Eclipse of the Sun: A Novel (Children of the Last Days)

by Michael D. O'Brien

“The Father is mercy and truth. Do you think it unjust that he would permit fire to cleanse this sick planet? Think of it, my brothers and sisters. Think of the oceans of agony that men have filled with blood and degradation.

There were moments of depression, irritability, rage, and whining self-pity, but bit by bit these were replaced by a sense of accomplishment.

He calmed the irregular thumping of his heartbeat, made repeated acts of faith, hope, and love, thanked God for brief touches of peace, which he recognized as bursts of fortification. Each of these was followed by a hush during which the darkness of the room seemed to intensify, and the necessity of absolute faith become ever more obvious to him.

He knew that it was a very dangerous thing to dialogue with temptation. The great spiritual writers cautioned against it with utmost severity. To debate with the devil was to cede him ground. To admit that he had any ground to stand on, which he did not, was to give him the first move.

In either case Andrei resolved to speak no lies and to create no false impressions. It was up to Maurice to think whatever he wished. He would walk with him in the desert beyond the Jordan, and they would debate. If God willed it, and if Maurice’s soul permitted, he would draw him slowly but inexorably out of darkness.

“The foundation of democracy is conscience—personal responsibility. The society that abandons moral absolutes must eventually degenerate into a police state. Well, this nation has abandoned morality. Is it realistic to think we can avoid the consequences?”

His mother—a farm wife, the kind of simple woman who would be roundly despised today. Uneducated. Unambiguous. A workhorse. Matriarch of a clan of serfs. The wisest woman on earth, she couldn’t read or write. He thanked God for her and for his stolid father and, curiously, for the mysterious boy who had given him the orange.

Qui est Madame Beth Potter?

Où est elle?

“To tell you the truth, Father, it would be a relief to me if that’s all it were, just a case of overactive imagination or emotional disturbance. But this is larger than both of us now. You should keep in mind the possibility that your experiences are quite genuine. If so, you can expect to be assailed by doubts from time to time. You can also expect that our Lord wishes you to go step by step, in faith.”

At first the swirl of impressions revolved mercilessly, and he felt himself to be little more than a human shell containing the random debris of anguish and confusion. Gradually it subsided under the gentle currents of the Presence of the Lord, until in the end he was empty and waiting.

The Lord wanted trust, above all trust. And this trusting was the foundation of the personal holiness from which right action flowed. By seeking solutions before the foundation was firm, he had been wanting to bypass faith and to grasp at knowledge, as if knowledge alone could save. This was an old error, a subtle one, part of fallen human nature.

But at some point every soul was put to some ultimate test, each must turn and face its eternal foe in a definitive struggle between radical terror and radical faith. And in such combat ordinary human strategies would always prove to be ineffective; moreover, by relying on them, one could easily be misled into a state of false security—and thus be doubly defeated.

My little son, you have the heart of a true shepherd, though you have grown weary under the increase of trials. Come to me always. Seek my heart in silence. You are always within the plans of my providence. See, but a little while and I will strengthen you for the work that remains. Take the staff in your hand and grip it firmly. Do not hesitate to speak the truth, though many will not understand. Do not fear, little one, for I am with you always.

Be patient, my child. You are mine. Much has been done already, and much is yet to come. Guard well the flock of my Church. Teach my children to seek me in the innermost tabernacle of their souls. The only indestructible refuge is in the heart, where I dwell. There they will find me.

“No. The initial impulse comes from God. We are called by Love himself. Our task is to come to him. He will lead us to the tabernacle of the heart. We need only ask.”

She shuddered with the bottomless grief of it, with the hopelessness of it, with the silence that greeted her plea. Yet a strange peace trickled in and began to calm her.

“Are you sad?” the boy asked. “I was a child once”, the old man breathed. “I made beautiful things. I made poems.” “You can make some more”, the boy answered, as if that were a simple thing, comforting and encouraging as if he were the adult and Maurice the child. “You don’t know. You don’t understand. You don’t know the things I’ve done!” he murmured in a tone of self-loathing. “My father says you can start over. You can ask it.” “It’s too late!” “No, it’s not.” “It is! It is!” He looked at the boy. “I killed . . . I killed your . . .” Arrow looked down at his hands as if he did not recognize them. “My father is looking at you”, Arrow said wonderingly. “Why is he looking at you?” he asked in a puzzled voice. “Because . . .” “My father says, forgive. Why did he say that?” “There was no time. There was never any time. When the knowledge began to fill me, I let the poems die. I had no time for them.” “You can make some more. You can.”

Buzz didn’t think too highly of himself, but most everyone else did. Maybe God liked him too, though he wasn’t exactly sure about that.