Kilkenny was stunned as he stepped in from the formal Renaissance hallway into a space reminiscent of an Eastern Orthodox pilgrim church. Mosaics of startling beauty adorned the chapel walls, scenes from the New Testament rendered in the Byzantine iconographic tradition. A vision of New Jerusalem filled the wall behind the marble altar, and on the ceiling above were a white cross and the Pantocrator. Though only a few years old, the chapel possessed an aura of timelessness.
Amid the splendor of the chapel, Pope Leo XIV sat deep in prayer. The Pope’s throne stood against the rear wall of the chapel, a permanent fixture along with a lectern and the altar. Sikora motioned for them to remain by the door as he approached the pontiff. He knelt at the foot of the papal throne, leaned his head close to the Pope’s, and spoke softly. Kilkenny saw the Pope nod, and the Archbishop signaled for them to approach.
Elected when Kilkenny was a child, the man seated before him was the only living Pope he could remember. Age and infirmity had eroded the church leader’s youthful vigor during his long reign. Shoulders slumped, the supreme pontiff’s body seemed to be slowly drawing into itself during his waning years, as if trying to return to the same dimensions it possessed at his birth. The Pope looked up and extended a quivering hand to his visitors.
‘Your Holiness,’ Donoher said with deep reverence as he knelt and kissed the papal ring.
Kilkenny did the same, and the Pope bade them to sit. As they moved a pair of chairs close to the papal throne, Sikora left the chapel, closing the doors behind him.
‘We are sorry to disturb your meditations, Your Holiness,’ Donoher began, but the Pope dismissed the apology with a short wave of his hand.
‘The matter you have come to discuss has been in my prayers for some time now. So, this is the young man that you spoke to me about?’
‘It is,’ Donoher replied.
As the Pope studied him, Kilkenny was immediately struck by the intensity and clarity of his gaze. Wrapped within a withering husk of a body was a spirit and intellect that had lost none of its potency.
‘Mister Kilkenny, this chapel was a gift to me from the cardinals, one that has brought me great peace. Do you know what it represents?’
‘No, Your Holiness, I don’t.’
‘The inspiration for this chapel was taken from a sermon given by a Jesuit priest named Tomas Spidlik,’ the Pope explained. ‘The central theme of this sermon was that the Church in the Third Millennium must breathe with two lungs, that of the East and of the West. This space breathes with two lungs and symbolizes unity within the Catholic Church.’
‘It certainly is magnificent.’
The Pope nodded. ‘I asked to meet with you here because there is something I wish you to see.’
The Pope pointed to the mosaics on the wall behind him. The image spanning the wall immediately reawakened the dormant memories of Kilkenny’s high school theology classes. It depicted the Parousia — the Second Coming of Christ. And on the Earth were those who had been restored to life, the promise of the resurrection fulfilled.
‘Do you see the man and the woman near the edges of the wall, leading the processions of the faithful?’ the Pope asked.
‘Yes,’ Kilkenny replied. ‘Who are they?’
‘Mary, the Mother of Jesus, to whom this chapel is dedicated, and Saint John the Baptist. Please, take a closer look at the people they are leading back to life.’
Kilkenny rose to study the processions, trying to determine who would have earned the privilege of being led into the kingdom of heaven by two of the people closest to Christ. Among those restored to life was a figure in gray stripes, a victim of Hitler’s concentration camps. Kilkenny then recalled that during World War II, the Pope and his fellow seminarians hid Polish Jews from the Nazis as the horrors of Auschwitz were occurring just a few miles outside Krakow.
‘These are martyrs,’ Kilkenny said. ‘People who died for their faith.’
‘Yes. Martyrs throughout the ages, including the victims of Nazism, Communism, and Islamic fanaticism. I wanted you to see them because martyrs are still being made today. Now please sit, so we can talk.’
Kilkenny returned to his seat beside the cardinal.
‘Tell him about the fire,’ the Pope said to Donoher.
‘I assume you have heard about the theater fire in Beijing back in August?’
Kilkenny nodded. ‘The place was a deathtrap; all the exits were blocked. It was a horrific accident.’
‘It was not an accident,’ Donoher declared. ‘And nearly every one of those who perished in those flames was a Roman Catholic.’
The Pope bowed his head. ‘Over five hundred martyrs.’
‘In the minds of those who rule the People’s Republic of China, Christianity and democracy represent the most significant threats to their privileged positions,’ Donoher explained. ‘When the Communists seized control in 1949, they set out to eradicate all religion. Failing at that, they settled for rigid control of the manner of religious practice and the message the faithful would hear. Catholics in China could either worship in a church loyal only to the state or take their faith underground and risk persecution or worse. Efforts have been made over the past twenty years to improve relations between Beijing and the Holy See, but always to no avail. Roman Catholicism remains illegal in China, and not since the earliest days of the Church have we witnessed atrocities like those committed against our Chinese brethren.’
‘Beatings, rape, imprisonment, executions.’ The Pope’s voice trembled as he recited the litany of sins. ‘It is a war of faith against godlessness.’
‘Religious persecution is a way of life for people of many faiths in China,’ Donoher continued, ‘and one reason so many Chinese Roman Catholics remain true to their faith is the Bishop of Shanghai, Yin Daoming.’
‘I’ve never heard of him,’ Kilkenny admitted.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Donoher said. ‘Bishop Yin is not widely known outside China, and he has been imprisoned almost as long as you’ve been alive. Yin was born into a Catholic family during the war, but after the Communist takeover, his religious education was conducted in secret. As an underground priest, Yin was instrumental in holding the Catholic community together during the Cultural Revolution. For his efforts, he became both a Bishop and a target for Beijing. When the government was closing in on him, Yin was offered passage out of China. He refused to abandon his people and was eventually arrested and imprisoned. Bishop Yin was in the theater on the night of the fire. The government paraded him on stage and demanded that he renounce His Holiness and the Church of Rome.’
‘I take it Yin refused.’
‘You might say that his first sermon in nearly thirty years was a succinct expression of where he stood on the matter,’ Donoher said with admiration. ‘Long live Christ the King. Long live the Pope.’
‘Hwong told me the same thing.’
‘A profession of a faith that she and many others in China are willing to die for. Of the forty Bishops in China loyal only to Rome, all are either in prison, under house arrest, or in hiding — and some have disappeared completely. Ironically, many of the Bishops in the state church have at the same time quietly asked for and received the Pope’s blessing before accepting their ordination. The tangled mess of church and state in China is simply a quagmire.’
The Pope had retreated into prayer as Donoher spoke. When the cardinal finished, he opened his eyes and placed a hand on Kilkenny’s shoulder.
‘There are two very important secrets that I now need to share with you. Can I trust you to keep them close to your heart?’
‘You can, Your Holiness,’ Kilkenny replied earnestly.
The hand on Kilkenny’s shoulder tightened, the pontiff’s grip surprisingly strong. The Pope’s steely blue eyes locked with his, and Kilkenny sensed the true inner fire of this holy man.