy. He tightens his grip on his small captive, and then wheels them both around to have a better view of his tormentor.

The older of the two boys taunts the fruit merchant again, chanting in a sing-song manner, Come on ancient one, and catch me if you want your fruit.

Before the old Turk can think of a response, the older boy throws the mango in his right hand as hard as he can, right at the old man’s head. A second later the fruit strikes Nebi squarely between the eyes with an incredible splat. The ripe mango explodes all over his face, dislodging his tattered headdress. The crowd that had gathered to watch the unfolding melodrama roars with laughter as the syrupy remains of the mango runs down Nebi’s face. His young captive simultaneously bites his hand, and kicks him in the shin as hard as he can. The elderly merchant, screaming in pain, drops to his knees as the two brothers make good their escape. They streak through the crowd with lightning speed.

The two adolescent thieves dart through the crowd, trying to avoid the grasp of the vender, clutching the two small mangos as they run. They turn the corner and run down the narrow space between the buildings. The two boys are too fast for the street merchant and soon they have out-distanced him. The older of the two steals a quick glance over his shoulder to see his pursuer panting like his father’s horse after a hard ride. The fruit merchant does not want to stop chasing the two boys. They would regularly take fruit from his stand without paying, and he is determined to teach them a lesson, but they are too fast and he is too old. The old street vendor burns with the thoughts of what he will do to these little rag-a-muffins if ever he can catch them.

The boys streak from town, laughing as they devour the fruits of their latest caper. They joke with each other as they cross through the village’s garbage dump on the way to their home, quite unaware that in the next moment they will discover an item that will capture the attention of the Christian world for centuries to come. They are about to unearth something that has been buried for so long it’s very existence has long since been forgotten.

As they leave town, the brothers run across an open field and into a small grove of trees as fast as they can. This is their own personal shortcut to their home. Whenever they are in trouble, which is quite often, they run into this small stand of trees and hide in a rotten trunk stretching out over an embankment. This hiding place has never failed them. The boys run out of breath as they reach the small stream that twists lazily through the grove of trees. They stop to catch their breath and to listen for sounds of anyone pursuing them. Hearing none, they move on. They cross the stream and start up the sharp embankment, the smaller boy going first. His brother pushes him up the steep slope while the loose dirt shifts beneath his feet.

Yusuf, the older boy, plants his feet firmly in the soil and prepares to give his brother one final push. Suddenly the earth beneath his left foot gives way with a loud crack. The boy’s left leg sinks into the ground up to his hip. He shakes his head, wondering what is happening. Before he can remove his leg from the newly formed hole, his brother falls from the embankment. Istani’s small body lands squarely on his brother’s shoulder. With an even louder crash, both boys fall into a centuries old, hidden cave.

Both Yusuf and his brother Istani lay motionless on the cold and damp cave floor. The little air in the old cave smells like a musty sulfur mix. Istani slowly begins to move, propping himself up with his right arm. He opens his eyes wide, trying to see, wondering just exactly where they are. He and his brother had climbed the hill hundreds of times and did not know this cave existed. If he was not so frightened, he would enjoy exploring this new wonder. As he sits motionless, he can hear water dripping in a far-off corner of the cave. Istani looks up at the freshly created hole he and his brother have fallen through. It seems so very high. Istani is sure he cannot reach it. He notices a small song bird on a limb that extends over the opening. The boy thinks to himself how completely unaware this creature is of the predicament Yusuf and he are in.

Still trying to gain the courage to move around the dark cave, Istani hears his brother moan. It is not a serious moan, but more like the noise a person makes when they don’t know what else to say.

Yusuf, shouts Istani, You’re not dead.

Not yet, how about you, Yusuf replies, trying to catch his breath.

The younger brother’s response, I’m all right. He pauses for a moment to rub the wrist of his left hand. Except for my hand. It does not move very well. Yusuf follows his brother’s voice and scoots his body next to him.

The younger of the two boys begins sobbing. The thought of not being able to escape the grip of this unknown cave is too much for the young boy. Don’t worry. It will be all right, his older brother says in an unconcerned tone, hoping to calm his sibling. The truth is, he is not quite sure himself how they will ever get out of the cave. The opening they fell through is too high, even if Istani were to stand on his shoulders. And the walls are too smooth and moss covered to climb.

Istani, look around the cave and see if you can find any rocks to pile up so we might climb out, Yusuf orders. Both boys start searching frantically for anything they can stand on to reach the opening at the top of the cave. After a few moments of groping the floor for anything, Istani screams with a loud whoop, Yusuf, I found a jar. I think. The young boy had indeed found a jar partially buried in the far corner of the cave.

Yusuf slides close to his brother to investigate the find for himself. The light is still quite dim in the cave, so Yusuf coaxes his brother to slide the jar under the opening in the top of the cave. The inquisitive boys unearth it, and then clean the centuries of dirt from the jar, forgetting for the moment that they are trapped. The earthen jar is ancient, with a stone lid sealed with a cord tightly wrapped and coated with a waxy black substance. The jar is rough and very cold to the touch. It stands about eighteen inches tall, slightly cone shaped, with