Eden Eclipsed

By RON ERWIN LEWIS

In the heavens there exists the all-encompassing way of eternity.

A theocracy that moves by the power and word of one, the Word of God. In this celestial realm, there is the light of one, the will of one and the ever presence of the messengers … the so called “angels” that do His bidding in both the celestial and terrestrial worlds.

In this timeless construct there is an umbilical cord from the heavens to the modest pavilion of Earth, where man and his God live. The God of self- exalted beyond His intended purpose, therefore orphaning himself to an alien agenda that of darkness. This is such a darkness that it hides the light; the light of His truth and the purpose by which He reigns supreme. Fashioned to the Creator’s handiwork, we are loved most dearly and our betterment is a pursuit of God’s good pleasure. Against all odds of an ever-increasing shroud of darkness necessitating more defined means of drawing our attention to Him, He summons the agents of justice; mercenaries of the spiritual world … they are our own guardian angels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664202818

RON ERWIN LEWIS

In Eden Eclipsed, the author crafts a tale of love and devotion, of calling and motherhood, which demonstrates that the events of our human lives are orchestrated by God’s divine plan. The author has not only written a compelling story but also offered to audiences a reminder that God’s will for our lives stretches beyond what we know or can even imagine.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 RON ERWIN LEWIS.

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 author

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.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

844-714-3454

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New

International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica,

Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.

zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks

registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0282-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0283-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-0281-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916043

WestBow Press rev. date: 08/28/2020

This book is dedicated to my mother Mary L. Lewis who lives with Alzheimer’s and yet knows me and my brother Wiley Lewis who lives with MS and inspires me.

Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there’s a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.

—Helen Keller

Eden Eclipsed

When the moon completely obscures the sun and replaces the sun’s intense brilliance with its dark outline, a faint corona is visible. This is a complete alignment of the sun, the moon, and Earth. During this event, totality is visible from only, at most, a narrow track on the surface of Earth—a small area where the umbra touches Earth’s surface. Only from this vantage point can one truly see this temporary abandoning of the sun’s presence, which is called an eclipse.

In this moment, all of nature becomes still and quiet. The chance to see an eclipse is, for most of us, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Contents

Prologue   

Chapter 1   Justine

Chapter 2   David and Ophelia

Chapter 3   Madeline and Ophelia

Chapter 4   Ophelia and Rachael

Chapter 5   Rachael and Daniel

Chapter 6   Vietnam War

Chapter 7   Rachael and Martin

Chapter 8   Heaven Revisited

Prologue

38315.png

Heaven to Earth

In the heavens exists the all-encompassing way of eternity, a theocracy that moves by the power and Word of one: God. In this celestial realm are the light of one; the will of one; and ever-present messengers, the so-called angels, who do God’s bidding in both the celestial and terrestrial worlds.

In this timeless construct, there is an umbilical cord from the heavens to the modest pavilion of Earth, where man and his god live—the god of self. Exalting self beyond His intended purpose, man orphans himself to an alien agenda—that of darkness. This is such a darkness that it hides the light of His truth and the purpose by which He reigns supreme. Fashioned to the Creator’s handiwork, we are loved most dearly, and our betterment is a pursuit of God’s good pleasure. Against all odds of an ever-increasing shroud of darkness necessitating more defined means of drawing our attention to Him, He summons the agents of justice, mercenaries of the spiritual world. They are our own guardian angels.

In a vision he took me to a towering mountain peak and from there I watched that wondrous city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of the skies from God. It was filled with the glory of God and flashed and glowed like a precious gem, crystal clear like jasper. Its walls were broad and high with twelve gates guarded by twelve angels. The names of the twelve tribes of Israel were written on the gates. There were three gates on each side—north, south, east, and west. The walls had twelve foundation stones and on them were written the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.

The angel held in his hand a golden measuring stick to measure the city’s gates and walls. When he measured it, he found it was a square as wide as it was long; in fact it was in the form of a cube, for its height was exactly the same as its other dimensions—1,500 miles each way. Then he measured the thickness of the walls and found them to be 216 feet across (the angel called out these measurements to me, using standard units). The city itself was pure, transparent gold like glass! The wall was made of jasper, and was built on twelve layers of foundation stones inlaid with gems. The first layer with jasper, the second with sapphire, the third with chalcedony, the fourth with emerald; the fifth with sardonyx; the sixth layer with sardus; the seventh with chrysolite, the eighth with beryl, the ninth with topaz, the tenth with chrysoprase, the eleventh with jacinth and the twelfth with amethyst.

The twelve gates were made of pearls—each gate from a single pearl! The main street was pure transparent gold like glass.

No temple could be seen in the city, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are worshiped in it everywhere. And the city has no need of sun or moon to light it, for the glory of God and of the Lamb illuminate it. Its light will light the nations of the earth, and the rulers of the world will come and bring their glory to it. Its gates never close; they stay open all day long—and there is no night! And the glory and honor of all the nations shall be brought into it. Nothing evil will be permitted in it—no one immoral or dishonest—but only those whose names were written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. (Revelation 21:10–27 New International Version)

38429.png

There were great voices in the heavens saying, Alleluia, salvation, glory, honor, and power unto the Lord our God. One angel, facing the throne, seemingly motionless, bowed in oblation to the words that only he heard. For an instant in time, there before the throne, an illuminated figure appeared, adorned magnificently with precious stones of sardus, topaz, and diamond. He also wore jasper, sapphire, emerald, carbuncle, and gold. The figure was the fallen angel Lucifer. The once-anointed head cherub magistrate was still poised with eloquent speech.

Lucifer, also known as Satan, spoke. Rachael, the yet unborn child of Ophelia, was due at the most special time: the moment of the eclipse—an event, a testing ground, to try the true allegiance or falsehood of one’s vacant character. Ophelia, who was an accommodating soul of righteousness and never a rebel, neither in heart nor in choice, fled to one desire from the depth of her inner most recesses. Allow me now, at that inception, only to convey what I know to be true: she lacks your most desired and enduring truth, not loving you in this so-called spirit of truth.

Then, once again, in a voice only heard by the accuser, the angel said, No, spirit and truth!

Then, suddenly, the bowing angel stood, still facing the throne, and upon instructions, he went immediately to Ophelia’s side. The expanse of the stratosphere began to align the immense Earth, sun, and moon. In heaven, time and space, the infinite, were juxtaposed with Earth’s dimension, which compensated for mass, finite space, and time. Such constraints made for an extraordinary entryway from the celestial dimension to the terrestrial dimension of Earth.

The angel who’d been called to Ophelia and her unborn child, Rachael, appeared instantaneously amid the spectacular natural phenomenon of the eclipse. The moon passed between the sun and Earth, and the sun was completely obscured by the moon. Ophelia and the angel were in the narrow track on the surface of Earth where they could experience the eclipse in its entirety.

Chapter 1

38315.png

Justine

Pieces of paper slowly fell to the clean, gleaming oak floor as Justine knelt in oblation at the chapel altar, crying while her lips moved incisively. She uttered not a word as she, with eyes shut, prayed for answers after reading David’s letter.

Beautiful mastery relegated to only a select few was in the architecture she inhabited. Not many would have dared to engage God with their human value as trade for a finite service in this life for an unfathomable eternal reward. A faith in the unseen and total sanctification from worldly tenancy, at least in spirit, as the opulence of workmanship of the surroundings suggested a great expectation in excellence, purity, cleanliness, and, lastly, architectural majesty in the sanctuary. The ancient Greeks perceived deities in mathematical terms and believed circles defined divine harmony, as the archways, domes, and polygons attested. Michelangelo moved from painting and sculpturing to architecture in the confines of the Sistine Chapel to give man a glimpse of the heavens.

Designed by Charles Fantoni in the Gothic Revival style with Romanesque details in the finest of materials, such as Carrara marble from Pietrasanta, Italy, the Saints Peter and Paul Church stood 191 feet high, with twin entryway towers. At the altar were statues of St. Peter and St. Paul in that same marble, with Jesus in the middle between them. Above the altar was a dome with a portrait of Christ just below it and 129 stained-glass windows throughout the edifice.

Justine’s home for the last several years, it had become a coffin of sorts—a place where a battle waged over her desire to continue or depart.

Every moment had its own nuance, its own fabric in the tapestry of time to create its own uniqueness that set its direction and resonated. Justine’s defining of herself was forged in being perceived as a wayward nun. While in the convent, after repeated advances from a homeless indigent, she’d rediscovered her femininity and sensuality at the expense of her sanity and sense of well-being in her sisterly duties. She had been the consummate nun of goodwill in carrying out her sacred and preserved rituals for nearly seven years. An unconcealed indiscretion could destroy a lifetime of work.

What could she do? She deliberated with herself while pondering her options. I’ll go to the mother superior and request leave. No! I can ask our physician for some assistance. No! I’ll go to my dearest Sister Nance. I can trust her and ask her for help. Yes!

Disgrace took upon itself many irretrievable pieces. In the confessional, Father Camon listened intently to the numerous parishioners bare their most private affairs, which ranged from childish pranks to heinous intents. That was where Justine chose to release herself from the condemnation.

Father Camon once had been a prominent figure in the hierarchy of the church but had been deposed several years earlier for maintaining allegiance to a defunct priest who allegedly had denied sacrament to a high-ranking figure’s wife who was involved in a scandalous affair involving three nuns, two priests, and a cardinal. They were all tainted by knowledge that was to their discredit and placed in separate regions. Father Camon now languished in that San Francisco, California, basin. That particular morning of April 1930 was all too familiar with dangerous confessions.

Justine walked to the concealed sliding window, knelt down once again, and said, Father, I have sinned! I am with child.

Father Camon turned to look through the small crevice in the wicker window and gazed upon the weeping woman he now knew to be Sister Justine.

From day one of meeting her, he had perceived that her beauty was a distraction that elicited the most ardent admirers in innocent children longing to be mothered by her radiant presence and men conjuring romantic notions seemingly at just a glance.

She then began to tell the entire matter, seeming relieved yet focusing first and foremost on her own view of her now limited value. How could she be acceptable to God, let alone her earthly counterparts, whom she deemed more valuable than her existence? Never again could she stand equal to her sisters.

Secondly, her actions meant immediate excommunication.

Lastly, she deemed motherhood an undesirable consequence of her actions—in fact, a punishment. Her own mother had been dutiful to her father until his death. She then had shown her true heart shortly after his burial, expressing that her child was a nuisance. Being an heiress, she’d expedited Justine off to boarding school, where her only motherly experiences had been with nuns, whom she saw as gentle, self-effacing, and defacing vessels who depended on only their faith and goodwill to God as their life offering. That would be her chosen epitaph.

Father Camon was engrossed in the spectacle of Justine’s detailed description, which named David Graden—who had ridden in on the Santa Fe Express stock car some months prior from an undisclosed location, needing medical attention from an apparent stab wound—as the father. She continued her confession to include her every thought of reasoning within her actions and the infractions. Lastly, she acknowledged the plans she had harbored to conceal all. By then, Father Camon was more than prepared to move to the obvious dismissal of Sister Justine, knowing full well that her behavior was considered a gross misconduct of her sacred vows and, though forgivable, wasn’t acceptable.

Father Camon said, My sister, you can be forgiven, but as for your vows of chastity, well …

Immediately, she responded, Please don’t tell my mother, Mrs. Eggleston.

He suddenly sat up erect on the bench he was perched upon, questioning what he had heard. Was Justine the daughter of the wealthiest contributing widow of their diocese? As fate would have it, an earlier telegraph reporting that her mother was grievously ill had arrived the same day as the pregnancy confession.

He now contemplated all the potential advantages to the opportune moment. He could again gain the good graces of the archdiocese with a favorable gesture toward Mrs. Eggleston’s daughter.

He posed a testing question. Dear Sister Justine, do you desire to continue with your calling?

She exclaimed, Assuredly, Father! But how?

He hesitated, wondering if full disclosure would generate more ease while in that private setting rather than waiting for inappropriate points of rendezvous. He continued. Sister Justine, we have just received word of your mother being seriously ill.

Justine began to sob profusely and said in a shivering, broken tone, Oh no, not now!

He thought of her failure to gain her mother’s respect and love and was reminded of the unrelenting arrows that had passed from them both to pierce their fragile mother–daughter bond.

Father Camon took on the garb of counselor, saying, I understand this is unexpected, but nevertheless, you need not worry over this matter. I understand and will arrange your departure to your mother in time to be at her side while this birth occurs, followed by your return to service.

Thank you! Thank you, holy Father! she responded enthusiastically.

Father Camon posed a modest smile behind the closed window. Sister Justine, does anyone else know of this?

Oh no, Father!

He responded, A matter so sensitive in nature should be held in strict confidence as we seek the answers and trust of God for the child’s future.

In a transparent moment, Justine replied as if a dagger had been placed in her solar plexus. I agree!

The moment represented a true epiphany. It was the first time there had been an acknowledgment of the life stirring inside her. She stood to leave, saying, I’ll await word on the arrangements for my departure, and once again, thank you for everything, Father.

Sister Justine, I will make provisions for you within a few days, so don’t fret.

A mild smile adorned her face as she walked out of the booth, making her way to the soup kitchen where, every Friday, she was on duty to assist Sister Nance. She made her way several blocks to 1224 Main, where a three-story brick building that once had housed a motel was now a facility to serve the community as a house of hospitality.

It was her opportunity to see David at the mission, even if just for a moment. Their meetings there had become a nonchalant means of impromptu conversation, never conveying to onlookers more than a congenial touch. It was one of the most rewarding parts of her week, and after the hours of toiling in the hospital and the early morning duties in the convent, it had become her heart’s pilgrimage.

That particular day, she felt more anxious than usual as she walked the floor amid hundreds of refugees, including bankrupt farmers from the Midwest who’d traveled to California to escape one crisis for another; unemployed, displaced workers from manufacturing to retail; and even retirees who had lost everything in the 1929 crash. The building had become a massive melting pot of humanity: Germans, Irish, French, English, Scandinavians of earlier years, and now Italians, Slavs, Japanese, and Mexicans. Filipinos and Mexicans were pressed to return to their homelands, oftentimes with financial assistance. All were striving for the necessities to lay claim to something of a life.

They were living in difficult times, to say the least. California had led the nation in bankruptcies, and an unfavorable wealth distribution had created cultural divides with less-than-scrupulous dealings in the oil and finance sectors. A weak government and the stock market crash had manifested in massive unemployment, and sheer suffering had ensued. With vagrancy came increased crime and lawlessness. The nation moved into the 1930s touting the political mantra of the New Deal, President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s pledge to help the Forgotten man at the bottom of the economic pyramid. The New Deal was to bring immediate relief and avert further collapse and depression with government-backed programs for all classes.

The Catholic church welcomed the New Deal as a companion to its own social concerns. Leading the charge was John A. Rose, who was recognized as a Catholic spokesman on social issues. He was scholarly and eloquent in speech to persuade even his most ardent detractors, thus representing a consciousness of humane response to the local and national economic woes. Thus, the group Catholic Workers Movement sprang forth, excavating the poor and downtrodden from all over the country and opening what were called houses of hospitality. They were not the alternative: they were the quintessential for warm meals to the homeless, unemployed, and hungry.

The houses brought together socially active Catholic workers, who formed satellite communities committed to living with the afflicted and suffering and meanwhile devoting themselves to praying and to receiving and delivering sacraments. They were firebrands pointing out America’s injustices of materialism, racism, and imperialism, and they later expressed discontent at entering World War II, which proved costly to economic supporters of goodwill with further contributions.

Sister Nance, the mother superior, was the eldest of the sisters of the group in California, where she orchestrated, along with Father Camon, the daily operations of the convent and the house of hospitality. Nance celebrated her vows of poverty and chastity. With unlimited vigor, she spearheaded many projects to circumvent idleness and waning church attendance. She represented the perfect nun in every way, and by all accounts, she had been Justine’s spiritual mother during her seven-year tenure.

After leaving boarding school at eighteen, Justine had arrived at the California convent at the age of twenty. It had been her training ground—not just for her calling but also for how to participate in the offering of self-denial and love. Whenever Justine’s mother visited, Sister Nance’s insight and understanding could help pacify the attitude Justine employed against the backdrop of high anxiety exhibited by her mother, who clamored for attention.

That specific morning,