Corpus Christi

By Alexander Connolly

Corpus Christi When the mortal remains of Christ are found in a disused Irish monastery, the Universal Catholic Church will stop at nothing to prevent their discovery from the public eye while an equally determined former Irish Republican Volunteer and his first love will allow no barrier to stand in the way of the truth even while being pursued by the deadly ruthless Miles Dei. Weaving through the beautiful Irish countryside, the great European cities of London, Belfast, Dublin, Rome, and Geneva as well as some of the most breathtaking scenery in Europe, Corpus Christi is a buckle-up ride from start to finish, moving seamlessly from the time of Christ through the formative years of Northern Ireland's Troubles to contemporary times. Beginning with a shocking discovery, it continues with a pulsating middle and finishes with an end that satisfies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646283217

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Corpus Christi

Alexander Connolly

Copyright © 2020 Alexander Connolly

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

A work of fiction. Other than truly historical events, no other event portrayed in this work is meant to be a characterization of an actual event. Any resemblance to institutions or organizations, active or defunct; buildings standing or demolished; or people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-64628-320-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64628-321-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Corpus Christi was inspired by Tony Henry, a pious man, who in a conversation with my brother EJ and I over forty years ago in my home town of Larne, Northern Ireland, gave me the idea for this novel. He did this when he was asked, Could anything ever rock his faith? and he said, Only one thing, and that is, if they ever find the bones of Christ.

To my wife, Eleanor, and our three children—James, Maire, and Anne—without whose endless encouragement, tireless effort, and selfless donation of their time to review the storyline as it evolved and the manuscript as it was completed, this seed would never have successfully germinated into the completed story it became.

And in memory of the thousands of people who lost their lives during the thirty years of Northern Ireland’s Troubles and the millions of people who lost their lives for the faith during the two millennia since the birth of the savior.

Chapter 1

The Time of the Christ

Death on a Cross

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Jesus cried out from the Cross as the skies darkened and the heavens opened to deliver torrents of rain that bounced off the ground like stones. And the wind howled as forks of lightning streaked across the sky, interspersed with deafening thunder that bellowed loudly, creating a frightening feeling of the end of the world. Everybody ran for cover in fear of what was happening, including some of the guards who were stationed at the foot of the cross. Only three women remained standing at the foot of Jesus: Mary Magdalene; Mary, mother of Jesus; and Mary, mother of the apostle James. They huddled together in fear and in awe. Their pain was severe, their faith was strong, and their resolve was unbending. A long as Jesus was on that cross, they would be standing at its bottom.

Suddenly, the sky cleared, and the sun brightened. A single ray of light projected up to the heavens from the head of Jesus. The remaining guard, a Roman centurion, standing at the foot of the cross marveled at what he was looking at, and though a pagan who worshipped Roman gods, thought to himself, Truly this was the Son of God. The three women with him looked up at the cross, and they could see that Jesus had taken his last breath. They all wept.

The Nazarene is dead. The Nazarene is dead was reverberating among the crowds that began to return as the bad weather receded. Joseph of Arimathea, a follower of Jesus, heard this and immediately ran over to Golgotha, the site of the crucifixion. He greeted the women with a hug and prayed with them. He wept with them.

What will happen to him, he asked?

They didn’t know. They were worried.

I must do something. I just can’t do nothing, he thought. He asked Mary, the mother of Jesus, if he could have the body to prepare and bury in accordance with Jewish tradition before the Sabbath, which was after the next sunrise.

Knowing that her son’s body was at the mercy of Rome otherwise, Mary said yes and thanked Joseph. She knew he was a disciple of Jesus, having spoken to him about his teachings, and she was content that Joseph would look after the mortal remains of her son in accordance with tradition. And with her permission, Joseph wasted no time in seeking out the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, to get his approval to take the body. As a victim of crucifixion in a Roman province, he needed the governor’s approval to take the body; for by default, the body was the property of Rome. Thankfully, as a merchant with some stature in the community, he could get access to the governor to petition for the remains himself. And thankfully, the governor gave his approval.

Pontius Pilate was only too happy to have the body of Jesus taken off his hands. Feelings were running at a very high temperature in the city ever since Jesus entered Jerusalem less than a week ago. Judea was a province with very delicately balanced stability at the best of times, but during Passover, it became especially volatile. The population of the city swelled considerably, and everybody heightened their traditional fear, suspicion, and dislike of all things Roman. Having a prophet challenging Jewish orthodoxy in the way Jesus was doing so only made the situation more unstable. Riots were likely, and with anti-Roman feeling at fever pitch, he feared a situation that could get out of control very quickly.

Take the body and dispose of it quickly. I want this Nazarene to be yesterday’s story, not tomorrows news, Pilate said to Joseph.

Thank you, sir, Joseph exulted and moved to leave.

Governor Pilate shouted after Joseph, I have one condition. There must be guards placed outside the tomb to protect against the prophecy that he will rise in three days.

Pilate didn’t believe in the prophecy as truth; he feared the theft of the remains by his followers and the cultivation of a myth that would become the fulfilment of the prophecy. Joseph didn’t like that idea much, but he knew he had no choice. He agreed and left quickly before there was anything else. He called with his friend, Nicodemus, to seek his help, and together, they returned to Golgotha where they removed the body from the cross and took it to the home of Joseph, where, along with the three Marys, they cleaned it and prepared it for burial with oils and spices that Nicodemus supplied. They wrapped it in a linen shroud and placed it in a tomb recently hewn out from a rock in Josephs own garden. Nicodemus remarked to Joseph that this was his own tomb and asked him what he would do now. Joseph answered that that was a worry for another day, and that there was no better honor for him than to have his messiah in his tomb. He sent for Peter.

The Third Day

The apostles met at the home of a friend of James.

Jesus is buried, Peter announced. Joseph of Arimathea has taken care of that. His remains are in the grounds of Joseph’s home in a tomb hewn out for Joseph himself.

There was a sense of relief among the eleven that the remains of Jesus were taken care of, but that was only one solace in a sea of confusion. They had only arrived in Jerusalem less than a week ago, and their messiah was gone. They were like sheep without a shepherd. They feared they would be hunted down and given the same fate as Jesus. They were engrossed by the philosophy he espoused and hung on to the very words that fell from his lips, but they were nervous about the prophecy that he would die and rise again in three days.

What if he doesn’t, Thomas asked Peter? What do we do then? There was panic in his voice.

The others piled it on. Yes, Peter, they shouted, what happens if he doesn’t?

If he were here, Peter said, he would say to us, ‘Oh, you of little faith.’

He is not here. We are, Bartholomew said, and we are both frightened and alone. Let’s not leave it to chance. Let’s make sure the prophecy is self-fulfilling. Let’s make it happen.

What are you suggesting? Peter asked. Are you suggesting what I think you are?

I am, Bartholomew said. Let’s remove the body ourselves.

No, Peter ordered, we will not do that.

Well, then, Bartholomew countered, we’ll go to the tomb on the third day before dawn, and we will look for it ourselves. We’ll check.

Under some pressure from the ten, Peter reluctantly agreed with that. And if the body is there, Peter, what will we do? James asked.

It won’t be there, Peter insisted.

And if it is? James continued.

We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Peter responded sternly. He did not like the weakness of their faith.

*****

It was the morning of the third day.

Let’s go, Peter said. He roused Thomas, Bartholomew, and James. Let’s visit the tomb, he said as he asked James. Have you got the ether?

I have, James answered. I am ready. Thomas and I will take care of the guards. They won’t know what just hit them. They’ll just wake up with a sore head.

Good, Peter said.

*****

At the tomb, after taking care of the guards, they could see the stone was still in place. It took all four of them to move the stone. And when they did, they were shocked to find that the body was still inside. There was no sign of any resurrection. They hung their heads.

Body and soul, Thomas blurted out. He said body and soul. He said he would rise body and soul. He was in shock.

Wake Joseph up. Get him here, Peter told James who immediately went to carry out Peter’s request.

What is this all about, Peter? Joseph asked.

Peter just pointed to the remains and said, This is the third day. He is still there. He shouldn’t be!

Joseph looked into the tomb. Like the others, he was dumbstruck by what he was looking at.

Okay, Peter said to his colleagues and Joseph, especially to James, who had pressed him on the Sabbath about what he would do in this exact situation.

We must preserve the legacy of Jesus and the fulfilment of the prophecy. Let’s remove the remains ourselves.

Thomas and Bartholomew were torn; they were confused. They wondered whether interfering in this way was doing the right thing. Peter could see their pain.

He spoke to them, Jesus was a remarkable man. His message is eternal. It is a movement we cannot allow to die. The risk of our doing nothing is that the prophecy is a lie, and we are subject to ridicule while being persecuted. The benefit of our doing something is that we can carry the candle he lit without fear of ridicule. In both cases, we will be subject to persecution, maybe even death like Jesus. Given the alternatives, I propose the latter.

He looked at them all. James agreed. There was a long pause; before Bartholomew, Thomas, and finally Joseph agreed.

Before we do anything, Joseph said, none of the other disciples must know this. We are five. This must remain with us five and only whoever is necessary to assist us along the way. This must be need-to-know, not nice-to-know. Knowledge of this makes a dangerous situation, even more dangerous for those in the know. Let’s keep it close.

They all nodded in the affirmative. And with that, they removed the body, leaving only the linen cloth behind.

*****

Mary Magdalene arrived at the tomb at dawn, discovered the tomb open and the remains gone. She fetched the disciples. Peter and John the Evangelist joined her. John arrived first. He fell to his knees.

In three days, I will rise body and soul was all he could think. He wept with joy; he understood the prophecy now.

Peter, he shouted, come quickly. He is risen, alleluia!

Peter sighed.

Aftermath

The body was taken to the home of Nicodemus where a makeshift tomb was hastily prepared and into which it was reinterred.

The gang of six met—Peter, Thomas, Bartholomew, James, Joseph, and now, Nicodemus. After the frenetic activity of the previous couple of days, they needed to discuss strategy. They had been going on adrenalin and emotion driven by faith.

Now what? Joseph asked Peter.

We go on about our business, Peter replied. The messiah is gone, but the mission remains to be accomplished, the message remains to be spread. We will do that as and when the climate in the community permits us. You and Nicodemus join us in spreading the word.

And regarding the remains? Joseph asked.

We leave them undisturbed for a year. Hopefully, we don’t need the tomb in the meantime, Peter said.

Well, I don’t plan on going in any time soon myself, Nicodemus said.

Well, you can always have mine. It is empty, Joseph said.

I appreciate your sense of humor, gentlemen, Peter chuckled.

It is good to be able to maintain a balance in your perspective in times like this. But back to business please. After a year, we will move the bones in to an ossuary. At that time, we’ll take the opportunity to move the bones out of the city to Bethlehem, where it all began. We’ll retain them as a relic for ourselves to venerate as we continue our journey.

*****

Twelve months had passed since the crucifixion and the philosophy espoused by Jesus was not expunged. The apostles and their disciples—now numbering in the hundreds—were gathering momentum. The first anniversary of the crucifixion was approaching. The High Priests of the Sanhedrin were anxious to head off any problems associated with the anniversary and got the Romans to enact a citywide search of all ossuaries containing remains of about a year old. They did not believe the prophecy. They knew the remains were somewhere. They were looking for foot bones that bore the marks of having been shattered by nails hammered into them. This would prove the new so-called Christian philosophy could be exposed as a fraud. Nervous about the ossuary sweep, Peter suggested they move the ossuary to Rome instead of Bethlehem. His friend and fellow disciple, Paul was taking a group of missionaries to Rome. He could take it as part of his entourage. It would inevitably mean the gang of six would become a gang of seven. But they were confident that if they could get the ossuary out of the city and on the road to Rome, they’d be home and dry. After all, probably no place was safe in Judea, but nobody would think to look anywhere in Rome. Peter brought Paul into the circle of secrecy. He was shocked, and it took him a while to get his head around what he just heard, but on reflection, he was no less willing to perpetuate the faith. It was a faith worth perpetuating. He was in. If everybody espoused what Jesus taught, the Roman world and, eventually, even the world beyond that would be a much more equitable place.

Before the journey, Peter suggested the original gang, now seven, all place their mark on a parchment that they set inside the ossuary, attesting to the identity of the remains there within. That way, should there ever be a break in the chain of custody, the parchment would quickly reestablish the authenticity of the ossuary. He only asked Paul to do two things, to look after the remains as if they were his own. Paul laughed at this first ask, wondering how he could do that with his own remains. The second ask, to ensure that each succeeding primary custodian of the ossuary was brought into the circle and applied their mark to the parchment, he absolutely agreed with. He started by applying his own mark.

Next stop, Rome, he said and with that, the caravan was off.

Hibernia

Years, even centuries have passed since the crucifixion of Jesus. It is the year of our Lord, 476. The Roman Empire has become the Holy Roman Empire, having converted to Christianity beginning with the missionary work of Paul, the greatest of all the apostles, who traveled to Rome in the year following the death of Jesus. But it was crumbling. Barbarians from the north were at the gates of the city, and after years of successfully being repelled, it was now clear that under the leadership of the Hun, Odoacer, they would finally penetrate the city and take control.

Fearing for the eternal security of the ossuary that he had been entrusted with, the current pontiff, Simplicius First, determined that it had to be taken from the city. But nowhere in the known world was safe. The Western Empire had collapsed, and civilization as the world knew it was receding. There was perhaps one location beyond the reach of the barbarians for it was beyond the reach of Rome itself; an island on the periphery of the continent that was known to the Romans as Hibernia.

The council convened by Simplicius discussed the task and the options and decided it was too dangerous to travel across the continent by land, so instead, they would undertake a trip to the boot of Italy and follow it with a sea trip through the Pillars of Hercules to the ocean at the edge of the world, where, hugging the coast they would continue via Hispania, Gallia, Britannia to Hibernia. Once there, the ossuary would be taken to a holy place in that land by the missionary Patrick, who recently converted to Christianity.

On the day of its departure, Simplicius removed the parchment from the ossuary, which he himself had marked and on which he could see the mark of every custodian before him. He had the inscription on the ossuary duplicated on the parchment: Isho Nassraya bar Yosef bar Yequb a Maryam.

He also had a piece of the ossuary chiseled out on one side in an unusually irregular shape—a shape not easy to duplicate without knowledge. These artifacts would be kept in Rome and reunited with the ossuary at some date and time in the future when the barbarian threat receded and civilization returned to the city.

With that, he gave a blessing to those charged with the safekeeping of the ossuary during its journey and beyond and sent them on their way. One hundred two men—consisting of the trusty lieutenant of Simplicius, who knew the nature of the cargo, and a century of soldiers together with their centurion commander who did not know they now had the most revered relic in all Christendom in their hands. At the same time, he sent an informative and instructive message overland to the missionary Patrick that because of deteriorating conditions in Rome, a relic of extreme significance to the church was en route to him for safekeeping until further notice; notice that it may be some considerable time in the future.

After a perilous journey of many weeks during which they were subject to weather extremes and attack by pirates and brigands, less than half the original complement of men arrived off the southwest coast of Britannia. From there, they were instructed to sail northwest with the sun over their right shoulder in the mornings and in front of their left shoulder in the evenings. When they sighted land, they were further instructed to turn northeast with the sun now in front of their right shoulder in the mornings and over their left shoulder in the evenings. They were to stay close to the shore and watch for a fire that would be burning day and night from a hilltop. That was their signal to anchor and disembark to the safety of the followers of Patrick. They did.

The ossuary had now arrived safely in Hibernia, was taken to Patrick, and was placed in a holy place chosen for the purpose. There it would remain undisturbed and almost forgotten for hundreds of years until the year of our Lord, 2013. In that year, its existence would be discovered, and the lives of a number of people would be changed forever. Four people in particular, going about their ordinary business, were destined to become entwined in a quest unprecedented in its criticality, unequalled in its intensity, and unparalleled in its potential impact: Joe Steele, Sinead Rooney, Michael Black, and William McCarthy.

Chapter 2

Joe’s Story—Beginning January 1972

A Child of the Troubles

Joe, Joe Steele, the voice rattled out, are you with us?

Joe was somewhere else. Looking out the window, he was staring at the outside world but was seeing nothing. He was lost in last night’s movie, reliving in his mind the exploits of his hero, the Man with No Name. He loved the anonymity of that character for he longed it to be him. The Man with No Name was doing something with his anonymity; he was making a difference. Participating in reactions like a catalyst but not being consumed by them. He was intact. Joe was the middle of seven children, with three above and three below. Joe was anonymous. He didn’t get a lot of time and attention. He didn’t make a difference, but he longed to.

Joe, look out, shouted his classmate.

Wham! Joe’s daydream was abruptly ended by the thud of a blackboard duster whizzing past his head.

One hundred lines, Joe, ‘I must pay attention in class’ in your best handwriting by tomorrow at 9:00 am. Now answer the question, the teacher said.

What was the question? Joe asked.

Exasperated, the teacher started to repeat the question just as the bell went. And with that, Joe and three hundred other students flooded out on to the streets of Derry. It was the month of January in the winter of 1972, and like many thirteen-year-olds, Joe was looking forward to getting his soccer ball and playing a game. An FA (Football Association) Cup round was on the TV this weekend, and that meant football was in vogue. Interests in sport changed with the seasons—playing gaelic in the late summer; tennis in July.

*****

Be back for dinner, Joe’s mother shouted after him, as he left with his friend to go to the fields near the Brandywell. Joe liked spending time outside the house. There he had the space he yearned for at home. With seven children and two adults living in a terraced three-bedroom house, it was crowded, to say the least. Joe and his three brothers slept in one room with two sets of bunk beds. His sisters were in another room. And his parents were in the third room with the baby, as Joe called her.

Joe. He heard being called out. It was his sister Marie. Your dinner is ready, she shouted. Get home now, Joe!

I better go, Joe said, You guys play on. And off he went with his sister. Of all his sisters, Joe liked Marie the most. She was closest to him in age and temperament. They had a connection with each other and almost knew what each was going to do before they did it. Uncanny.

After dinner, Joe sat down on the sofa in the parlor facing the fireplace, which was blazing for January was a cold month in Ireland. It was windy outside, and the occasional gust came down the chimney. Joe hated that. The whole room filled with black smoke. The windows had to be opened, and the whole purpose of having a fire was defeated. Down from the walls over the fire looked John F. Kennedy and Pope Paul VI. Every Catholic house had these pictures hanging over their fireplace. Protestant homes had pictures of the Queen and Prince William of Orange, or King Billy, as he was called colloquially. Not in this house. Joe’s house was decidedly Irish and Catholic—a Sacred Heart of Jesus flanked by the president and the pope. Proper order it was.

As he was preparing to do his homework, he was watching TV. The news was on. It was all bad news as far as Joe could tell. A big march was planned for this weekend. A civil rights march. Tensions were high, and the authorities were urging caution. Joe knew his father would participate. His father had become active in the civil rights movement, inspired by the civil rights movement of the 1960s in the US and motivated by the family’s failure to get a larger four-bedroom house in the new Shantallow Estate, a house that was given to a Protestant family with only three children. Discrimination was rife. Catholics in Northern Ireland were like black people in the US. They were second-class citizens. Just as many black people in the US were discriminated in the opportunities afforded to them; in Northern Ireland, it was the same for Catholics. The only difference between being black in the US and being Catholic in Northern Ireland was that in the US, people could look at you and see you were black. In Northern Ireland, you had to be asked a simple question, before people knew to treat you as a Catholic, What school did you go to? That was all it took. Joe’s father knew that the time of sitting on the sidelines was over. The reaction of the Northern Ireland government to the request for civil rights had been a crackdown to suppress the demands. But a sleeping giant had been awoken and a giant that would not easily or simply be put back to sleep again. The Troubles as they were called were underway. Civil rights was at their core, but also old notions of Irish nationalism were rising again. The two causes, though different, were often conflated and met with blunt force instead of a more surgical approach that treated the underlying causes of each differently.

Joe heard his mother and father talking about the upcoming march. Joe’s mother was nervous about his father going and urged him to reconsider, but he would not hear of it.

Every voice counted. One man, one vote was the theme, and one man, one vote was the right that every citizen of Northern Ireland had.

A March

It was cold on march day, Sunday, January 30. Smoke rose in unison from the rows of terraced houses. The morning frost glistened in the sun, a rare day in winter when the sun shone. If it weren’t for the temperature, it could almost have been a summer day. But it wasn’t, and a coat was a necessity as people went to mass. And almost everybody did. As usual, Joe went with his mother and father and all his younger siblings. The older ones went to a later mass on their own. They were each allowed to do that. At the mass, Father Damian preached about the afternoon’s march and urged caution and restraint. He knew there would be a large contingent of marchers. And he knew they would be met with a large security presence, not just there to protect the marchers but there to protect the establishment. Into the mix would be members of the IRV, or the Irish Republican Volunteers. They weren’t wanted. But they couldn’t