Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati
tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the
candlelight, the Camerlengo had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery
that Mortati found himself trembling. The Camerlengo spoke of kidnapped
cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient
Illuminati—a name that dredged up forgotten fears—and of their resurgence
and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the Camerlengo
spoke of his late Pope . . . the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his
words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter,
which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City.
When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the
room. Nobody could move. The Camerlengo’s words hung in the darkness.
The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a
television camera in back—an electronic presence no conclave in history had
ever endured—but a presence demanded by the Camerlengo. To the utter
astonishment of the cardinals, the Camerlengo had entered the Sistine Chapel
with two BBC reporters—a man and a woman—and announced that they
would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world.
Now, speaking directly to the camera, the Camerlengo stepped forward.
“To the Illuminati,” he said, his voice deepening, “and to those of science, let
me say this.” He paused. “You have won the war.”
The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could
hear the desperate thumping of his own heart.
“The wheels have been in motion for a long time,” the Camerlengo said.
“Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at
this moment. Science is the new God.”
What is he saying! Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing
this!
“Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation .
. . these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the
miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient
stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no
longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We
concede.”
A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel.
“But science’s victory,” the Camerlengo added, his voice intensifying, “has
cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.”
Silence.
“Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and
provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it
has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to
wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been
shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings
has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are
a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.” He paused.
“Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now
electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are
bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has
become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened
thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated
than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything
sacred? Science looks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even
presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God’s world into smaller and
smaller pieces in quest of meaning . . . and all it finds is more questions.”
Mortati watched in awe. The Camerlengo was almost hypnotic now. He
had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never
witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man’s voice was wrought with conviction
and sadness.
“The ancient war between science and religion is over,” the Camerlengo
said. “You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by
providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that
the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot
keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every
new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took
thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from
the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are
spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as
religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for
meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling,
spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests—all these eccentric ideas
have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. They are the
desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own
enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from
technology.”
Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other
cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest’s every
utterance. The Camerlengo spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to
scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure.
Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the
modern language . . . delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati
saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of
apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the Camerlengo,
realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church’s
only hope.
The Camerlengo was talking more forcefully now. “Science, you say, will
save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church
has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided
means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too
great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of
science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred
nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species . . .
moving down a path of destruction.”
The Camerlengo paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the
camera.
“Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but
no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God
gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of
science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell ushow to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it
is a good or a bad idea.
“To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to
be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the
voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and
larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can
you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider
the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in
a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is
the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone
living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral
implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video
screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds
us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn
babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the church who
points out the fallacy of this reasoning.
“And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more
ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not
respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to
everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me
proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens,
and tell me how there could not be a God!” The Camerlengo had tears in his
eyes now. “You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question
come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your
science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in
the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe
a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you
fail to see God’s hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we
simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have we become so
spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical
impossibility than in a power greater than us?
“Whether or not you believe in God,” the Camerlengo said, his voice
deepening with deliberation, “you must believe this. When we as a species
abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of
accountability. Faith . . . all faiths . . . are admonitions that there is something
we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable . . . With faithwe are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion
is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this
church as I do . . . looking beyond the ritual of these walls . . . they would see a
modern miracle . . . a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to
be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.”
The Camerlengo motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC
camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd.
“Are we obsolete?” the Camerlengo asked. “Are these men dino-saurs? Am I?
Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the
unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend
their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose
our way?”
Mortati now realized that the Camerlengo, whether consciously or not, was
making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the
church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people—people like the
Camerlengo who had spent their lives in the service of goodness.
“Tonight we are perched on a precipice,” the Camerlengo said. “None of us
can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or
immorality . . . the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.”
The Camerlengo lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in.
“The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to
your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.”
Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated,
but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The
Camerlengo was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was
entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness.
Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come
forward.
The Camerlengo knelt at the altar. “Pray with me.”
The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer.
Outside in St. Peter’s Square and around the globe . . . a stunned world knelt
with them.
