From Sand and Ash

by Amy Harmon

He hurt too much to be tempted by immortality now. Death sounded so much more inviting.

“Do you really think God is a God of conditions, Monsignor?” Angelo found himself arguing. “Maybe the only condition is love. Love for him, for each other. She doesn’t reject Jesus. She just doesn’t know him,” Angelo tried to explain.

“No. I don’t think your passion is for God, exactly. I think your passion is for ascension.”

My father says it’s because Jews, as a people, have had little chance to settle. We are always on the move. The exodus never ends. We have been unable to make roots. So our roots are in our traditions, our families. Our children.”

“Ah, there she is again. The girl who thinks I can walk on water.”

“I’m Jewish, Angelo. I don’t think anyone can walk on water.”

Angelo took Eva’s arm, clutching her so tightly she would have bruises. She welcomed his grip, though the irony that she would leave German headquarters bruised only by Angelo was not lost on her.

But I’m convinced God is not just my God or Angelo’s God. He is God. He wouldn’t be God if he was only God to some of his children . . . would he?

Does it matter what we call him? Does it matter how we pray, if our devotion is pure, if our love for him leads us to love and serve and forgive and be better? I guess it does. Sadly, it does. Because my prayers could get me killed.

“No, Angelo. My job is not to simply stay alive. My job is to live. Not hide. Not wait. Not hope that it will all end. You can’t tell me not to fight, Angelo. I don’t tell you what to do! You can’t tell me not to try to help in some way.”

“Life is hard. What an understatement! Hard is too mild a word for the trouble we’ve seen. Life is hell shot with just enough heaven to make the pains of hope all the sharper. Life is impossible. Ugly. Agonizing. Inexplicable. Torture.”

“Angelo, there are only two things I know for sure. The first? I love you. I’ve always loved you. I love you now. I will love you in fifty years. I love you. Second: No one knows the nature of God. Not you, not me, not Monsignor Luciano, not my father, not Rabbi Cassuto. Not even Pope Pius XII. No one.”

But America has the firepower, the manpower, and most important, they have the right on their side. The kind of evil I have seen has to be stopped. This war isn’t about two equal but opposing forces who disagree. This war is about right and wrong, good and evil. And evil must be stopped.

In that moment, they were royalty, a king of fortune and a queen of destiny, embracing a tiny prince of peace.

He’d found her. And there was no man on earth or angel in heaven who could convince him that miracles did not exist. For once, God had not been quiet.

But he is laicized—unable to perform holy ordinations—and our marriage is not recognized by the Catholic Church. But I think it is recognized by God, and that’s good enough for me.

Like Angelo, I believe that God is quiet. But he is not blind or impartial in the affairs of man. I don’t know his mysteries, and like Eva, I’m not convinced anyone does. But I am grateful to know him to the extent that I do, to feel his love and influence in my life, and to walk quietly with him as best I can.