3 Chapter 3

Around about the same time as my visit from

Condon, some unfortunate events were unravelling

elsewhere in the world. My future wife's father,

Victor Ó Muireagáin, was making the mistake of his

life—a mistake that would not only cost him, but

others also. He had been posted at one of the many

outposts the British were setting up in the British

Isles and beyond. It seemed sensible to the rulers to

set up forts and garrisons across the lands,

particularly in Scotland to subdue "the unruly

Scots."

It had been a miserable, cold, and damp day,

and he had already made sure several deserters were

shot.

Sitting at a table in a dungeon facing a

young man was a small man with rounded features.

He was dressed in the red coat of a government

soldier. "My son, will you not reconsider?"

Young Matthew Campbell had already been

visited by a clergyman who had tried to make him

reconsider, and the attempt had only made him sure

of his choice to refuse the draft. He found it ironic

that he had been told to renounce nonviolence in the

name of Christ, which in his eyes effectively meant

he was being asked in the name of Christ to deny

Christ.

"My decision is final, Father."

With tears in his eyes, Draco Campbell said,

"My son, they will kill you."

The brave young man turned his head away

so he would not cry. "Blessed are the peacemakers,

blessed are the persecuted," he muttered.

His father was no longer able to hold back

his tears. Matthew's decision had been the result of

tragic events. Initially he had agreed to the draft,

even though he had been press-ganged into the

army. It seemed such an adventure at the start, and

he wasn't bothered at all about it, but the more he

read the Sermon on the Mount in his little Tyndale

New Testament, the more he found he could not

abide cruelty to other humans. Then something

awful occurred that he could not process in either

his heart or mind.

An army medic told him to write down what

had happened in the hope that writing would give

him some relief. So he wrote:

To the Ground

He falls to the ground.

Hands over his eyes, he weeps bitter tears

of great pain.

How had things come to this?

Wiping the blood and tears from his face,

he does something he hasn't done for a

long time—he prays.

With his rifle finally laid to rest, the young

soldier looks to the heavens and then

across a field of corpses.

Among the dead he sees a child he killed in

the heat of battle.

The soldier's words echo in the valley of

death, "God forgive us."

Forgive us all, sweet Jesus, forgive us.

To the ground the soldier falls.

The medic looked over this piece of writing

and thought the young soldier's feelings were fairly

normal. It was the second two pieces of writing that

got Matthew into big trouble:

Collateral Damage

You are someone's baby, someone's child;

But they call you collateral damage.

You are someone's son, someone's

daughter;

But they call you collateral damage.

You are someone's brother, someone's

sister;

But they call you collateral damage.

You are someone's father, someone's

mother;

But they call you collateral damage.

They call you collateral damage—

For they know not what spirit they are of.

They Lie

They send us off to die.

Blood and tears we cry.

In the heat of battle we live.

Our sweat and life we give.

Bang beats the drum.

A war never won.

Vanity and pride.

The leaders hide.

Why should this be?

In the name of the free?

No, not in my name.

This is not a game.

They send us off to die, we shall not go

For they lie!

When he was taken to the authorities for this

expression of conviction, in the heat of argument he

declared he would no longer fight. Now he was on

trial.

"Father, do not weep for me. If they decide

to kill me I will simply go to heaven and inspire

others to make a stand for love and peace."

Crying, Draco said, "Son, you are a hopeless

idealist! In all of this I can't see how you can

believe in God and still believe in nonviolence. My

son, how will your death serve the people? How

will it serve the coming empire, the new world

order? The kingdom of the future?"

"Father, I serve the Messiah, the Christ. Not

any Caesar. His kingdom is not of this world, and

no man need fight for it. All empires will pass away,

but Christ lives. He is love and peace, and his

kingdom will last forever."

Draco's expression changed from one of

compassion to one of rage. "What foolishness, what

treason is this?"

"Calm yourself, Father. I'll be gone soon."

His short time in the prison had given

Matthew time to think, and one thing was clear to

him: he must not compromise. Having seen various

criminals coming and going in this awful place, he

had also begun to see that these thieves and

murderers did not see what they did as wrong. He

had also seen soldiers coming and going and

wealthy people making a profit on other people's

suffering, all bragging about what they had

achieved. What was boasting in wealth but theft

from the poor, and what were nationalism and war

but murder and denial of the human family?

There was a knock on the heavy metal doors

that kept the dungeon shut, and Draco went to the

door. Two soldiers, muscular and tall, stood without.

He muttered with them, out of hearing distance

from Matthew. The soldiers suddenly pushed past

Draco and headed straight for Matthew. They

grabbed him and took him away.

The soldiers marched Matthew to another

room in the dungeons where a superior officer

waited. This man was to be Matthew's judge and

jury. Sitting at a table with two armed guards by his

sides, Jenny's father, Victor, sat with a disinterested

face and a dominating figure.

"Do you wish to die, young man?"

"No."

"As I suspected. Then you must cooperate

and agree to the draft. The army needs young men

like you."

"I cannot."

"And why is that?"

"I am a Christian, and I do not believe in

violence."

An amused expression crossed his face.

"Come now, young man, there are plenty of

Christians in this military."

"I must protest, sir. Any allegiance between

Christians and murder is a compromise too far."

"What foolishness is this?" Victor whispered

to one of his soldiers. Then he paused and said,

"Never mind, his father is here."

Draco entered and looked at Matthew before

stepping forward.

Lieutenant Commander Ó Muireagáin spoke

to him. "You must instruct your son; he is refusing

to do his duty."

"I refuse to kill," Matthew interrupted.

"Please instruct him."

Draco, unsure of what to say, looked at

Matthew and said in a cold tone, "He is of age."

Everyone in the room knew what such a

statement implied: Draco had washed his hands of

his own son. However, Matthew seemed to have

been empowered with a new boldness, and he rose

to his feet in defiance.

Victor looked at him sternly. "Very, well,

young man. You will die if you don't obey."

"So be it."

"Such a waste . . . but as you wish. As of this

hour you are a condemned man. God save the

king!" Victor roared.

In response, Matthew said, "Hail to the

Prince of Peace, Jesus the Messiah."

This enraged Victor all the more. "Get him

out of my sight!"

The soldiers grabbed Matthew's arms once

more, but Draco suddenly lurched forward, his face

showing a sudden surge of compassion. "Wait, son,

please."

Victor addressed Draco. "Make it quick, old

man. I've got more scum to deal with, executions to

arrange, wars to plan. I haven't got all day!"

"Son, please, recant and hope they forgive

you. They are going to kill you."

Matthew looked at his father, hugged him,

and said, "God be praised!"

Victor rose to his feet and thumped his fist

on the table. "What sin do your fellow Christians

commit by being in this army?"

Matthew looked him directly in the eyes.

"You know what they do."

"Take him away," Victor roared.

Matthew's punishment was arranged for

sunrise on the next day. He was returned to a

solitary cell. The prison window overlooked an

execution ground.

To Matthew's surprise, the guards seemed to

have forgotten all about him the next morning after

a night of heavy drinking. The time for his

execution came and went, and they left him alone.

This delay in affairs did not bring the relief that

Matthew would have hoped for—instead he saw a

friend who had helped many to run away from the

army face execution.

Matthew was slumped against the wall when

he heard the guards ask, "Are you ready to die?"

He jumped up and ran to the window to see

what was happening. A beautiful young girl was

bound against a wall, and the soldiers were making

ready to execute her by firing squad. She wore a

beautiful purple dress that only a young lady of

nobility could afford. Matthew knew her at once.

Looking up and seeing Matthew's face in the

prison bars, the young girl smiled and said, "Yes."

The guard was taken aback. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"So be it."

The firing squad made ready, aimed, and

then fired. In the brief minute before the word

"fire," she closed her eyes and spoke in Irish Gaelic

a prayer of praise while gazing up at a Celtic cross

that stood just behind where the firing squad had

lined up to take her life:

Tall, dark, towering, decorated with curves

and angles.

Sign of the people, the passion, and the

place.

The circle of life and resurrection.

Hands once held there, feet once nailed.

The inscription "King of the Jews"

The reality "King of all kings."

The King of the Celts died here.

Slain to reconcile man to God.

Art and heritage combine.

The story unfolds as it is retold.

God of our fathers bless us.

Bless us in the shadow of thy cross.

BANG!

She fell forward, but the shots hadn't killed

her instantly. She choked and spluttered in the dirt.

Matthew's only comfort was the word he heard her

cry out on her last breath—"Hallelujah!"

Then all was still.

The next morning as the sun began to rise,

Matthew lay curled in the foetal position. He felt

broken inside, and the doubts so many people of

faith have from time to time began to surface. The

young girl's death had been horrible. Was he doing

the right thing? Had he acted rashly?

"I'm so alone," he moaned.

He looked toward the prison window as a

beam of light broke through the bars. At first it

seemed normal, like a beam of sunlight. However,

the light burst through the bars with such an impact

that the entire room was filled with light. This was

not just sunlight, nor the light of a candle.

"Matthew," a voice said.

Matthew rose to his feet in surprise. "Who's

there?" he said, shielding his eyes.

He began to see the faint image of what at

first appeared to be a human. The light gradually

faded a little, and before him stood a beautiful

angel. She was radiant, dressed in white with the

wings of a dove. The angel held a shield with the

word PAX on it and cradled a dove in her other

hand. Matthew fell to his knees.

"Rise. I am only a messenger of truth."

Gently, she helped him to his feet and led

him to the window. "Child of God, you are not

alone. Look, and behold the light among the

people."

Pointing out, the angel directed Matthew's

eyes to the execution ground below. The blood

stained ground doubled as a marketplace during the

day. It was busy, as people were selling various

produce from local farms and craft shops. However,

now he didn't just see the troubled prisoners and the

soldiers walking and marching to and fro, nor did he

simply see people buying and selling on bloodied

ground—he also saw the spirit realm, and beside

every human was at least one angel.

"Behold God's compassion."

Matthew's attention was drawn to a young

lady carrying her baby. Beside her was an angel,

and around the baby were baby-sized angels playing

and singing together.

"Since you were small, God and his angels

have looked after you in both the good and bad

times. The choice before you now will be costly if

you continue to choose grace, but be of good

courage. God and his angels will give you strength

to love."

His lips began to tremble. "I'm afraid."

"Child of God, fear not. Your elder brother,

Jesus, has made a place for you in his house of

many mansions. His kingdom come!"

"What about those I leave behind? What

about all these people? My father . . . my friends?"

"If you choose this costly path of love, your

witness will be a light to fallen hearts."

"What about God's kingdom?" Matthew

asked. "Will it really make a difference?"

Then the angel said, "Even a drop of love

can change many hearts, and I sense that you have

much love. Be not afraid. You will have strength to

bless those who curse you, to love those who hate

you, and to pray for those who persecute you. Be

not afraid, fear not." The angel's voice and visible

presence slowly faded away.

When she was gone, Matthew was left in

awe. Calmly he pondered the events of his life and

especially of the last few days. A person would

hardly kill and torture a neighbour just because a

man in a suit told him to do so—so why should he

go far from home to do it? Were the faraway not

also neighbours? He began to write on the floor

with a piece of stone that had broken off the

window ledge:

Hope in Jesus

What happens when I die?

The voice of angels that do not cry.

Ladder to heaven.

Death has won?

Nay, Life has won.

Death: where is her sting, where is her

victory?

No shame in dying, no shame in living.

Crushed to earth, but rising again.

In Christ alone my hope is found.

What happens when you die?

The voice of angels that do not cry?

He put the stone down, and thinking of the

angel, felt a comforting presence he had never felt

so strongly before. Then he thought again of his

Saviour, Jesus Christ, and wrote one last piece.

It Is finished!

Finished

Bloody Palms

Bloody Crown

Bloody Ground

Bloody Nails

Radiant Light

Third Day Rising

Finished, but Just Begun

He lay down his primitive writing tool. He

had run out of space to write, and besides, he was

ready to die for his beliefs now.