Recently, on my Facebook pages I have been reading a lot about religion. This gave me the idea to post here a chapter about spirituality from my newly published book, Life in the Barracks.
In the book the main character, Tibor, searches for support in the evolving conflict with his military superior whose professional and moral attitude is in sharp contrast with his own ideals. One of the places Tibor tries to find solace is the Catholic Church, the one-time spiritual refuge of his now deceased mother.
In the book the main character, Tibor, searches for support in the evolving conflict with his military superior whose professional and moral attitude is in sharp contrast with his own ideals. One of the places Tibor tries to find solace is the Catholic Church, the one-time spiritual refuge of his now deceased mother.
At the end of this section Tibor comes to realize that the conflict with his commander is unavoidable and he has to embrace for the struggle.
The text is slightly modified compared to the book and Kindle version.
Click here if you're interested in purchasing this book in soft cover or Kindle digital format.
Chapter 12: In the Church
It was a cold, sunny Sunday morning in Kisliget. Tibor got up
much earlier than usual. His soul was uplifted and he hummed a string of random
songs as he went through the morning routine of becoming a presentable member
of civilian society. He splashed his half-naked body with the ice-cold water
that trickled from the nearly frozen faucet. Still shivering, he shaved with
unsteady hand using the menthol-scented shaving cream he reserved for special
occasions only. Despite his repeated attempt to wipe the dim mirror clear, his
breath generated clouds of condensation on the cold glass surface. He nervously
concentrated not to bleed himself but a few growing red spots seeping into the
brilliant white foam announced with annoying certainty that his wariness didn’t
pay off. Trimming of his side
burns went without incident. To complete his morning ritual, he rubbed himself
dry with a military-issued cotton towel. As he returned in his room, with loud
clicking and clacking the central heating system just started to come alive.
His teeth chattering and lips turning blue, Tibor put on his civilian clothes
in a hurry. His favorite black and white checkered dress shirt and a dark green
corduroy jean nicely complemented each other. Tibor was happy with the result.
As a final touch, he carefully parted his hair with his mother’s comb, the only
physical reminder of her, which he kept in the drawer at his bedside.
The doorman waved a sleepy hello when he shut the gate leaving the building. The sun was just rising into a clear sky as he took the familiar road to Kisliget.
After a little more than half an hour’s brisk walk he spotted his destination: the old baroque church on a small hilltop. It towered into the blue sky with its red tile roof, brilliant yellow steeple, and white window frames. Its peals, calling for the morning service, swept along the hillside and echoed back from the houses below. As Tibor climbed the gently curving path leading to the church, a long-forgotten day flashed back from his early childhood. It was Easter time and his mother took him to a paschal procession. Masses of people filled the streets, more than he had ever seen in one place. At first, he was intimidated by the ambling, solemn faced strangers who surrounded them. His mother tightly held his hand as they moved along in the midst of the crowd. At the front he noticed an old man, dressed in a curious, long red and gold cape with an amusing, tall matching hat. His mother told Tibor that the man was the bishop, a very holy man. Tibor didn’t exactly know what holy meant, but thought the man may have known Jesus himself. In his hands, held high up, the bishop carried a cross on top of a long pole.People sang throughout the march. Their faces somehow looked different to Tibor; different from the everyday people he used to see on the streets and crowded buses. They all looked up toward that cross that swayed in a funny way, as the old man in the long cape slowly made his way. He looked like someone who had walked a long distance and was getting tired.
Tibor thought that the people saw something very interesting in that cross, but he only saw the reflection of the setting sun on its golden surface. At that time he already knew that Jesus died on the cross because he wanted to save all the people. Tibor felt very sorry for Jesus. He couldn’t sing with the grown-ups, but he said many times during the procession: “Thank you Little Jesus, thank you grown-up Jesus!” That was the first time that he heard his mother singing and knew that she was very happy. Some of the solemn faced strangers looked at him, made kind faces, and winked at him. They didn’t look very intimidating anymore.
Soon Tibor could hear the sound of an organ. The march ended in a big, old, and dark church. When they got inside, the organ sounded much louder. At times, Tibor even felt a strong, vibrating movement of the air drifting toward them from the organ pipes when it hit a very deep note. As they sat in the pew and listened to the echoing sounds of the bishop’s song-like words, Tibor noticed everybody around them was kind and quiet. He held on to his mother’s moist hand and felt warm. At that point he realized that he didn’t have to be afraid. When he grew up and his mother couldn’t hold his hand anymore, there would be something waiting for him, something almost as good as his mother’s smooth, warm hand.
By the time his mind came back to the present, Tibor had reached the church. People in their Sunday best converged at the main entrance. They were mostly elderly people with a few youngsters who scrutinized him with unconcealed curiosity. As soon as Tibor entered the foyer, the outside noise eased into a quiet susurrus.
On the spotless white walls of the church several large colorful paintings depicted an assortment of saints and Biblical events. The tall ceiling radiated with its warm blue, red, and gold colors as if Heaven itself glimpsed through the impenetrable walls. The massive wooden cross over the altar held the painted, finely-carved body of the bleeding Jesus. Tibor sat by himself in one of the first pews, while the parishioners mostly clustered toward the end of the single nave.He had always been mesmerized by the immense suffering on the dying Jesus’ face, an expression that was captured so eloquently in almost all renditions of the crucifixion he’d ever seen. He felt that through a single face and the convulsive body of the Crucifix all the anguish and misery of humanity came across with striking power. As a child, Tibor was horrified by the violent images he saw in the Old Testament of his colorful “What the Bible Means to Me” children’s book. He was afraid that the Devil would take him at night and he vividly imagined the many levels of Hell, hoping that he would never be taken farther than Purgatory. The promise of Heaven in that book was far more reassuring, and yet, he never really wanted to go there. Tibor liked where he lived: their small apartment with the giant, cross-carrying Jesus painting on the main wall, the fascinating little trinkets in their display cabinet, the plush machine-made Persian carpet in their main room, and above all, the loving attention of his parents. Why would he want to give up all this for Heaven, even if that is the best place in the world one can hope for? He was ready to settle for the second best place.
The second part of his children’s Bible book, the New Testament, was his favorite. The stories in The New Testament always moved and excited him. Perhaps it was partly because of the painting of the suffering Jesus carrying the cross on the wall in his parents’ bedroom made the story so much more real. That painting first made him feel sorry for the unfortunate Son of God but later, as he’d matured, it served as a reminder of all the misery that can happen to humanity. Gradually, the New Testament and this oversized picture of Jesus became the embodiment of unconditional love that touched Tibor for life.
As he raised his eyes to the cross, Tibor met the gaze of the timeworn statue with its flaking paint and noticeable fissures. How much suffering had the woodcarver experienced to capture the pain so well? Tibor thought. The church was about half full when the service started. The priest, an old man with a jowly bulldog’s face and a bald, pockmarked skull, was clearly not pleased with the attendance. His thundering voice filled the church with severe warnings for those who don’t accept Jesus as their Savior, while the hope for infinite happiness in Heaven awaited the true believers. The homily centered on love as the main legacy of Jesus, love that should be directed first to Jesus and the Holy Trinity and then to humans, the mortal creations of the Father.
“The Holy Spirit lives in every one of us!” the priest proclaimed toward the end of his sermon. “But don’t be mistaken, because the Holy Spirit does not make us divine! Rather, it provides us the freedom to follow our sinful mortal desires or accept the message of the Almighty that His son, Jesus Christ brought to us. Listen to the Holy Spirit! It is your best guide to avoiding the Seven Deadly Sins and finding your way to the Kingdom of God!”
Tibor didn’t believe in Hell or angels or Heaven anymore. But the gentle forgiveness of Jesus, his unbreakable desire to help, made him pause at times. Perhaps the Almighty is not that different from us humans after all, he thought. First, as documented in the Old Testament, He tried to intimidate people. When that didn’t work, He sent Jesus to us with His message of love and acceptance. It is like a giant experiment, performed by the most powerful Singularity in the Universe. Could the Almighty have gotten it right with Jesus?
When the time came, Tibor didn’t line up for the communion rite. The sense of elation that he felt over the priest’s reassurances about the ultimate good, the Holy Spirit, nestling inside all of us, wrestled with his worries about the thundering threats of Hell itself if this ‘tenant’ of his soul, the Holy Spirit, disapproved of his actions. He waited to one side of the church until the last parishioner bid farewell to the priest, who was visibly enjoying the interaction with his flock. When the church was finally empty, Tibor stepped up to the priest.
“Father, may I have a word with you?”
“But of course, my son, I always have the time to serve the Lord.”
“Me? The Lord? But you just explained to us that harboring the Holy Spirit doesn’t make us divine.”
“Aha, so someone was listening, after all. Well, when I serve God’s children I serve the Lord, son. That’s what I meant,” the priest said, smiling. “But you must be new here. I don’t recall having seen you in our church before.”
“My name is Tibor Dalos. I’m a conscript from the army camp.”
“I didn’t know they let you come out to church from there.” “I’m a junior officer and live outside the base.”
“Well, welcome, Tibor, my name is Father Akos. What can I do for you? Do you need some spiritual support? Blessing on your pistol?” Father Akos mused again with a mischievous smile.
“I don’t carry such things, Father.”
“Come in my office, Tibor. We can talk more comfortably there.”
What a sharp contrast, Tibor thought, as he measured up Father Akos. On the pulpit, he appeared like the thundering scourge of God of the Old Testament, but now he seems so arcadian, almost like Jesus himself.
The office of Father Akos looked exactly the way Tibor expected for a bachelor servant of the Lord. The priest’s coat and hat lay on his desk on top of strewed papers and journals of all sorts. The old, stained carpet had a well-travelled faded path leading from the door to the bench in front of the desk; a testament to scores of parishioners who came to this room seeking spiritual support. A large window opened onto a well tended garden behind the church, full with various species of snow-covered evergreens. Opposite the window a heavy bookcase stood full of religious texts. Tibor noticed only one picture in the room, the Shroud of Turin. He was familiar with the image.
“Do you believe that this is the image of Jesus?” Tibor asked, gesturing at the photograph as he took his seat on the bench.
“I do, and regardless, this is the closest we can get to the physical existence of Jesus. Pope Pius XII confirmed this with his approval of the image as the Holy Face of Jesus.”
“Remarkable.” Unwittingly, Tibor clasped his hands as he continued. “Father, I found your homily very powerful and provocative.”
“That was my purpose, Tibor.”
“It seems that if the Holy Spirit is in all of us, we are just a hair shy of being divine ourselves, don’t you think?”
“You said it right: a hair shy.”
“You said that Jesus promoted love and forgiveness.”
“If you repent your sins, the gates of Heaven open for you. That’s what his message to us was.”
“You also said that we owe our love first to God and then to our fellow humans.”
“That is true. That is the teaching of Christianity.”
“A hair shy goes a long way Father, doesn’t it?” Tibor noticed slight disappointment on the Father’s face. Undeterred, he continued. “So, what do you think Jesus would say about a very good person, who carries the divine Holy Spirit inside, who helps everyone just as Jesus did in his time, but doesn’t give priority to God with his love and reverence?”
Father Akos leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, and listened intently as Tibor spoke. He carefully chose his words when he answered.
“First, the Holy Spirit doesn’t make one divine, only helps marking the road that would please our Divine Father. You can however depart from that road, although at your own risk.”
“At the risk of finding yourself in Hell?”
“That’s correct. To answer your question however, Jesus was clear about it when he answered a very similar question: ‘What commandment is the foremost of all?’ His answer was: ‘The foremost is, Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second, pay attention Tibor, the second, is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Isn’t that clear?”
“So, you don’t want to venture what he would say about that person I asked you about?”
“He would say that he’s a sinner who needs to repent.”
Now, this is clear, Tibor thought. “Do you think that a person can’t be clean of sins and full of kindness unless he believes in the eternal punishment of Hell?” he asked.
There goes my illusion of a Jesus-inspired life, Tibor thought bitterly. I live in sin since I can’t take the Bible word for word. He made one more attempt to have his heretical spirituality “legitimized.”
“Father, I’m uncomfortable with the idea that people who do good deeds do it because they’re frightened by Hell’s punishment. I think that people are more grown up by now than simply following the primitive carrot and stick mentality of a four-year-old child.” Tibor noticed that Father Akos narrowed his eyes with disapproval, but he continued undeterred. “Do you think if I live in a noble way, lift up people slated to a life-long misery, perhaps even save a few lives here and there, and at the end ask Jesus 'Give me the eternal happiness you grant to all church-goers,' do you think that Jesus would push me to Hell? Just because in my life, I couldn’t convince myself about His existence?"
The two remained silent, then Tibor continued.
"I always thought that God wanted us, humans, fear Him for one unselfish reason only: to lead us into a clean, honest, communal life here on Earth, without hate and hurtful thoughts toward each-other. If one can live such a life without unquestioningly adore God, wouldn’t that person fulfill the Almighty’s divine intent? Would he still end up doomed to Hell?”
“Perhaps to Purgatory,” came Father Akos' curt reply.
“But doesn’t God portrayed this way remind you more of an arrogant, self-important earthly emperor than a benevolent deity who is beyond all human foible?”
“Tibor, watch how you speak of God! I can’t speak for a superior power but I know this much: one’s life cannot be meritorious without accepting the pillars of the Christian life. It seems to me, that you want to pick and choose from those unshakable pillars.”
Finally acknowledging his failure to obtain absolution for his wavering Christian beliefs and accepting that, in Father Akos’ eyes, he was heading straight to Hell, Tibor changed the subject.
“Father, a soldier at the base was recently beaten up by his comrades for being homosexual. Some of those involved are parishioners.”
“Here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Shame, a great shame, Tibor.”
“Father, where does all this hatred against homosexuals come from? Jesus himself never condemned them. I don’t even think he ever mentioned homosexuality, has He?”
“Several passages in the Old Testament are clear about this.”
There it is again, The Old Testament, my “beloved” reading, Tibor thought.
Noticing Tibor’s unconvinced expression, Father Akos added. “In the New Testament Apostle Paul expressed God’s condemnation of homosexuality the most unequivocally in his letter to the Romans.”
“So, someone put words into Jesus’ mouth,” Tibor interrupted.
“Not so! The letters of the Apostles’ are divine messages!”
Tibor saw and almost threatening flash in the priest's eyes.
“But Father, so many things can be read in the Bible in so many ways. The original text was a recollection of events that had taken place long before the text itself was written, nobody denies that, right? Next came the translations of the original text with further chance to introduce countless errors and inaccuracies. Then, most people end up reading the translation of a translation. And finally, at the end of this lengthy chain there’re the various interpretations of those translated translations. The interpretation! That is such an important part of what we learn from the Bible. How can we know what is right? Who used the right word? Who got the right interpretation of the original texts?”
“The Bible was validated by highly spiritual servants of the Lord, who had the privilege of inspired direct contact with Him. There is no room for questioning the Bible.”
“But the interpretation, Father, what we, the simple readers, or you, the learned preacher see in those words—the words have different meanings to us all. Maybe a few lucky ones were directly delivered God’s message—sure, it’s imaginable—but most of us are not fortunate enough to be approached by Him, or his messengers. We are left to our own wits to figure out what God’s encrypted messages are supposed to mean to us.”
“That’s why you need to come to Church, Tibor. So that one can hear—to build on your metaphor—God’s ‘decoded’ messages.”
Tibor’s face winced. “Look, Father, you have to face that so many horrible deeds were done in the name of God. Things that a merciful, just God simply would’ve never tolerated.”
“Be careful, Tibor, when you try putting yourself in the shoes of the Almighty!”
“It’s not the Almighty I have a quarrel with, it’s people. People saw passages in the Bible that supported slavery, witch hunts, and the Inquisition. Father, the Ku Klux Klan in America grew from religious roots!” Tibor grew agitated, his voice rising to almost a shout in the small confines of the priest’s office.
“America is a crazy country. I wouldn’t go by what the Christians did there. Most of them turned their backs on the true Catholic values, anyway and turned to heretic Protestantism.”
The word “heretic” brought chills to Tibor’s bones. Is the word that had sent so many on the stake still in use? But he didn’t get distracted and continued his original argument.
“How about the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre? Thousands of Huguenots were killed in a European capitol, not in America, by Catholics, not Protestants, and all in the name of God!”
“I’m impressed with your knowledge, Tibor. I can see that you’ve been searching for your path, but I’m afraid that you’ve lost direction. You’ve become a lost lamb, my son.”
“But my question, Father?”
The priest gave some thought. “You are bringing up some of the darkest moments of Christianity. But what is your point?”
“Don’t you think it’s possible that we misinterpret what the Bible says about homosexuality and maybe even many of the other important realities of today’s life? Don’t you think that the Church might be making the same mistake with the gays and lesbians that the hordes of St. Bartholomew’s Day made with the Huguenots as they got into their murderous frenzy driven by misreading the Bible? You must be familiar with The Merchant of Venice where Antonio, the merchant, famously says to the Jewish money lender: ‘The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.’"
The priest hesitated.
"For sure you remember this sentence, Father, this is perhaps one of the most profound lines from Shakespeare!”
"I know what you’re referring to, Tibor. But you have to remember that the Bible is the word of God. It should not be interpreted. It should be taken literally. If it is done consistently, it cannot lead us to the Devil.”
Listening to the Father’s calm intonations, Tibor began to understand his unfaltering certitude. It was impenetrable, a black curtain pulled over a window, as opaque as painted glass. Although he envied the priest’s unwavering conviction, a shudder nonetheless passed through him. How far astray could one be led by such blind faith, such calm certainty and unwavering belief in the righteousness of one’s convictions? Or, could it be that it is me, and not him, who is blindfolded to the truth? Oh, how lucky are those who don’t doubt themselves!
Finally, Tibor pulled out his last card and asked. “Father, in your next homily, would you be willing to denounce those who mistreated, humiliated, and nearly drove that soldier to suicide because he is gay?”
“He attempted suicide? But Tibor, I’m sure you know that’s a grave sin!”
“Yes, he wanted to quit living in order to free himself from the shame and harassment of his ‘good neighbors,’ some of who are Christians, inflicted on him. Would you denounce those men?”
“I denounce them, Tibor, but can’t do it from the pulpit. People would misinterpret the message. They might think that I condone homosexuality. And I consider homosexuality as one of the Seven Deadly Sins. It falls in line with Lust; perhaps even worse. And as to condoning violence, you heard today’s homily: I talked about the love of Jesus. What more needs to be said?”
“Father, I’m grateful for your time and honesty. I respect what you believe in and you have helped to clear my mind. I wish the Christian doctrines would allow you to respect my credence.”
“Tibor, doubt is part of our life.”
Apparently not yours, Tibor thought.
“Don’t turn your back on Jesus. Here is a book to clear your mind better than I could. Take it. It’s called: ‘Talking to the Master.’ It may correct where I’ve failed.”
When Tibor got back to his barracks, the doorman handed him a letter.
“It came a couple of days ago, but I forgot to give it to you. I hope it wasn’t something time-sensitive.”
Tibor looked at the sender: Asclepius, Center of Clinical Trials.
“I think it’s OK,” he reassured the concerned private.
The letter said that due to slower than expected patient enrollment into the clinical trial of experimental H2 inhibitor drug CHX-1978, the enrollment period had been extended until the end of the year. Under the circumstances, the trial would welcome the inclusion of patients from Dr. Ferenc Vida’s ambulatory clinic under the condition that the primary investigator will be Dr. Tibor Dalos, who is already a registered study participant. A preliminary “Intent of Participation” form was included with the letter.
Tibor got dizzy. After his latest encounter with Vida he had come home hoping that his petition to the study group would be ignored. Now, the door into the study opened up for them.
He knew in his guts that he could not bear working with Vida beyond the absolute minimum required within the infirmary. But suddenly, here came a major moral and professional dilemma.
First, Vida’s patients might benefit from study participation and second, the study needed more patients for completion. Normally, Tibor would eagerly seize this opportunity to stay in clinical research and advance his professional career. But, on the other hand, there was a morally corrupt man who would also benefit from the participation in the study. Tibor tried to stay rational while his emotions wrestled his mind.
Am I right, weighing the benefit to many others against the undeserved benefit to one? It is so hard to be the arbitrator in such a difficult case when you’re only 26, he sighed. But let’s see, is there more to it than simply ’who are the beneficiaries if I start enrolling Vida’s patients’? Vida is not just unfair with me and others, he is also a dangerously insincere man! He lied to the colonel about the three hospitalized patients and he even convinced Marosi and Katona to lie for him! This is not just a moral issue anymore. With this letter, it became a very important practical question!
I’ll be here for the first half of the study, and will have the opportunity to keep the data clean, but what will happen in the second half of the year, when I will be gone? And what if the study works just fine, Vida becomes a recognized local celebrity physician, and patients start streaming to him from all quarters? Is Vida a good doctor? Will he take good care of them? No! Look how irresponsible he was with those three who are in the hospital now. Or look at his treatment of the asthmatic Nagy with Benadryl! Didn’t he give me a lesson that “if you make them believe that it works, it will”?No, I’d create more trouble than benefit, if I enable Vida with this study.
But then, wouldn’t it serve me well, if I help Vida promoting himself? Tibor smiled at this thought. Here is the “Jesus-like” me: I’m debating whether I should consider myself first while ignoring everyone else. Am I serious? Me the “God” and them, the “good neighbors.” No, this can’t go through! This study should never be tainted by Vida’s participation!
I’ll call up the study coordinator tomorrow and inform him that we can’t participate.
The doorman waved a sleepy hello when he shut the gate leaving the building. The sun was just rising into a clear sky as he took the familiar road to Kisliget.
After a little more than half an hour’s brisk walk he spotted his destination: the old baroque church on a small hilltop. It towered into the blue sky with its red tile roof, brilliant yellow steeple, and white window frames. Its peals, calling for the morning service, swept along the hillside and echoed back from the houses below. As Tibor climbed the gently curving path leading to the church, a long-forgotten day flashed back from his early childhood. It was Easter time and his mother took him to a paschal procession. Masses of people filled the streets, more than he had ever seen in one place. At first, he was intimidated by the ambling, solemn faced strangers who surrounded them. His mother tightly held his hand as they moved along in the midst of the crowd. At the front he noticed an old man, dressed in a curious, long red and gold cape with an amusing, tall matching hat. His mother told Tibor that the man was the bishop, a very holy man. Tibor didn’t exactly know what holy meant, but thought the man may have known Jesus himself. In his hands, held high up, the bishop carried a cross on top of a long pole.People sang throughout the march. Their faces somehow looked different to Tibor; different from the everyday people he used to see on the streets and crowded buses. They all looked up toward that cross that swayed in a funny way, as the old man in the long cape slowly made his way. He looked like someone who had walked a long distance and was getting tired.
Tibor thought that the people saw something very interesting in that cross, but he only saw the reflection of the setting sun on its golden surface. At that time he already knew that Jesus died on the cross because he wanted to save all the people. Tibor felt very sorry for Jesus. He couldn’t sing with the grown-ups, but he said many times during the procession: “Thank you Little Jesus, thank you grown-up Jesus!” That was the first time that he heard his mother singing and knew that she was very happy. Some of the solemn faced strangers looked at him, made kind faces, and winked at him. They didn’t look very intimidating anymore.
Soon Tibor could hear the sound of an organ. The march ended in a big, old, and dark church. When they got inside, the organ sounded much louder. At times, Tibor even felt a strong, vibrating movement of the air drifting toward them from the organ pipes when it hit a very deep note. As they sat in the pew and listened to the echoing sounds of the bishop’s song-like words, Tibor noticed everybody around them was kind and quiet. He held on to his mother’s moist hand and felt warm. At that point he realized that he didn’t have to be afraid. When he grew up and his mother couldn’t hold his hand anymore, there would be something waiting for him, something almost as good as his mother’s smooth, warm hand.
By the time his mind came back to the present, Tibor had reached the church. People in their Sunday best converged at the main entrance. They were mostly elderly people with a few youngsters who scrutinized him with unconcealed curiosity. As soon as Tibor entered the foyer, the outside noise eased into a quiet susurrus.
On the spotless white walls of the church several large colorful paintings depicted an assortment of saints and Biblical events. The tall ceiling radiated with its warm blue, red, and gold colors as if Heaven itself glimpsed through the impenetrable walls. The massive wooden cross over the altar held the painted, finely-carved body of the bleeding Jesus. Tibor sat by himself in one of the first pews, while the parishioners mostly clustered toward the end of the single nave.He had always been mesmerized by the immense suffering on the dying Jesus’ face, an expression that was captured so eloquently in almost all renditions of the crucifixion he’d ever seen. He felt that through a single face and the convulsive body of the Crucifix all the anguish and misery of humanity came across with striking power. As a child, Tibor was horrified by the violent images he saw in the Old Testament of his colorful “What the Bible Means to Me” children’s book. He was afraid that the Devil would take him at night and he vividly imagined the many levels of Hell, hoping that he would never be taken farther than Purgatory. The promise of Heaven in that book was far more reassuring, and yet, he never really wanted to go there. Tibor liked where he lived: their small apartment with the giant, cross-carrying Jesus painting on the main wall, the fascinating little trinkets in their display cabinet, the plush machine-made Persian carpet in their main room, and above all, the loving attention of his parents. Why would he want to give up all this for Heaven, even if that is the best place in the world one can hope for? He was ready to settle for the second best place.
The second part of his children’s Bible book, the New Testament, was his favorite. The stories in The New Testament always moved and excited him. Perhaps it was partly because of the painting of the suffering Jesus carrying the cross on the wall in his parents’ bedroom made the story so much more real. That painting first made him feel sorry for the unfortunate Son of God but later, as he’d matured, it served as a reminder of all the misery that can happen to humanity. Gradually, the New Testament and this oversized picture of Jesus became the embodiment of unconditional love that touched Tibor for life.
As he raised his eyes to the cross, Tibor met the gaze of the timeworn statue with its flaking paint and noticeable fissures. How much suffering had the woodcarver experienced to capture the pain so well? Tibor thought. The church was about half full when the service started. The priest, an old man with a jowly bulldog’s face and a bald, pockmarked skull, was clearly not pleased with the attendance. His thundering voice filled the church with severe warnings for those who don’t accept Jesus as their Savior, while the hope for infinite happiness in Heaven awaited the true believers. The homily centered on love as the main legacy of Jesus, love that should be directed first to Jesus and the Holy Trinity and then to humans, the mortal creations of the Father.
“The Holy Spirit lives in every one of us!” the priest proclaimed toward the end of his sermon. “But don’t be mistaken, because the Holy Spirit does not make us divine! Rather, it provides us the freedom to follow our sinful mortal desires or accept the message of the Almighty that His son, Jesus Christ brought to us. Listen to the Holy Spirit! It is your best guide to avoiding the Seven Deadly Sins and finding your way to the Kingdom of God!”
Tibor didn’t believe in Hell or angels or Heaven anymore. But the gentle forgiveness of Jesus, his unbreakable desire to help, made him pause at times. Perhaps the Almighty is not that different from us humans after all, he thought. First, as documented in the Old Testament, He tried to intimidate people. When that didn’t work, He sent Jesus to us with His message of love and acceptance. It is like a giant experiment, performed by the most powerful Singularity in the Universe. Could the Almighty have gotten it right with Jesus?
When the time came, Tibor didn’t line up for the communion rite. The sense of elation that he felt over the priest’s reassurances about the ultimate good, the Holy Spirit, nestling inside all of us, wrestled with his worries about the thundering threats of Hell itself if this ‘tenant’ of his soul, the Holy Spirit, disapproved of his actions. He waited to one side of the church until the last parishioner bid farewell to the priest, who was visibly enjoying the interaction with his flock. When the church was finally empty, Tibor stepped up to the priest.
“Father, may I have a word with you?”
“But of course, my son, I always have the time to serve the Lord.”
“Me? The Lord? But you just explained to us that harboring the Holy Spirit doesn’t make us divine.”
“Aha, so someone was listening, after all. Well, when I serve God’s children I serve the Lord, son. That’s what I meant,” the priest said, smiling. “But you must be new here. I don’t recall having seen you in our church before.”
“My name is Tibor Dalos. I’m a conscript from the army camp.”
“I didn’t know they let you come out to church from there.” “I’m a junior officer and live outside the base.”
“Well, welcome, Tibor, my name is Father Akos. What can I do for you? Do you need some spiritual support? Blessing on your pistol?” Father Akos mused again with a mischievous smile.
“I don’t carry such things, Father.”
“Come in my office, Tibor. We can talk more comfortably there.”
What a sharp contrast, Tibor thought, as he measured up Father Akos. On the pulpit, he appeared like the thundering scourge of God of the Old Testament, but now he seems so arcadian, almost like Jesus himself.
The office of Father Akos looked exactly the way Tibor expected for a bachelor servant of the Lord. The priest’s coat and hat lay on his desk on top of strewed papers and journals of all sorts. The old, stained carpet had a well-travelled faded path leading from the door to the bench in front of the desk; a testament to scores of parishioners who came to this room seeking spiritual support. A large window opened onto a well tended garden behind the church, full with various species of snow-covered evergreens. Opposite the window a heavy bookcase stood full of religious texts. Tibor noticed only one picture in the room, the Shroud of Turin. He was familiar with the image.
“Do you believe that this is the image of Jesus?” Tibor asked, gesturing at the photograph as he took his seat on the bench.
“I do, and regardless, this is the closest we can get to the physical existence of Jesus. Pope Pius XII confirmed this with his approval of the image as the Holy Face of Jesus.”
“Remarkable.” Unwittingly, Tibor clasped his hands as he continued. “Father, I found your homily very powerful and provocative.”
“That was my purpose, Tibor.”
“It seems that if the Holy Spirit is in all of us, we are just a hair shy of being divine ourselves, don’t you think?”
“You said it right: a hair shy.”
“You said that Jesus promoted love and forgiveness.”
“If you repent your sins, the gates of Heaven open for you. That’s what his message to us was.”
“You also said that we owe our love first to God and then to our fellow humans.”
“That is true. That is the teaching of Christianity.”
“A hair shy goes a long way Father, doesn’t it?” Tibor noticed slight disappointment on the Father’s face. Undeterred, he continued. “So, what do you think Jesus would say about a very good person, who carries the divine Holy Spirit inside, who helps everyone just as Jesus did in his time, but doesn’t give priority to God with his love and reverence?”
Father Akos leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, and listened intently as Tibor spoke. He carefully chose his words when he answered.
“First, the Holy Spirit doesn’t make one divine, only helps marking the road that would please our Divine Father. You can however depart from that road, although at your own risk.”
“At the risk of finding yourself in Hell?”
“That’s correct. To answer your question however, Jesus was clear about it when he answered a very similar question: ‘What commandment is the foremost of all?’ His answer was: ‘The foremost is, Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second, pay attention Tibor, the second, is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ Isn’t that clear?”
“So, you don’t want to venture what he would say about that person I asked you about?”
“He would say that he’s a sinner who needs to repent.”
Now, this is clear, Tibor thought. “Do you think that a person can’t be clean of sins and full of kindness unless he believes in the eternal punishment of Hell?” he asked.
There goes my illusion of a Jesus-inspired life, Tibor thought bitterly. I live in sin since I can’t take the Bible word for word. He made one more attempt to have his heretical spirituality “legitimized.”
“Father, I’m uncomfortable with the idea that people who do good deeds do it because they’re frightened by Hell’s punishment. I think that people are more grown up by now than simply following the primitive carrot and stick mentality of a four-year-old child.” Tibor noticed that Father Akos narrowed his eyes with disapproval, but he continued undeterred. “Do you think if I live in a noble way, lift up people slated to a life-long misery, perhaps even save a few lives here and there, and at the end ask Jesus 'Give me the eternal happiness you grant to all church-goers,' do you think that Jesus would push me to Hell? Just because in my life, I couldn’t convince myself about His existence?"
The two remained silent, then Tibor continued.
"I always thought that God wanted us, humans, fear Him for one unselfish reason only: to lead us into a clean, honest, communal life here on Earth, without hate and hurtful thoughts toward each-other. If one can live such a life without unquestioningly adore God, wouldn’t that person fulfill the Almighty’s divine intent? Would he still end up doomed to Hell?”
“Perhaps to Purgatory,” came Father Akos' curt reply.
“But doesn’t God portrayed this way remind you more of an arrogant, self-important earthly emperor than a benevolent deity who is beyond all human foible?”
“Tibor, watch how you speak of God! I can’t speak for a superior power but I know this much: one’s life cannot be meritorious without accepting the pillars of the Christian life. It seems to me, that you want to pick and choose from those unshakable pillars.”
Finally acknowledging his failure to obtain absolution for his wavering Christian beliefs and accepting that, in Father Akos’ eyes, he was heading straight to Hell, Tibor changed the subject.
“Father, a soldier at the base was recently beaten up by his comrades for being homosexual. Some of those involved are parishioners.”
“Here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Shame, a great shame, Tibor.”
“Father, where does all this hatred against homosexuals come from? Jesus himself never condemned them. I don’t even think he ever mentioned homosexuality, has He?”
“Several passages in the Old Testament are clear about this.”
There it is again, The Old Testament, my “beloved” reading, Tibor thought.
Noticing Tibor’s unconvinced expression, Father Akos added. “In the New Testament Apostle Paul expressed God’s condemnation of homosexuality the most unequivocally in his letter to the Romans.”
“So, someone put words into Jesus’ mouth,” Tibor interrupted.
“Not so! The letters of the Apostles’ are divine messages!”
Tibor saw and almost threatening flash in the priest's eyes.
“But Father, so many things can be read in the Bible in so many ways. The original text was a recollection of events that had taken place long before the text itself was written, nobody denies that, right? Next came the translations of the original text with further chance to introduce countless errors and inaccuracies. Then, most people end up reading the translation of a translation. And finally, at the end of this lengthy chain there’re the various interpretations of those translated translations. The interpretation! That is such an important part of what we learn from the Bible. How can we know what is right? Who used the right word? Who got the right interpretation of the original texts?”
“The Bible was validated by highly spiritual servants of the Lord, who had the privilege of inspired direct contact with Him. There is no room for questioning the Bible.”
“But the interpretation, Father, what we, the simple readers, or you, the learned preacher see in those words—the words have different meanings to us all. Maybe a few lucky ones were directly delivered God’s message—sure, it’s imaginable—but most of us are not fortunate enough to be approached by Him, or his messengers. We are left to our own wits to figure out what God’s encrypted messages are supposed to mean to us.”
“That’s why you need to come to Church, Tibor. So that one can hear—to build on your metaphor—God’s ‘decoded’ messages.”
Tibor’s face winced. “Look, Father, you have to face that so many horrible deeds were done in the name of God. Things that a merciful, just God simply would’ve never tolerated.”
“Be careful, Tibor, when you try putting yourself in the shoes of the Almighty!”
“It’s not the Almighty I have a quarrel with, it’s people. People saw passages in the Bible that supported slavery, witch hunts, and the Inquisition. Father, the Ku Klux Klan in America grew from religious roots!” Tibor grew agitated, his voice rising to almost a shout in the small confines of the priest’s office.
“America is a crazy country. I wouldn’t go by what the Christians did there. Most of them turned their backs on the true Catholic values, anyway and turned to heretic Protestantism.”
The word “heretic” brought chills to Tibor’s bones. Is the word that had sent so many on the stake still in use? But he didn’t get distracted and continued his original argument.
“How about the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre? Thousands of Huguenots were killed in a European capitol, not in America, by Catholics, not Protestants, and all in the name of God!”
“I’m impressed with your knowledge, Tibor. I can see that you’ve been searching for your path, but I’m afraid that you’ve lost direction. You’ve become a lost lamb, my son.”
“But my question, Father?”
The priest gave some thought. “You are bringing up some of the darkest moments of Christianity. But what is your point?”
“Don’t you think it’s possible that we misinterpret what the Bible says about homosexuality and maybe even many of the other important realities of today’s life? Don’t you think that the Church might be making the same mistake with the gays and lesbians that the hordes of St. Bartholomew’s Day made with the Huguenots as they got into their murderous frenzy driven by misreading the Bible? You must be familiar with The Merchant of Venice where Antonio, the merchant, famously says to the Jewish money lender: ‘The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.’"
The priest hesitated.
"For sure you remember this sentence, Father, this is perhaps one of the most profound lines from Shakespeare!”
"I know what you’re referring to, Tibor. But you have to remember that the Bible is the word of God. It should not be interpreted. It should be taken literally. If it is done consistently, it cannot lead us to the Devil.”
Listening to the Father’s calm intonations, Tibor began to understand his unfaltering certitude. It was impenetrable, a black curtain pulled over a window, as opaque as painted glass. Although he envied the priest’s unwavering conviction, a shudder nonetheless passed through him. How far astray could one be led by such blind faith, such calm certainty and unwavering belief in the righteousness of one’s convictions? Or, could it be that it is me, and not him, who is blindfolded to the truth? Oh, how lucky are those who don’t doubt themselves!
Finally, Tibor pulled out his last card and asked. “Father, in your next homily, would you be willing to denounce those who mistreated, humiliated, and nearly drove that soldier to suicide because he is gay?”
“He attempted suicide? But Tibor, I’m sure you know that’s a grave sin!”
“Yes, he wanted to quit living in order to free himself from the shame and harassment of his ‘good neighbors,’ some of who are Christians, inflicted on him. Would you denounce those men?”
“I denounce them, Tibor, but can’t do it from the pulpit. People would misinterpret the message. They might think that I condone homosexuality. And I consider homosexuality as one of the Seven Deadly Sins. It falls in line with Lust; perhaps even worse. And as to condoning violence, you heard today’s homily: I talked about the love of Jesus. What more needs to be said?”
“Father, I’m grateful for your time and honesty. I respect what you believe in and you have helped to clear my mind. I wish the Christian doctrines would allow you to respect my credence.”
“Tibor, doubt is part of our life.”
Apparently not yours, Tibor thought.
“Don’t turn your back on Jesus. Here is a book to clear your mind better than I could. Take it. It’s called: ‘Talking to the Master.’ It may correct where I’ve failed.”
When Tibor got back to his barracks, the doorman handed him a letter.
“It came a couple of days ago, but I forgot to give it to you. I hope it wasn’t something time-sensitive.”
Tibor looked at the sender: Asclepius, Center of Clinical Trials.
“I think it’s OK,” he reassured the concerned private.
The letter said that due to slower than expected patient enrollment into the clinical trial of experimental H2 inhibitor drug CHX-1978, the enrollment period had been extended until the end of the year. Under the circumstances, the trial would welcome the inclusion of patients from Dr. Ferenc Vida’s ambulatory clinic under the condition that the primary investigator will be Dr. Tibor Dalos, who is already a registered study participant. A preliminary “Intent of Participation” form was included with the letter.
Tibor got dizzy. After his latest encounter with Vida he had come home hoping that his petition to the study group would be ignored. Now, the door into the study opened up for them.
He knew in his guts that he could not bear working with Vida beyond the absolute minimum required within the infirmary. But suddenly, here came a major moral and professional dilemma.
First, Vida’s patients might benefit from study participation and second, the study needed more patients for completion. Normally, Tibor would eagerly seize this opportunity to stay in clinical research and advance his professional career. But, on the other hand, there was a morally corrupt man who would also benefit from the participation in the study. Tibor tried to stay rational while his emotions wrestled his mind.
Am I right, weighing the benefit to many others against the undeserved benefit to one? It is so hard to be the arbitrator in such a difficult case when you’re only 26, he sighed. But let’s see, is there more to it than simply ’who are the beneficiaries if I start enrolling Vida’s patients’? Vida is not just unfair with me and others, he is also a dangerously insincere man! He lied to the colonel about the three hospitalized patients and he even convinced Marosi and Katona to lie for him! This is not just a moral issue anymore. With this letter, it became a very important practical question!
I’ll be here for the first half of the study, and will have the opportunity to keep the data clean, but what will happen in the second half of the year, when I will be gone? And what if the study works just fine, Vida becomes a recognized local celebrity physician, and patients start streaming to him from all quarters? Is Vida a good doctor? Will he take good care of them? No! Look how irresponsible he was with those three who are in the hospital now. Or look at his treatment of the asthmatic Nagy with Benadryl! Didn’t he give me a lesson that “if you make them believe that it works, it will”?No, I’d create more trouble than benefit, if I enable Vida with this study.
But then, wouldn’t it serve me well, if I help Vida promoting himself? Tibor smiled at this thought. Here is the “Jesus-like” me: I’m debating whether I should consider myself first while ignoring everyone else. Am I serious? Me the “God” and them, the “good neighbors.” No, this can’t go through! This study should never be tainted by Vida’s participation!
I’ll call up the study coordinator tomorrow and inform him that we can’t participate.
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