The One True Church

Brother Diego was the son of humble sheep herders, born in the misty mountains of Asturias in the north of Spain. As a boy his appetite for reading was insatiable, and nothing fascinated him more than the stories and parables of the Holy Scriptures.

No one was surprised when as a twelve year-old young man he announced his decision to devote his life to service in the church. Leaving behind his older brothers to tend the flocks, he traveled on foot to Salamanca to offer himself for the Lord’s work.

However, without the backing of either a wealthy family or politically influential friends, he was unable to secure a place in training for the priesthood. Nevertheless, he was more than content to become a mendicant friar.

He continued to learn and grow under the tutelage of the Franciscans. Diego earned a reputation as a hard worker who was quiet, respectful, eager to help a brother, and quick to give credit to others even for work that he had done.

When the call went out for young friars to help manage the affairs of the new Royal Court in Cordoba, Brother Diego was enthusiastically recommended by his overseer. Naturally, he accepted the honor and he reached the Palace just as the armies of Castile and Aragon were marching out to lay siege against Granada.

Back in Salamanca, his duties had included tending plants in the monastery gardens, carrying water from the old Roman aqueducts to the kitchens, splitting logs, scrubbing floors, and other physical activities that made good use of the extraordinary strength in his tall, thin and wiry body.

In Cordoba, however, he was assigned, without any formal assessment of his skills, to work as a scribe in the office that managed the marketing, sale, distribution and recording of indulgences.

Originally, indulgences were simply the remission of temporal punishment for sins that had already been confessed and absolved by a priest. During the persecutions of the early church, these had been used to shorten the penance of believers awaiting martyrdom.

Yet, in the dark times in which Brother Diego found himself, the practice had become perverted and twisted into an organized process for the wealthy to get away with all manner of sin.

Brother Diego’s uncommon knowledge of scripture, for a mere friar, caused him to call the practice into question almost immediately after taking up his new post. Unfortunately for Brother Diego, his understanding of God’s Word far exceeded his understanding of politics and power in the church.

*


“Come in, come in,” Father Enrique, Diego’s new overseer, said with a warm smile. “Sit, sit Brother Diego. You have desired to speak with me. Please, tell me what is on your mind.”

“Thank you, Father, for seeing me,” Diego bowed his head in humility. “And thank you also for allowing me to come and serve. Everyone I have met here has been most welcoming and accommodating.”

“Of course, of course,” Father Enrique beamed. “We are all brothers here, and anything you require will be provided. All you need do is to ask. Now then, how can I be of help to you this day?”

“Well, Father,” Diego folded his hands, “I realize that I am new here, and there must be a great deal that I do not understand. I am hesitant therefore even to raise my concerns.”

“You are finding the work with numbers difficult,” Father Enrique said knowingly. “I am certain that one of the older Brothers would be more than delighted to tutor you in the many subtleties of our record keeping.”

“Thank you, Father, but no,” Diego replied, “I am managing with the arithmetic.”

“Tell me then wherein your trouble lies. Speak from your heart, my son,” Father Enrique leaned back in his padded chair, “and I shall judge the validity of your worries.”

“Very well,” Brother Diego acquiesced. “Father, my concern is regarding our practice of selling indulgences.”

“What about this age-old practice concerns you, my son?” Father Enrique replied calmly.

“My concern is that the indulgences seem to be available only to those who possess great wealth,” Brother Diego answered.

Father Enrique chuckled lightly before saying, “You are quite a tall lad, my son, while many other men are short of stature. This was God’s doing, and not our place to question. In much the same way, God has chosen to favor some with great wealth, while not others. Therefore, not all men can afford to buy a horse and must walk upon their own two feet. Yet, surely you would not begrudge those who can afford a steed the opportunity to ride upon it from place to place.”

“I understand your point,” Brother Diego replied after taking a moment to consider the argument, “but with all due respect, indulgences are not mere property, but rather they are representative of forgiveness, which we are instructed to offer every man. If we restrict this offering to only the wealthy, are we not demonstrating favoritism?”

“As I said,” Father Enrique continued to smile, though it was beginning to look unnatural, “God favors those whom he chooses. We, who are made in His image, may exercise our judgment in much the same way. Am I to understand that you see some problem with this being the way of things?”

“I am afraid so,” Brother Diego answered. “For the Apostle James wrote in his epistle to the twelve tribes scattered among the nations, ‘My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, do not show favoritism. Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in shabby clothes also comes in. If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, “Here is a good seat for you,” but say to the poor man, “You stand there” or “Sit on the floor by my feet,” have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?’”

Father Enrique’s smile was gone. He stared coldly at Diego in total silence for quite some time. Finally, he rose up and walked to the back of the large chamber they were in. He whispered something to a pair of guards in the rear alcove.

Returning to the table where Brother Diego waited patiently, Father Enrique quietly said, “You are a very bright young lad, but clearly you require much instruction. Remember today as a lesson on what happens to those who too brazenly question God’s established order.”

With that, Father Enrique turned and walked out of the room through the rear doors. As he left, the two guards approached Brother Diego. They laid down their spears across the table and likewise set aside their helmets, revealing sick grins on each of their faces.

The next thing Brother Diego knew, he was back in his chamber, covered in his own blood, and wondering if he would ever be able to stand again.

*


Even when Diego was able to regain his footing, he had nowhere to go. No one in the Palace would speak with him, so he was unable to acquire food or even the means to properly wash his face.

This treatment continued for two full days. During that time, he experienced a wide range of conflicting emotions. He was hurt and angry, frightened, confused, sad and depressed, and alternately desiring to escape and wishing he could take back all of his words just to make peace.

With plenty of time to think, he came to realize that the pain inflicted upon his body was not nearly as agonizing as the pain of the complete social rejection by all of those that had at first seemed so sincerely kind and welcoming.

Yet what pained him most of all, he concluded, was his loss of innocence. He had truly believed in the rightness of his ideas, a rightness he had based not on his own opinion, but on the unchanging rock of God’s written word. He had truly believed that by speaking the truth, his words would be well received. He had truly believed that he could change the world for the better simply by letting God’s word fill his heart, and by proclaiming the Word fearlessly and forthrightly.

Now he knew he had been wrong, and this left him as lost morally as he was socially. If he could not rely on the truth to guide his words and actions, he had no idea what to do.

Finally, on the morning of the third day, an attendant arrived with a bucket of water, a towel and soap, bread, and some grapes.

Diego gratefully accepted the gifts, and was glad that when he returned to the scriptorium, people were speaking to him and he was allowed to continue working as if nothing had happened.

A few days later though, he was summoned back to Father Enrique’s chamber. Two other priests that Diego had never seen before flanked Father Enrique and glared at Diego, but said nothing as he entered and sat down on a tiny stool that set him quite a bit lower than his hosts.

Father Enrique made friendly small talk for so long that Diego started wondering if he even remembered what had happened. Then suddenly Father Enrique’s face grew stern and he leaned forward, staring down at Diego.

“Now then, Brother Diego,” he said calmly, “have you taken time to think about our conversation last week?”

“Yes, Father, I have,” Diego answered.

“Good,” Father Enrique smiled. “That is very good. And what have you concluded about the time-tested and honorable practice of offering indulgences to the leading supporters of the one true church of Our Holy Lord?”

Brother Diego’s first and strongest instinct was to simply tell them what he knew they wanted to hear. A loud voice in his head kept drumming the same message over and over. Just say the words. They are only words. Just say them and everything will work out.

He desperately wanted to take this advice and simply walk away, but there was another voice as well. This voice was not loud, and was not asserting itself, but it would not let the other drown it away either.

This quiet voice was not issuing orders or making demands. It was merely asking a question.

Will you follow me?


Diego knew who was asking the question, and he knew that it came not out of his own mind, but from the top of a windswept hill outside Jerusalem long, long ago.

He knew what he had to say, though he did not know what the cost would be.

“I have not reached a conclusion, Father,” Brother Diego answered, “for that I will leave to those more knowledgeable than I. But I have considered the matter of Simon Magus.”

“Simon Magus?” Father Enrique repeated, looking as baffled as his two partners.

“Yes, Father,” Diego smiled. He felt a wave of relief at having chosen his path, and knowing that now he had only to walk it, “Simon the Magician. In the book of the Acts of the Apostles, Simon the Magician sees the apostles laying their hands on new believers in order to impart the Holy Spirit of God unto them. He foolishly offers them money if they will agree to give him this same power.

“The Apostle Peter rebukes Simon, saying, ‘May your money perish with you, because you thought you could buy the gift of God with money! You have no part or share in this ministry, because your heart is not right before God. Repent of this wickedness and pray to the Lord. Perhaps he will forgive you for having such a thought in your heart. For I see that you are full of bitterness and captive to sin…’”

The priests were utterly silent, but Diego knew that his three hosts understood full well the parallel between Simon Magus trying to buy the gift of the Holy Spirit and their own wicked scheme of selling forgiveness to sinners.

After just a few moments, the three priests stood and filed out of the room without a word. Brother Diego sat in the otherwise empty chamber, waiting to see what would happen next.

Soon two guards appeared, but they did not beat him this time. Instead, they marched him through deserted hallways until finally entering an open air courtyard. The only feature in the yard was a single wooden post sticking up out of the ground to about the height of a man.

The two guards bound his hands with rope and threaded the rope through a metal eye on the top of the post, so that Brother Diego was secured facing the post with his hands above his head.

Before leaving the courtyard, the guards ripped Diego’s shirt away.

He stood there in the center of the courtyard for quite a while, growing increasingly thirsty and uncomfortable, but trying not to let fear overwhelm his mind.

Eventually, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. The next sound was unmistakable, for one of his older brothers had practiced frequently with a bullwhip back at his home in Asturias.

As the pain built to a white hot crescendo that would soon cause him to lose consciousness, Diego centered his mind, his entire existence, on a single thought.

This is what they did to my Lord.

*


Brother Diego lay face down in his chamber, feeling the pain come and go in waves. After night fell, he heard the door open, but did not even have the strength to look up. He was past caring what happened to him anyway.

“I have come to help you,” a quiet and unfamiliar voice spoke. “Do you believe me?”

“Why should I not?” Diego was unable to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice.

“We do not have much time,” the man did not seem offended. “With your permission, I will sprinkle strong wine into your cuts. The pain will be as terrible as when they were formed, but only for a short time. The wine will cleanse them, and they will heal more quickly.”

“Very well,” Diego said after taking and letting out a deep breath. He stifled his screams as the liquid sprinkled all over his back.

“This next part will be better,” the man said, as he proceeded to pour olive oil where the wine had been, soothing and sealing the gashes. “You are young and strong, and the cuts could be much worse. In just a few days you should be able to lie on your back once more.”

“Thank you,” Diego said. He finally lifted his head to find out who had helped him. “It is you!” He was shocked to see one of the silent priests that had attended his interview. “Why are you doing this?”

The priest set down his jar of oil, and then sat himself on the small stool next to the bed.

“You might be surprised at how many others would agree with your point of view,” the priest said with a momentary twinkle in his eye. “After all, your words only reflected the thoughts and writings of the Lord’s own original followers.”

Brother Diego simply stared at the man in amazed silence.

“And,” the priest continued, “I was once very much like you.”

“Why then did you not say anything during my interview?” Diego tried not to sound too accusatory, considering that the man had just come to his aid.

“I was like you,” the priest looked down, “with one important difference. My family lives here in Cordoba. I have sisters, and a widowed mother. They depend on me for more than just money.”

“I understand,” Brother Diego said quietly.

“Do you?” the priest asked. “To choose beatings and whippings for the sake of righteousness, this is noble and commendable. But can you make that choice for another, for someone who is innocent and helpless? No. We all must do what we must do in this fallen and broken world. I am sorry for what has happened to you, and I am going to try to help you. They will soon call upon you once again. You must know this, and you must know what they will expect to hear.”

“I cannot turn from the truth,” Diego said. “Even if they slay me, I will not turn.”

“If there were more young men like you,” the priest said with sadness, “things might be different. But make no mistake, eventually they will slay you.”

“So be it.”

“Look,” the priest suddenly seemed angry, “you are very brave, but I do not believe the Lord is ready to call you home. He surely has much work still for you to accomplish here in this realm. There may be another way out for you. Are you interested?”

“Yes.”

“Then listen to me,” the priest leaned in so close that Diego could feel his hot breath. “You want to be like Christ, do you? Then you do just what He did when on trial before Pontius Pilate. You hold your peace! Do you understand me? Whatever is said, and however you are provoked, you hold your tongue. Can you do this?”

Diego nodded.

“Good,” the priest nodded back, “very good. I will be there, and I will do what I can to help.”

Diego continued to stare at him.

“One last thing,” the priest said as he stood and gathered his jars. “You do not know me, and I was never here.”

*


No sooner was Diego beginning to feel well again, than he was summoned for another interview.

Seven priests sat behind a long table with Father Enrique in the center. This time there was no friendly sounding small talk. Instead, Father Enrique began rapid firing accusatory questions at Brother Diego, so fast and furious that Diego wondered if he was even supposed to answer.

In any event, he obeyed the helpful priest’s instructions to remain silent.

“Well?” Father Enrique concluded when he finally ran out of accusations. “Do you not have anything to say for yourself?”

Brother Diego stared silently ahead.

“I had expected more from our young friar who considers himself a greater expert in theology than his superiors,” Father Enrique scoffed. “Perhaps you are at last beginning to gain some sense of humility and respect.”

Diego continued to sit quietly, while the priests conferred with one another in mumbles he could not hear.

“Might I suggest a new course for our young and, until recently, insolent brother?” the helpful priest spoke up suddenly.

Diego very consciously showed no expression of hope or relief.

“By all means, Father Sanchez,” Father Enrique reclined to listen.

“Brother Diego has in the past expressed his ignorance and malcontent regarding the hallowed tradition of indulgences,” Father Sanchez stood and began pacing. He never once looked at Diego, but discussed him as if he were not even present. “While I expect we shall have little difficulty in finding another young acolyte who shall with gratitude and grace take up the post which Brother Diego has disdained, I should like to suggest an alternative assignment that, by his own words, Brother Diego will surely find more pleasing to his sensibilities.

“Brother Diego has on multiple occasions expressed his noble and heartfelt concern for the poor and less fortunate among us. Since God has clearly placed a longing in Brother Diego’s heart to serve those that are the lowest and most miserable among us, far be it from us, his superiors, to retain his services here in the comfort, peace and safety of the Palace grounds.

“And it has come to my attention that, as so often seems to occur, a service post has recently become available in one of the more dilapidated churches in the Barrio district. Would we not therefore please God, and incidentally Brother Diego as well, by sending him to work among the poor and lowly for which he himself has demonstrated such caring and love?”

A hint of a grin emerged on Father Enrique’s lips. By contrast, Brother Diego showed no expression whatsoever.

“As always, Father Sanchez,” Father Enrique said after a few moments of thought, “your wisdom and insight prove to be a great boon to our humble order. Let it be as you have suggested. We shall send Brother Diego to work in the Barrio, and we shall look forward to hearing reports of his success in bringing the love of Our Lord Christ to those who so desperately need it.”

With that the priests declared an end to their session and remanded Brother Diego to the custody of the guards, with instructions for his delivery to the Barrio with all haste.

As the priests shuffled from the chamber, Brother Diego hazarded a glance in the direction of Father Sanchez. Diego was never entirely sure whether the light coming through the stained glass windows had merely shown him what he wished to see, or if in fact Father Sanchez had for the very briefest of moments turned his head slightly and offered a wink.