And the end is all I can see...

He has been caught, and is sentenced to death. 

My long quest is nearly over. 

I know not who he is, or from whence he came, but my search to find his identity, is nearly over.

As is his life. 

Everyone has abandoned him, his colleagues, his countrymen, his God. 

He is alone. Truly alone. 

No one will hear his confession-

No one will save him-

He dies with a bottle of brandy in his hand. 

He, being the only one to remain faithful to his beliefs, yet also a great sinner,

and tries to make a solitary confession.

He cannot repent. He cannot say much of anything. 

I watch him there, praying earnestly for his young daughter. 

Brigitta, oh Brigitta....

He has spent so long running from the law, 

so long on the run from those who wanted his life, 

and yet has not accomplished much of anything.

He must feel as if his life has been a failure.

I wonder if he briefly has considered renouncing his faith, and escaping the terrors before him.

But then I remember the story of Jesus weeping in the garden, asking that His cup be taken from him.

And I know he will not give in. 

No he will not. 

He has dedicated his life to become like Jesus, and as much as he would like to, I know he will not give in.

He has no need to regret, unless regretting missed opportunities in life,

and perhaps that he is going to meet God:

"empty-handed",

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.” 
― Shannon L. Alder

A Simple Room... Simple Words. Simply Simple.

After the whiskey priest had left the Lehr's residence, I questioned them fully. They simply spoke about their disapproval of Catholicism, and allowed me to take a look about the room where the he spent the night. It was simple, two brass bedsteads, a single chair, and a wardrobe. The room looked nearly monastic! I chuckled to myself and inwardly thought, "How appropriate". The only thing about it that seemed different from a monastic room is the fact that the there was no cross hanging on the wall above the bed. However, sticking out from one of the drawers I uncovered a small artifact. It was a Bible. It was surprising to find, considering it was a banished item in Mexico right now. A dangerous item to be had for sure. 

I opened the book to find a list of texts. It read as follows:

If you are in trouble    read    Psalm 34

If trade is poor                 Psalm 37

If very prosperous               I Corinthians, x, 2

If overcome and backsliding      James I. Hosea xiv, 4-9

If  tired of sin                 Psalm 51. Luke xviii, 9-14

If you desire peace, 

   power and plenty              John 14

If you are lonesome

   and discouraged               Psalm 23 and 27

If you are losing confidence

   in men                        I Corinthians, xiii

If you desire peaceful 

   slumbers                      Psalm 121

It was surprising to me really. And I wondered what on earth must have gone through the priest's thoughts, as he held a Bible, probably not having held one in a great deal of time. It surely was not a beautiful Bible, with its ugly lettering. That must have been unusual for a Catholic to see, what with the fancy Bibles he must have been used to, and the illustrated pages. He must have been shocked by the blandness of the Word of God. 

Another thing I noticed was that the answers to the people's emotions were so simple, so easy to find. Dating back to the era of William Tyndale and before, the Catholics have frowned upon the common man coming to God by another means besides the intercession of a priest, and have also believed in the past that the Bible should not be available to the common man. It would not surprise me if some of these ancient traditions still get passed down to today's priests. 

I closed the book after pondering it for a time, thanked the Lehr family, and rode off in search of this priest. 

The whiskey priest.

A Father's Farewell - Power and the Glory Section 2, Blog 2

Maria was very cold to the priest as he bid her farewell, and I noticed his slumped shoulders as he walked away from her. Perhaps he had come to this town to try and make amends, to try and set things straight. His guilt must've weighed on his conscience heavily, and it must have haunted his dreams every night. 

He came upon the child later, with anxiety still gripping his heart it would seem, and found the girl sitting on a root, kicking her tiny heels against the bark. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if she had seen enough of the world, and wished to see nothing else. He approached her cautiously as would someone who was approaching a wild mustang, afraid that it would stampede. He was trying so hard to earn her trust I noticed. He very carefully asked her what was the matter. She replied that HE was the matter, in a fit of anger. Apparently, the other children in the town had been teasing and laughing at her, and saying that she was the only girl that didn't have a father who worked, and that he was no good for women. The poor little thing was red in a fit of anger, and demanded to know what they meant by those rude comments. Her maturity was appalling. It was as if she was ten years older than she appeared. Although she was angry, her speech was eloquent and refined and nearly ancient. For having grown up with an unloving mother like her own, she was indeed a child of frightening maturity. I suppose that is what our society is making them to be. 

He seemed to be discouraged by her words, and sighed. I looked into the dark eyes of the little girl, and was amazed at her. She was so innocent, and so sweet, yet she was unprotected in the world. She was all alone, and although she had both of her parents, neither of them could be there for her, and she would grow up alone, and I feared that the dark eyes that peered questioningly into the teary eyes of the priest would grow ever darker as time progressed. 

The priest kissed her cheek, and told her how much he loved her. The way he spoke to her made me notice that he himself realized that she had little to no concept of what real love is. No one had ever showed her love, and therefore, it was not something that could be comprehended by her little mind, no matter how mature. She stared back at him with those dark eyes, blank and ever so empty. She could not wrap her head around the concept of love, I knew. And I turned from the scene with tears in my eyes. A father caressing his child for the last time and desperately trying to show her love and caring for once.

He walked away with his shoulders hunched, as if he no longer had purpose on this earth. He mounted his mule, and begrudgingly headed south. 

Power and the Glory: Section 2 Blog 1

The priest kept going on his mule, having been running for twelve hours, with the police everywhere trying to catch him. I followed him closely behind with great intent of finishing a fascinating and mystifying story. The policemen, trying to chase him into a place of no escape, pursued him intently. I managed to pull ahead of the policemen however, and followed closely behind the man. The police dropped behind, and both in tired spirits as it would seem, we prodded forward towards a small town. 

The priest quickly dismounted and went directly to the home of a woman whom he addressed as Maria. She must have known him, for she addressed him as "Father". I wondered how they knew each other. The villagers were cold towards him, and frightened by his presence in their town. It must have been that the lieutenant's threat to take hostages from the villages in which he is reported to have stayed ever loomed over their heads constantly. I followed closely behind the man and the woman called Maria, and listened intently to their awkward small talk. 

The priest then inquired after someone named Brigitta, with a small smile caressing his face. Maria replied coldly, and without change of expressions. The priest went into the home, and Maria instructed them to come before him. They kissed his hand, as was ritual, but it was odd that none of the townspeople came and did the same, but instead kept their distance, all while speaking in hushed whispers. 

He entered the house, where Maria brought him some brandy, and the child Brigitta appeared. Was this his daughter? She was about seven I should think, but much too old in mannerisms for her age. Her mother was very harsh and cold towards her, which seemed to anger the priest. Brigitta inquired of her father (whom I dont think she knew was her father), if he was el gringo, who had been accused of murder. She also refused to say her catechisms, which must have been a knife in the heart of this once-religious man. Their conversation was short and simple, however very meaningful. It was possibly the last interaction between father and daughter, because I knew that the lieutenant would stop at nothing to catch him. 

He was running out of time. Running out of time to mend his wrongs perhaps? A priest with a daughter? Who would have guessed? Well, after all, this is Mexico.

Noticias Poder y Gloria

El segundo de julio de 1930
Escrito por: Lindsey Luna

I met with the lieutenant today at the police station. He had expressed his extreme distaste for his ragtag group of a police force, and dare I say there are many worries concerning the police force, and their ability to do their job efficiently. This country has not had a decent police force for many years, and our stern and strict lieutenant is just the man to get the policemen in line. However, he is infamous for being stern and cruel to the inmates and prisoners jailed for even the most minor of offenses. His character is a hard one, however it may be that he is the exact type of person Mexico needs to get back up and running. Although he seems like he should be the man in charge of operations, he still answers to the chief or more commonly referred to as "el jefe". 

El jefe is in almost constant communication with the governor, and one of the most reoccurring topics of concern that the governor shares with el jefe is that of the large number of priests in the country. Our anti-Catholic and anti-religious state of mind indeed creates problems in the state affairs, and creeps into even the smallest towns and most insignificant households. This country-wide issue of finding priests and stripping them of their title and rank has become a dirty business indeed. 

The lieutenant was reportedly unconvinced as to el jefe's assumptions, however a recent photograph provided by el jefe himself counters the lieutenant's skepticism. The photograph reveals a plump and wealthily endowed priest cavorting with some scandalously dressed women at a first communion party. This manner of acting is absolutely shameful to the name of religion, and it angered the lieutenant greatly. He was absolutely infuriated at the way the priests behave, or at least at the way they used to behave before Catholicism was outlawed, believing that they lead lives of indulgence and wealth while the people who they supposedly served remained in poverty and misery. In spite of his stern and seemingly cold and harsh mannerisms, the lieutenant is an understanding and caring man. He is a great leader for our people, and will lead us well in this time of hunting down these evil men who dare call themselves "Christians". 

This is why worship of God is no longer. His "servants" have indeed misrepresented Him.

A Strange Series of Events - The Power and The Glory

Noticias Poder y Gloria

El segundo de julio de 1930
Escrito por: Lindsey Luna

The quayside was tranquil today. With the dazzling sky and ebbing waves setting a stunning background, there was an appealing and somewhat mystifying turn of events in the town this morning. Señor Tench, the town dentist, who has been noted as "apathetic", "vacant" and "spiritually dead" (as much of Mexico is), encountered a strange fellow today, and spoke to him, while in town trying awaiting a package containing an ether cylinder coming in today by boat. 
Señor Tench has been spoken of by many of the townspeople as being "racist", "contemptible towards the Mexican race", and "loatheful towards most". It is uncertain as to why the two were seen in public speaking to one another, however, a reliable source reports that the peculiar gentleman spoke English, furthermore possibly explaining Señor Tench's willingness to carry conversation with the fellow. 
The identity of the stranger still remains unknown, although his mysterious and aloof nature would seem to point towards some sort of unwarranted behavior. These are dangerous times in our country, and to remain unsuspicious, one mustn't put on the face of being a mysterious character. The stranger told Señor Tench that was waiting for a boat to Vera Cruz, and I observed that once Señor Tench took notice of the fact that the peculiar man had a bottle of contraband alcohol in his possession, he suddenly became adamant that the stranger come and have a a drink with him at his office, seeing as the boat for Veracruz did not leave for another two hours or so. 
Finding the necessity to get a closer look in order to continue observation and investigation, I followed the two men to the dentist office, and watched their interactions from the window. Observing the strange man closely, it would seem as if he had not been taking good care of himself, and his shoddy appearance made him appear as if he had been traveling or running from someone or something. His facial expressions showed a sense of wariness and anxiety. He glanced around the room surreptitiously, as if he had something to hide, or as if he didn't want anyone to see him there. This man is being put under investigation, and further reports will follow as to his identity and upon which grounds he is here, or traveling to Veracruz.
After a chat with Señor Tench, the man proceeded to depart, following after a little boy who was seeking help for his dying mother. The boy's face of fright said it all, and the stranger, obviously feeling compassion for the young child went with him to see what he could do for the child's ailing mother.
Also, another thing worthy of investigation is the strange object he seemed to have left at the home of Señor Tench. It looked like a book, and after looking at the object with fright, he proceeded to shove the item into a little oven. 
These clues lead up to but one conclusion. His mysterious, wary and anxious air, along with his compassion for fellow man, and his leaving of small booklets wherever he goes, do seem to add up to the makings of one occupation: a religious man, or more simply put, a priest. And everyone knows what this means. Trouble.

Artist of the Beautiful - (Reading Response)

     Artist of the Beautiful is a short story which emphasizes on beauty and what the word "beautiful" really means to each individual.
     We get two different perspectives from two very different characters in the story. One is Peter. He is a hardworking man who has toiled all his life to create and fix watches. So much that he has gone nearly blind from viewing the intricate detail of the tiny watches. He has come to detest his choice of career, saying that it is foolish, and it would indeed be a wonderful thing to be a blacksmith. His view of being a blacksmith is that it is a "wholesome thing to depend on main strength and reality, and to earn one's bread with (his own) bare and brawny arm ... did you ever hear of a blacksmith being a fool?" So clearly he thinks that it would be a beautiful thing to have the qualities of a blacksmith.
      Then we have Owen, a young fellow who has had a deep connection with nature and all that is beautiful in it, since he was just a little child. He sees beauty as something that is not utilitarian, but natural in every sense. He even became physically ill from seeing a steam engine, because it was so unnatural, and he just could not grasp it within his soul. His view of beautiful is something that God made with his very fingers, and created from his very soul. So, to do this he tries to recreate the beautiful...