John Fairbanks
St. Gregory the Great Writing Group
It was about four in the afternoon on a hot day when I decided to go swimming. Jumping in the backyard pool, hoping for a bracing jolt, I was disappointed. The water was lukewarm. I went back inside to read.
St. Teresa of Avila’s The Interior Castle was on the table next to my recliner. Settling in, I was soon asleep.
I woke around dusk, no longer in my chair. I stood in a courtyard before a magnificent castle. Looking around, I saw St. Teresa coming toward me. She wasn’t walking, though. She was elevated, gliding above the ground!
“Where am I?” I asked in disbelief.
“You’re where he lives,” she replied. There was no confusion, no doubt. I knew exactly whom she meant.
“How did I get here?”
“He invited you.”
I was in legal trouble. Jail time wasn’t on the table anymore, but punishment was ahead. Something in this experience had drawn me back to my childhood faith, which was why I was reading St. Teresa in the first place.
“Will I meet him?”
“That’s up to you, but I’ll show you the way.”
I trailed behind her as she glided toward the castle’s broad and soaring doors, which, as she drew near, opened by themselves, like welcoming arms preparing to embrace an old friend. We entered a giant chamber, befitting such tremendous doors. It was filled with the most beautiful paintings and sculptures and pottery and leather-bound books; the most bold, the most subtle, the most sublime of all that man can make was there.
“Stay close,” she instructed. “It’s easy to lose yourself in here.” Going through a door tucked behind a colossal statue of John Lennon, we descended some stairs, disorienting me in no small way. “Shouldn’t we be climbing?” I thought.
Torches burning in wall sconces lit the room at the bottom. Torture devices were arranged inside, like cars parked in an automotive museum. Georges Lemaître sat at a table in the corner sanding glass lenses.
He smiled knowingly at St. Teresa. Then, turning to me, he said, “Look closely, because one of these objects leads to your next destination.”
I shuddered. Truly I desire to meet him, but this? Must I be tortured? Then I recognized something strange about the rack. The wheel for elongating the table had a chain leading from it to a hatch in the ceiling. Spinning the wheel wouldn’t spread a victim to death. Instead, it would give him an escape route. Confidently, I spun the wheel and a ladder dropped from the hatch.
“I did it!” I exclaimed. “I outsmarted your test.”
Lemaître sighed. “How did you get here?”
“I came from outside and through the big chamber and down the stairs and . . .” My voice trailed away. I couldn’t sufficiently explain how I came to stand where I stood.
“He’s not ready,” Lemaître said to St. Teresa. “He should go back up.”
“No,” she replied. “He’ll learn.”
A torrent of gratefulness rushed over me. I had just claimed greater understanding than that of the father of the Big Bang Theory, and St. Teresa, whose soul darts around the universe like a spark through stubble, not only forgave me but defended me.
She floated up through the hatch. I climbed the ladder slowly, arduously, painstakingly, with my head hung low, only raising my eyes to the next rung after being certain my feet were secure on the one below.
What seemed an eternity later, I arrived at a solarium. The view was spectacular. I could see over the castle wall out into a countryside of oak-studded hills. There was a town not far in the distance with simple houses and children playing outside. An emerald-green river flowed past the houses and a bridge crossing the river led to wheat fields and a cherry orchard. For the first time since being in the courtyard, I felt at rest.
St. Teresa was smiling. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m me,” I replied, perplexed.
“How are you made?” Oh, I’m beginning to understand.
“I’m made in God’s image.”
“Yes,” she said. “Never forget you carry the most precious gift of all. You’re more loved than you can ever imagine. You already possess more riches than you can ever dream of.”
Pointing to a door leading out of the solarium, she continued, “Stay here and pray for perfect charity for your neighbor. He wants to give that to you, but don’t imagine it won’t cost anything. Think what he bore to save you. When you’re ready, the door will open, but never forget who he is and who you are.”
At that moment, I felt myself moving at great velocity, like a dust particle drawn into a black hole. When I stopped, I was back in my recliner, but I was different. There was fire in my heart.