A Man of God

A Man of God

The man of God looked up towards the heavens. But saw only a coal-black sky. At some point the world had closed in on him. Cut him off, making him small, unimportant. Alone. A flash that sent a silver glow through the low clouds brought him back to his mission. The deep rumble that echoed through his body helped to ground him. Focus his resolve. He felt in his pocket; it was still there.
Oh, how he longed to see the stars again.

*****

The wonder of infinity. The possibilities. Before my assignment, but after my calling, I'd dreamed of traveling to the stars. Had attended Morgan State, declaring a major in Astronomy but spending more time in Theology, feeling a connection. "God is in the heavens," I told myself. But not the heavens I could see with a telescope, so off to Seminary school I went. Five years later, I had my parish here in Baltimore. Home. Then it happened. First contact. Vorr-Tech got the credit, but at a cost. The first commercial deep space venture headed to some classified destination had encountered them. They (We didn't know what else to call them at the time) communicated; we tried to understand the bursts of chatter, the series of clicking and ticks, but it was beyond Vor-tech's craft, the Vorr-X, to decipher. It was also beyond those back on earth who listened via recordings sent back over a delayed transmission.
The powers that be had planned on keeping it hush-hush, but something of this magnitude wouldn't; couldn't stay secret. People talk. The transmission leaked, and the world knew. I knew. Truthfully, I didn't believe- at first. Skeptical because I'd given my life to Christ. Trusted what the bible said. God created man in his image. I translated image to mean language, assuming any creature made in God's image would speak similar to us here on earth. Those sounds I heard were nothing like any language on this planet. Somehow that meant there couldn't be intelligent life out there. Like I'd believed once, looking at the night sky with the eyes of a child. But the transmissions continued; I listened despite my doubts. Praying for an answer, not so much for what it meant, but for clarity. That these beings actually existed. The Vorr-tech crew were trying everything they could think of to communicate.
Math, music, sign language, shapes even basic images, like trees, animals, and people. The result was the return of more clicks, ticks, and even a hiss. It was a game of who would decipher who first. Frustration grew, more so on earth. The delay, only a tad over an hour, became an eternity. I found myself listening to those sounds, smirking, telling myself it wasn't possible. But at the same time, praying more-wondering more about the meaning -if. Wondering about what they might look like -if. I dropped the if and accepted what God was telling me somewhere along the way. "Actual aliens." The awe in my voice confirmed it.

*****

The world waited. The breakthrough wasn't on our side. Vorr-X had received a message, one they quickly shared with the rest of humanity. "A violation of -," the translation wasn't intelligible but had something to do with the ship, not so much where it was but why it was? "A symbol -" were the last words we heard from our people. But not from them. Ships, large, by our standards, silver disc-like crafts hovering over cities, towns, and even farming communities, appeared. It didn't make sense the seeming randomness of their chosen locations. Until. The commonality surfaced- Vorr-tech. Each was near an affiliate, subsidiary, or an actual branch.
Who would have thought a company could be in so many places? Lights were beamed from the ships, focusing on the buildings. A spectrum of colors rushed across brick, wood, and glass. No one understood the exact purpose of the lights, but we knew it wasn't good. Needless to say, with a missing ship and unwanted attention from an alien race, the company was in trouble. Stocks plummeted as contracts were canceled, forcing lay-offs. Others just quit amid the alien attention. The remaining leadership needed something big to turn the tide. If they only knew why these beings were so hostile to them. Communication was the answer and hopefully the solution to their failing company.
Light, they thought, was the how. Analyzing the flashing patterns from the ships, they built a laser that could hopefully emulate the same spectrum. But what did it all mean? Scientists at Vor-tech thought they'd figured it out. Using what little pull Vorr-tech had with their one friend left in Congress, Senator Swenson, they pulled off a hail-mary. At their headquarters in Washington D.C, they gathered with world leaders, or their delegates, our president, and a handful of the most influential members of Congress, all dressed for the cameras. The world was watching. The scientist whose idea it was, or at least the one the company claimed, started his sequence. Voices from the large crowd murmured, fixated on the light from the ship, looking for any change. Both lights intensified, then the lights from the disc-like craft- stopped. A hush fell over the crowd. Silence, as the world itself, paused- voices of those gathered began to rise, in all languages, all asking the same thing- what happened? Absolutely nothing. That day.

*****

A week later, more ships came covering more Vor-tech locations. How many sites could this company have? Obviously more than even our cosmic visitors had assumed. More flashing lights from us yielded the same nothing. A show of power? A true misunderstanding? The world was abuzz with speculation and worry. NATO offered assistance. Apparently, they had an alien contingency. Technology that might be our only hope in case things got ugly. Even countries formerly opposed allowed NATO to take the lead. Troops moved in and set up shop outside every occupied location. Still, the aliens did nothing.

*****

When every TV set, computer, phone, and iPad, on the planet began to broadcast, the world paused again. Insects, many of the less educated would call them later. Those more versed in science argued Arachnids because of the mouth. Some news stations initially used mandibles, but those who studied such things said chelicerae were more accurate. I had to look it up; basically, articulated fangs used to inject venom into the creature's prey. Regardless, this being wasn't what anyone expected. The head consisted of black bulbs, two large in the center, and two smaller near the ends of the oblong face, that everyone agreed were eyes, surrounded by course tan and black spikey hairs. Insects, or arachnids, the debate meant little to the average person who saw only a monster addressing the world. Its fangs moved, revealing a small orifice with jagged tiny teeth. About a second delay, then: "Hive leader of Vorrrrrr," followed by clicks and squeaks, "violation."
Lights strobed around the imposing figure forming the logo of Vorr-tech- Five interlocking triangles embedded in a green and orange broken circle. We may not have understood the clicks and squeaks, but the tone was unmistakable. Anger. The transmission cut and news began to stream worldwide of smaller crafts launching from the hovering mother ship. I switched on my seldom-used TV and caught the local news already broadcasting from a Vorr-tech facility. I recognized it right away. I'd driven by it enough and had parishioners who worked there. I watched as one of the small ships, similar in design to the parent ship, descended toward the empty field adjacent to the complex. A soft purple glow formed around its underbelly, hovering, waiting.

*****

I needed to do something. This was my community, my people. I hoped in my car and arrived in time to see the craft touch down. Soldiers, some from all over the world, stood anxious, waiting, dreading what was to come. A hatch opened, massive metallic exoskeletons housing creatures like the one we'd seen on the broadcast sprouted spider-like appendages. They moved quickly, effortlessly across the field towards our brave men. This couldn't be real? It didn't feel real. I got out of my car and approached; a nervous guard stopped me.

"Sir, this is a secure...."

The machines jumped the high perimeter fence gracefully, moving closer to the line of soldiers forming in front of the entrance.

"Son, look around you. Nothing is secure. I've people in there. People who need me; need God."
He saw my collar, the bible in my hand, my cross of plain silver around my neck.

"D...do you think that... that they're going..." The young man's eyes watered, his lower lip quivering.
"Let us pray that these beings that can travel across space, wield such advanced and prolific equipment, will be smart enough to realize life is more precious than a.... a symbol." It dawned on me then. That was what this was all about. A symbol. Some corporate logo, that, for whatever reason, upset them. Couldn't they see? See how primitive it was to react violently to something meaningless as that? We had no connection to them. Nothing to tie us to that region of space till we'd arrived. At best, we're guilty of a coincidence. "We have to trust in God that truth and sanity will prevail."

The young man, wiping at his eyes, nodded.

"Be strong, trust in God." I patted him on the shoulder; he moved in and hugged me. Surprised for only a second, I returned his hug, telling him everything would be okay.

By the time I reached the line of soldiers, the metallic spiders were mere meters from them. Weapons poised, they stood motionless. I passed them and headed to the group of workers I'd seen on TV, David, an older man I knew well, was among them. He'd lost his wife only last year and had asked for my counsel, which I'd gladly provided.

"Father!" He brightened when he saw me approach.

"David, good to see you even ...." I didn't finish my thought.

Like the soldier at the gate, he came at me with outstretched arms. I hesitated, again only for a moment, then embraced him. He introduced me to the few workers who remained. All took turns, wanting what they thought I could offer- God's hand of protection. Hugging me, holding tight, I could feel their need for reassurance. Feel what they wanted me to take. Their fear. Empathy, I thought, was a two-way street, and why I hesitated in hugging, that they'd know; feel the fear I hid. They didn't. I listened and tried to assure them that God was with us, even when I had doubts. I could see the tension ease from their faces. Solace, I could give them that much.

*****

No one knew, at least no one alive, who fired first. Our weapons, those provided by NATO, proved as effective as our flashing lights. Theirs, on the other hand- devastating. No sound, no terp-terp, or zap-zap. Silent. Deadly. The body vaporized; no screams, no blood, no remains. Gone. Our small group,
Praying, hadn't realized any of this until we heard the screams of the media. Looking to where our line of soldiers had been and seeing only the aliens advancing, we didn't understand. One of the machines saw us and moved. Screams. The group broke apart, running in random directions; David and I remained, still too shocked to move. The machine was upon us, staring down, not at me but at David. Its weapon pointed directly at his chest, at the logo on his shirt.

"Willing to wage war, kill over a symbol, "I yelled at the giant. "Insanity! Insanity!" I was nearing tears, not knowing what more I could say or do. Behind the alien line, the assembled media were just as confused. Some cried; some screamed into the camera. Others, maintaining a professional composure, did their best to report on the obvious. We were no match.

I looked into the dark center-eyes of the creature behind the machine. I knew. I placed myself between David and the weapon, praying. I held up my small silver cross. "Jesus, protect us...."

"Je-sus?" Its fangs formed the words visible through the plexiglass-like covering that protected its head

Speechless, I nodded.

As fast as it had begun, it was over. Peace.

*****

The troops withdrew; the ships didn't. My life. Upside down, in one moment. When the metallic spider, only moments away from vaporizing the both of us, turned and retreated to the ship, David broke down weeping, clinging to me, thanking me. I was motionless. Stunned. I'd expected to die. Others came, all around me. A reporter, mic thrust into my face, asking me what I'd said. How I'd stopped the attack. I was still considering the possibility I died; this was my mind's way of coping with my last seconds on earth.
I closed my eyes, prayed. Let the world move on without me.

*****

Was someone talking? Was I in bed? A dream. But, no, this room; the fan overhead, not mine, where? Hospital, someone answered; I hadn't realized I'd spoken. The man standing over me was in uniform, high ranking; medals. More questions. No answers. Frustrated, the both of us, I was left alone. The TV on, I saw- myself. My open mouth, glazed eyes, the reporter asking rapid-fire questions, me not responding, then closing my eyes. Once I started the prayer, the reporter stopped and joined in; the crowd gathered did as well. It came off as if I knew what I was doing. That I was some kind of hero, a spiritual leader. I wasn't any of that, just a scared man with no idea why. Why he was alive, why the aliens had stopped, why any reporter would want to talk to him. I'd stood there after my prayer, eyes closed, hoping it was all a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. They cut all that and edited in the moment. The moment I thought would be my last, unknown, lost in time. But one reporter, who hadn't panicked, kept reporting, kept his cameraman too, caught it all. Coincidence? Gods plan?
I was too numb to decide. I saw myself standing there in front of that thing. So small, so helpless. Raising my cross, no sound, but you could see my mouth moving. Many claimed I'd invoked God's power, which compelled the creature to retreat. I scoffed at that. Felt my face flush. I was scared. No plan, no idea I'd survive. A coward hiding behind the cross, not evoking any power.

After the doctors had cleared me, I found myself in the back of some SUV with blacked-out windows, driven to some secret location for further questioning. Everyone I saw was polite and thanked me for what I'd done. But their faces. Scared, like David, that soldier at the gate. Sure, they did a better job hiding it, but their eyes betrayed them. Everything they asked, I hadn't an answer. Frustration, a hint of doubt, that I might be lying. They asked about Vorr-tech, why they were the Alien's target, what the symbol meant. I shrugged, wondering the same thing. In desperation, they showed me classified videos of what the aliens were capable of. All the planes, tanks, and warships, all as easily vaporized as a single man. Nothing we had could stand against them; even our strongest weapon, some kind of advanced nuke, deployed, by a panicked mistake, the agent showing me added, had failed. It, like the soldiers I'd seen at Vorr-tech, vaporized. The launch site a crater. The aliens wouldn't take any act of aggression without a response. And here I was. The man that not only stood up to them but also ended the short but devastating war. And all I could say was God. The power of God. Over and over, until they believed it, I believed it. So why was I surprised when I got the call? Humility? No, insecurity. I still felt unworthy, just another member of the flock; why would the Vatican call me? But it wasn't just the Vatican. It was the Holy Father himself. I listened, barely speaking, nodding more, though he couldn't see. He wanted me there. Said I was a part of God's plan.

*****

Home to collect the things I'd need for the trip. It sounded so ordinary. The trip. The Vatican. A place I'd visited. Once, with millions of others. Nervous, wishing I'd told the Holy Father that it was a waste of time. I couldn't help him any more than I could help the military. But I hadn't, and now I was going on the trip. What do you pack when you're the guest of the Pope? I hadn't a clue. I glanced out the window and saw police everywhere, trying to keep the faithful, crazies, and fearful away. A little more respectful, the media set up vans all along my street, with reporters/cameramen on top, trying to get a peek of me. Sending me notes via a bribed police officer, offering me money, fame, even sex. Unreal. All wanting to know; wanting help. Overwhelmed, I sat on the couch and turned on the TV, hoping to see something else other than me. "No, still me." Reports from around the world- The same scene, the same speculation. Word had already gotten out about the Pope's call.

Coward

Exhausted, I fell across my bed, buried my head under the pillow, and asked God what to do. It wasn't long till it came to me. "Ask, and you shall receive," I exclaimed, jumping from the bed, too excited to sleep.

Being an instrument of God didn't necessarily give you knowledge, only acceptance. That was what I needed. I could pray for acceptance.

A car had arrived to take me to the airport by the morning's sun. I'd spent most of the night praying and had no regrets; I'd found what I needed. At peace, I felt refreshed for the task, whatever that might be, with a renewed faith.
Being a humble priest, one doesn't expect luxury, nor should one want. That was something I'd lived by. Experiencing the private plane ride, all the pampering and amenities, tempted me to rethink that. I reasoned if the Holy Father provided this, how could it be a sin? I decided that perhaps I wasn't in a position to judge one way or the other.

"Let God guide me."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Nothing." I had a habit of thinking out loud. It helped to convince me when I struggled with God's plan.

"I thought you might be interested?" The steward turned on the TV, or something akin to it, to show me what I assumed was more news coverage of myself; it wasn't. Vorr-tech had come under the spotlight. "Thank God." Relief poured over me as I felt my burden lift.

"The remote." The smiling assistant handed me the device with a quick explanation. Hundreds of channels at my fingertips, from all over the planet.

"Thanks," I smiled, feeling free. My relief turned to grief, flipping through channel after channel and seeing the mobs gathering. People, governed by fear more than knowledge, called for the dissolution of the company. Angry crowds screaming and shouting outside the beleaguered company, demanding swift action against the corporate owners.'Evil', 'Demonic', were common words used to describe those in charge at Vorr-tech. Demonizing those still working after the revelation brought about by our alien brothers. The logo of green and orange might as well have been horns and a pitchfork. Symbolizing the antichrist, one protester ranted to a reporter. Supposed experts, getting prime time coverage explaining what the triangles really stood for. Satan, the devil, and even Lucifer were all explanations, depending on which news outlet you watched. Justification for why these righteous beings traveled across the cosmos to save us. The odd thing? No counter opinion. No one came to the defense of the company. When violence broke out, police standing by did little to interfere. These mobs rushed past the standing officers to destroy the green and orange logos and even assault workers. The smart ones showed solidarity by ripping off their shirts or lab coats and burning them in effigy. Piles of items depicting the mark- the media quickly branded the logo, were tossed into bonfires. Our visitors were not oblivious to this new movement. Soon they began to show up, and even join in. I felt ashamed, somehow responsible because of my selfish prayers. I wanted my fifteen minutes of fame over, but not at this cost.

"Sir? Is everything okay?" The concerned aid was leaning over me.

"I..." something wet was running down my face. "Yes." I wiped at my eyes; the young man nodded and returned to the front of the plane, closing the partition. I was left to cry in private.

By the time the captain's voice came over the intercom to announce our landing, I'd seen the attacks on Vor-tech's facilities grow across the globe. The aliens, becoming more comfortable with these acts, became bolder. One group gathered in New York's Times Square to dismantle the giant billboard prominently on display. To the crowd's surprise, they proceeded to eat the sign, then excused themselves in Central Park, fertilizing many trees and plants. Some humans even joined in. The police, either complicit or ordered, stayed out of both human and alien acts against the company.
Humorous? Disgusting? If so, no media covered that opinion. The focus remained on the mark and the evil, so great, so secret, it took beings from across the universe to save us.

"Sir? We'll be on the ground shortly, please.." He pointed at my unbuckled seatbelt; I nodded, still engrossed in the media coverage of the Alien's activities. The steward caught my glance and followed, seeing a recap of the beings in Central Park. "My God..."

"What do you think about," I pointed at the screen.

He took a moment, looking between me and these advanced beings' in 4K ultra-sharp resolution, scampering on their multi-hinged appendages, defecating around the park. "I, uh...," he swallowed hard. "Has anyone been hurt?"

"No," They've just been busy breaking cities ordinances and human decency morals, but I kept that to myself, afraid...I didn't need to go any further. Fear. I buckled in, not saying anything more. Like other scared humans, I refrained from thinking too much. Better to consider a cultural difference and move on. Denial. That sank in. Standing there facing that death machine, I admit to fear; hate. Who were they to judge us? Especially over a meaningless symbol. And...this I'm not proud of, the way they looked. Bugs, my lizard brain said. The dripping goo from their fang things; the black unblinking eyes- all five of them, made my skin crawl. We weren't as far out of the cave as we pretended; God help us. I knew I wasn't alone. I saw it on the smiling attendant's face; heard the whispered comments at the government complex.
Guards, some of my interrogators, and even some of the scientists had made comments. At first, when all the reports of the short war, which was nothing short of slaughter, had come in, the people around me voiced their anger; hatred. Those in charge, who understood exactly what we were facing, put a quick halt to that. As monstrous as they looked, these beings were far superior. We might as well have been the bugs. Being whisked away to the secret location for questioning, I wasn't aware of the initial media response. I assumed my hosts reflected those early reports, all bad. But by the time I got back home, they were all positive. They spun me as the bridge over a misunderstanding to God- Christ, Je-sus.
Immediately church attendance went through the roof. That was good for the soul, but what of the flesh? The guilty. Someone had to pay. We needed a villain. Who better than the company that brought this upon us. Did it matter that they didn't know? Had no way of knowing? Deboarding the plane, seeing the car and military escort all waiting for me, I had a revelation. The world had come together. Before this, any issue worth reporting became polarized by politics, culture, or countries. To be debated, celebrated, and debased across the black and white sides of the media. Not this. The stakes were too high. I felt the hand of government manipulation at play. Not just our government, but of all governments. How did I know? One simple thing. I knew the magnitude of their attack. The massive loss of life disclosed to me during my military debriefing hadn't leaked, but my trip had? Nothing negative would get out. The world wouldn't see that side, only me and the cross. Then vilify the company. Shift blame. A misunderstanding. Now we all knew. Fear coupled with denial and the threat of... was a powerful cocktail for global unity.

*****

Religious leaders from around the world were gathering at the Vatican. So many famous spiritual leaders surrounded me, ones I'd only seen on television. I tried to be humble and listen, but they looked to me for answers. They'd all come to see me. It was overwhelming. Most of those of the Christian faith were polite and supportive. Those of other religions, not so much. I could see the look in their eyes, questioning but not too harsh. Again, I chalked it up to fear. No one wanted to anger these powerful beings. But they also didn't want to abandon their faith. They had complicated questions, many I wasn't educated enough to answer.
The bottom line- why Jesus? I had only my faith to support an answer. One they all knew too well. Frustration, anger all over again. Just like before with the government. But this time, just saying God wouldn't be enough. Why my God, why Jesus? I prayed for guidance, slept little, and read more. The Vatican's resources were wide open to me. The Holy Father, who had privately asked me to call him Francisco, said he would be available day or night. I wanted to stay humble, but the stress and constant looks from everyone were making it impossible. I was relieved when the next broadcast occurred, despite what had happened last time. All attention turned to them. "Greetings, followers of Je-sus. The Collective knows."
The speaking alien held its cross, this one not of simple silver but an unknown metal that moved, flowed, yet remained solid. The center modestly decorated with glowing jewels of red and blue. "Hive link, exchange at sacred place. Collective Patriarch will attend. Request Guardian of Je-sus Trinity. Complete prophy. Four cycles." The displayed location a projection of St. Peters square. The Vatican.
Hope turned to celebration across the globe, as many let go a sigh of relief. Including me. For one, no mention of me. I certainly couldn't be perceived as the guardian of Christ. If anyone fit that description, it was our Holy Father. The request for open communication, especially with our common bond in Jesus, gave me confidence that we wouldn't return to violence. We all agreed and chatted about this. The spoken fear. But. There was another, more profound fear. We'd all thought it. Not voiced, but there, nagging at us in the back of our lizard brains. Extinction. The end of humanity. That, above all else, motivated us to focus. Understand, as best we could, what they expected. That meant fully understanding what they meant by the Guardian of Jesus Trinity. The obvious interpretation was the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The Holy Trinity. But how would that relate to the guardian? The person or persons they expected to meet? Attention fell to me- again.
I had been the one to show them the cross. Had that promoted me? Just being in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing? Faith was what many asked for; wanted from me. I'd resigned myself to be the feather and God the wind, but a feather can be overwhelmed when that wind is a hurricane. Having all of these religious leaders accept me as crucial to this planned meeting, knowing the world's fate might rest on me, was... beyond endurance. Praying, not sleeping, still filled with doubt, I was past fear and into oblivion. A darkness that wouldn't leave. On the third day, the debate intensified as to who would be the third member of the Trinity. I, of course, was a given. The Holy Father got second place, which left one more spot. Members of the Islamic faith argued they should have representation being the second-largest religion on the earth.
Of course, the Jewish delegation argued they had no connection to Jesus and shouldn't be a part- reasoning it might offend our guests. Muslims, in turn, claimed the Jews killed Jesus, so they definitely shouldn't be a part. I again was brought in for my opinion. More speculation about my role in all this surfaced when I remained silent. From some small faith, I wasn't even aware of, one leader created the crack, asking if I had some secret communication, some special link, with our visitors, one I might not even be consciously aware of. Another, a Hindu, suggested reincarnation. That I perhaps had been one of them in a previous life. This led to other, more fringe suggestions.
Hybrid, like they'd seen on the internet. Suggesting my mother had been abducted and impregnated. "Ridiculous," a member of the Vatican inner circle stood up, offended. "As ridiculous as an Alien attack on a corporation? Threatening the entire world?" The Buddhists that spoke out had a point. One I didn't much care for. Those in charge called for a vote. The vote was for a yay or a nay for me to call my mother and ask. The yays won; I called my mother, who vehemently denied it. Can you say sidetracked? When at the point of exhaustion and time running out, desperation forced a childish solution. Drawing straws. Sikhism won. Guru Sahib would represent.

*****

We waited in St. Peters Square, the three of us. Our Holy Father, who'd asked to be called Francisco, Guru Sahib, and myself, a lowly priest from Baltimore. My mouth hung open at the arrival of the ship. Hovering over us was a cross of silver, like the one around my neck. Strategically positioned between us and the sun, it glowed with a magnificent radiance as we stood in awe in its shadow. A sign that God is supreme, no matter how intelligent or powerful, we all bow to his glory.
"We were right," Franciso voiced to the annoyance of Sahib. The Holy Father made the sign of the cross, smiling, basking in this knowledge. Had he ever doubted? I scolded myself thinking him less of a man. Hadn't we all?
A tapestry of gold threads spun out in arcs of shimmering light, forming a sphere at the tip of the cross. Slowly, the translucent orb descended, three silhouettes, suggesting we had understood correctly. Hovering in front of us, the globe of gold dissolved in a sparkle of silver showers, revealing the three aliens. The site was both magnificent and terrifying; I looked to my companions to verify I wasn't alone in this experience. Seeing them both bite at their lower lip made me feel better at the blood I'd tasted. We marveled at their attire but secretly cringed at what lay beneath. Trying our best to focus on the majestic flowing robes, hats, their glowing staffs fashioned as crosses, anything to avoid the eyes.
Having five, I couldn't decide what pair to focus my attention on. Confused, I focused on the hats. The center alien's stood out. He/She/They, we never got the pronouns right, had one very similar to our Pontiffs, but with a striking jewel at its peak that blazed like a miniature sun. The staff he held a tall thin cross made of the same metal I'd seen in the broadcast, but here in person, its radiance was overpowering. This had to be the Patriarch. As the disc that held them drew nearer, I tried to shield my eyes from the combined brightness of the three, squinting, my eyes watering, I had to look down, wishing I'd had a pair of sunglasses. There, blinking my eyes, trying to clear the ghost image of red and blue jewels from my vision, I caught a glimpse of their 'legs.' Three of them jutted from beneath the robe, their course dark hair on the visible portion of the appendage vanishing into a sock stub at the end. None of them touched the disk, instead hovered above by a few inches. Seeing we all had issues with the light they were giving off, the Patriarch did something with the staff, reducing the glow; we could see again. Free of the platform, they floated directly to us, their full faces coming closer, hollow fangs tapping their tips, clicking in excitement, a thin line of green drool evident at the corners. I gritted my teeth, produced a thin smile, telling myself these were our brothers in Christ, not...monsters. Pope Francisco did much better, his broad smile never faltering, his eyes sparkling, welcoming. We would succeed the world would know peace and something else, the embrace of God. Who could ever doubt now?

The Pope, stretching out a nervous hand, offered it up to the floating entity. The Cleric's robe showed no opening yet allowed an appendage to emerge as if passing through nothing. It unfolded into three segments, covered in the same spiky hair as the legs, the final one revealing finger-like attachments that reached out and took hold of our Pontiff's hand. One of those thin fingers wore a very familiar ring. Silver, at least it looked silver, with a simple cross. Not unlike the one our Holly Father wore. The two, looking at each other's rings, unsure what to do next. They paused to consider what I had already wondered: Who would kiss who's? Or not at all? The guru was understandably oblivious to this. In an act of humility, Our Holy Father knelt to the cleric's outstretched hand and bent closer to the ring.
I saw his nose wrinkle like he'd smelled something unpleasant before he quickly kissed the ring and withdrew. The Collective's Patriarch, fang-pinchers, clicking a purring coming from further in, made us all pleased. We were communicating on another level. Feeling each other's excitement at this historic moment in both our cultures. Validating what perhaps wasn't a planetwide belief of either race. The Pope performed a blessing, we all bowed our heads. After, the alien representative, too eager to wait, blurted, "Please, take us to Je-sus." His voice translated by a device around his neck also translated his urgency, his barely contained excitement. "We have waited... so long. The prophecy- fulfilled," he held up the cross; it glowed a somber yellow. "Please."

We looked to one another for understanding. Shrugged. Fransisco, our beloved Pope, almost jumped with an idea. He beckoned us all to follow, leading our curious party into the Sistine chapel, down past the alter, through a door, then stairs, and into an area I'd never been. I gasped, realizing our destination. As far as I knew, only popes had been allowed. Inside, the reverence of this Holy place overwhelmed me. The most sacred of places, shared with me? I was truly blessed. Tears ran down my face as I gazed upon The large bronze crucifix, the centerpiece, the reason he brought us here. Standing seven feet tall, with our lord and savior crucified for all to see, to understand the sacrifice he made. Not only for us, but our new brothers. The shriek was deafening. The Cleric had fallen to his knees? I wasn't sure if that applied, but the effect was the same. Holding the staff now with two appendages, like a shield before him. His entourage flung themselves to the ground, making gestures with previously unknown appendages emerging beneath their robes, sounds, whaling of pain and grief even a translator couldn't explain.

"Why?" the alien Patriarch found human words without the aid of his device.

We didn't understand, only stood shocked, looking at one another.

His multi eyes leaking a dark viscous fluid, the overcome being looked to the Pope, pleading with another unvoiced why?

Fransisco moved to kneel with the troubled ambassador. "My brother, please, tell us what troubles you."

They all pointed towards the cross with shaky appendages to the figure nailed there. Bloodied, wearing a crown of thorns, pain etched across his face.

"Jesus, our Lord, and Savior, died for our sins. You understand- don't you?"

They didn't. The silk-like robe quivered as appendages pushed out from beneath, eight in total, billowing expanding; the Pontiff had to move aside as the robe became more of a tent, propped up on the eight spider-like legs. The sad being arched back, head skyward, fang-pinchers spreading wide. The howl was piercing. All three were doing it, though the other two had kept their more bipedal appearance. Thick green fluid, leaking from the fangs, hung in long lines, almost touching the ground before snapping under their weight. The center orifice, a perfect circle of tiny jagged teeth, the source of the mournful cry. Accusing. Damning.
"You killed Je-sus," the translator proclaimed, as both a question and an accusation, but filled with shock and something else.

"No," I yelled in protest, "we..." I stopped myself. I heard Sahib blame it on the Jews while Fransico, horrified by their display, stood silent but shaking. I was going to say it was unbelievers. Evil- that had forced our lord to sacrifice himself. But. How could these beings understand the difference? We, as we saw them, were all one species. All the same. We, man, had killed Jesus. Hadn't it been a man that drove the nails in? A man who placed the crown of thorns upon his head? A man who pierced his flesh with a spear? Human. We killed Jesus; we killed God. Tortured him! Then, in an act of utter arrogance, proclaimed it was God's idea! Maybe their simple way of communicating, breaking things down to the basics, made me see this. So how could I protest? Defend us? I couldn't; instead, I bowed my head and asked God for forgiveness; guidance. I understood now. Understood what they meant by guardians. They expected to find Jesus alive.

Their trip across the cosmos was a pilgrimage, fulfilling an ancient prophecy, finding Je-sus again. Obliterated. We could see it in their inhuman eyes. Feel the growing hate in new understanding. Vengeance.

*****

Waking, I pull myself up. A bottle clanked as it rolled off the tattered cloth that had covered me, then broke as it hit jagged concrete. In the dim light of my lamp, I see my spectacles. Or what's left of them. At least I still have one good lens.
I wasn't dead; again.
Opening the cellar door of my small church, standing in the rubble, I look up, checking my pocket. It's still there.
The sky filled with fire, burning behind dark clouds that would never leave.
My head throbbed, throat dry. Caked sweat from the steam bath of our new days. I don't bother trying to clean away the destruction; instead, I find an overturned pew and sit on the edge. Searching the oaken front, I find the drawer and the bottle inside. I open it and take a long drink. Symbols. I was blind to some. Vain, to others. But all just symbols; I understood that now.

Quite. Thank God the screaming has stopped. That had been the hardest part of my waking days. Hearing all the suffering and not being able to help. Not being wanted. No one came here, not even the aliens after they did..
I stand and stumble in the remains of my church. "No one? A giggle escapes my drunken self. "No one wants shelter here, in the house of God," I scream to the rubble. "No one wants to worship in the house that killed God?" My giggle becomes a laugh. I take another drink; the bottle is empty. Tossing it, I reach in my pocket; it's still there. I pull it out. Heavy. I release the safety and pull back the hammer.

Click

Staggering to what remained of my alter, I kneel and pray. After all, I am a man of God.

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