The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 54
“And what is to be done?” asked Father Saint Stephen. “Here we are, in a ship we acquired by begging, filled with goods we begged for, because we thought we could nurse these outcasts back to the Lord’s straight path. We are not the only ship, or attempt. It is an ancient tale. And in our agony of good works, we were overwhelmed and exhausted. If you had seen what happened here! Thousands! We prayed for guidance! Reverend Fiddle, you know, you understand! And then there was revelation and mystery!
“Jesus has come into our hearts,” said Father Saint Stephen, smiling, sighing, gesturing, “to inform us that he has loved his children steadfastly for twenty centuries. He has not forgotten his promise to take us into the Kingdom of Heaven. He knew, however, that if he took us directly into God’s love before we had suffered a time in the wilderness, as he had, then we would never understand how magnificent is the Kingdom of God. Jesus has permitted us to suffer, with our free will, to turn from Jesus to Satan. Why? Because he wanted his children to learn the truth that men will live entirely for food, power, security—but that none of this will ever be satisfying! Children will still yearn for righteousness, though they live in palaces and enjoy near immortality and never know fear.”
Father Saint Stephen paused again. I could see he was pleased with his sermon. He asked if we would like a tour of the hold. Did we want to see what mankind’s freedom and learning had brought? Israel lowered his head rather than meet that man’s eyes. They shone with an ethereal recklessness.
“My brothers and I have discovered,” said Father Saint Stephen, hand in the air dramatically, “that the most supreme obedience to Our Lord Jesus Christ is not to feed men, not to assist men in establishing order, not to minister to men when they stumble. We have discovered that the goods in our hold, the learning in our minds, the sacraments we can offer to baptize, or marry, or ordain men to continue their lives—that all this is no longer righteous. We have discovered that Jesus is in our hearts telling us it is time, now, immediately, these last days, to help all the little children in the most loving way. The Lord’s straight path stands revealed. It is death to this sinful world. We celebrate the most courageous human journey, that of passing into the Kingdom of Heaven!”
“The free gift of God,” said Lazarus.
I finished for Grandfather my summary of what Father Saint Stephen had said. Then I added what Lazarus—standing alertly behind Israel—had said, in an even, unsurprised voice. I asked Lazarus what he meant. Grandfather answered for him.
“For sin pays a wage,” said Grandfather, quoting the Fiddle Bible, Paul’s sermon to the Romans, “and the wages of sin is death, but Lord God gives freely, and his gift is eternal life in union with Christ Jesus Our Lord.”
“God bless you,” said Father Saint Stephen to me, touching my hand, “and may Our Lord’s love come to you swiftly.”
“Get away!” said Grandfather at my side, blocking off Father Saint Stephen.
“Mad, completely mad, do you see, Grim, both of them?” said Israel, moving in front of me, shaking his head, relaxed now, certain.
“This is a death ship,” I said. “They mean for it to be.”
“We suffer the ravages of hellfire,” said Father Saint Stephen, “because we must stay behind while the little souls go on to glory.”
“Grandfather, do you want me to believe him?” I spoke in Swedish, not wanting Father Saint Stephen to understand how shaken I was. “I cannot, not for anything. I think Israel is right. He’s crazy.”
“Not that, Grim, think for yourself,” said Grandfather.
“We should stop them! It isn’t right to give up! We can fight whatever they are afraid of—the British or the Americans, or anyone! Didn’t Jesus fight? He should have! It is crazy to quit! This ship is suicide, and that is insane!”
Grandfather spoke to Father Saint Stephen in German, “My grandson wants to stop you.” At that, they both started to laugh. The other missionaries joined in. How crazy their laughter seemed. I felt humiliated. I felt angry. Israel gave me what sympathy he could manage, a quick nod of agreement. It was small comfort.
Grandfather saw my upset, and turned, “They are not mad, Grim. Disagree with them, but do not dismiss them. As Lord God is my teacher and judge, they are wrong, not mad, wrong! You must learn the difference and the lesson. Them and their works. It all makes them err again. They worship their works, Grim. And when they cannot purchase their way into Heaven, they blame Lord God, and weaken, and break. Yes, Grim, fight! But you must see that your enemy is Satan. This priest is not the enemy. He is wrong!”
Father Saint Stephen set himself, as if to begin another apology. I can suppose now that what entertained those two was their opportunity to argue the Reformation once again: works, faith, justification, sacraments, Martin Luther, and tireless rhetoric. How revealing of them, and their confessions of faith, that they stood eager to dispute abstractions as if in an ecclesiastical court while hundreds agonized in the hold. They did agree on preening talk. They did not agree on correct course of action, the Catholic priest to help others first in order to help himself, the Lutheran pastor to help himself first in order to help others.
It was action that settled the confrontation. Father Saint Stephen overreached himself and ushered his end. He might have genuinely believed that Satan ruled the earth—as worn as those men must have been in trying to minister to the so-called fleet of the damned, they might