The Gospel According to Father Johannes

[Ostria]

It was a fine day.

There was a celebration in town today, and it was Father Johannes favorite time of year. Spring was in full bloom. The trees were green, the bids singing and the sun was warm. It was this last fact that he appreciated the most, he was an old man now and the winter chilled him to the bone. But there was more to it than that. Spring was the season of new life and renewal. Was it not in spring when the Lord rose from the dead?

Death.

Such thoughts had been weighing heavily on Johannes mind. He considered himself blessed to still be able to tend to his flock in his 77th year, but still he could feel his body was failing him. He would not be able to enjoy many more warm springs. He did not feel burdened by regret, regret what he may he had long ago come to terms with the mistakes of his youth. But he was afraid.

The Regiment had come into town today. It was always a popular event with the children, and seeing as the weather was fine all the townsfolk had come out for a fete. It was Father Johannes was here today. But has he looked on the tanks, with their angled plates and imposing cannons, he remembered what he was afraid of. His army service in the Imperial Cavalry was almost a lifetime ago, but in the grand sweep of history one lifetime was barely the blink of an eye. These war machines had not existed when he had trained to fight for the Emperor on horseback. So much had changed in his lifetime had he not lived it he would scarcely believe it. The world he had been born into had vanished like smoke, and he suspected, there were even greater changes to come.

Throughout his life there had been only one great constant, his faith in the Lord, and he always strove to share that constancy with his flock. But soon his ministry would be over. Who then would take up his work, who would guide shepherd the souls of his flock to the Lord in this time relentless change? Who could? Ostria had many priests, and as he had come to realize, many who were weak in faith. There were many children in his parish, and he feared that unless they were blessed with a shepherd who was strong in faith they would be lost as surely as sailors in a typhoon.

So God sent unto us the Legion.

The Legion. He had no always embraced. Once, a long time ago, he had even struggled against them. But now he had come to embrace them. Like all men they were weak, and he truly did not know if the Lord had truly called to them as they claimed, but their faith was strong. That is why he had decided to follow them. They could be harsh, even cruel, but he had seen the fruits of their labour with his own eyes. They had done what he had not believed was possible; they had filled Ostrian's hearts with the fear they had lost. The fear of the Lord.

He remembered the days of his youth in Osterode. The grotesque hedonism of the aristocrats, the crass materialism of the bourgeoise and above all the emptiness and brutality of working class life. But like so much of his youth, that world was gone now. The Legion had consigned it to the dustbin of history, to paraphrase a saying he had learned a long time ago. And this more than anything else brought him comfort at the end of his life. Imperfect thought they may be, the Legion was like a rock, the rock on which Ostria would be saved...

He felt something tugging on his sleave, then he saw the light and heard a voice calling him.

Father, are you alright?

Father?

He had fallen asleep on the park bench. And a young girl was tugging on his sleeve. Little Elisabeth, yes, he recognized her.

He looked at her and smiled. "Don't worry my child. Sometimes an old man like me just needs to take a nap in the sun. Now run along and go play, this beautiful day is a gift from the Lord and you must not waste it! Hurry!". After a moments hesitation she turned and ran off without saying a word. Good. It would not do for a fine young child to sit about worrying on such a beautiful day, like some old man.

And at that moment he realized what the topic of his next sermon would be.

 

[Ostria]

"Come in young man, sit, sit"

Father Johannes summed up his new guest. Conrad Horn, the newly appointed Commander of the Aken Commandry, was a thirty two year old legionary. A bit shorter than most men, but clearly fit. From his letter Johannes new he had grown up in Osterode, the son of a shopkeeper. He had served in the Army with distinction as a non-commissioned officer, and shortly after being discharged he had joined the Legion. His record as Commandry Councillor was exemplary. He had a wife and a young son, Lukas Horn.

Conrad Horn was the picture of a rising ministerial.

Conrad quickly took his seat and removed his hat. There was a certain look in his eye, eagerness? Or was it awe? Either way the Father felt himself having to suppress a frown. He knew why this man, like the ones who had come before him, was here.

"Father Johannes, thank for meeting with me on such short notice. When I found out I had been appointed Commander of Aken, I knew had to meet you."

Johannes waves his hand dismissively "It is no trouble young man. A humble old priest like myself could hardly refuse the summons of the Commander."

Conrad chuckled politely "Father, your modesty is like the saints. I lowly Commander such as myself would never dream of ordering you to and fro, not the Father Johannes..."

Here it comes.

"...the blessed father who delivered the last rites to St. Heniricus himself."

St. Heinricus!

I don't know any man by that name.

Johannes felt a wave of emotions sweep over him as suddenly and totally as a great tidal wave. He had felt this many times before, but it never lost it's potency. St. Heinricus. The first legionary, savior of Ostria, the peerless commander, the guardian of the lance, the light of our age. Father Johannes knew much about this man, but in truth he did not know him. He had walked beside him and ministered to him, but he had never met him. He only knew of Heinz. His oldest friend Heinz, who had grown up one floor below him. Who had tried to challenged him to a duel when they feuded over the hand of Sophie. And who had called for Johannes in his last hours, when he was surrounded by adulators but completely alone.

Try as he might Father Johannes could reconcile those two, thought he knew they knew them to be one and the same.

He managed to muster a weak smile and a line he had spoken many times "I am a simple priest Commander. That I walked in the saints shadow can only have been the will of God the father. I do not know why God chose a man like me to carry out this task, but it is not man's place to question the will of God. St. Heinricus did call on me in his last hours, to absolve him of his sins before the Lord, so that his soul will be ready to rise again on the last day and enter into paradise. I did this for him as I would do it for it any other man, such is my duty as a Priest."

Heinz, I know that you believed...

"Father, your wise words humble me." Johannes could see the young man was crestfallen. He had hoped no doubt, secretly, that Johannes would regale him with stories of St. Heinricus life and deeds. But quickly his face hardened with determination. "Your humility and your faith are even more pure than I imagined. You may not admit it father, but I have always believed that only a truly exceptional man could have been worthy of undertaking such a great duty. Now I know was correct. I am blessed to be a part of your flock, and I know will grow strong in faith under your tutelage."

...but I still do not know if I do.

Yes, though Johannes, he a Legionary through and through "Ah you flatter me needlessly my child. Like you I am but a sinner. Whatever I have done that is exceptional, I have done it through the grace of the Lord alone. But we can talk more of this later, it is getting late and I have not yet had my tea. Would you care to join me Commander...?"

 

[Ostria]

Dearest Father Johannes,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am truly sorry to hear that you have been unwell as of late, I have prayed to the Virgin Mother on your behalf and I sincerely wish you a speedy recovery. Do not despair my friend, your faith is stronger than you give yourself credit and I know that God will give you the strength to preserver if you but open your heart to him. One day he will call for you, as he will call to us all, but it is not your place or mine to anticipate this! To live in anticipation of death is a great hubris, a man who believes his life is complete is supposing he knows the mind of god.

As for myself, I have assumed my position as Bishop of Heiligburg. Well I have much to tell you about this, I must regrettably save these stories for a future letter. In the course of my duties here I have come across a fascinating puzzle, one I believe will be as intriguing for you as it has been for myself. Shortly after I arrived in the diocese, I traveled to the abbey on the Holy Mountain to meet with the abbot. But it was while I was there that I had a most extraordinary encounter, as I walked through the monastery's garden I happened upon an ancient Wend by the name of Brother Symon. Brother Symon told me that while he did not recall in what year he had been born, he had resided in the monastery for more than sixty years having come there as a young man in his twenties. Equally extraordinary was that well his command of Ostrian was surprisingly poor, his native tongue was a very curious dialect of Wendish that I have never heard before. Limited as my own knowledge of the Wendish speech is, I am certain it is not one that is spoken in Ostrian lands. Brother Symon acknowledged this fact, saying he knew his grandparents had come from far away but he knew not from where.

Then he told me of a story. He told me that as a young child had been told many times by his mother the story of one Bishop Tomas. Bishop Tomas he told me had come from "German lands" in ancient times when they still worshiped the old gods, and was the first to preach the word of god among them. And during his ministry Tomas performed numerous miracles, including one on the Holy Mountain itself, which convinced many of the Wends to abandon their old gods and accept the truth of the gospel. The Holy Mountain said Symon had been dedicated to the black god, a demonic entity who the Wends are said to have greatly feared. No man was allowed to climb to the mountain, for fear of invoking the gods wrath, except once a year on the "black day" when the tribesman would climb the mountain to make a great sacrifice to the black god, so that he would leave them in peace for another year.

Until one day Bishop Tomas arrived in their lands from the west. Upon hearing of the black god, Tomas declared he would climb the mountain to show the power of the Lord God. Upon hearing this even his retainers, Wends who he had already baptized, begged him to reconsider and refused to climb the mountain. Undetered Tomas set off up the mountain alone, climbing high into the mountain to the shrine of the black god. There he set it ablaze and smashed the gods idol, the remains of which he carried with him back down the mountain. When he returned from the mountain three days later, he cast the remains of the idol at the feet of the Wendish chiefs & shamans, declaring that the demon had driven out and the mountain now belonged to God. Seeing this the Wends fell at his feet and accepted baptism. Soon after Bishop Tomas departed to the east to preach to the Rus and a long time later a monastery would be built where the shrine had once stood; the monastery that stands there today. This Symon assured me was a story that had been handed down through the generations of his people.

Immediately I wondered: Who is Bishop Tomas? I have certainly never heard of the man, and have I have never heard of his ministry to the Wends and the Rus. Could such a man really have been lost to the history of the Church? Nor have I have ever heard of this "black god" who was once worshiped on the holy mountain. I have many times that the mountain was venerated by the pagan tribes that once ruled this place, but this story is completely unknown to me. I would be tempted to explain all of this away as simple folklore, but Brother Symon seemed absolutely genuine to me and I cannot fathom why he might fabricate such a convoluted lie. I feel though that he was not entirely forthcoming with me regarding his own history however, for a man who claims not to know where he comes from he seems quite well informed! But I could pursue this line of inquiry, Brother Symon was adamant that he would not leave the monastery and shortly after I left I learned he had fallen gravely ill. In light of his advance age the Brothers are not optimistic that he will recover.

In truth I am not sure why I am writing about this matter to you, I am sure it is as vexing for you as it is for me. But I feel I must anyways. I will continue to pursue this matter - I have come to suspect Brother Symon may in fact be descended from Wendish refugees of the Eastern Empire, which might explain his reluctance to speak further on the matter and his curious dialect. Of note is that I have read there is a heretical church of "Thomas Believers" in the Empire, perhaps they share a common progenitor? If this indeed the case I can only wonder: What other memories have become lost to the Church in the eastern abyss? And just how many still keep the faith in those lands, after five hundred years of oppression? I am not sure if I will ever answer these questions, but I must try.

Yours Truly,
Gottfried.

 

[Ostria]

"You have called for me, your High Excellency." Father Johannes bowed his head respectfully. For a simple priest to stare unto the face of the Leader would be arrogance.

"Father, thank you for responding so swiftly. I know you have been unwell" Sigenandus von Eisenburg motioned to his attendants "All of you leave us immediately. I must speak privately with the Father on a matter of faith." Without a word his servants and bodyguards melted away.

"It has been some time since we last spoke, has it not Father...?"



"It has been a quarter of a century Johannes and you are still running."

Even standing there alone, father Johanes has not lifted his head to face Sigenandus. But it was not deference that prevented him from meeting the Leaders gaze. "Sigenandus, I am just a humble priest, I do not desire-"

Sigenandus cut him off sharply "You were called by him father and it is not your place to refuse. I released you from this burden, but I told you I would still execute the Saints will. Stop playing these foolish games and be grateful for the role I assigned you. I do not relish another twenty five years of your whining."

Father Johannes remained silent and unmoving. Sigenandus's rebuke stung him though. Because he knew it to be true.

"Our meetings do not need to be so unpleasant Johnnaes. I hope you at least understand why I want to speak with you again?"

Johannes finally raised his head to look Sigenandus in the eye. When Sigenandus had chastised him, perversely it had also lifted a great weight from Johannes shoulders. It had been his guilt that had kept his gaze fixed to the floor. His guilt for lying to his brother as he lay dying and then for running away, to pretend nothing had changed and he was still a simple priest. A lie he had clung to for almost a quarter of a century and which had prevented him from confessing his sins to anyone but God. God and Sigenandus.

"The uprising in the North" Johannes started slowly "The Legion must proceed carefully, Sigenandus. Though the destruction of Dietalands rotten parliament and the breaking of the socialists is a prerequisite for leading the nation to Salvation, this is hardly certain. Even the nationalists struggle to rise above materialism, and among them are those who have fallen into the heresy of totalitarianism. The destruction of the bourgeoise state will be of no benefit if it is replaced by something even more profane. I do not know what you plan Sigenandus, but if you decide to take up this task Ostria must lead them unto the Lord.”

He paused for a moment.

“This I believe would have been Heinricus's will.”