PAX CHRISTI

"The Peace you are looking for, is within you.

A balmy evening.

The long tarred road was quite hilly and often lonely, except for the chirping of birds and sounds of trees dancing to the peaceful wind. The running water at the hillside was attractive. It reminded him of the hymn;

Spirit of God in the clear running water

Blowing to greatness the trees on the hills

Spirit of God in the finger of morning...

Fill the earth, bring it to birth and blow

Where you will...

Peace. Everything about the road was peaceful. Maybe because of the boldly written PAX on a board above the gate. Journey by foot was difficult than he thought. If truly there was peace in this place, then he had come to the right place. He heaved a sigh of relief when he got closer to the gate.

There was a woman at the gate he was trying hard not to look at, she kept staring at him inquisitively. He went in feeling uncomfortable. What if they stop him and ask 'Boy, whom do you seek?' What kind of reply would he give? When he sighted a robed monk moving hurriedly across the field, he knew that he had arrived at the Monastery.

"Father! Father!" He turned to see her, a girl running after the monk. Just then, he caught sight of the boldly inscribed SILENCE just in front of a bookshop. He wondered if the girl had seen it too.

"It's late Salome, you should go home. Tomorrow is another day." The monk placed a hand on her shoulder and sighed. "Your Mother would be fine. Be assured"

Tomorrow is another day... Tomorrow is another day... Tomorrow... Another day... Tomorrow. He sighed and shrugged it off. He mustn't listen to the monk, they weren't even talking to him. It just have to be today... Today! Today!

The girl left the monk, heading toward a Van that was moving slowly out of the gate and the monk diverted into a building opposite him. Not knowing where to go on from there, he headed into the building as well. I came for peace...for peace.

But you should go home! Tomorrow is... Shut up! I need peace!

He sighed frustrated. The voices in his head were not taking it lightly with him. A different voice, sonorous humming, familiar voice.

"I warned you to stop drinking. This is the side of you I don't like. Your friends would do no good for you."

"It won't happen again."

"Do just one thing for me."

"Stop." He murmured. It seems she was all over the monastery. He had never felt her presence this much before. He turned around restlessly.

"Stay away from trouble, trouble, trouble." The voice croaked, crying. He sighed and found a stone which he nearly slumped on.

"Your hands are shaking...park the car...let me walk you home." The voice croaked, crying.

A screech, a familiar screeching sound of tyres on the tarred road that would glisten with blood, moans of pain, a girl, death on its way, a girl struggling to mutter her last words, struggling to pull herself out of the mangled jeep, a girl struggling with death, an ambulance, blurry scenes, an ambulance, siren alarm, hefty hands, feel of a moving stretcher, gasps for breath, silence of a beating heart, never to beat again, silence of a friend forever. He killed his friend...and college mother.

"I warned you to stop drinking." It was like a whisper, filled with hate, disdain.

"I have stopped!"

Silence, the voice ceased, he realized he was crying. He had just screamed out and probably drew the attention of anyone around.

"Hey. Are you looking for someone?"

He quivered, turned swiftly and saw the glaring...No, the mesmerizing, beyond words, the most beautiful male he had ever seen. The young man was holding a book and pristine wafted around him. Fine hair cut, grey eyes that bore kindness and gait that screamed humility.

"Uh...uhm..yes..Yes. No." Short of words, scratching his head, confused, he threw his gaze to the ground, diverting to the young man's feet. His feet told all, he was a neat man.

"Yes...No?"

"No... Yes..uh..No sir. No." He groaned in frustration and shut his eyes. "It's personal, I don't know." Wherever he got the courage to utter those, he couldn't tell. He felt the young man smile even though he wasn't looking at him.

"Maybe I can help." He arched his brow and shook his head. He was staring at the strange visitor who seemed lost.

"Come on."

Before he could change his mind, the man was moving ahead of him to the other side of the building where there was a garden. He sat on one of the stone pews. Several monks were uphill , on their kneels. He opened the book he was holding and beckoned on the boy.

"Come on." He was once a boy, a shy one. He knows better than to be impatient with this one.

"Sir, I am sorry for bothering you" He began when he had sat down next to the man.

"Bother me? Do I look bothered? Nah! You need help and maybe I can help. So, so" It was a sign for him to start, to tell what brought him to the monastery at this late hour. Maybe this was Jesus waiting for him all all day.

"I think I can get help here... I am looking for Peace."

"Peace." A nod that urged him to go on.

"I...I am not happy with the way I am living."

"Tell me about it."

"I...I...I...am..." A sigh, shake of sorry head and another sighed before he let it out. "I am a troublemaker sir. I can't help it."

"Can God ever forgive me? I have sinned against heaven and...I feel sorry now."

"Why do you feel sorry now?"

He clutched his bag and shut his eyes. "My friend died."

"Oh...Eternal rest unto him."

He turned to the young man and smirked "Her."

"Eternal rest unto her. Wait. What killed your friend?"

He froze and shook his head "I killed her"

"How?" He was expressionless. How? Just How? No condemnation? No shock? Just how! Is Murder no more a mortal sin?

"I took too much wine, She warned me. I drove recklessly and had an accident. She was unfortunate" His voice trembled.

"So painful. You feel sorry now"

He couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question, but he said Yes.

"You are sorry now because death is no friend? It may come knocking at your door too?"

"I don't think so. It already knocked. I just..."

"I understand. May her soul rest in the Lord."

"I need peace."

"She appears in your sleep."

"Yes!" His eyes widened. How did the young man guess that? She not only appear in his sleep, she appears any time of the day, in his head, distressing him.

"Tell me about her."

He was silent for a while thinking of the right words to use.

"She was the closest friend I ever had. Wanted me to change." The silence made him frightened. The young man was saying nothing, asking no further questions, just mute, listening.

"She was such a peaceful person, always concerned about me. Wishing I listened to her just once"

Silence.

"She was the only person who ever believed in me."

"She used to pray for me.., she wanted me to do away with trouble...even if it was the only thing I would do for her"

Silence.

"I need peace. Can I find it here? I want to be peaceful. I..I.."

"It is okay" At last, the one he'd thought was now a statue had spoken. "You need to pull yourself together and calm down"

It was when he said this that he realized he was discomforted.

He shifted uneasily and waited to hear the next thing the man would say. Why he confided in a total stranger he met here and not a monk as he had intended was strange to him.

"I will listen to you, whatever you have to tell me. I will listen. Do you understand?"

A quick nod and a Yes

"I'll take you to the guest house and..."

"Guest house? Sir, I don't have a dime in my pocket to..."

"Don't worry. Don't worry" The young man waved slightly and got on his feet. He stood up and followed. There was something about the way he walked, Peace. Every step he took. He wished to walk the same way. They walked past the sculpture of St. Benedict.

At the guest house, he was given a room to rest his head, and food. As long as he had no peace, the food was tasteless like every other meal he took at home.

7:30pm.

The moon was punctual and the breeze came, diligently and loyally. The young man was waiting patiently for him at the same spot, close to the garden.

My Friend.

I want to tell you a story. It is about a boy called Barnabas.

Barnabas was the worst kind of son that a father would ever wish to have. His father was unfortunate, the ever gentle man fathered him. When he was born, they thought he would be a rising star, but the first few years of his life was a prologue of what he would be in the next fifteen years.

He was born like every other children, brought up like his siblings, but was quite different in deeds. He was the only reason his mother would yell and scream. Unlike his father who left fate in God's hand, his mother was a never-toy-with woman. Her room became the depot for whips of different sizes. Barnabas was no enemy to the whip, he would commit whichever crime he felt like committing, get flogged, weep aloud and then he was back to his troubles.

His life was a wayward one, disorganised and unworthy of peace. He was six when he started school. Not that he loved school, his immediate younger brother had taken over the attention of his mother. He joined his siblings in school.

But Barnabas became the most intelligent among his siblings. Teachers loved him but that love never saw the morning, his unacceptable manners crushed this love and he earned himself bad names. Fighting was something he found interesting. He took any chance to fight. His name was changed from 'Barnabas' to Barabbas likened to the hardened criminal at Jesus' crucifixion.

All through his primary school days, he topped the class and amazed everyone but his success story flickered. One moment he's praised, another moment he's scolded.

"Good for nothing"

"Spoilt child"

"Lost soul"

LOST SOUL. The people in their neighborhood never got tired of calling him that and he doesn't mind. His sisters were never happy even though at that time none of them knew what Lost Soul meant.

One evening, his elder sister asked their parents what Lost soul meant. The silence their parents observed was disturbing.

"They called Barnabas lost soul" She cried.

"Who?" His mother asked.

"Them. Those people who lived close by"

The parents said nothing else. The next morning, his mother went to the neighbour's. That morning was like hell. She unleashed the venom inside her.

"Whatever names you have for my children, may it backfire! May God deal with you seriously. Instead of you all to pray for my son, you give him names. Is this the God you serve? Wicked people!"

Barnabas was concerned about the next trouble he would cause. So he would shut the doors of his ears to his parent's warnings, giving his family a bad name, more bad names.

When he entered secondary school, he topped his class as always, won the approval of his teachers only to cause more trouble afterwards. He was dreaded by alot of students. He got punished by the principal one day, got angry with the principal and revenged by burning the school's laboratory and was expelled leaving his father in debts. It was difficult for him to get admission into another school, no principal wanted a barbarian for a student no matter how intelligent he was. But there was just one person who was so passionate about him even though he was full of mischief. A priest in his new school, who had pleaded that the boy be given a chance. He took the affairs of Barnabas into his own hand, met his mother and made her understand that the boy had potentials within him. He offered Barnabas what no other person have had the patience to do; Guidance and Catechism. During break hours, on the order of the principal, Barnabas would march toward the chapel to the priest for lecture. Because of his intelligence, he was able to learn without stress, but nothing he learnt was kept at heart. He got into fight with a senior.

His name was Paul, a final year student whose notoriety was in no match for Barnabas's. His name was Paul but students nicknamed him 'Saul' likening him to the apostle Paul before his conversion.

'He persecuted the church.'

'He persecuted the school.'

Paul was a menace, even teachers were afraid of him, students dreaded him especially the juniors. Unlike Barnabas, Paul was dull with his books, coming out last in his class and even repeating classes. It was a miracle that brought him to final year. It was in the month of our Lady, during the devotion that they fought, somewhere close to the grotto. These notorious students fought like never before -a first year student and a final year student -in the history of the school. They were mercilessly punished, made to clear the bushes in the community.

Paul left school after the final exam which he had passed by divine intervention, with a public promise to finish the fight...to finish the race

With Paul gone, the school thought that trouble was over. but Barnabas did worse things, he proved them wrong.

When he was fifteen, he felt he was doing the wrong thing. He felt different from every other students. He decided to meet the priest for baptism.

"You should accept Christ first, son." The priest cautioned.

"I have." Barnabas was serious or so he sounded. His parents rejoiced, the school marvelled. The holy spirit was at work in the boy they thought.

Oliver. He chose Oliver. The priest's own name. Barnabas had bore too much trouble for years.

It was at the cathedral, by another priest, he was baptized.

"Oliver, do you reject Satan...and all his works...and all his empty promises?"

He had nodded before saying 'I do'

He was baptized and it excited him.

__________________

They crossed path again, barely three years after his baptism. They fought as promised. They fought like cubs and tore at each other's clothes. They threw harmful objects and said bad words. People intervened, but none could stop them. None until Paul's father came with his wife.

"Paul! Are you mad?" He dragged his son off the badly wounded Barnabas and faced him.

"You are a disgrace! Disgrace!" His father yelled. Then turning to Barnabas, he casted the longest, most discomforting and awful gaze at him. He frowned pathetically and pointed his finger at him.

"And you! You're not less than a disgrace! You're a fool!"

Barnabas flinched and winced in pain. His left eye was swollen and he could barely see with it, he was bleeding from his mouth and his legs were shaking. Two hefty looking men came in from nowhere and seized him.

"Lock him up in prison, he's an idiot!" Paul's father ordered.

They pulled him away as he struggled to let go.

"Leave me alone. That bastard started it!" He yelled. Paul was satisfied, Barnabas saw it in his eyes. He had that victorious grin that said 'Go to hell, Barnabas, I am finally done with you, the race is finished.'

Paul went after his mother into the big red jeep packed at a distance, his father following suit. He sat at the back of the police van with the two hefty men between him. They were harsh and he loathed them. People were talking, Barnabas heard them all. Although everyone were speaking at the same time, he heard them all.

"A criminal, so young a boy."

"I heard he is a catholic! What a waste of soul! Eternal damnation."

"What a mistake for a son."

"Consequence of being Catholics, they raise bad children. So lukewarm in spirit."

"All they ever teach their children is to serve idols and worship Mary."

"He would be expelled...definitely."

"Who are his parents, they have failed!"

"Obviously, a lost soul."

"Salvation is far from him."

"I wonder why God gives children to the wrong people."

"Let him rot in jail."

He heard those words, spoken, undiluted. He wished he was having a nightmare. They took him to the station, handcuffed him to a pole and went about their duties. He wondered if his family was aware that he had been arrested. It was getting dark and he was hungry and bleeding, and sick. He watched every movements.

The priest came, his friend.

He wondered if he would be compassionate to save him this time. He deserved to be ignored. The priest had gone through a lot because of him.

A police officer walked to him and freed him from the cuff.

"Get up!" It was an order.

"Follow me."

Barnabas scampered after him, feeling numb. Outside, he saw the priest. He was here once more to save him from his own mistake.

"Come!" It was an order. Barnabas followed him into his car and they rode out of the police station. The priest wouldn't say a word and it killed him. Usually, he would shout at him, scold him, then in the gentlest countenance, he would counsel him. Today was different, and nothing told him everything else would be different henceforth. He was taking him to the cathedral, not his home.

"Come." The priest went down from the car and he followed. He had never been to his room for a year now since he stole some money from his drawer. it was a large bedroom with a big bed and a wardrobe. A study desk close to the large window.

"Sit down!" That was all he said before he left. Barnabas waited forever. When he came in again, a girl followed with a bowl, a napkin and a box.

"That is him. When you're done sister, meet me at the lobby. If he makes any trouble, don't hesitate to discipline him." He left again. It killed him all the time to know that the clergyman was not happy with him.

He winced and moaned as the girl massaged his leg and shoulder with napkin that had been soaked in hot water. The pain was beyond words. The girl was quiet and he thought of his mother. She would have beat the living hell out of him and then massaged him with the napkin, scolding him the whole time. The girl dressed the wound near his left eye, rubbed hot sooting balm over his shoulder and leg and left without a word. It was while she was shutting the door behind her that he realized she was a nun.

She came in again just as she has left, with a plate of rice and a cup of water on a tray.

"Eat so you can take those medicines. God be with you." And she left. He caught sight of the medicines on the priest's study desk and frowned at the thought of having to take all that quantity of drugs for all his troubles.

Why his parents hadn't come for him bothered him.

He ate in a hurry and took the tablets. The sister came in much later, said something about Father Oliver not being happy and patted his back, advised him to have some rest. She carried the plate away.

__________________

The priest came in. Stood at the door staring at him. He couldn't make out what his face looked like at that moment for the room was dark and the lamp on the desk covered a limited space. The ceiling fan was rotating noisily

He rehearsed in his head how he was going to say 'I am sorry, Father,' even though it was already a usual statement for him.

The room was silent, so was the priest and he hated it. He was aware that the bishop was in the same building as he and it scared him the most. What if...Just what if he punishes him severely?

The priest stood at the door for what seemed like forever to Barnabas.

When at last he spoke, he was as calm as he had always been to him "That cane on that desk..."

Yes, flog him mercilessly and be done with it.

"...pick up that cane."

He stretched his hand and held the cane up, a long whip which had done its job diligently upon the skin of stubborn students at school.

"Hold the cane."

Barnabas held the cane firmly and turned towards his direction even though he couldn't see him properly. He was getting his mind ready for his punishment, however it goes, he would take it all.

"Come over here."

How many strokes of this cane does he deserve? Sixteen? Twenty four or thirty? He was standing close to the priest now. At sixteen, he was way taller than the priest.

"You know what to do with the cane...or do I have to say it?" Outstretched hand came into view, in surrender for the cane. It wasn't the hand of a student, it was the priest's. He wished he was having a nightmare. Lost, not knowing what to do. He couldn't possibly flog the Reverend.

"I don't have all day, Oliver"

He fidgeted with the cane.

"While you think about where to flog me, my back or my hand, I would be waiting there" He brushed past him to the study and sat down, flipping through a book.

Barnabas sank his kneels into the rug, staring at the priest. He could see his face, it told the story of one who'd go miles to help him, love him and yet that love remained unrequited.

"Father...I..." His voice trailed off and he choked on his words.

"Your family knows that you're here. At least you have a family. I lost my parents at the age of five, my only sister at the age of eleven. I grew up in the orphanage. Just to let you know"

Silence.

"Paul's father could get you wasted if he wanted. With all that prestige, affluence"

Silence, head bowed ashamed.

"In case you're wondering how I got to know about him... He's a parishioner here...this place!" Gesturing to the direction of the church. Stern, too stern to his amazement. He had never seen Father Oliver so stern.

"Yes...a parishioner! Learn to avoid his kind! Avoid him!" The priest hit hard on the desk and the lamp shook. Barnabas shook.

"Go ahead and flog me. I don't have all evening!"

There were orders one mustn't carry out, Orders like this. He let the cane to the ground and clasped his fingers, sorrowfully. He battled within himself to apologise.

He once voiced his desire to consecrate himself to the Church and to God, but he never showed determination. Few days after he told the priest, he was caught drinking and smoking with some bigger boys just after Sunday Mass where he wore soutane and was the 'Cross bearer'. Father Oliver, fatherly and friendly had scolded him, advised him and made him promise to be good. But as usual, his careful words fell on deaf ears.

The priest sighed and got up. He moved to the door and opened.

"I want you to change. Your manners are completely out of human reasoning. You have no peace. You're lost. Lost!"

Et tu Padre Oliver?

No uncertainties any longer... Barnabas is a lost soul. His closest friend had said so.

"There is a bed over there. Here is the key to the door, you have time to think of what you really want...heaven or damnation. See you tomorrow. Peace be with you"

And he was gone. He was gone. One moment he called him a Lost Soul, another moment he blessed him. Barnabas took eternity trying to rise on his feet. He felt weak, tired and for some time, numb, wishing it was a bad dream he could wake up from, gasping and praying silently.

__________________

Augustine Of Hippo

Augustine spent many years of his life in sin. Though he was one of the most intelligent men who ever lived and though he had been brought up a Christian, impurity and pride darkened his mind so much that he could not see or understand the divine truth. At seventeen, his mother, Monica sent him to Carthage for schooling. There, Augustine became a Manichaen. After school, he returned home and shared the views of his new religion with his mother. Monica got angry and drove him from her table. Monica brought her knees down and poured her heart to heaven. With assistance from Fr. Ambrose, she was able to convince Augustine that Christianity was the true religion. Yet, he did not become a Christian then because he thought he could never live a pure life.

One day, he heard about two men who were converted after reading the life of St. Anthony and he felt ashamed of himself.

He met his friend Alipius. "What are we doing? Unlearned people are taking heaven by force while intelligent men like us, with all our knowledge, are so cowardly that we keep rolling around in the mud of our sins!"

He was so full of sorrow that he flung himself out into a garden and cried out.

"How long more, O Lord! Why does not his hour put an end to my sins?"

A child began to sing from afar "Take up and read"

Thinking that God intended him to hear those words, he picked up the book of the letters of St. Paul and read. His gaze fell on. It was just what he needed, for in it , St. Paul says 'To put away all impurity and to live in imitation of Christ' That did it. From then on, Augustine began a new life and was baptized. He became a priest later on. He also became a bishop, a famous writer and found religious priests. Augustine is now one of the greatest saints ever lived.

He became devout and charitable too. On the wall of his room, he had the following sentence written in large letters.

"HERE WE DO NOT SPEAK EVIL OF ANYONE"

St. Augustine overcame strong heresies, practiced great poverty and supported the poor. Preached very often and prayed with great fervor right up until death. He died, righteous and holy.

"Too late have I loved you!" He once cried to God.

__________________

That did it. That was what he wanted. The story of the saint. He read too fast, he was going to read it again...words by words this time.

It was when the clocked beeped for 3:00a.m that he finished the book. How he did it, he couldn't tell, he had been sitting there for eight hours. He sighed and wiped the tears that threatened to dribble down his cheek. Now he was sorry. If God could do it for Augustine, who was he?

Barabbas! You are Barabbas!

Wasn't Barabbas freed in exchange of Christ?

But you are still Barabbas! You are a lost soul!

I want to be found...like Augustine.

Haha! You're joking. You cannot be found...You are lost forever!

Shut up!

He sighed frustrated. Voices in his head, too many voices. He got up from the chair and went to the door. It was late. There was no way he would be able to get home by this time. His eyes were heavy now and he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid sleep. It came just when he had laid on the bed.

The 5a.m cathedral's bell jotted him awake at the exact moment that sleep was becoming sweeter. He heard footsteps outside the door. He wondered if Father Oliver would appear any moment from now. Forcing his being to rise up, his found his sandals and headed home. Walking out of the compound even though Morning Mass was just about to start, nothing ever signalled Barnabas that his life was about to take a different course.

Mother was dying. While he was locked up in cell, Mother had left the house to get him. She was so worried, all panicky that she hadn't seen the vehicle approaching. She had lost so much blood to the accident, broke several bones and sustained too many injuries. Whether or not she would survive was in the hand of her maker. The doctors were only doing what they were trained to do best. His father hadn't slept at home, Barnabas didn't meet him when he arrived home that cold morning. And the priest, according to his sisters, the priest had spent the night at the hospital too.

"This is all because of you" His sisters told him quietly. His eldest sister maintained a cold stare at him.

Father Oliver came by and informed them that their mother needed to see them. He returned to the hospital with them.

Barnabas was visibly shaken when he sighted his almost lifeless mother. She held her children one after the other trying to smile. She spoke to them quietly. Father Oliver took them back home leaving their Father to look after Mother.

Two days later, Mother went under the knife but never woke up.

In his grieving moment, he strolled into her bedroom and went through her little library. There was her rosary beads, prayer books and candle lights. Lying on her bedside table was a leaflet containing 'The Prayer of st. Monica' Her meditations every nights for safety of her children and conversion of her wayward son. This had been for him...because of him. He thought of Augustine's mother and the sacrifice she made for her son and how she died fulfilled. But his mother, unfulfilled and...

Barnabas wept like never before. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound!

__________________

There was silence for a little while. His friend chuckled and looked at him.

"The peace you're searching for is here with you"

"Where?"

"Here, within you. Embrace it. Funny how you've come this far for something that is dwelling right in you, something you've ignored for too long"

He nodded, mute. It was so easy for this young man to talk to him about peace. He hoped he won't be leaving this place empty. Not with a story such as Barnabas's. A lost soul...just like him. He is worse. His case is worse.

"Christ is calling out to you in the holy book of Matthew 11:28. 'Come to me you who are heavy laden and I will give you rest' Oh that today you would listen to his voice, harden not your heart

Call out to him. Ask for peace. Say this prayer always before you sleep, 'Peace of Christ, give me rest' You can turn around and take a new road. You can do it, my friend."

In that silence that descended upon them, he replayed the story of Barnabas in his head. The young man's voice dragged his attention back to the present once more.

"You made a wise choice by coming here. Go fetch your peace."

He slept in a room that was provided for him. No, he couldn't sleep, he talked to Christ all night. When at dawn, he tried to find sleep, she appeared to him and asked quietly.

"You found peace?" That was all he heard and he saw her no more...never more.

In the morning of the next day, his new friend came to him, robed in their habits of St. Benedict this time, grey habits with a sash cord around his waist and leather purse. He was a monk!

"Good morning. How are you?"

"I am fine, honestly."

"You found peace?" He nodded. The young man handed him an envelope.

"Hope to see you again. There's a vehicle heading to town, you can join them. Peace be with you."

__________________

Home, he locked himself in his room, lost in thoughts. His parents, some sort of parents they were. If Barnabas' mother could imitate St. Monica, why couldn't his own Mother? She doesn't care about her children. All she ever cared about is money, money, work, work, church, church and more money. She is a complete opposite of the women in the story. A well regarded woman in the church, dedicated to her duty and upholder of the faith. She is greatly admired and respected by parishioners of St. Raphael and the Ladies of St. John. His mother was a replica of the virtuous woman of Proverbs...to people out there.

His Father on the other hand, was not an inch different from his mother, except that he never got tired of insulting him.

"You good for nothing, You'll soon end up in prison! Are you not ashamed?'

"Useless son. I don't even know why you were born. Your mates are becoming something in life...but just look at yourself. A lost person! Nothing good to write about."

He sighed and shook his head.

He stopped going to church with his family a long time ago. He wasn't even baptized like the others. On rare occasions when he went to church, he took the very last pew and doze off willing the Mass to end quickly so he could go home. Because of his parents and siblings who were always acting all righteous and holiest than thou inside the church whereas at home, they were terrors, demons clothed in white, he hated the church and all parishioners...and the priests who has no ability to see the darkness within the nicest people at Mass and would instead praise certain persons as if his salvation depended on them

Weren't the priests human like him? But they held his parents in high esteem and it nauseated him.

It was in the University that he found his late friend, or it was she who found her. While engrossed in drugs and alcohol, living a haggard life, with no care in the world, she found him. She was motherly and friendly. She made him studious and happy. She taught him things he's never got the time to learn in church or at home.

Say this always before you sleep. Peace of Christ, give me rest.

He sighed again. Examined the envelope the young man had given to him.

The Peace you are looking for is within you

He shut his eyes and opened them.

"Peace of Christ. Give me rest." He muttered.

"Peace of Christ, Give me rest." He repeated.

Something urged him to view the content of the envelope now. He opened and brought out a small book and rosary beads.

PAX CHRISTI was boldly inscribed on the cover of the book. He flipped open and a neatly folded paper fell out...A letter.

I sat in the garden yestermorning,

felt the presence of the spirit than ever.

Told me someone would come searching,

That I must receive him and help.

What kind of help? I do not know.

But I know the spirit is always with me.

I waited from sunrise till sundown.

I was giving up, then you showed up,

A lonesome someone looking for Peace.

Peace...peace...now how do I help?

The Paraclete, the comforter never abandons.

Keep your soul at peace now and always.

Desire nothing less than peace.

It was nice talking with you my friend.

God brought you here.

Please forget not those words.

I hope we see again.

Love always

Fr. Barnabas Oliver.

Lost soul found.

He fixed his gaze on the last words. Fr. Barnabas Oliver.

The man is Barnabas. The man is Oliver. The man is Fr. Barnabas Oliver! The young peaceful man.

He gasped and clutched the paper to his chest. He needed no further explanation. The boy Barnabas had told his own story.

Peace of Christ. Give me rest.

Give me rest! Oh Give me rest!

Pax Christi!

The End