NationStates Jolt Archive

Harcourt Verelst went off duty that evening with a slight sigh. He was tremendously glad that Monsignor Kwan was settling in and taking over more of the daily secretarial duties for the Pontiff, but Verelst would miss these social occasions. It had always been his favorite part of the job. Still, his new position in the Lateran University was the fulfillment of a dream; with luck he would soon complete the Canon Law doctorate and earn an appointment to the Signatura. He still spent a few hours a day helping Kwan adjust, but by the end of next week, he would be done. He could hardly wait.

In the Papal Apartments, the staff had already received two guests: Li Hsien-Fa and Reverend Mother Anna Fialkowska. The Reverend Mother was a tiny, birdlike woman, deceptively fragile in appearance. Nearing seventy, she still had the vigor of a woman twenty years younger, and she had already plunged into conversation with the Chinese theologian when Cardinal Ximenes and Cardinal T’ngaka arrived, within seconds of each other.

In consideration to his guests, Leo had allowed the staff to turn the air-conditioning up a bit, so the parlor was comfortable. When the Cardinals arrived, Monsignor Kwan performed introductions, finishing just as the door opened, and Leo entered. He embraced each of his guests warmly, giving each the Apostolic Blessing, and begging them all to please regard the occasion as informal.

He looked around, like a good host, to ensure that everyone had been served with a drink, and nodded to the steward to pour out a glass of chilled orvieto for himself. Accepting it, he smiled at them and gestured for everyone to sit. “Momente, momente, if you please, dear friends. The staff are completing their arrangements in the dining room.” His eyes narrowed slightly, twinkling.

“An interesting assortment of guests, yes? I indulge myself. Not one of you is a member of the Curia.”

He got answering smiles from the Reverend Mother and Li, and a small sound that might have been a chuckle from T’ngaka.

“It is a great pleasure to me, to be able to share a table with all of you—but of course, I hope also to take this opportunity to do something I very much need to accomplish: Learn more about some of the Church’s more remote mission establishments. Each of you, I hope, will be generous in sharing your experiences, not just with me, but with each other. My friend di Corneliano tells me that all too often, it is easy for those in mission churches to see only themselves, and Rome. Too easily, he tells me, the far-flung servants of God lose sight of the vast extent and differences within our Church.”

Sipping his orvieto, he nodded to the Reverend Mother. “For example, Reverend Mother, I am told that your Camillian Sisters have encountered some formidable challenges in northern Africa and the near East, in your attempts to set up convent schools?”

The little nun looked surprised, then nodded. “It is true, Holy Father, very true.” Her accent was a bit thick, but she spoke slowly to be understandable. “There is there a terrible prejudice, many bad laws, terrible practices to women. Some places it is against the law to teach girls to read and write! One of our missions, in Bulay Harim, four sisters were imprisoned, suffered rape and torture, because they had added basic reading and writing classes to a sewing school for girls.” She looked sad, but determined.

“We had much help, though, from Alwar Atiri, a good convert and high in the government. Many placed in Bulay Harim, now, those laws are being “overlooked” for our missions. But still, it is very dangerous.”

She smiled. “Not in all places, though. I hope your Holiness has heard of our successes in Jarallan. Our brother order has now ordained its one-hundredth priest!”

The Pope looked pleased. “Excellent, Reverend Mother.”

“We have a very strong Church,” Cardinal T’ngaka said. “But there are difficulties, great difficulties, Holy Father, in expanding our Churches further. We have a large, a very large, and very healthy diaconate—indeed, over three hundred deacons just in one province. But the ordination of priests continues to be slow, very slow. The native culture is simply too inimical to the celibate priesthood.”

As they were talking, they could hear movement in the next room, and finally one of the stewards appeared at the door and made a gesture. Another came and stood respectfully beside the Pope’s chair. He looked up, raised a hand to interrupt T’ngaka.

“They are ready for us, friends.”

With a smile, he gathered them up and led them into the next room, where the stewards seated them at a large round table simply but exquisitely set, and began to offer them dishes.

(OOC: Assume the menu described earlier.)

When everyone’s plate was filled, the Holy Father prompted T’ngaka to continue. “You were saying, your Eminence, about the resistance to celibate clergy?”

The tiny Cardinal (even smaller than the Reverend Mother; he had been led to a special chair that provided him with extra height) nodded. “Yes. In the local culture, a man who does not have a wife and at least two children by the time he is twenty is not doing his duty by the clan. In the past, our infant mortality rates were so high that it was imperative for every adult to be involved in having and raising children, and it has taken on great personal significance.”

“It has also been very hard to implement monogamy—another practice very counter to the old ways, when clan groups practiced more or less “group” marriages.” He sighed. “We still have to discreetly look the other way in many situations, although the younger generation is more inclined to take the Church’s teachings to heart.”

It was an incredibly privilege to be among such company, Hilario Ximenes reflected. Cardinal T'ngaka he had already met, but the others were new to him. The company, in fact, augured well. Ximenes had hoped for a Pope who would tend to the missions, and been unsure of Leo's attitude. Judging by his chocie of dinner companions tonight and his inquiring manner, the work would not be neglected. Perhaps Gambini would not be the simple penny-pincher portrayed by some Vatican-watchers after all, but the activist Pope that the Church so badly needed.

And so: the new energy of youth? It would not be a bad thing, no bad thing at all.

Hilario shivered a little under the air conditioning, but the Pope's greeting quickly dispelled his nervousness. There was such wisdom in this room, so many people to learn from. He sat and listened to the others with such rapt attention that the dinner seemed almost incidental. Though of course, he took pains to eat well. Leaving food uneaten on the plate was simply not done.

As the nun spoke of her troubles among the Muslims, he thought with some relief of the less legalistic attitudes of the Sufi-inspired Muslims of Tanah Burung and the government's hands-off attitude towards religion. T'ngaka's words about celibacy rang more familiar with him, and he ventured to interject.

"The law of celibacy is a challenge for our church, too. Vocations are plentiful, but some young men turn away once they realize what the priesthood entails. For many years, the progress of the church was hindered by the rather puritan views on sexuality of some missionaries. Since the missionaries left us on our own, we have tended to lay more stress on the laughing and joyful Christ than the aesthetic and austere Christ, and the people seem to respond well. As Reverend Mother Anna no doubt is well aware, even the Muslims often are attracted to the good news that a transcendant God became also imminent in Christ. Of course, the Muslim leaders want us to stop proclaiming the gospel, but we can hardly do that, convenient as it might be for interfaith relations!"

He realizes he has been wandering and returns to the vocations question. "It is good that our vocations are plentiful, since many priests leave to marry, as if they are Buddhist monks who can treat the priesthood as a part-time calling. That's why so many of our priests are young: as the old ones leave to raise a family, the young ones move in to replace them."

Li Hsien-Fa, who had spoken little until now, except when the Pontiff had requested him to give the blessing before they ate, was listening to Ximenes with interest, and now, before replying, he glanced somewhat significantly at the Holy Father and gave him the tiniest of nods.

“Then it is true elsewhere, and not just in Shinjiang, that our mission churches are lacking adequate theological resources for proper seminarial education,” he said. “I have found this to be true in many of our provinces, that the seminaries train priests to administer the sacraments and do parochial care for the Faithful, but not to have the true and deeper understanding of the Priesthood itself. And perhaps, in our eagerness to have enough priests to minister to our converts, we are over-ready to ordain those whose very real desire to serve is accepted as sufficient priestly formation.” He said this softly, with the faintest twinkle in his eye, as one who is being deliberately, if mildly, provocative.

“You exaggerate the case, I am certain,” Leo said, “but you well express some concerns that I have had, not just about our mission Churches, but about priestly formation and sustenance in general. The issue of ongoing formation, in particular, is of concern to me. Too often our priests are, as it were, hatched out of seminary and put to the vineyard on the assumption that those few years of formation suffice them to deal with the realities of a lifetime of service. I worry that we have not devoted sufficient resources to the ongoing support and formation of our priests.”

He canted his head slightly at Cardinal T’ngaka, who looked as though he had something to say.

“Yes, this is an issue which I think must be addressed in my Province, Holy Father. We have greatly suffered from the lack of a vigorous lay Apostolate. If I may take the risk of over-simplifying, there is an attitude there that if one is among those committed to Holy Orders, one need take no responsibility for the Church’s ecclesiastical mission. This leads, I think, to a confusion on the part of some regarding the true role of the priest. We do what we can by encouraging a vigorous diaconate, but our lay participation has too high a percentage of,” he smiled a little shyly, “well, we call them pew-sitters. Although,” he chuckled openly, now, “very few of our churches have pews.”

“They come regularly to church and give as generously as they can; they send their children to our schools, but we had hoped to be much further in the growth of lay societies and support for our works of charity and education, and the physical infrastructure of the Church.”

“Leave it to the priests, in effect?” Li asked.

T’ngaka nodded. “Something like that.”

Reverend Mother Anna had been frowning a little, she was still thinking about Cardinal Ximenes’ remark. “In many of our mission areas, we experience a very different phenomenon. For many areas, the celibacy of our clergy, the discipline of the life in Holy Orders, the voluntary austerities to poverty and solitude, provide the people with a much-needed contrast to some of the animist and primitive religions. Indeed, they tend to demand or presume a far greater requirement to austerity than is needed! An interesting contrast.” She nodded amiably at the young Cardinal from Tanah Burung. (Well, they all seemed young to her, except possibly Li.)

Li picked up this thread judiciously. “Yes, it seems strange, how some cultures naturally gravitate toward one side of the medal, and some to the other. Yet the medal is not complete without both sides. Without the messages of suffering, atonement, and redemption through sacrifice and discipline, the joy can become a shallow thing, too trivial to sustain the soul in the times of private, or even public trial that inevitably beset us all.”

“And without the message of joy and the triumph of love, the sacrifice becomes an arid prison that will ultimately break, rather than sustain, the spirit. And perhaps this, as much as anything, is the understanding we must be striving for in our priestly formation. The sacrifice of celibacy is not a meaningless austerity, but an utterly necessary consecration that both makes the priest fit for the transformative Sacrament of Holy Orders, and allows him to live as the archetype of Christ in the presence of the Faithful. A responsibility that would be far too great a burden without the sustaining skeleton of discipline.”

“And the ongoing support of continuing formation,” Leo added. “We ask of our priests that they give the most complete gift—the entire gift of selfhood into the mission of pastoral charity, a very different thing than the ministry of other Christian sects. The very completeness of that gift—in which the priest foregoes all control over his life and gives it to the service of God’s people, renouncing even such control as would enable him to commit to another human being—leaves us with a huge and vulnerable blind side as individuals, frail men. Without the support of our brotherhood and continuing formation, well…” he looked very sad for a moment. “We have seen what I believe are some of the results of our neglect.”

He was not more explicit, but they all knew what he was referring to: The scandals of sexual abuse, of alcoholism and addiction to prescription medications, even criminal activities, that had rocked the Church in recent decades.

Sister Anna, who had been largely silent through the priestly discussion, spoke up. “Perhaps, Holy Father, you see the problems with, well, priestly—turnover—and issues of celibacy, and so on, as a milder symptom of the same problem? It would seem, then, that the challenge is twofold: Initial formation and ongoing formation. I must say, in all honesty, that familiar as I am with the theological structure of the priesthood, I think the roles defined for our clergy and the expectations of them are still too limited, too narrow. We have still not found a way in which they can effectively address the problems of our mission congregations, even in areas where great resources are allocated to formation.”

“Do not misunderstand me, Holy Father—I fully understand and wholeheartedly believe in the essential and sacramental nature of the priesthood. Yet between those who are ordained to administer the sacraments, and the diaconate, there is a large gap in pastoral need, and an insufficient understanding on the part of our young people of where vocations that are not necessarily appropriate to the diocesan priesthood might take them within the Church.”

“You speak of religious Orders, Reverend Mother?” Li asked, in some confusion.

“No, I do not. Religious Orders are not for everyone. Even Tertiaries among whom celibacy is not required, perceive themselves as second-class citizens, based on a Church leadership that has for too long relied entirely on the priesthood for its administrative and Apostolic leadership.”

T’ngaka and Li both had their brows slightly raised by this time—this was plain-speaking with a vengeance! They looked curiously at the Pope.

The Holy Father, however, was smiling faintly as the doughty old Reverend Mother continued. “Your Holiness has already taken a step or two in that direction, by putting two members of religious Orders who are not ordained in major Curial appointments. But there is room for much more.”

Leo simply nodded, his face grave, but a twinkle in his eye. “I will do what I can, Reverend Mother. But to some extent I am, as every Pontiff has always been, a prisoner of my own bureaucracy. The Church has never moved quickly—which is not always a bad thing—and the more significant the change, the slower it must be implemented, in order to last.”

Hilario listened to Li Xianfa respectfully, and even more so as the Pope spoke. He could not say for certain whether he was reading the signals correctly, but if this was an indication of what he thought it was, he was very happy indeed. He longed for a chance to spend some time in study himself, and retaining priests couold only help the church at home, if the Pope was hinting at some assistance in that direction.

As Li offered the metaphor of the two sides of the medal, he found himself nodding and smiling involuntarily at the beauty of the image and the old theologian's words.

Sister Anna's comments shocked him at first: such a challenge, so direct! But then, she was not so immediately subject to the Pope's authority as a Cardinal. He knew all too well the troubles in trying to give orders to certain elderly nuns. Even a red hat would not impress some of the nuns in his home province who had once forced him to stand in a corner of their classroom in a dunce hat. He knew of one nun who still laughed openly when prayers were offered for "Hilario, our Bishop." And if rumours could be beleived, added under her breath "that naughty boy."

"The slow change is the sure change," he said as Leo finished speaking. "I have said this before in Rome -- i feel sometimes it is a part of my daily prayers, almost -- but the gentes, the simple lay people, they to me are the church. Most people thought the church's cause to be lost during our war of independence, when the missionaries left us and we had to stand on our own. But so many of the gentes felt a calling to save the church, and a call to embrace the church as it embraced them in their time of suffering, that we emerged stronger than before. Sometimes i think that we trust them too little, that these simple people would move the mountains themselves if we trusted them to do it. But forgive me. As always when i think of the people of my province, i ramble."

Leo shook his head deprecatingly at Ximenes’ apology. “Not at all, your Eminence—indeed, rather than rambling, you have provided the precise point I had hoped would emerge, and set your finger upon the reason I wished to hear from all of you this evening.” He paused, to take a sip of his wine; the others waited respectfully.

“My friends, you doubtless heard it said of me, when I was Secretary of State, that I was more interested in the balance at the Vatican Bank than the balance of souls on the church’s Divine credit ledger.”

Li Hsien-Fa looked a trifle shocked at the suggestion, and Reverend Mother Anna snorted a little, whether in agreement or disapproval it was hard to tell. Cardinal T’ngaka’s eyes twinkled merrily, and he was clearly repressing a smile. The creases at the corners of Leo’s eyes deepened in response, showing his own amusement.

“Perhaps it was true. I will not dispute it.” He frowned, and looked at the Fisherman’s Ring, gleaming on the hand holding the wineglass. “The Englishman Samuel Johnson once wrote, ‘Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.’ I find that this office, in some respects, has the same effect. The knowledge of one’s responsibilities has a profound effect upon one’s priorities.”

He looked up, and smiled again at them. “And yet, you know, as the old story has it, the leopard cannot change his spots—I am still Gambini, and I still reckon the balance to the last fraction of an old lira. Perhaps it is simply that the coinage has changed. I will be quite open with you: My interest in the Church’s missions is a most hardheaded and practical one: ‘What can we get out of our investment?’”

He looked into the faces of each. Li was looking quite inscrutable, T’ngaka’s brows had drawn together slightly at these words, and the Reverend Mother’s eyes had narrowed slightly. But the corners of her mouth twitched a bit.

“And his Eminence, here,” he nodded towards Ximenes, speaking to the others, “has just confirmed for me, that there is indeed a profit to be had, if we can but find a way to—you should excuse the expression—‘bank’ it.”

“Listen, my friends—how many of you have been to America? To Bellaria? To France, even? I do not ask about Italy—we Italians have always been a special case,” he chuckled. “But here are these great nations, with their vast populations, and their billions of Catholic souls. And yet, the state of the Church in some of these places, is more deeply worrying to me—who will be called to account for those souls—than even the peculiar unorthodoxies that have flourished in some of our far-flung outposts over the last few decades.”

“What your Eminence has said about your people—” he nodded to Ximenes, “that touches the sore spot. For that is what is lacking, in many of the ‘established’ churches of the world. The affluent, comfortable, well-off Churches full of Catholics who, for want of a better word, ‘practice’ Catholicism.”

“Yes, ‘practice’ it. Not live it. We need something, need something most urgently, to restore that kind of faith, in the congregations of the world where between one Sunday Mass and the next, a man hardly remembers he is a Catholic—hardly knows he even has reason to remember it. You see?”

They were nodding, now.

“So. Do I have a mercenary attitude toward your Mission Churches? I plead guilty, brothers, and sister. I covet those riches. I yearn to find a way to translate that coinage into a currency that will ignite a new flame of hope, and devotion, in the hearts of Catholics worldwide. And I entrust you with the stewardship of these riches. It is more important than ever, that your Churches become beacons of inspiration.”

“It is not an empty or an idle entrustment—there is work to be done. I spoke lightly of the issues of unorthodoxy, and the various challenges that our Mission Churches present, but do not be deceived. These can be very real barriers to success. Our task, then, is to find ways to address them, that will preserve the character of the Mission Churches, while strengthening them and polishing them that all may see the light reflected from these jewels.”

“Change must come. In the words of Paul, ‘When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I thought as a child, I reasoned as a child; but when I became a man, I put aside childish things.’ All of our Churches—Provincial as well as Mission—must strive for the more mature understanding, the fuller embrace of the magisterium and the pattern set over two millennia of hard-acquired wisdom. These issues affect many Churches—I will not spend time now discussing what I can only call a ‘creeping medievalism’ that concerns me deeply in some of our Provincial churches—but the problems endemic in our Mission Churches share certain characteristics, and I believe they are intimately connected with the lack of advanced educational resources available in Mission areas.”

“This I am deeply committed to ending. I spoke of this in my Encyclical, “Opus Dei,” and referred to it, also, in the Apostolic Letter on the priesthood that was my first communication as Pontiff. I cannot in conscience ask you to undertake the stewardship I envision, bringing your Churches into a deeper and fuller understanding of doctrine and practice, without remedying this lack.”

“In each of your Churches, it is my intent to found an institution of higher learning that will provide the best quality programs in theology and canon law, making these resources available to you and your Bishops, Superiors, and Ordinaries. At the same time, we will review all other levels of education—from elementary schools and basic catechesis, through seminaries and preparatory academies. It may take time to gather and put into place sufficient resources of sound adequate education at all levels—some of your Churches are already so very large!—but if we work both ends against the middle, as it were, I think we can do it. And then”—he smiled—“I, or perhaps my successor, will be able to draw a double line at the bottom of the ledger. Then I can confidently believe, that the beacon of your Churches will be strong enough to inspire, and gather in, the ‘practicing Catholics’ of the world.”

He looked each of them steadily in the eyes for a moment. “Will you commit to this work with me?”

At the words "What can we get out of our investment," Ximenes almost choked on his drink. It was a metaphor that would be considered crass and rude back home, but he took the Pope's point all too well. Another sign of cultural differences, he supposed. In the continent that gave the world capitalism, such a metaphor probably seemed natural.

But as the words on practicing the faith rather than simply living it fell upon his ears, he began to beam. As the Pope ended his little speech with the question -- "Will you commit to this work with me?" -- Ximenes jumped in.

"Of course, Holy Father," he said happily. "I long to see the day when missionaries from my country go back to those countries where the faith has become routine. If it is energy that you want, then that is something that we can lay humbly at the feet of the church -- and smile and dance while we do it! You want to equip us for the task: wonderful. A seminary in Tanah Burung would fulfil my fondest dreams." His face shone as he spoke; for this, then, and not for the election of a new Pope, had he truly been called to Rome.

"If i may add..." Receiving a nod, he continued more tentatively. "There is a theologian of my country who always asks the new priests: is your Christianity a noun or an adjective? The easy answer is the noun. It is simple to say 'I am a Christian' and go no further. It is harder to use Christian as an adjective: 'Am i Christian? Do i practice what Christ taught?' And that, i should say, is my approach to mission work too. We are not trying to count souls like goals in a football match. We are trying to bring them Christianity as an adjective. Our mission calling is not only to proclaim the gospel, it is first and foremost to practise the gospel."

Cardinal T’ngaka watched his colleague’s enthusiasm with a sort of wistful nostalgia. He, himself, had been back and forth to Rome too many times to retain such idealistic naiveté. And he had understood exactly and precisely what the Holy Father was asking of him: Prepare for a long, slow, subtle battle against the small unorthodoxies that still persisted among the Catholics of his native country. Unorthodoxies that had considerable cultural and political significance, and would require some painful and protracted struggles to overcome.

What’s more, he fervently believed, they were unorthodoxies that would, in twenty years or perhaps fifty, but certainly less than a hundred, be rendered null and void by the Church’s eventual acceptance of a wider role for women in the clergy and other needed changes. Still, he understood the Holy Father’s point with regards to making their Church exemplary, especially to the vast swarms of Catholics in the industrialized world who ignored doctrine at their own sweet whim and seemed to practically relish unorthodoxies of all kind—including some of the most damaging, sinful, anti-spirituality practices.

And of course, there was his Cardinal’s Oath of personal loyalty to the Holy Father. Leo had phrased this as a request—because he wanted willing and joyful acquiescence, not canonically-required obedience. He simply had to trust Divine Providence to bring things right, no matter how painful the changes would be. And at the thought of Divine Providence—that miracle that had brought him to Holy Mother Church, the source and fountain of all salvation—his discomfort eased and a genuine smile illuminated his delicate features. He met the Pope’s eyes squarely.

“I am your Holiness’ obedient son in Christ; I will place my heart and my will in your hands to carry this forth.”

Reverend Mother Anna was looking very serious. “It is a great endeavor, your Holiness; and a needed one. So great, that I doubt how much the effort of one old woman can accomplish. My people are tradition-bound; and surrounded by those whose traditions have the force of law as well as custom. This will not change soon.”

She smiled, then, a broad smile that she had not smiled before during the meal, and it lined her face with a map of tiny wrinkles, like a paper that had been crumpled to creases and then pulled smooth. “But such as I can do, and my successors after me, we will do. Your school will be a perfect start, to grow the understanding of our priests and parish leaders. No longer to have to send all of our best and brightest away for advanced study, and lose them to the talent-hungry General Superiors and Provincials—now that will give us some momentum!”

Li Hsien-Fa, too, was smiling, and he accorded the Holy Father a ceremonious little bow. “I have been hoping that your Holiness would make just such a request. It will be this humble individual’s great honor to work for this great… er… ‘profit,’ that the Holy Father envisions so splendidly.”

Leo thanked them all. None of them could truly understand what he saw, on those long “white” nights when sleep eluded him and he lay in bed looking at his responsibilities balanced against his capabilities—but they would help. An important start.

(OOC: Please note—due to an unfortunate confluence of travel plans and a bug-infested network being taken offline for some days, it is unlikely that the muns of the Holy Vatican See will be doing much posting for the next week. We apologize for the inconvenience; please feel free to move events along and we will try to catch up.)

(ooc: will weeks myself, so no hurry on this one. i'm taking the liberty of moving Msgr Naitaku's visit to TB over to this thread from another thread which i'm letting die, as the substance of dinner seems to have ended.)

To: Msgr. Emori Naitaku

Dear brother in Christ,

Please allow me to add my personal thanks in additon to those of the government for coming to visit us. I too shall be attending the funeral of Mr. Rumbiak as part of the inter-faith dialogue efforts of the church, and am very happy to hear of your visit. If it is agreeable, i will meet your plane in Tiga Burung and proceed with you by blimp to Sentani. This will give you the opporunity to meet with the Bishops of Tiga Burung and Loro Sae, just as my counterpart the Bishop of Matebian is meeting with officials in the Holy See. I think this will give you a good picture of the church and allow us to make a good start on setting up a Nunciature. It would honour us greately if you were able to preside at mass in the city of Loro Sae during your visit. After all, we cannot let the non-Christians have the field all to themselves!

F.X. Mangunvijaya
Bishop of Burung-yang-membuat-dunia

Emori Naitaku, fresh from assisting the newly-appointed Legate to the Tarakuti Nation in setting up legation offices and facilities, was relieved and pleased to get Bishop Mangunvijaya’s note. He had been traveling for many days (it seemed like weeks, when you hopped time zones and used so many modes of transport,) and it would be a relief to be able to let someone else look after the details for a while.

He sent off a quick note in return:

Quote:

Bishop F.X. Mangunvijaya
Burung-yang-membuat-dunia

Your Excellency,

I am greatly honored by your cordial welcome and will look for you at the airport in Tiga Burung. Your suggestion of a meeting on the journey will be most helpful, and it will be a pleasure to meet with the Bishops. As to the matter of presiding at a Mass, I would very much like to concelebrate with a local priest, someone who is familiar to the faithful of Loro Sae.

Respectfully,
+Emori Naitaku (Monsignor)

The flight attendant had to awaken him to lift his seat back for landing when they approached Tiga Burung. Naitaku thanked her pleasantly, and checked to make sure the breviary he had been reading during the flight had not slipped between the seats. He put it in his pocket, and ran a hand over his short, thick fuzz of greying hair. A few breathing exercises brought his alertness level back up to normal as the jet taxied in for a landing.

Courteously, he waited for his seatmate to gather belongings and squeeze into the aisle, before he slid over himself. He’d been a bit late getting on the flight and his small travel bag was a couple of bins forward. The smiling flight attendant helped him, and he thanked the man in his soft, musical accent. Naitaku had worked in tropic climes for much of his life and he strongly preferred his own version of a priestly cassock, a cross between the more tailored, western version and the looser wraparound garment of his homeland. It was black, but had a colorful band of cloth along the shoulder yoke, edged with the purple of his monsignorial status but conveying a pleasantly exotic impression. This attire, combined with his tall, spare physique and rigidly erect posture, seldom failed to make him noticeable in a crowd, and he had no fear that Bishop Mangunvijaya would not perceive him as he made his way out the entrance of the boarding passage.

On the tarmac, Msgr. Naitaku's plane was touching down. A great cheer went up, as the first Vatican representative to visit the country in decades stepped out and was pointed in the direction of a yellow carpet. "Hidup Papa! Hidup Bapak Gereja!" the crowd shouted: long live the Pope, long live the father of the church.

Standing well apart from each other, Bishop Mangunvijaya and the Bishop of Tiga Burung waited, smiling in Naitaku's direction. Behind them, a blimp painted with a giant cross waited to bear the ecclesiastical party to Sentani.


Monsignor Naitaku looked startled. He was normally the "advance man," the bureaucrat whose unheralded arrival made possible the more elaborate reception of other, more important Church dignitaries, but after a second his teeth showed whitely in a broad grin. He nodded to the crowd, and blessed them, moving toward the blimp and the waiting bishops.

In spite of the gray in his hair, the grin was distinctly boyish as he contemplated the airship, a mode of transport he had never experienced.

"Bishop Mangunvijaya? And you must be Bishop Bendoro? Such an honor to meet you. And to receive such a warm welcome. I am Emori Naitaku."

He looked around, and breathed deeply. "This is simply wonderful. A sad occasion, of course... the obsequies of a beloved leader... but such a pleasure to be able to see something of Tanah Burung and really meet people. Usually my work is very administrative and pedestrian."

He walked over to greet some of the crowd, blessing babies, nodding, smiling. "Thank you... thank you for such a warm welcome. The Heavenly Father's blessing upon you."

Aboard the airship Santa Cruz, the Vatican delegate is offered the usual tea and light refreshments. "It's a real joy to have you with us, Mangunvijaya says. "It's wonderful to see the church coming together once again. We've been isolated from one another too long. I'm thrilled that we will be once again a gathered people of God in the fullest sense."

After the funeral was over, the two bishops ushered Naitaku into a waiting car that would take them to the cathedral in Loro Sae, for a mass presided over by the Bishop Leo Ladjar -- and hopefully, also, by the Vatican's representative. With three of the country's six bishops in attendance, the mass had turned into a rather grand occasion, all without any plans for that having been made. Yet the city was adorned with the yellow and white banner of the Vatican along with the red, yellow and black flag of Tanah Burung and the provincial flag. Crowds lined the streets: many of them appearing to be devout Catholics, manyu others simply there to gawk.

"Please forgive this display," Mangunvijaya said. "But you can see the enthusiasm. I think we shall have to set up loud speakers outside the cathedral for this one. I can only begin to imagine how the people will cheer when they hear that a seminary is to be established." He was not at all sure about the details of this seminary: it threatened the coming of orthodoxy, and he was not the most orthodox man in the church. But he trusted that the tradition of decades in the Tanah Burung church would not be easily overturned. And with God, all things were possible: perhaps the church outside the country would be the more affected by this greater proximity.

As they entered the cathedral, cool air and silence enveloped the party. The building had not yet been opened to the throngs outside. Mangunvijaya dipped his hand into the water and crossed himself as he ushered the visitor inside.

With the dinner ended, Leo took formal leave of three of his guests, then turned to Cardinal Ximenes.

“I hope I can impose upon your Eminence for a little more of your time. I thought it might be of value to you to remain, as I am expecting Bishop Taofinu to visit this evening. It is an excellent opportunity for you to get to know your new Papal Nuncio.”

A bustle in the next room bore out the Pontiff’s words, and Monsignor Kwan entered upon his own knock. “His Excellency has arrived, Holiness.”

“Good, good. Show him in, please, Iulio.”

http://gallery.cybertarp.com/albums/userpics/16929/BpTaofinu.jpg
Bishop François Taofinu

The man who entered had an aura of vigor about him that was almost palpable. He wore the black-and-white of a Dominican, with the purple zucchetto of a Bishop, and he knelt to kiss the Fisherman’s Ring with the agility of a much younger man, though he appeared to be well into middle age.

“Holy Father, a great honor,” he murmured.

Leo gestured. “Your Excellency, this is Cardinal Hilario Ximenes, from Tanah Burung. I have been dining with him and some of his colleagues, discussing my plans for educational efforts in general terms. It is my wish that you two should know each other; I hope you will be working closely together in the future.”

He signaled one of the stewards. “I am going to indulge myself in a cappuccino; I would be honored if you would join me.” He gestured for them all to seat themselves.

By that time, however, Taofinu had already strode over to shake Cardinal Ximenes’ hand. “An honor, your Eminence. I am greatly looking forward to serving in Tanah Burung.”


------------------------------------

Monsignor Naitaku was somewhat overwhelmed by the enthusiasm, but buoyed by the energy of the crowd. “It is a great honor, your Excellency. I have heard about the Holy Father’s plan; I am certain that Bishop Taofinu will be very anxious to have your help and guidance in implementing it in the way best suited to Tanah Burung.”

He paused on the threshold of the Cathedral. It seemed to combine a great airiness and lightness with a sense of the enclosed and cherished power of prayer. “Lovely,” he murmured, crossing himself in turn, and following the Bishop.

"An unexpected pleasure," Ximenes said to Taofinu, bowing his head and taking the outstretched hand. "Of course, i look forward keenly to working with you as well. It will be the greatest of honours to show you the city of Ukun Rasikan and whatever else of the country you may have time to see. You'll find expectations high, i'm afraid, but i hope we can strive to meet the hopes of the people."

He never drank coffee after dinner: as he had aged, he had found it kept him awake as it never had when he was a younger man. He desperately hoped the Pope would not offer him a cup.

Bishop Taofinu noted some discomfort his colleague was valiantly suppressing, and suppressed a sympathetic smile. Italian food was often a bit hard on stomachs used to the very different cuisines of the Pacific region. He himself kept his stomach medicine handy at all times when in Rome, against the bilious attacks that frequently resulted from convivial dinners.

“Ah, you Holiness is gracious, but I find that the strength of Italian coffee does not always agree with my stomach,” he said apologetically.

Leo’s eyes twinkled. “It is strong, especially as my staff makes it. Very well, I didn’t invite you here to make you do penance. Merely, I wanted you gentlemen to have a chance to meet. I understand that you, Bishop, will be leaving shortly to take up your new post. It might be welcome to already have a familiar face in Tanah Burung.”

“Oh, very much so, Holiness.” Taofinu smiled at Ximenes. “I have heard much about the beauty of Ukun Rasikan. Monsignor Naitaku informs me that they have already begun construction on the Nunciature, and arranged temporary quarters for us while they finish construction. Fortunately it is a simpler matter to build in the gentler climate of the islands. I understand he has also begun hiring local staff, and it has been difficult to choose from among so many eager to serve.”

He nodded companionably at the Cardinal’s gracious expressions of pleasure and welcome.

Leo cleared his throat gently, and both men turned immediately. He smiled a bit ruefully. “It is unfortunate to have to bring up such matters, but we have little time. Cardinal Ximenes, I am not certain how much communication you receive from Tanah Burung, nor yet how complete it may be. The Vatican, as I’m sure you know, makes a point of monitoring political situations, especially as they affect countries where we have strong ties.”

“The briefing I received from Archbishop Nataka this morning suggested that there may be reason for…” he paused, and selected his words delicately, “concern— regarding the current matter between Knootoss and Tanah Burung. It is with this in mind that I requested the Secretariat of State to advance the timetable for our Nunciature. I want you to be aware that Bishop Taofinu has my fullest confidence, and will be in regular, constant communication with the Secretariat here, especially in times of, ah, political uncertainty.”

“We of course have the fullest confidence in the Church in Tanah Burung to look after the well being of our Faithful there. But should…difficulties…arise, the Church will do everything consistent with the diplomatic nature of our Nunciature to assist the Bishops of Tanah Burung in guarding the interests of the people.”

He nodded gravely, equally to both. “Now, I am certain you both want to rest for your long journey. Go with God, my dear brothers.” Solemnly, he conferred the Apostolic Blessing upon both men.

As they left, Taofinu glanced at Ximenes. “Heading to St. Martha’s? I’m going in that direction, although I’m actually staying at the Gregorian.” They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“I don’t know how well you know the Holy Father,” he began, “but back when he was Secretary of State, I took some classes from him at the Academy.” (He was referring to the Pontifical Ecclesiastical Academy, the Vatican’s elite training school for its diplomatic corps.) “And it sounded to me from what we just heard as though the Secretariat has some indications of real trouble on the way.” He kept his tone light, studiedly neutral.

“Of course, you may have had similar communications from Tanah Burung. And I am certain that you must find it advantageous to share as much information from Rome as possible.” He wondered if the Burungian read the subtext of his remarks. He’d never dream of making a direct suggestion to a Cardinal, of course—his superior in the Church—but he knew full well how unworldly some of the prelates from the mission Churches could be.


*****************************


“No, please, Monsignor, you must allow us…” the Burungian foreman looked positively shocked as Naitaku picked up a roll of cable and prepared to tote it to the area where the installation was taking place. With a sigh that he turned into a smile and a murmured thanks, he stepped back. Really, it was probably better to stay over by the awninged area where the engineers and surveyors and the representative of the master contractors were working. His presence on the actual worksite was disturbing; the workmen kept stopping as he approached or walked by, and bowing or kneeling for his blessing.

And they wouldn’t allow him to lift a finger in actually doing any of the work—were shocked at the very idea, in fact. Regretfully, he resigned himself to a purely observatory role as the construction on the Nunciature continued.

It had been a very enjoyable project so far, though. That magnificent funeral, and the exhilarating Mass afterward, had seemed to set a special seal on this venture of the Church. A skilled engineer and architect himself, he’d been quite impressed with the local architect who’d consulted on the design of the Nunciature. He’d explained carefully the various functions required of the facility, and the man had returned within a day or two with three assistants and a full set of working drawings for a compound that combined dignity with function, and was comfortably designed for local conditions—lots of high ceilings, breezeways, verandahs and courtyards. (Here people liked to do as much business as possible outdoors—but in the shade. Indoors was for sleeping and storage and intimate functions.) The beautiful chapel reflected both the grace of local materials and traditional form, and the unique accommodations the Tanah Burung artists had made with Catholic iconography’s European origins.

Really, it was going to be quite one of the nicest Nunciatures he’d ever helped to set up. The first team from the Vatican had already come and gone, installing by pre-arrangement with the local work crews a few modifications for security purposes. The final team was scheduled to come in a couple of days, to install the communications and other equipment, as well as bring the heavy baggage.

The people were so kind and accommodating. Here in Ukun Rasikan they were used to foreigners, of course, but even so they treated the Monsignor with a special deference—even the non-Catholics among them. He’d be sorry to leave, when the project was complete. Taofinu was lucky.

Still, it was hard not to notice the heavy traffic in the diplomatic quarter since he’d arrived. He’d been monitoring it closely, of course. The backing-and-forthing of the Knootian ambassador, in particular, was starting to assume a rather worrisome appearance. He kept his ears open for what he could pick up—some of the local workmen used Arabic as well as local dialects, and he gathered that the foreign minister, Alkatiri, was in some sense feeling backed into a corner on the Rumbiak Brigades matter. The Knootians were pushing hard, almost as if they were looking to pick a quarrel. It was most worrisome. Taofinu might be lucky, but he’d also have a lapful, right from the start.

"The Nunciature construction is proceeding quickly indeed. Too many volunteers, indeed," Ximenes chuckled.

Feelings of relief over avoiding the offer of coffee -- an offer that politeness dictated would have had to be accepted -- soon turned to feelings of apprehension as the Pope spoke, making it very clear that his last job had been Secretary of State, and that he had forgotten none of the skills learned in that post.

No one would call Hilario Ximenes a worldly man. Political apathy was high in Tanah Burung, and nowhere higher than among the church, which often viewed politics as a messy distraction from the work of spirituality: a necessary evil, at best. There was one priest in the collective presidency, true, but Constancio Ainaro was never seen presiding over mass. They had only the assurances of the Bishop of Ukun Rasikan that Ainaro even attended mass.

Ximenes had been reading the newspapers to learn what he could of the Colombia crisis, of course. It was hard to take seriously. Naturally, he hoped to see the people of Colombia able to pursue their own path. Naturally, he worried over this Invisible Hand cult, and was very pleased at the Vatican's firm rejection of its teachings. But he could hardly imagine it would all affect the church in Tanah Burung in any real fashion. But as Leo spoke about his concerns, the freshly-minted cardinal began to feel real fear for the first time. An image came unbidden into his mind, of Tanah Burung as a lamb being led to the slaughter. He shuddered. And his thanks to the Pope for the words of support were sincere indeed. Before taking his leave, Ximenes added: "Holiness, i must just say, your encycical to Iesus Christi? Magnificent."

As he and Taofinu walked into the night, he interrupted the other man's words. "I think that your experience will be a great asset to us. I hope you'll speak to me as a brother in this and all matters once we are in my country. I imagine the one who has gone before you has already sent you a briefing on my brother bishops who he met. You'll find us more, um, collegial than the hierarchies of most countries. And so: i take your point, and i think St. Martha's may not be my next stop tonight after all." He altered his path and headed for the chancery of Tanah Burung's consulate-general in Rome, inviting Taofinu to come if he wished.

At the chancery, the lights were low. It seemed that the consul and her family had retired early this evening. Ximenes knocked loudly on the door. "Open, on urgent business!" A small angry woman muttering a stream of curses opened the door and fell silent when she recognized the after-hours visitor. "Your Eminence, my apologies. Please, come in, i will make some tea."

"Forget that. We have to send a telegram to the foreign office at once." Together they composed the message and coded it for transmission.

Most urgent eyes only Alkatiri. Ximenes informed by Pope of Vatican concern over possible outbreak of hostilities with Knootoss. Spoke of advancing Nunciature timetable and need for support to church in TB. Highlighted quote concern unquote. Intervention highly unusual. In conjunction with earlier tel from Rala fear sitn may now rpt now be more dire than thought. Sukmawati.

That's surely one #TAG# in a million...

Bishop Taofinu watched the airport at Tiga Burung make a slow circle under the InterAir jet as they came in for their landing. It was truly amazing, he reflected, how quickly a bureaucracy as ponderous and seemingly immobile as the Vatican could move when the right leverage was applied.

Leo’s personal interest was potent leverage. The Pope regarded Tanah Burung as the Sudetenland of the brewing struggle with the ominous cult of “market worship.” A disgusting, but fitting, culmination of the long descent of post-industrial humanity into the sewers of materialism and self-interest. In the Pope’s view, the cult embodied all of the most pernicious and morally dangerous impulses of human folly, all the more perilous for their seemingly benign nature.

And so the staff of the Apostolic Delegation were arriving, nearly two weeks early, to take up residence in their almost-finished facility in Ukun Rasikan. Bishop Mangunvijaya and Minister Alkatiri’s staff had assured them that an airship would be waiting for them at Tiga Burung. He strained forward to see over the edge of the wing as they descended. It might even be that one over there, its colorful air-balloon bright in the vivid sunlight.

He looked around to the rest of the Nunciature staff. He was bringing a minimum—only a couple of secretaries, an adjunct chaplain who would also be his own confessor, a communications man, and his own valet. For the rest, they’d hire from among the locals who, Monsignor Naitaku said, were eager to work for the Church in any capacity needed. This was partly a good will gesture, and partly caution. Everyone on this particular mission was aware that—unexpected—events might overtake them, and was prepared to deal with the eventualities. But it would not do to risk too many of the Vatican’s diplomatic personnel in an unstable situation.

His formal call on the Minister was already scheduled, and he had also asked Cardinal Ximenes if it would be possible to set up an informal meeting with the previous Minister, Violeta Bi Bere. He had a personal message from the Pontiff to convey to her.

He could hardly complain of a routine, uninteresting assignment!

Knootian Embassy in Tanah Burung
From behind a veil of smoke from a fat cigar, Captain Vos discerned the outlines of the face of the Knootian ‘tourism attaché’. It was a rather unfriendly face, fat, old and rather comparable to that of a pittbull, but with tiny eyes that looked mistrustful at the world around him. As if to emphasise how tiny the eyes were, the ‘attaché’ had a rather oversized monocle that greatly magnified one of them. ‘Churchill’, as he had been nicknamed around the embassy, had recently replaced the previous AIVD spy and his appearance was enough to dispel any clichés about handsome spies that one might have gotten from James Bond movies. Outside of the embassy, sounds of gathering protestors could be heard.

Captain Vos couched as the smoke penetrated his nostrils; Churchill didn’t say anything. “I was wondering, Sir, if you intend to go out. Madam Vogels is currently at the Green Palace for discussions… if you would need protection?”

“Nonsense”, the old man waved away all objections. ”I am going nowhere. I don’t need to.”

He got out a file from his desk; the cover looked rather dusty but some of the papers inside were not. He leafed to is cautiously, until he found what he was looking for. With a small grunt he got it out: a biography with a picture of Bishop Taofinu, posing at the Vatican, a few years younger. ”Since every man and his dog maintains a website, I don’t even need to leave the room for my intelligence reports anymore.”

“What is the importance of this man?”, inquired the Knootian captain. Churchill peered at him through his monocle. “He’s trouble. That’s what he is.”

((Elaborate tag))

Tiga Burung

The island city sweltered. If dogs sweat and men perspire and women glow, all of Tiga Burung was aglow. Whole hectares of human flesh baked on the beach, tourists from a dozen countries or more. There was a newspaper or two in evidence, but few had the energy to read amongst an ocean of free-flowing daquiris. From the air, Taofinu could see, too, the growing number of factories belch smoke past their air purifiers, something permitted nowhere else in the country. If the national economy was booming, this was the teeming heart of that boom.

No one on the mainland was very proud of Tiga Burung, but most accepted it was a necessary evil. And besides, it gave a place for the foreigners to land their infernal jets.

Filomena Saleh liked her new assignment, which seemed to consist mainly of ferrying foreign dignitaries across the water to Ukun Rasikan, where there seemed to be an uncommon commotion around the diplomatic quarter lately. This one was special, though: a Papal Nuncio, come scurrying to town well ahead of schedule. She'd had the blimp power-sprayed yellow and white for the occasion, of course. And here came Bishop Bendoro to hog the spotlight. She made a sweeping and entirely sarcastic bow to the oleaginous cleric.

Who in turn charged out to the yellow carpet, the provincial governor nipping at his heels, as the jet carrying the new Nuncio came to a halt. "Your Excellency, on behalf of the church in Tanah Burung, a thousand times welcome," he said.

(HVS, is Ximenes along or does Rome still command his presence? My knowledge of the protocol behind establishing a Nunciature is, of course, rather limited...)

Ukun Rasikan

The centre of the city was little changed from the days when it was called New Hoorn. Colonial-style architecture predominated, grand old hotels and mansions along the canal, stone office blocks and the steeples of a hundred churches sprawling along the ocean to the north. On a choice part of Canal Street, stonemasons were working double-time to put the finishing touches to the new Nunciature building. A simple chapel and a somewhat decayed but still grand colonial mansion stood on the grounds already, filling the needs of the new community as best they could while the new building took shape.

At the base of Canal Street stood the blocky mass of the Green Palace, once home to an Islamic Sultan, now occupied by an Islamic foreign minister. At the doors, Mari Alkatiri and a small staff awaited, along with -- inevitably -- yet another local diocesan bishop. Everyone knew it was only a courtesy call, but still they tried to pull out all the stops. Besides, Alkatiri's office was a mess, trampled by too many official guests. The exhausted foreign minister greeted the Vatican party wearily but gladly: here, at least, there would be no nasty surprises.

"Your Excellency, your presence here honours us. Inshalllah, this marks the beginning of a fruitful cooperation." He droned on through the rest of his short and unremarkable prepared text.

Behind him, waiting until the demands of protocol were satisfied before delivering her message, stood an athletic woman carrying a large pink envelope.

International Mediation Council Building, GMC Military Arms

This job had not been all it was cracked up to be, Violeta Bi Bere reflected. Few complaints came to the council, and those that did were routinely stonewalled. Her own call for Knootoss to accept mediation over the Colombia matter was already falling prey to stalling tactics that no doubt reflected another of the Knootians' legendary cut-throat struggles for domestic power. This new contender was worrying, though: the Invisible Hand stood for everything that to her mind was evil in the world.

She had been gratified to receive word from Cardinal Ximenes that the new Papal Nuncio wished to speak with her, but this was not a time to desert her post. She expected to receive permisison at any moment to make another call for mediation with Knootoss, this time on her own country's bahlaf rather than Colombia's, and was praying that the council would prove more potent in this case. Still, she could hardly ignore the request. And so, drawing out a quill pen and taking a sip of claret, she began to write.

To His Excellency, the Most Illustrious and Most Reverend and Monsignor François Taofinu, greetings.

My dear man, thank you for wishing to see an old has-been. I do feel that the creation of a Nunciature will be a great day in my country's history. No, truly: some say i'm not the most faithful of Catholics, but i do try to live a decent life.

Sadly, the press of business will detain me a while longer here. I do hope you'll allow me to drop in for a cup of tea when next i visit my home town. You'll enjoy Ukun Rasikan. And don't take Mari too seriously. His heart's in the right place, but he does lack some social graces. I'm afraid that has landed my country in rather a pickle, although of course it's not his fault.

At any rate, my grand daughter is about to pay me a visit. I'm sending this sealed letter through the diplomatic pouch, but any message you give to my Rosa will be brought personally to me when she flies out this very night. Yes, i've checked and it will be the night of your arrival when she leaves to join me here. I await the word of His Holiness with baited breath. The fellowship of the church means the world to us in this difficult time, more than any words of mine could ever say.

Kissing your pastoral ring, i am Your Most Illustrious and Most Reverend Excellency's humble and, within reason, obedient servant.

Violeta Bi Bere
Ambassador to the International Mediation Council

17381273891273981 protesters rally, all shouting "Jolt Now!"

(TB, we assumed that Ximenes would be returning with the Delegation, but in case you had something yet to play out in Rome, we didn’t want to make the reference.)

Bishop Taofinu was delighted with the airship ride. It wasn’t Takapiti, of course, but the climate was similar (a bit more temperate, possibly,) and the leisured approach reminded him of the home he had not seen in more than ten years. The quiet and the majestic pace were a soothing contrast to the hellish jet noise and the ear-bending pressure of the stale, recycled air. He relaxed a bit, said the Office, and made certain that his credentials were in order.

His credentials were a bit unorthodox. The normal Vatican credential read (approximately) “So-and-so is appointed Apostolic Delegate to the Government and the People of Wherever.” However, Bishop Taofinu’s credential to Tanah Burung read: “…to the Government, the People, and the Church of Tanah Burung.” This slightly archaic formula had been re-employed for the current assignment as a hedge against potential expulsion on the grounds of the government’s ceasing to exist. Expulsion was not regarded as a likely contingency—but at least this way there was a formula acceptable in international law for contesting it if necessary.

He was delighted with Ukun Rasikan, a city that reminded him a bit of Takapa Nikin, his own home. Their route took them past the grounds of the Nunciature, and he was pleased to see that the site chosen had the remains of a mature garden here and there, although it was somewhat disturbed with the construction. Gardening and botany were leisure-time hobbies of the Bishop’s—though he anticipated little leisure, especially at first.

They arrived at the Green Palace, and he approached the waiting Minister and staff, and bowed, presenting his credentials. As the Minister greeted him, he noted sympathetically that the man looked weary and strained. When his speech was completed, Taofinu replied, equally formally.

“Asaalaim Aleikum, and thank you for your welcome, eminent Minister. Masha’allah, I have arrived safely in your beautiful country and have found warm hospitality awaiting me. I look forward to a beneficial communication between the government, people, and Church of Tanah Burung, and the Apostolic See.”

With the standard expressions of esteem and farewell, they completed the formalities. At some time in the next few days he’d likely get together with the Foreign Minister for a brief, more substantive chat. But for now, there was the matter of settling into their temporary accommodations at the Nunciature, and beginning the round of pastoral visits on the Holy Father’s behalf that would inaugurate the Delegation’s residence in Tanah Burung.

As they turned to leave, a young woman approached a little diffidently. “Excellency, my grandmother…” she explained. He’d asked Cardinal Ximenes to see if a visit with Madam Bi Bere could be arranged, but it appeared that she was currently stationed in GMC Military Arms, at the offices of the International Mediation Council. “If your Excellency would be willing to trust me with any communication, I am leaving to visit my grandmother this very night,” she finished.

He smiled at the young woman. “That is very kind of you—and your grandmother. If you would be so kind as to call at the Nunciature before you leave, I’ll send along a message.” He accepted the envelope.

Later, as his valet was puttering around, finding places to put away his modest belongings, he had a chance to read Madam Bi Bere’s letter. And, having read it, he could understand the message that the Holy Father had entrusted to him. The woman’s personality simply poured off the page with her words. He looked forward to a chance to meet her in person.

But for now, a letter (and a very small packet) would have to do.


Madam Violeta Bi Bere
Tanah Burungi Ambassador
International Mediation Council

Respected Madam,

I am sorry that our meeting must be delayed, and look forward with pleasure to a cup of tea with you when you return to Ukun Rasikan.

Tanah Burung has welcomed this humble representative of the Church with open arms and warm hospitality—what more can I say, than that the Church and its representative will endeavor to provide spiritual comfort and support to the country that has shown such steadfast faith and kindness?

The small matter that I was charged with by the Holy Father is enclosed. He wished you to have this as a token of appreciation for, (and here I quote,) “a correspondence that provided me with much enjoyment.” The medal has been personally blessed by his Holiness, and if you do not know the story of the woman it represents, I would count it an honor to be able to tell you her story when we have that cup of tea!

With warmest wishes to yourself, and pastoral blessings for the work upon which you are engaged, I remain,

Sincerely
+François Taofinu, Bishop
Apostolic Delegate to Tanah Burung

Enclosed with the note was a small satin bag, containing a small, beautifully-engraved silver medal on a chain. The name inscribed around the haloed head of a remarkably decisive-looking nun was “St. Theresa of Avila.”

Opening the letter, Bi Bere laughed out loud from the simple pleasure of the medallion. Truly, it was the perfect gesture, another confirmation of the wisdom in seeking closer ties with the Vatican -- and more so, she was coming to realize, the gesture of a subtle and thoughtful man who had, perhaps, been misjudged. And the next morning, through the proper diplomatic channels (a coded telegram to Alkatiri at the Green Palace, and a diplomatic bicycle courier to the Nunciature), a simple message was delivered to Taofinu.

"Monsignor, Your, uh, greatness? Ibu Bi Bere has asked me to say: St. Theresa of Avila? Perfect, absolutely perfect. I know the story, of course, but i would count it a joy to hear it from your lips nonetheless. Does that mean anything to you? Bapak Alkatiri has no idea what she's talking about. I'm afraid he's been called out of town, but perhaps you would have time to meet with the Cardinal and another of the co-presidents later today or tomorrow?"

Bishop Taofinu had not slept much the first night—this was deliberate; he knew that his body recovered best from crossing many time zones if he simply forwent sleep until the local clock and his own weariness coincided. So, the previous night he had maintained vigil in the little chapel of the Nunciature, one of the parts of the building that was already substantially complete. He had brought the Presence with him, and he and his staff had already consecrated the altar and sanctuary. The sanctuary light burned through the night, as he prayed for the wisdom and guidance he would need to fulfill God’s will in Tanah Burung.

He ate little, too—although the food was most appetizing. A little fresh fruit and juice, he knew, was best when his body was trying to re-adjust its rhythms. His staff were already raving about the food—Monsignor Naitaku had taken the liberty of engaging a cook, and the man was a wizard with the local cuisine. Succulent fish grilled in a tangy fruit sauce had pleased everyone, and the flat, chewy bread, dotted with spices and bits of dried fruit, had received several votes of acclamation.

In the cool of the earliest morning, said Lauds, and left the chapel, to pace the grounds of the Nunciature, carefully avoiding the piled construction materials. Yes, this would be a beautiful garden, one day. Approaching the gate, he saw that the porter was already up and alert—a good sign, under the circumstances. The man looked like a wrestler, too—stocky but muscular, and with an oddly crooked set to one shoulder that indicated it had possibly been broken at one time and inexpertly treated.

“Good morning, Most Respected Excellency,” the man said, shyly, but with a smile.

“Good morning,” Taofinu returned. “Please, just ‘Father,’ is sufficient. Especially here, among my family, yes?” He gestured to the grounds. “It helps me feel at home. What is your name?”

“Tadeo, Most… uh, Exc… uh, Father,” the man stammered.

“Tadeo. Thank you, Tadeo. Now, I am going to take a little walk, and if anyone asks you—although I don’t think they will, I plan to return very soon—you may tell them I will be back for Mass, yes?” He gestured to the gate, which was stout, heavy ironwork, closely meshed but beautifully wrought.

The porter looked a bit bemused, but sprang to unfasten the bolts and push the gate open. He was not certain that such an important holy man should be wandering around on his own, but… who was there to tell him otherwise? Certainly not Tadeo.

The Bishop strolled serenely along the slowly-lightening streets surrounding the Nunciature. He could see the profile of the Cathedral, perhaps a kilometer away, but that would be for a formal visit, later. For now, he simply liked to know who his neighbors were.

He was back in plenty of time to say Mass, smiling at Tadeo, who bore all the appearances of a man who had been standing at the gate awaiting his return the entire time. His face broke into a broad grin of relief, quickly muted to a respectful nod, as the Bishop passed.

It was not mandatory for the Nunciature staff to attend Mass, but none of them would have missed it, except for the cook, who was not Catholic, and Tadeo, who had perforce to remain on duty. Bishop Taofinu chose the Tridentine Mass, which baffled some of the Burungi a little. But the beauty of the service was beguiling, nonetheless, and the Bishop’s voice, as he chanted the Latin, had a resonant beauty that was impressive. He smiled reassuringly at each communicant as he dispensed the Eucharist, and at the end of the Mass, he said in English, “Forgive me, friends, if you find the old Mass a trifle unexpected. I will have the Missals unpacked and brought to the chapel so that those who wish to can follow along with this lovely old tradition. Tomorrow—and upon most days—we will celebrate the Novus Ordo Mass. I will have a schedule posted so that you will know what to expect, and thank you for indulging me today.”

As they left the Chapel, a young lad approached. He was Tadeo’s assistant—his son, actually—newly come on duty.

“Respected Excellency, there is a courier from the Ministry…”

“Father, will do. And your name?” Taofinu walked toward the gate with the boy. He could see the strong resemblance to Tadeo.

“Bendeto, Exc… Father,” he said, skipping a bit to keep up with the Bishop’s long stride, and most surprised. He’d expected to conduct the messenger to the Nuncio, not have the Nuncio come to the gate like any common householder.

They reached the gate, and the man bowed, and delivered his message:

“Monsignor, Your, uh, greatness? Ibu Bi Bere has asked me to say: St. Theresa of Avila? Perfect, absolutely perfect. I know the story, of course, but i would count it a joy to hear it from your lips nonetheless. Does that mean anything to you? Bapak Alkatiri has no idea what she's talking about. I'm afraid he's been called out of town, but perhaps you would have time to meet with the Cardinal and another of the co-presidents later today or tomorrow?”

Taofinu chuckled a bit at the message from Madam Bi Bere. “Yes, thank you, I understand the message. And I am happy to meet with the Cardinal and the co-president; please tell them so. I will be visiting some of the local Churches tomorrow afternoon, but otherwise I am not engaged.”

He watched the man climb onto his bicycle, thinking I’ll have to get one of those. An excellent way to get around.

So Alkatiri was called away? Not at all surprising. Probably to Burung-yang-membuat-dunia, to meet with other government leaders. Events seemed to be moving quickly. He’d better go in and see what was on the news, and read the daily briefing from Rome.

Bishop Taofinu took the interval between the daymeal and the resumption of normal activities as private time, useful for catching up on the business of the Church. As with most tropical and some subtropical cultures, there was an afternoon pause, a time for rest and getting out of the sun in the heat of the day, institutionalized into the cultural patterns of life.

The Nunciature was quiet. Overhead fans stirred a gentle breeze, and slatted shutters kept sunlight muted in most of the rooms. The calls of the many birds in the garden outside could be heard faintly. Meditatively, the Bishop paced down a high-ceilinged hall to an inner room, one that had been installed relatively late in the building process by the Vatican’s own construction engineering team, with only minor help from the Burungi workmen.

Unlike most of the rooms in the Nunciature, this one had a lock on its door—and quite a sophisticated one, at that, requiring the taking of a retinal scan among other protocols. Inside, the air felt different immediately. A soft hum of air conditioning kept the temperature and humidity at optimal levels, and a softer, almost subsonic, hum indicated the presence of the communications machinery housed here.

There was also a technician, a rather sleepy-looking woman in the plain dress and simply-cut hair of a nun. Sleepy-looking she might be, but her hand was poised over a security control until Bishop Taofinu was all the way in and the door closed again. “Benedicite, Father,” she said mildly.

“Deo Gratias, Sister. Daily briefs in?”

“In and downloaded, Father. Only one eyes-only.” She gestured to a console, then turned discreetly away as the Bishop seated himself.

The “eyes-only” message, once decrypted, was depressing, but not surprising. The Knootian embassy staff were recalled. An ultimatum had been delivered and (it was inferred,) refused in Burung-yang-membuat-dunia. And the satellite observations of various fleet movements around the islands were listed. The discussions at the IMC were growing increasingly rancorous.

In other words, the war—er, ‘police action’—was proceeding on schedule. Courteously, Taofinu thanked the Sister, and let himself out, to ponder the rest of the daily briefing from the Secretariat at the viewer in his study.

There wasn’t much, really—a rundown on some of the general interest current events (the reconnection of the spacegoing Scolopendran Catholic Church with the Mother Church was interesting. It was likely going to have far-reaching implications, ultimately, but it had no relevance to the situation in Tanah Burung at the moment.) Nataka had refrained from including any directives on the current situation here, so his reports must be satisfactory, Taofinu assumed. That was the style of the current Secretariat—once they decided you were more or less on the right track, they left you alone unless/until you put your foot in it. Some diplomats were uncomfortable with that, as it gave them wider latitude to make mistakes (and thus, route their careers into uninteresting byroads.) Taofinu liked it.

He bent studiously over the task of composing his own daily report, conscientiously encrypted it, and uploaded it for transmission. Then he reached for the stack of local news sources that had been delivered during the day.

There was little more to be done to prepare the Nunciature for the possibility of Knootian occupation of Ukun Rasikan. The staff, both local and imported, were fully briefed. Still, the hum of tension had ratcheted up slightly with the passing days and the movements of various fleets. Taofinu himself had maintained a cheerful imperturbability that did much to keep things operating smoothly. They all knew their assignments here, primary and secondary. If the secondary assignment was temporarily in the ascendant, that was no reason to neglect the primary assignment.

He looked over the lists of Catholic schools and institutions that he’d requested, making notes about geographic distribution and provincial orientation.

Above him, the fan continued to revolve silently.