Astronomy

Look for God in a centipede,
or the smell the rain brings, or motherhood, or when night falls.
Or when life is riotous, or quiet.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you they
know God better than you do.

My dear friend, I have spoken with you before of my conversations with Matthieu while I was a student at the Academy. And, as I have recounted, those conversations are divided by the moment I came to know the true nature of God. All of them before that moment are pleasant to remember, but of an order not nearly as profound as those which followed.

In time I graduated from the Academy and embarked on my professional career. Yet often I returned to Matthieu's wonderful cafe, where he kindly allowed me to embrace the wisdom he had gained from listening, with a compassion only a few are able to apply, to the stories his varied patrons vouchsafed to him. What follows is my best recollection of one of those stories...

*****

Have I told you of my friend Arnaud? No?

Why then, allow me to introduce you to him by way of short lesson in Astronomy.

Astronomers have speculated that a gigantic world lies somewhere in space far beyond the orbit of Pluto. They do not know this for certain, but surmise it because only the gravity of such a distant world can account for all the various bits of debris which are regularly pulled into our solar system from beyond the gravitational reach of the Sun.

Now I am a man of no great imagination, but sometimes I have wondered what things would be like on that distant planet. All around our magnificent Sun the inner worlds cluster in light and warmth. On some, white seas of dust and towering cliffs stand out in sharp relief. On others, great geysers of molten lava arc upwards through the mist. And on this beautiful blue sphere of ours: Life.

Moving further out we find stately giants, enraptured by constant maelstroms of ever changing hue. Now comes Jupiter, with its arabesque striations and swirling eye, the color of a rich Bordeaux. Then Saturn, with its bright rivers of glowing rings. Now Uranus, attended by seven moons. Then a lovely blue opal, Neptune. At last we come to Pluto, the lonely witness to God's incomparable brilliance.

But beyond even Pluto, in the furthest outlands of the Sun's domain, perhaps there exists a massive, cold world, doomed to circle a distant point of light forever. I've wondered. What would it be like to live there? What would it be like to call that place your world? Would not the loneliness of that incredibly distant place rob you of purpose? Would you not then come to appraise your life as pointless? Or worse, inconsequential?

*****

When I first met Arnaud here at this cafe I must admit I was not impressed. He was then a novice priest assigned to a church in one of the most impoverished districts of our great City. His history, as I learned, was unimpressive. He was of stout, Flemish stock, and accepted the vicissitudes of life with the fatalistic passivity for which the flamandok are famous. He rather expected his new parish would diminish as it had been doing for many years before his arrival. Yet, to his credit, he applied himself to increasing his flock with a fervor, at least initially, not common in a man who gracefully accepts defeat. But in due course, life's predictability began to weigh on him heavily. Eventually, he gave up.

But afterwards, something odd happened. Abruptly, his flock began to increase. New faces began to appear in his church every Sunday. New requests for God's succor and comfort filled his confessional. I remember talking with Arnaud about this years ago. He was not prepared for it. But he was a man suffused with the stout wisdom of a drayman, and rose to the occasion with blunt purpose.

Now he has become Cardinal Arnaud. However I am certain his aim was not to achieve status, but to save souls. If you want, I will arrange for you a dinner date with him and you can see for yourself...

In any case, after the fortunes of Arnaud's church began to rise, I determined to go there and attend one of his services. I doubt if I will ever forget that visit. Imagine if you will, the milieu. The church was nondescript, even dingy. I met Arnaud at the portico. As I shook his hand he seemed distant. All of the sudden he went lax, and stood there staring across the street. I turned and followed his gaze. He was looking intently at a man accompanied by a young couple. The man had just rounded a corner and stood motionless, looking back at Arnaud.

Frankly, the man was stunningly handsome. His dark, lustrous hair and pale face bespoke of serious intent. In dress he favored muted grays and silver. It was autumn, and he wore a knee length coat of black cashmere and black leather gloves. The man gestured to the couple who accompanied him, directing them towards the church. The couple crossed the street, climbed the steps in front of us, and entered the church. The man stayed behind.

Arnaud nodded to the man across the street, as if acknowledging some sort of favor. He nodded to Arnaud in return and then retreated back the way he came. It wasn't until later, after the service was over and this priest and I were enjoying an aperitif here in this cafe, that I was able to ask him about this curious incident.

Arnaud leaned back in his chair and looked up vaguely at the ceiling. This is what he said:

"The man you saw..." he began, "that man goes by the name of Edouard Badeau. Have you heard of him?"

I considered. "It certainly sounds familiar," I said. "Isn't he involved in banking? Investments? Seems to me I might have read about him in Le Monde..."

Arnaud nodded. "You have." he said. "He is the youngest, and to date the wealthiest, of a family whose roots go back hundreds of years into the history of our nation. From time to time, whenever some vast merger or investment offering is reported in the news, his name often surfaces. Yet little is actually known about him, save that he likely makes more money while waiting in his car at a stoplight than most of us earn in a lifetime."

"Oh." I said. "That Badeau."

"Yes."

"How then," I said, "did you come to know him?"

Arnaud looked up at the ceiling again, then began his strange story.

"There isn't much to tell." He said. "As you know, my church was losing ground long before I arrived here. Lord knows I tried to put a halt to that. Yet my congregation was growing older and slowly dying off. The young people of this district who represent our future could not be persuaded to favor the comforts of God over Mammon. I can't say I blamed them. As you know, my church is in a part of the city where people are starving, and they cannot eat bibles."

"But suddenly, against all logic or rational account, new faces began to appear in my church. And to my amazement, these were not the typical dregs, who, seeking a bit of warmth, swell a congregation only on the coldest of mornings. In fact, they were people of medium consequence, and hailed from all parts of the city. Some even came from distant suburbs, where churches offer far more tangible forms of satisfaction than a person of such simple means as I could ever provide."

"At first I was at loose ends. I thought perhaps my Parrish had become a fad. I prayed continually about this. Matthieu, God gave me an answer, as He always does, but I was not patient enough to listen."

"In any case I decided to stop asking about my sudden reversal of fortune and start acting upon it. I dedicated myself to the needs of my new parishioners. I challenged them, in hundreds of ways, to accept our Great Commission. And, to my delight, they have responded. These new members began to invest themselves in good works all over my community. Not only did the fortunes of my church begin to rise, but so too did those of my parish. Charity fostered hope, hope fostered ambition. Industry followed and poverty began to recede. There is yet much work to be done, but God has captured a march against the darkness, in my district at least."

"Wonderful!" I said. "You are to be commended!"

"No." Said Arnaud after a long pause. "It was not me who deserves the credit. That belongs to this odd, powerful man, Edouard Badeau. I will tell you why."

He continued. "It wasn't long before I discovered the reason why all these new people had come to my church. All of them were those whose paths had crossed Edouard Badeau's in the course of his business dealings. By some means he had had convinced them to come and attend my church."

Arnaud frowned in concentration. "The miracle, if you can call it that," he said, "was, so far as I can determine, that not one of these people were of the kind who you would expect to gracefully accept the rule of God in their lives. They were men and women who had ascended the ladder of success most often by willfully ignoring the sensitivities of their fellow men. Yet by some sort of magic, Edouard had overcome their callous natures and given them reason to follow God's commission, by a road which led through my church."

"When I determined it was Edouard Badeau who had brought these people to me, I decided to visit him. One evening I ventured into the heart of our financial district and arrived at his offices. The hour was late and the guards were not particularly receptive. They told me he had left for the night, but on a whim I persisted. I asked them to contact Monsieur Badeau and tell him it was I, Arnaud Leclercq, who wished to speak with him."

"In a few minutes I was told Edouard was actually there and that I would have my audience. I was directed to an elevator, which took me to a suite at the top floor of the building. Monsieur Badeau was waiting there. After greeting me with silence and a handshake, he led me to an expansive sitting room adjacent to his personal office. The view beyond the floor to ceiling windows was breathtaking. Our great city is so beautiful at night time. It came to me then that this was where the angels themselves would chose to look out and admire it."

" "Now, dear priest," Edouard began after we were seated, "what is on your mind?" "

"I will not attempt to recall for you our entire conversation, only the last part of it. I wanted to know what twist of fate had made this man my benefactor. Edouard answered all my questions politely, yet with tactful evasion. One would have thought he had played no part at all in my good fortunes. Yet I knew this wasn't the case. Shortly I tired of this game."

"Monsieur," I said, "with all due respect, I will consider my visit here a failure unless I leave with an answer to at least one of two questions."

"Edouard stood up and looked down at me. "Which are?" He asked."

"Why," I said, "do you send your acquaintances to my church? And why do you not come there yourself?"

"I will never forget the striking tableau which followed. Edouard walked over to the window and stared out for a few moments, then turned back to me. His face, indeed his entire bearing had transformed. All trace of the man who had greeted me at the elevator was gone. Matthieu, if someone asked you to paint a picture of cold, uncontrollable arrogance, you could do no better than to paint one of this man at that moment. I felt as if I had grown physically smaller."

" "Arnaud Leclercq," he began, and in so doing turned my name into a soft, piteous thing in his mouth, "I will answer only your first question, and then you must leave." "

"I could only nod"

" "You do not know what it means to be a soldier." He said. "I do." "

"He paused. "And because I do, I can do things which no man like yourself would ever consider. I fight battles in places you and your puny church are not allowed. And I always win. Why I picked your church is of no great matter, but these people I send to you are my tithe... nothing more. Give them over to God if you want, or don't, but otherwise leave me out of it. And, do not try to enter my world again, unless you wish to become like me." "

"It took me a few moments to realize he had finished talking with me. I rose and bowed slightly to him, then turned and left. Throughout, Edouard stood motionless, as if encased in ice. I never spoke with him again."

"During the walk home I found myself filled with conflicting emotions. I thought at first I hated Edouard. I hated his cold hauteur. I hated him because of his wealth and because he was handsome. I hated him for all the reasons which people like me, who believe ourselves to be inconsequential, hate people like him, who are surrounded by the stark evidence of their own consequence. I could not think of any reason to thank God for allowing this ruthless man to participate in my life.

"But all at once it came to me with perfect clarity. In this universe, only the robes of God are those which cannot be stained by contact with filth. As for the stains which despoil our own robes, we ask God to wash them clean and He mercifully obliges. But I wondered, could it be that having been made clean, we set ourselves apart from the company of men who live in perpetual darkness? And if that is true, what agents would God select to go among such men and pull them back into the light? At that instant my heart welled over with pity for men like Edouard Badeau. Then, to my absolute surprise, gratitude. I will speak no more of this him..."

*****

So there my friend, you have the story of Arnaud Leclercq, and Edouard, his mysterious patron. And perhaps my little lesson in astronomy will have made things more clear for you. Out there in space, at the very limit of the Sun's feeble gravity, I fancy there lies a cold, lonely world. Yet every year as it circles round, this world pulls out of the abyss a few bits of nameless flotsam and sends them hurtling back to join the brotherhood of inner worlds.

Perhaps Edouard and others like him share a kinship with that far off world. They do not know God as we do. Perhaps they never will. But maybe they are like an army's distant, solitary scouts, caring instinctively in their desolate hearts for their brothers, yet doomed to never know the camaraderie of the campfire.

Or maybe they are God's fingertips, which reach out to the loneliest of men and pull them back into His loving embrace.

And may peace go with you always.

end

Chris Rhetts
11/29/2009