A Passion Rising

By Rachel Vanderwood

For as long as he can remember, Father Julien has been unable to settle his restless spirit. His passion for Christ allows him the intuition to know that he will one day be called to act, but when and under what circumstance? Through his journey, he is surrounded by signs, people and places he feels compelled to protect, yet still, he is unable see the answers that await him. In his struggle to learn his purpose, he desperately calls for a message to be sent to lead him on his way in search of the only being on earth who will bring light to the man he is supposed to be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889438212

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A Passion Rising

Rachel Vanderwood

ISBN 979-8-88943-820-5 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88943-956-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88943-821-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Rachel Vanderwood

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

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

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author

Chapter 1

Nearly a year had passed, and still, humanity had yet not to disappoint me. Had his return not been enough of a sign of the need for change? Could people not see their potential reward if they only choose to turn away from basic human nature and rely on their spirit to save them? The answer remains the same, leading most on a path toward self-destruction and leaving me fighting to survive among them, both in body and in spirit.

I felt our Lord's nearness before his return. I held on to the hope that when that day came, humanity would welcome its salvation with praise and elation being in the presence of the living God, but as it was once written, it is a narrow path that leads to him, and it isn't he who causes it to be that way. Each of us is born with a choice, and far too many are more eager to turn away than open themselves to understand the blessing of his love that is awaiting them.

I found myself questioning if I was the one to fail his people, at least those who came to me for guidance. Was it me with an inability to teach or my congregation with the inability to listen and comprehend the words that I spoke to them? I suppose whatever the answer is, it doesn't matter now. Now it's my duty to seek him out for his guidance. He is here, and my spirit senses his call to act. I have prayed unceasingly day and night, whether through silent request or on my knees in reverent respect; but still, I have neither seen nor heard his answer, only an urgency to keep searching.

In my search to find him, I found myself living among people I knew well, or at least I thought I knew from my former life. They were members of my community, many from my own parish. I guess looking back, I did know them; but at one time, I was falsely hopeful to believe that deep down, they each had the will to change. I suppose it would be fitting to call them Sunday Christians, seemingly devout in their faith one day of the week and, occasionally, more often during holidays; but when the doors of their church closed behind them, and they resumed their daily lives, they conveniently forgot the lessons of humility, compassion, and brotherly love they were taught. In the time just before his return, my parish halls were riddled with droves of these fair-weathered followers seeking hope when the evils of the world pushed them past what they could endure, only to blind themselves to the answer when it appeared. If there is one lesson they have failed to understand, it is that our God is not a God of convenience; he is a God of mercy and unfailing love for those who humble themselves to accept his guidance in every moment of our lives.

I know there was a reason for leading the man he did to find me the day I first opened my eyes to the new world he created. The last thing I remembered before hearing a man's footsteps bound down against the dry dirt and gravel of the earth, as he rushed to be near me, was desperately searching for someone that I was unable to find—a friend. When the stranger approached me, he began pulling away the layers of rock and debris that held my body firmly pressed against the coarse terrain beneath me. I don't know how many hours or days I was left alone or how my physical body managed to survive; all I knew then was that I had to find the answer.

I tried to respond to him, but I was too weak at first. I don't think he heard the guttural noises that escaped my throat and mouth, not until there was no longer a barrier between us. I felt his hand on my left shoulder begin to rock me back and forth to see if I was still alive and able to react to him.

Priest, hey, Priest, get up! I heard him shout as he forcefully grabbed ahold of my arm and began pulling me up. He must have seen the movement in my chest and back as I drew breath to make him assume that I was, in fact, still alive.

I didn't recognize his voice at first, but I knew he had come to help me. As weak as I was and as painful as the aches in my body were in that moment, I slowly bent my knees and began to push myself up off the ground. It took me a minute to focus enough to see him clearly. The blinding rays of the scorching hot sun made it difficult to see past the shadows of his outline, but as I fought through, I was able to see enough to know who he was. His name was Barrett Meier, or Captain Meier, as he had been known by the men who were once under his command. Barrett had a reputation in the streets of our former city, and despite the rumors of his misuse of authority and criminal acts in pursuit of whomever he targeted—guilty or otherwise—he seemed to always escape punishment. It was never my place to judge him or anyone else; his fate was for God to decide, but I couldn't help but sense the animal within him. My instincts led me to believe that the rumors I heard about him were true. Why else would he have been sent to observe me and several of my peers from nearby houses of worship as insurance we followed the demands we were given from our city's corrupted governing bodies?

I came to know Barrett quite well, not because he'd converted himself to believe but because out of each of my peers, I was the most resistant to the changes expected of me to take place. He often came to me after service with a warning but never more than in a friendly vein. Maybe it was because I was the youngest of my peers, similar in age to him; or maybe it was because he saw something in me I didn't yet see in myself. Like me, Barrett wasn't much more than thirty-two, but his six-foot-two frame held much more weight than mine. On the surface, he was an imposing force to be reckoned with, which in his mind, at least, served him well. To those who feared him, they called him Bear; and in consideration of the unkempt thick black hair on his head and face, and his unpredictable often-explosive nature when he was challenged, I understood why.

Can you walk, Priest? he asked with contempt in his tone and scowl on his face, leaving me to question what I had done to elicit his reaction when it was he who rescued me.

Barrett never, in the past, addressed me as Priest, only as Father or Father Julien, even when he came to offer me a warning to change, and it wasn't the word itself that caused me to consider his intent; it was the sentiment of disdain I heard in his voice when he said it.

I think I will be able to, Barrett.

Good, let's move. The others aren't far from here.

The others?

Did you think you and I were the only ones left?

No, I'm only grateful they have been found so soon.

So am I, but there's more. We need to keep moving. Let's go.

I followed Barrett to a place about a mile from where he found me. He kept a steady pace ahead of me. He seemed focused. I sensed more on his mind than he was willing to share, and when we approached a gathering of about thirty men, women, and child survivors, I knew why; not one belonged to him. His family was yet to be found. I wondered at that moment if he had come across me in his search for them. Maybe that was the reason he seemed resentful to have me be the one to stand before him. Even if that was the reason, I took a vow to offer myself as a humble servant to God's people; it was my duty to offer compassion in their time of need despite the repercussions to myself. The people were weak, frightened, and desperate for anyone to explain the series of events that left them homeless, hungry, and lost to find the answer.

Unlike the reception Barrett offered me after pulling me from the layers of rock and debris that kept me bound to the earth, the remaining survivors appeared to have welcomed my approach; although many were hesitant to ask what was on each of their minds. I was met, at first, with glances, tears, and forced smiles through the pain each was suffering. I expected to be questioned, and I was prepared to answer, at least to offer what should have already been known, but I found the first to have the courage to seek the answer she needed was a young eight-year-old child. My eyes were focused up to the level of the adults staring back at me; I didn't notice her at first, but then suddenly, I felt a light tap on the side of my leg, and when I looked down, I saw her. I knew her; her name was Cara Iman. Her family belonged to my parish. I had been the one to baptize her brother, Brentin, who now was only four. I hadn't seen either of the children in at least three years. Brentin was just a baby when I saw him last, and had his sister not been holding tightly to his hand as she looked up to draw my attention away from the others, I may not have recognized him aside from the curly dark-brown hair characteristic to others in his family.

My memory of their mother, Bria, allowed me to recall my memory of her two children. What I knew from what she once shared with me was that she was a single mother, barely ever able to get by. Bria had an undeniable faith, but she struggled to understand her worth to be loved. She always seemed to find means to sustain her family despite knowing the moral implications of some. She didn't have much money but provided what she could to raise her two children after their father left to begin a new life with another woman. Although she wasn't considered a regular for weekend mass, she often came to me to confess her weaknesses and worries she had for her family's future. And even though it had been nearly two and a half years since I'd seen her, and I didn't see her standing among the survivors that day, her daughter's deep-brown eyes reflected the same hopefulness Bria's once did for salvation.

Did you come to help us, Father? Cara timidly asked with tears in her eyes.

I knelt down beside her, placed my hands on each of her arms in support as I looked her directly in her eyes, and offered her, I am here to help in any way that I can, Cara.

She smiled in response and watched when I stood back up to address the others, but still, I sensed her worry. She wasn't eager to walk away from me. She didn't ask anymore of me, but she stayed by my side. I know my presence offered her comfort, and I was grateful for the trust she had in me. Her brother was too young to comprehend what was happening; he clung to his sister, and wherever she went or whatever she did, he followed. I questioned how the siblings managed to survive without their mother. I felt a responsibility for them in her absence. I felt compelled to protect them.

The men and women who witnessed our brief interaction began to slowly approach me. By then, I had the attention of all standing before me. As uncertain as I was about how to find him, I knew he was here somewhere on earth walking among us. The only challenge I had was guiding everyone else to believe what my faith knew to be true.

One by one, they began calling out to me. With every question posed to me, I sensed their panic and fear.

How can you help us, Father?

Can you explain what's happened?

How are we going to survive this?

What's happened to our families?

In response to their desperate pleas, I offered the assurance I knew they needed to hear, I know that you are all afraid. I know how much you have suffered, and even though many of you are struggling to explain what has happened, I assure you, the answer is what we have all prayed for it to be. Our Lord is here among us. He walks the earth as we speak in search of his people. He has returned to offer us our salvation.

I didn't receive an immediate reply from any who called out with the questions I offered an answer to. Instead, all I heard was indistinct chatter and whispers as each of them considered my response. Some looked at me in disbelief, others confusion, but none with a willingness to fully accept what I said to be true.

Then after several seconds of waiting for a response, someone chose to answer for them. I shouldn't have been surprised when he did; I should have expected it. Barrett had been standing by, quietly observing as I attempted to offer hope to our small community of survivors. I watched as he moved to stand in position to block me from their view, demanding that their focus be solely on him. I prepared myself as he raised his arms; I knew whatever words he spewed from his hateful mouth would be caustic to those who listened to him.

Didn't you hear him? Don't just stand there. Jesus Christ is here to save us all! he shouted.

Everyone kept silent. Their eyes began shifting between Barrett and me. Not one among them didn't understand his intent to mock me. He turned to look at me. He laughed, as though it was me who was the fool to believe in the promise I gave them, but I knew better than to shout insults at the very God who, at any moment, could stand before us and decide our fates.

I held myself back from engaging with him. I knew no matter what I said, it would only fuel his anger. Barrett was known for his explosive nature, and for the sake of the others, I decided not to test his limits.

You mean to tell me that God is here, right now? That God is the reason our families are gone, and we are stuck here in this…this desert wasteland! That's your answer, Priest? God did this?

I kept my eyes locked on him as he walked up to me to stand just inches from me. I felt the heat of his breath on my face as he waited for my response. I knew he wouldn't react well to what I had to say, but still, I answered, Yes, he is here, Barrett.

I watched carefully as he stepped back just enough to have a full view of my body. By the enraged expression on his face, I expected him to strike me, but instead, he forcefully grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him as he directed my attention to the landscape surrounding us.

Where is he then, Priest? I don't see him. Do you see him? Do you! Answer me! Tell me why he did this to us!

I fought not to allow Barrett the satisfaction of a contemptuous response. I hesitated only to allow myself time to guard my words and reaction to him. Despite his abusive response, I still felt compassion for him knowing his family was no longer with him. He is here, Barrett, someplace on this earth. I promise you. I sense his presence. There is a reason he chose those of us he did to remain on earth.

That's your answer, Priest! Maybe the rocks didn't hit you hard enough on your head. So God has a reason. Did you hear that, everyone? There is a reason why everything we had was taken from us—our homes, our jobs, our families. Well, that answers everything then, doesn't it?

Barrett ripped his hand away from my arm, only to turn back to push me aside before addressing the others again. He nearly knocked me off my feet, but somehow, I managed to remain standing.

He kept his back to me as though I wasn't worthy enough for him to face. How convenient to leave everything up to God, who isn't here to answer us for himself, and do you know why? Because he isn't here on earth! He doesn't exist! We exist. This is real. We are real! The people we lost are gone because they were too weak to fight to survive! You don't need to be led by false hope. You need a true leader, and the only one of us who knows how to be your strength is me!

I had always known Barrett to naturally tend toward aggression to assume control over those he found too weak to defend themselves against him, but never until that moment had I sensed the true madness within him, a madness that created fear in our people. Not one man, woman, or child took their eyes away from him until they were sure he would approve, and no one standing before him denied his request to serve as our leader aside from me.

My allegiance remained, as it always had, to the one true Savior of mankind. I wasn't going to submit my loyalty to someone who sought to serve his own self-interests and deny the presence of our God among us. I turned to walk away from him, to walk away from a man whose delusion allowed him to believe that he had the strength of mind and body to survive in this new world, not knowing that the world as it was left was meant as a true test of one's strength in spirit and not their physical being.

Where are you going, Priest? You think you can survive on your own without us? Barrett yelled out to me.

I stopped to turn back, only to offer one final warning to him. I knew he wouldn't listen; I knew his mind was set on forging his own way, taking with him those who chose to follow him. But just as my God has offered mercy to those most resistant to change, so, too, was it my duty to help Barrett understand the error in his ways.

I opened my mouth to speak, but when I stood facing the crowd of souls lost with no direction, I hesitated. I looked at the two children who were first to feel drawn to approach me; they were afraid, if not more so than the adults standing behind them. I knew then, none had given their promise to Barrett out of their own will, rather fear of what would be done to them if they chose to find a way without him. In many, I saw desperation, yet in the eyes of some, I thought I saw hope to believe.

Are you going to walk away, Priest? Are you going to turn your back on people in need? Is that the lesson you preached in your church?

I knew Barrett was finding great pleasure in testing me. He knew if I didn't choose my words wisely enough, the others would turn away and offer him the trust and authority he felt rightfully belonged to him. I couldn't let that happen. Far too many of my God's people had turned away even before his return because those called to be his leaders weren't open enough to allow his spirit to continue to guide them.

I looked directly at Barrett when I answered him. You should already know me by now, Barrett. I'm not walking away from anyone. I'm merely setting an example of who they should trust.

Through his piercing glare, I knew he understood my point. Who they should trust, Priest? Who they should trust is a man they can see and have confidence in his strength!

Shouldn't you leave it up to them to decide?

They have decided, Priest. They chose me, or did you conveniently forget?

I haven't forgotten, Barrett, as my memory serves me. All I question is their reason for choosing you, but then, I think we both know the answer.

Barrett didn't respond to me. Not with words. Not at first. I wondered what was racing through his mind in those fleeting moments before he felt compelled to act. I hesitated to think he considered ending my threat to his authority by taking my life and voice to speak. My influence wasn't one he wanted around to interfere with his plans. I studied him carefully as the rise and fall of his chest each time he drew breath became more pronounced. His hands were tightly balled into fists at his sides. He never liked to be challenged, and in the past, his only response was to attack anything or anyone who stood in his way, but I didn't move. If it was my Lord's will for me to be stricken down for the sake of his name for his people to see, I would stand until I no longer could. I knew in a matter of seconds, Barrett was about to move, but just as I noticed sudden movement in his legs and feet, he was stopped by the witnesses behind him.

Father, please, come with us! Please don't leave us now! several began calling out to me, causing Barrett to stop and turn to face them. I feared for their safety at first. I knew Barrett wouldn't be receptive to their need of me, but as inclined as he was toward violence, he refrained from lashing out at those who were brave enough to ask for my help.

Suddenly Barrett turned to face me again. His rage seemed to settle into a temporary forced tolerance. It's your choice, Priest. They are calling out to you. Are you going to join us or walk away like a coward?

I knew by his sudden change in temperament that he somehow reasoned an advantage for himself to have me join them in their search to find a new home. I didn't know his reasoning then; all I knew was that I had a duty to those who needed my guidance.

I found myself with no other choice. I didn't speak my answer; I simply nodded my head and began walking toward the crowd waiting to receive me. I didn't accept Barrett's leadership nor did I know where our journey would lead us, but I felt compelled to offer myself to those who needed me the most—the motherless children, the weak in body and spirit, and those desperate to believe in something greater than the conditions we were left with to endure.

Chapter 2

We traveled nearly six months, and we still hadn't found a place to settle into and call home. In that time, I saw a change in Barrett and not the kind of change his spirit needed to make. The farther we traveled away from the place he found me and the others, the angrier and more resentful he became; not directly toward me or anyone else who traveled with us but with the one being he felt to have caused his suffering. In the past, his aggression and caustic personality seemed to be fueled by his deep-seated desire to feel empowered over others, but now his spirit was becoming a different kind of animal, one unrelenting in its search for vengeance, even if he didn't realize it yet himself.

In our journey to find a permanent home, we passed others traveling alone or in pairs, most often in search of what we were ourselves. Some chose to join us, while others continued on their way. I knew it was the fault of our leader for losing those who chose to walk away. It wasn't that Barrett didn't welcome additions to our growing family, especially if they offered supplies to help us; it was his terms that most weren't willing to accept. Each of us had a purpose in his society, one that Barrett assigned to us, and if we failed to meet the standards he held us to, we would be punished. The severity was determined by the offense, and of course, he left himself as judge and jury to decide our fates.

I was never made to suffer like some of the others were. Barrett may have tended toward physical means for punishment, but he knew my worth among our people. I cared for the children, the weak, and the sick among us. I offered them hope when they felt none could be found. The repercussions I suffered were nothing more than arguments between him and me, most often inspired by my opposition to his actions against our people. Eventually Barrett would agree that we reached an impasse and dismiss me from his presence, but not before giving me a warning not to test his patience again, a warning I had yet to take heed to.

As limited as our resources often were, I never turned away from someone in need of my help. Our people weren't the only ones to feel the effects of the unforgiving terrain and blistering-hot sun. We encountered several others suffering just as we were, desperate for food and water to combat starvation and dehydration. Some were fortunate enough to survive on their own until they found the resources they needed, but some found themselves barely clinging to life until either their bodies succumbed to the elements acting against them, or someone else felt compelled to reach out and save them before it was too late.

I knew Barrett enough to know that he did believe in a higher power, enough that he blamed God for the circumstances of his existence, but he wasn't one to believe that the Spirit of our Lord could call us at any moment in our lives to act to save another; and even if there was part of him that did, I doubt he would follow through. He felt no compassion for anyone other than himself. A man had no worth to him other than what he could do to appease him, not even a child.

We had only traveled about two days since we last stopped to rest when I began to take notice of the outline of a young man's body lying near, motionless on the ground, not fifty feet from where we were. I wasn't the only one to have noticed him, but I was the only one who seemed to feel compelled to go to him. Like Barrett, our people were satisfied to leave him for dead and keep moving on until we found another settlement to stop and rest in. I knew the odds of him having survived were stacked against his favor, but still, I felt drawn to him, if even to offer a prayer for