Papal decree

28

The cherubim gave the room a kind of solemnity. There was one for every aesthetic taste, all probably commissioned to one artist, but produced by different pupils. There were the dandies, full of flowery details, with a shiny luster; the mischievous, who didn’t even try to hide their bad dispositions or, on closer analysis, their irritation; the indifferent, uncertain where they were looking, as if they could have been anywhere; others, with an austere expression, who confronted whoever looked at them; and then there was the one Hans Schmidt found most amusing, considering where it was placed. A small cherub, hovering over the prefect’s chair, was winking his eye, laying a finger over his lips to demand silence or, as Schmidt preferred to think, to warn him not to say anything incriminating. He made a mental note to find out who the artist of that piece was.

Hans Schmidt was calm, despite a sleepless night, thanks to the events that had tormented Tarcisio, which is to say that had tormented the church, but would not be alluded to in this hearing. The business here was something else, delicate also, but more personal, between the Apostolic Roman Catholic Church and Father Hans Schmidt — nothing so alarming that it could place the Roman Catholic world in crisis and bring down the Vatican like a house of cards. No. Here, the only person who could be ruined, if they desired, would be the Austrian iceman, though he appeared imperturbable.

Schmidt rose when the prefect of the congregation, in the person of Cardinal William, entered the hearing room accompanied by his court of jurors, though that term was never used. Secretary Ladaria followed him with five more counselors, the preferred title as Schmidt well knew. They all carried files and piles of papers. The Austrian knew very well that those learned, circumspect men had read his writings line by line and analyzed his books word by word so that nothing would escape. The congregation dedicated itself completely to its investigations.

As soon as the prefect sat down, the others followed his example, including Schmidt, who cast a complicit glance at the angel hovering over William’s chair.

‘Let us begin this hearing called by the prefect of the congregation in the name of the Holy Father Benedict XVI for the Reverend Father Hans Matthaus Schmidt regarding two of his publications, Jesus Is Life and The Man Who Never Existed,’ Secretary Ladaria, also a cardinal, proclaimed in a solemn but weak voice.

‘It is important to know that this is not a trial. No accusation has been made at this time,’ Cardinal William clarified. ‘The congregation has doubts about some of your writings and only wants to dispel these doubts. Understood?’

‘Perfectly, Most Reverend Prefect.’

‘I ask you kindly to respond to our doubts as best as you can. After the hearing, the congregation will decide if the ideas you advocate are damaging to the church or not.’

The rules and procedures understood, the prefect gave the floor to Monsignor Scicluna, a man whose wizened face looked a century old. Obviously he would have to be twenty years or more younger, since the positions consecrated to His Holiness required retirement at seventy-five without loss of honor and privileges. Even the servants of God are attacked by old age and senility. All are equal in the eyes of the Lord.

‘Reverend Father Hans Matthaus Schmidt,’ Monsignor Scicluna began faintly. ‘Having read your works attentively, I confess I am struck primarily by the titles, which are certainly peculiar. The first is Jesus Is Life, which I must say I agree with, though I’ll ask you to explain certain ideas in it. The second is The Man Who Never Existed. In both books we are dealing with the same person.’ He sipped some water to moisten his dry throat. ‘My first question to you is how can Jesus be life if, in your own words, He never existed?’

Schmidt had anticipated that this would be the first question. He hadn’t wasted time thinking of hypothetical questions. If the roles were reversed, he would logically ask this same question.

He straightened his back, not so much that he would show nervousness or disquiet, but because he wanted to be comfortable. He took his time opening a bottle of water sitting on the desk in front of him and poured some in a glass. He wet his lips, put the glass down, and smiled.

‘Good Morning, Reverend Prefect, Mr. Secretary, and you other counselors. I understand your doubt perfectly, my dear Monsignor Scicluna. On the one hand Jesus is life, and on the other, He never existed. What an outlandish idea… at first glance.’ His voice reverberated through the room. Everyone listened intently, and the cherub had closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to listen. ‘The message I want to convey is that one can live in two ways. There is no one right way with Jesus or another wrong way without Him, or, if you wish, with whatever other divinity.’ Schmidt noticed some red faces and a deepening irritation in Scicluna’s. He wasn’t there to be friendly. He wanted to start out forcefully. ‘What I intend by Jesus Is Life is to provide teachings about how to live day by day in Jesus by abstracting the essence of His words, and in The Man Who Never Existed the same message without Jesus, because it is possible to live with Jesus or without Him, in God or without Him. However God is understood.’

‘What are you saying?’ Monsignor Scicluna protested, rising and bracing his hands on the table.

‘I have come to the conclusion that all forms of religion are true. The Jewish Bible is true, as is the Catholic, and all the others. The Torah is true, along with the Talmud and the Koran. We are neuro-divine.’ A clamor arose among the counselors, the prefect, and the secretary.

‘All forms of faith are true. Even believing in nothing is true,’ Schmidt concluded in the same reasonable manner.

‘That is heresy,’ Monsignor Scicluna accused, the veins in his neck protruding in fury.

‘That which in this room is a heresy,’ Schmidt returned, ‘would also be so in any synagogue or mosque, but that doesn’t really matter… to me.’

William covered his face in his hands. Schmidt was a fool. He knew very well what he could and could not say in that room. He’d chosen something else… something more difficult.

‘Are you saying that the Word or the Mystery is of secondary or little importance?’ the monsignor demanded.

Schmidt shook his head no. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m saying that the Word or Mystery have the importance that the believer wants to give them.’ He let the idea sink in. ‘Great importance,’ he paused dramatically, ‘or nothing.’

‘The gentleman is putting himself into a very delicate position,’ Monsignor Scicluna warned in a cold, dry voice.

Schmidt got up and confronted the others with an attitude that some would consider disrespectful. ‘Everyone in this room knows I am right. Isn’t that so?’