Heroes: Stories, Letters and Thoughts of a Catholic Man

The Catholic Church is the greatest gift the world has ever received. And sadly, the greatest one the world has ever rejected. It is a gigantic golden lake that one can dive into on a hot summer day, diving to the very bottom where you drink in deeply before shooting back to the surface. Then you shake your head flinging golden droplets here and there, feeling alive, refreshed, before drying yourself—no, not with a towel but the sun, warm and accommodating. And should the need overtake you—She is there to seek more of the same.

Encompassing, mystical, Most Holy Mother Church stimulates while soothes, bathes while dries, dresses while dresses down. In a world of uncertainty, she brings certainty; in a world of countless questions, she brings answers; in a world of distortions and lies, she brings truth. I love her with a son’s love for his mother and surrender to her wisdom while adhering to her guidance. I defend her with the dedication of a soldier willing to lay down his life for everything he holds dear. For the Catholic Church leads me; She walks me through a world that cares little for me. It is a world that would be happy to see me perish so it could consume another.

How can people love such a world? It is the old cliché of not seeing the forest because of the trees, or of one having chosen the pebble when there was the diamond. Each of us must make a choice. Mine has already been made. There is the Catholic Church … then there is everything else.

My intention in writing this book entitled Heroes is to open up for discussion some of the critical issues facing Catholics and people of faith in present day society. The book was particularly written for young people in mind, especially my own nieces and nephews. Heroes (so entitled because we are all called to be heroes and saints) consists of six short stories and one dialogue focusing on faith and how profoundly faith in Jesus Christ can and will overcome whatever obstacles one may face in life. A compilation of Dear John letters is also included which are practical suggestions in how to grow closer to God in today’s secular world. The book is a work of fiction but as in most fictionalized works there are elements of fact. The Dialogue With A Priest segment is based upon an actual incident. My objective in writing this book is to help someone, even if only in a small way.

–J.C.

CHAPTER ONE

Where Only the Brave Dare Go

France, Year: 2040

The presence of a Christian God is scarcely felt in the world. What was once a Christian Europe is now a vast spiritual desert having succumbed to either hateful atheism or oppressive Islam. The United States is no longer a Christian nation—a majority of its citizens claim no religion while many more duplicate Europe’s intolerant atheism. Africa and South America are the last bastions of Christianity; large segments of their population remain true to the Catholic faith. The Catholic Church holds onto a relatively small core of faithful throughout the remainder of the world, most practicing their faith behind closed doors, while the few existing Catholic churches that do celebrate Sunday Mass are protected by armed guards.

The Pope has been forced to leave the Vatican after having escaped several attempts on his life which have compelled him to be mobile, traveling throughout the world, staying in different locations for short periods of time. For believers in Jesus Christ, there is much darkness and not much brightness on the horizon. But there is hope. Mankind has one last remaining hope and it rests with an old man who lives in a small obscure town in northern France. The man’s name is Henri Bordeau.

Henri had grown exceedingly tired in the past weeks. He was the weary traveler who always seemed to have one more hill to climb, another, and then another. The world he once knew no longer existed. It had shriveled up, withered on the bone only to have died years ago. Henri could remember fishing with his father and brother at this very spot on the bank of the Lys River. There were game fish in the river then. The water was clean, flowing healthy and strong without mounds of industrial waste clogging its banks, smelling up the air so a man regretted he had to breathe. His father had told him one day that the Lys would end up this way, a sewer of waste, a flowing reminder of what it once had been. Henri’s father had said the game fish would choke to death on the pollution and only the scavenger fish would be left. So much for the Lys, the old man thought. And so much for France and the world he had once known. The game fish were rapidly dying off; the scavengers were taking over.

France had become overrun by Islam, while the atheists scurried about preaching hate of God to whoever had ears to hear. The Catholic Church, once the heartbeat of Europe, was barely a blip on the world’s electrocardiogram. Priests hid behind closed doors afraid to venture out onto the streets of Paris. Most Catholics kept to themselves, saying nothing about their faith, practicing in small groups where they invited little interest. Hate of anything Catholic or God for that matter was the norm of the day. The European press shouted down anything regarding the Creator God. This was not Henri Bordeau’s world. This was the world of the scavenger.

He sat down on the thick brown grass and took out his handkerchief in order to wipe the heavy perspiration from his brow. But first he had to remove his eyeglasses. It caused the river to become blurred in front of him. So much for life itself, Henri thought. Nothing seemed clear and distinct anymore. He was the most noted physicist in the scientific world with not a man or woman who could surpass his intellectual prowess in the field of physics. Henri Bordeau had no equal. On his name alone Henri could demand an audience with any head of state anywhere in the world, and it would be granted. The prestige, the honor, the mantle of genius meant nothing to him. It was an empty promise carrying the same emptiness as did a world without God. Henri replaced his eyeglasses before staring blankly at the Lys flowing in front of him. Did he have the courage to go through with what he had planned? What would happen to Marie his wife of more than fifty years? How would this callous, unforgiving, world treat her? The old man could only guess.

Marie was waiting dinner for him when he arrived home. Henri had no appetite and was barely able to force down the small amount of beef and potatoes his tossing stomach would allow. Marie knew he was troubled. He had been for much longer than she cared to remember. A good wife shares a husband’s pain and Marie Bordeau was a good wife. Across the dining room table she smiled at Henri. She loved him more than life itself.

Don’t eat on my account, she said pushing her own barely touched plate away. I can see you have decided to go through with it.

Henri looked at her while forcing a smile to appear on his tired face.

Yes, I have. You have always known that this day might come. And yes, I am afraid. I never was a brave man. To do this will take a brave man, far braver than me. But if I really love my God and my country, I must try. Certainly, you can see that Marie. No one in this world knows me better than you. Tell me you can see that I must do this.

Marie told him, You are the bravest man I have ever known, my husband. I knew that right after I first met you. I still remember how you would chase away all the other boys whenever they tried to get close to me. You were brave then and you are brave now. If you say that you must do this, then you will. I won’t be like some wives crying tears so their husband can see them and then telling him not to do what he feels that he must. I love you too much for that. Do not be afraid on my account because my faith in God is as strong as yours.

"Marie, I thank Almighty God for the gift of you