A Man Before God

By T. M. Schall

Darkness shrouds the World. Hitler threatens an activist pope, and the very existence of the Catholic Church. Can one man make a difference? 1939 finds the World on the brink of war, and a Vatican educated Caribbean orphan returning to his island home. Confronted by the painful memories of his past he discovers he is the sole heir to a hidden fortune. Miguel de la Mar, at age twenty-one, finds himself a most unusual papal surrogate. He leads a handful of priests in pursuit of Axis plans to enslave mankind. Across Europe the Jewish people are relentlessly subjected to the Third Reichs Final Solution. Has God forsaken them? Who will aid them in this time of peril? History provides a unique perspective on the complex relationship between Pope Pius XII and the Jewish struggle to survive. A Man Before God examines the people, places, and events that lie at the heart of todays unresolved moral questions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450231503

T. M. Schall

T.M. SCHALL has lived and studied on four continents. He has discovered kindness and compassion in every culture he has encountered around the globe, and was surprised by the commonality of their religious beliefs. His travels from the High Arctic to the Skeleton Coast of Africa and beyond have provided life experiences and an education beyond price. He resides in the mountainous west of the United States when not abroad.

Book preview

part one

I

Path to Salvation

The knock on the cabin door startled the boy. The man before him awaited no reply.

Follow me, son, he barked, turning to recede down the passageway.

But where are we going…? The boy’s words were ignored as the bent figure scuttled around a corner and disappeared from view.

The thirteen-year-old sprinted to catch up, trying not to lose sight of the stranger. The feat was not as simple as it would have been on dry land. The ship’s passageway pitched wildly in the violence of the sea conditions that bore the vessel eastward.

It had been two days since Miguel had boarded the ship. He had spoken little to any crew member, except for required niceties during mess. He was alone. Again. Bound for a place he did not know, and could little imagine. He had difficulty following the man who gave him not even the courtesy of a reply. He struggled to keep up, especially on the three flights of stairs that rose to the bridge deck. Miguel felt the motion of the ship increase as he climbed higher above the sea. His eyes could barely comprehend the sight before him.

Sit down, son, before you lose your feet, the short, graying man with the long drooping mustache stated.

Thank you, Miguel uttered quietly, crawling into a large chair affixed to a high pedestal.

He took in the vast space of the bridge in a single sweep of vision. Polished brass instruments filled a console to his right. Large forward-slanted glass panes provided an unobstructed view to the bow. The view port and starboard were equally open. The scene confronting him caused him to tightly grip the wooden rail before him in anxiety. A wave submerged the vessel’s bow, washed over her decks, and broke upon the very glass that separated the bridge from the sea. He recoiled at the blow.

There, there now, son. It’s only Mother Ocean reminding us she is restless, the wizened, curved figure remarked in a comforting voice. Don’t be afraid. This is a sound craft and a seasoned crew. With a nod, he indicated the two other men, busily manning their duty stations on the bridge.

Those waves must be a hundred feet tall, Miguel whispered in amazement.

More like fifty or so. Don’t be troubled. We have weathered much worse and are still alive to talk about it. You always this nervous, son?

Miguel took a few moments to contemplate the scene and organize his thoughts for a reply.

My name is Miguel de la Mar, and I am going to the Vatican to study. Are you the captain?

Well, I guess my manners are lacking. I’m Captain Gianni Gamberti. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you care to join me for a bite of lunch?

Me?

Well, I wouldn’t have these men leave their posts, so I guess it’s just the two of us, the old man chirped in a jovial mood. He arose and made his way aft to a door that opened directly to a short passageway.

Miguel followed and was ill prepared for the sight that greeted him. He gazed in youthful awe at the space surrounding him. The rich wood glowed and the smell of familiar tobacco enveloped him. He was drawn into memories of his beloved abuelo, and the pipe that was never far from his hand. His mind reveled in the warm memory of all that was, and would never be again.

He recalled that last day. Spending the morning at his abuelo’s side, listening to his many tales. More than eager to accompany his grandfather wherever the old man went. But on this day, Alejandro told the boy to tend to his studies.

As the weathered seaman turned to go, he reminded Miguel with his final words, My boy, I am so proud of you… Always remember, knowledge is the key to unlock your dreams.

His abuelo had been a cornerstone of his young life, and along with his mother, had been his best friend.

Captain Gamberti could sense his young passenger was no longer present. Gamberti had been informed of the boy’s past in some detail. The captain could not fathom the depths of the changes the boy before him had endured, but he hoped conversation might ease the burden.

Captain, where should I sit? the small voice asked.

Recovering from his own reverie, the captain indicated a chair at the square mahogany table to his left. The table had been set with two place settings.

Miguel sat in the left one. The chairs were large, and solidly constructed. The wood warm to his touch. His eyes wide at the food before him, he tried to identify the smells wafting up around him. He was amazed the pitching deck did not dislodge the plates. Gamberti pulled a chair closer to the table and they served themselves.

The pair made an effort to reach some level of comfort and rapport. They were largely unsuccessful. The captain’s questions were met with short answers. After eating, Gamberti tried another tack in eliciting a conversation.

You say you are to go to the Vatican, is that right? the captain asked. What is it you will do there? Are you studying for the priesthood?

I am to study there and see if God will grant me insight to all that I question.

A grand goal for such a young man. Who told you God speaks to men in that place?

I have been told God speaks to everyone, if only you will listen and open your heart. In answer to your question, Father Fronterra has instructed me to embrace the opportunity and enjoy all my experience will allow. He looks out for me since my mother died.

Fronterra seems like a man of wisdom and also of some import. I know of no one who has been granted such dispensation to study at the Vatican, without the lineage or theological background to support him. Tell me, how did you receive this precious gift?

I don’t know. This gift, as you say, is not of my choosing. I would trade anything of this world to have what I truly value. No sacrifice would be too great. I am sure God has his reasons, and I hope he might share this knowledge with me.

The captain laughed out loud. Miguel thought the sound of the laughter foreign. It had been years since he had heard an expression of joy so honestly portrayed.

What is it, son? Where do you go every so often? Is my company so difficult to suffer?

No, sir. It has just been so very long since I have heard the sound of laughter. It causes me to remember all God has taken from me, and why he desires I should be alone.

Gamberti was stunned by the brief insight the boy’s words had granted. His laughter subdued, his mind reeling, he sought to change the direction of the conversation he had strived to begin.

Miguel gazed out the aft porthole and surveyed the ocean. It bore no resemblance to the tranquil waters of his island home. Wind-driven white water flew in sheets from the ominous dark waves rolling under the stern. No onlooker could possibly comprehend how this boy’s soul could embody all the malevolence his environment mirrored.

II

God Works in Mysterious Ways

Miguel’s arrival at the seat of God’s power on earth was unheralded. His olive-skinned complexion let him blend in with most of those around him in study. His clothing did not set him apart. All students were required to dress in the same uniform, provided by the Church. His keen ability to quickly discern an untruth rapidly led to his recognition by his superiors.

Miguel’s quick temper, inherited from his mother, and relative muscular physique, as compared to his fellow students’, led to his notoriety. That notoriety grew when continually fed by antics common of young boys involved in threatening bravado. Miguel had learned from his grandfather’s tales that you threatened nothing you could not do. His reaction to his fellow students’ challenges was swift and sure. The final resolution was never in doubt, much to the dismay of his superiors, who did not know how to civilize the boy.

One day a priest of some stature, much in the mold of Padre Fronterra, took the boy aside and counseled him at great length. Seizing upon the opportunity offered, Miguel took up with his new mentor. He was introduced to a branch of the Church, often referred to in hushed tones as God’s warriors, the Jesuits.

The priest, Cardinal Luis de la Croix, was thirty-three years old and appeared sculpted of solid stone, possessing a dark yet serene face. His deep blue eyes seemed to speak to you in a way that brooked no objection. Miguel embraced Luis’s direct manner almost immediately.

He schooled Miguel in the teachings of his sect and to accept the writings of St. Justin Martyr, as a path to becoming one of God’s Sentinels.

Physical strength is valued as highly as spiritual strength, and the value of a solid educational foundation is essential to the body and soul’s harmonious existence, Cardinal de la Croix would constantly intone.

Miguel arrived at the Vatican in a time of momentous change and opportunity. The Holy See had finally been granted independence on June 7, 1929. The era of the Popes’ being prisoners of the Vatican had ended three years earlier.

Fate had intervened once again to alter the path of Miguel’s life. He had been delivered into the patient hands of an instrument of instruction who would mentor the boy for seven long years in the exemplary arts of conversation, coercion, confrontation, and combat with all enemies of the Church.

One day early in the fourth decade of the new century, Miguel encountered another man of some stature and position. The boy’s interest in his reading was so complete, he literally ran into Eugenio Maria Giuseppe Giovanni Pacelli in the courtyard of the Vatican. The older man was reading a document while walking, and Miguel was doing the same with the Holy Scripture while hurrying to class.

I am so sorry, Father, I was reading scripture and I have no excuse.

No, no it was my fault, my son, the disgruntled seated priest exclaimed.

Father, please accept my apology, Miguel said with an extended hand, helping the older man to his feet.

It was in this exact moment, a conversation ensued, tasks forgotten, while the man and boy sought a bench in the shade. Time was lost as a constant. The conversation, driven from the questioning Miguel, forced the elder man to frame his replies with purpose. The directness and focus of the young man’s queries caused Pacelli to rapidly ascertain two things. First, this boy was highly educated, and not afraid to speak his mind. Second, the soul of the young boy exhibited itself frequently in the context of his words, belying the torment of demons unrequited.

The sudden appearance of a messenger interrupted the elder man’s concentration of a particular line of questioning. Pausing the new arrival with an upraised hand, Pacelli finished listening to Miguel, and then turned his attention to the runner.

What is it, my son? he asked.

The runner explained he was sent on instruction from His Holiness himself. Did His Reverence forget he had an appointment over an hour ago?

Eugenio Pacelli was a man of punctuality. This lapse so unnerved him that he began to apologize to the runner. Please convey my sincerest regret to his Holiness and… Stopping himself, he turned rising to Miguel. Who is your mentor and superior?

Miguel answered, Father de la Croix.

A smile spread upon Pacelli’s face and he bade the boy walk with him to His Holiness. Turning to the confused runner, he said, Please take my message to His Eminence and tell him I am on my way.

Miguel, clearly astonished, followed the older man, the pair resuming their conversation while they walked toward the pope’s residence.

Outside the residence, Eugenio Pacelli paused. Will you convey an invitation for dinner on tomorrow’s eve to Cardinal de la Croix?

Most certainly, Father, Miguel answered.

And will you please accompany him, my son? the elder man questioned. Six thirty at my residence, if that is acceptable to Cardinal de la Croix.

Thank you again, Father, Miguel began.

In a swirl of robes, Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli turned and entered past the guards into the papal residence.

Miguel stood in a state of delighted awe for several moments, then turned heel and went in search of de la Croix. Upon hearing the news from an animated Miguel, Cardinal Luis de la Croix was pleased. The news meant his old friend Pacelli had encountered his charge, and taken a measure of interest in the boy. Luis knew how Pacelli’s mind worked, and for his friend to have lost track of time on a chance encounter spoke volumes of the attraction between the two parties.

Dinner the following night was a fascinating conversation among equals. The three talked into the early morning hours. With Miguel’s faculties fading, the two elder men called the dinner to a close.

Over the course of the following months, Miguel de la Mar was the subject of many discussions, at many levels in the Vatican. Four months hence the three original dinner companions had expanded their contingent to include three more guests. Two archbishops and the pope himself.

The conversations were unique and wide ranging, to say the least. All guests played a vocal and active role. His Holiness often shared the wisdom of his years with the assembled. Some agreed, and respectfully, some offered a different view. More likely than not, the lead advocate of a different view was unabashedly the youngest present.

Miguel’s performance was unerringly given great latitude and subjective praise from the assembled men. One evening the discussion turned to matters of the afterlife, as Miguel questioned the pope’s proffered position.

Holy Father, he began respectfully, "I understand your explanation of the Church’s position, but would ask your indulgence. My abuelo and abuela are both now in heaven. I understand this, their final resting place, in God’s kingdom. I never knew my abuela, except from my mother’s many stories. Yet I felt the pain of my mother’s words and saw it in my abuelo’s eyes. Miguel paused, choosing his words carefully before continuing. And yet I cannot see why, if my grandfather so loved my grandmother, that he did not join her in heaven sooner."

The pope replied, You know our concept of death serving as the vehicle to achieve heaven and be reunited with your loved ones, he began solemnly, and the Church’s position regarding suicide as a sin. Do you not agree God has plans for those left behind that need fulfillment?

Miguel understood, but persisted in the questioning. Why would God make one wait so long, if his plan is indeed to have his children reunited in his Kingdom of Heaven? He struggled to properly express the thoughts in his focused mind. Holy Father, I ask you, if two people are meant to be together for eternity, as consecrated in their vows, should they not indeed be rejoined in the afterlife?

The question hung suspended among the assembled for a very long time before Miguel continued.

I cannot fathom a God who promises eternal life, while delaying the reunion he himself has proclaimed to all his children. The suffering, loneliness, and despair left in the wake of a loved one’s passing seems too cruel for a compassionate God to contemplate.

The statement by young Miguel de la Mar stunned the assembled group. Initially Luis cringed inwardly, and Eugenio prayed in silence His Holiness would accept the young man’s argument in the spirit it was offered. Miguel challenged their rote positions. He caused them to reassess their timeworn responses to questions more broadly placed. No one could remember the boy being anything less than diplomatic and respectful of all present. In their combined existences they had never encountered such a clever and consummate devil’s advocate.

"My son, you speak of matters that have given all here pause in our understanding of God’s word. The very foundations of man’s beliefs are questions regarding God’s reasons for all man must endure. All I know is this is the way of man. We strive to fulfill his commandments, and often fail in solely one area. We will not bend to follow the Lord’s word without question."

Miguel knew the limits afforded him and took care not to exceed them. He did push the envelope of their existence on occasion, but he never crossed the line. They conversed, sometimes for countless hours, in attempting to aid the boy in his quest to unravel the mysteries of life, death, and God.

The eclectic mix of stations among the guests led to a frank understanding of generational and operational perspectives of the Church itself. In these exchanges the Holy Father perceived values unanticipated. He came to embrace the insight provided by all.

Cardinal Pacelli wore the title of Secretary of State for the newly independent Vatican, and his powers were broad and deftly administered. Eugenio was one of those rare individuals who would serve as a nexus in history. His very existence and circumstance would dramatically affect the lives of untold millions, in the course of his service to God.

Cardinal Luis de la Croix was much more a general than a foot soldier in the army of God. Vatican history records he was well supported by the Church in his endeavors. The source of his support was never fully documented. It was highly surmised, one of de la Croix’s closest friends, Eugenio Pacelli, was instrumental in that regard. De la Croix and Pacelli worked tirelessly in their belief that God’s teachings were nothing less than their ordained duty to be promulgated to the masses.

Pacelli in the late days of World War I had emerged as a champion of an entire race of peoples, not one of whom shared his faith. It was said Pacelli by his own actions and decree did save the Jews of Jerusalem, as well as the holy sites, from an almost certain doom.

De la Croix enlisted Christians from the rank and file of the faithful, selecting only the best and brightest, to stand their posts in God’s name. The two men worked in tandem, like gears in a timepiece, Pacelli the leader in some disciplines, and de la Croix commanding in others. Their purpose unified, they operated in concert to facilitate the plans of men to honor God’s word.

Miguel de la Mar would develop a commonality among the Vatican’s leaders. Never believing himself to be one of them, he took great pride in being able to know them, each and every one. He would grow to understand their minds’ paths and follow their interpretation of God’s word. Practiced in the traditional ways of the Church, Miguel also honed his skill sets in many subjects not unknown to the Church. Skills rarely spoken of, except in clandestine sect gatherings.

The past decade had immersed the Jesuits, and in particular the sect that was God’s Sentinels, in a long conflict against the forces of fascism spreading across Europe. That conflict would culminate with World War II. Many priests served the cause of God and the Allies, covertly, and paid for the efforts with their lives. The Church had learned valuable lessons, which were not wasted upon the pages of history and sacrifice in the name of God. The disciples of Luis de la Croix lived by the consolidated teachings of St. Justin Martyr to the faithful:

"Christians do not differ from other men as to habitat, language, or custom. They live among Greeks and barbarians, wherever destiny has put them. They follow local custom in garb and diet and other matters … any alien country is homeland to them, and every homeland an alien country. They dwell on earth but regard heaven as their city. They follow established law, but in their way of life, go beyond what the law requires. No one knows them, while all condemn them. God has set them in the world as His Sentinels and they may not leave their posts."

So it happened in 1939, Miguel’s twenty-first year, two things of note occurred. A humble, well-educated man named Eugenio Pacelli ascended to the throne of the Catholic Church, and a remarkable young man named Miguel de la Mar, the embodiment of a legend yet to be defined, boarded a freighter and left Italy without a sound.

III

Sleight of Hand

Miguel had always loved the sea. The freedom, the feeling of imminent discovery, and the unpredictable nature of the mother of all things. He stood at the freighter’s railing and let his eyes and thoughts wander over the vastness of the view. He noted the rhythmic breathing marked by the ocean swells, and the occasional small glint of silver of an escaping flying fish, which betrayed the battle of life and death hidden just below the surface. He surveyed the sky for any sign of a bird, but none were present. By his calculations they were two-thirds of the way to his island home. With luck he would be back on Virgin Gorda in four days time. He contemplated the arc of his young life and shook his head in refusal to believe how fortune had smiled upon him. How had a young boy of no note been catapulted to the Vatican, overcome his personal tragedies, and immersed himself in the education he was offered? Surrounded by the glorious repository of man’s earthly knowledge, and also the sum of man’s knowledge of God. His good fortune included things normal men could not comprehend. Training in many disciplines: spiritual, educational, and physical. Open heartfelt conversations with the Church’s leadership that allowed him to see they were, in reality, only mortals themselves. Struggling daily with the choices of how to secure mankind’s soul in salvation.

The life of the Church’s hierarchy was not ordained with a distinct path, but was rather formed by a series of individual decisions of free choice. In one particular case, the path of an entire religion and its tens of millions of followers listened to God’s word as interpreted by the pope. In the beginning Miguel could not fathom the weight of God on one man’s shoulders. Through providence and the ability to openly exchange views with those responsible for policy, Miguel learned the truth of the matter. God’s word was held to be the one true path to salvation, but that path was fraught with all the inherent subtleties a real path would offer. Light and shadow caused different views of the path to appear. Not to mention the many intersections one would encounter along the way. It was here in the intersections he learned that the real battle to follow God’s word was often the most difficult, and those who interpreted God’s word were sometimes equally tested on how to describe the course ahead.

Miguel had slowly come to realize life was good, and God is good, but frequently distracted. We are responsible for our own lives. It is the choices we make, and the choices we suffer that cause our path to wander.

The man who was now Pope Pius XII, Eugenio Pacelli, would frequently recite, As noted all through history, the devil thrives in the details of the choices presented to all men, at every crossroad we encounter in our life’s journey.

If there was a universal truth, Miguel did believe it to be "the devil is in the details." He did not know how long he had been lost in his own thoughts, but the sun had begun to drop below the horizon when his reverie ended. He made his way below deck to his shared cabin, his thoughts still wandering along his life’s path. He quietly slipped into his rack and fell asleep. Over the next several days he spent his time helping the crew where he could, and engaging the captain in discussions of their mutual love of the sea, fostered by Miguel’s heritage.

On the final evening of their voyage, he went to join the captain for dinner, as he had done every night over the past two weeks in the ship’s mess. The crew ate together, except for those on duty. This night he was instructed to go to the captain’s cabin, where they would dine privately. He knocked twice on the door.

Enter, the deep voice commanded.

Miguel swung the door open, his eyes surveying the cabin’s expanse. For a ship of its type, it was totally unexpected. The space appeared cavernous in its scope. He viewed the double bed of mahogany, with turned posts and a canopy of rolled mosquito netting as a luxury. The matching mahogany chair and desk, covered with charts, books, letters, and personal mementos, was well used. A worn bronze lion in repose, about a foot long, of some weight and age anchored the upper right corner of the desk. He recognized it in an instant. He stood captivated by the scene he beheld. He ran his hands lightly over the teak-covered walls, decorated by maps of historical voyages by ancient explorers from Columbus to Magellan. Standing before a map of the mythical Homer’s Odyssey, he focused for a few seconds. The line in bold typeface, Beyond here, There be Dragons, was adorned by a serpentine depiction of a lion-headed serpent with dragon features.

The dinner table to his right was three feet square, and set with china and crystal. A flagon of brandy rested on the sideboard, centered in a silver tray surrounded by six crystal snifters. The irresistible aroma from a steaming large roast encircled by vegetables focused his hunger. A plate of butter, a basket of bread, and an open bottle of port, with two glasses already poured, beckoned.

Miguel’s eyes settled upon the man before him as they had every evening. Captain Paul Giovani DuCassi was compact of stature, five feet eight inches tall, and solidly built. His physique telegraphed power and command. His tanned weathered face was harsh. A prominent hooked nose, which showed signs of being broken, sat below two blue eyes of great depth. His long gray hair was pulled back to fully expose his face. A coarse thick gray-black beard close cropped to an inch in length framed his features. A notable scar over his right eye marked his cheek for several inches. His demeanor was of a seasoned captain, whose word was law on his vessel. He evoked the fear of the Almighty wherever he walked, and no doubt he had seen his share of life’s more unpleasant experiences.

Ah, Captain, this is indeed an unexpected honor. Is there an occasion of which I am unaware? Miguel began.

You are my only passenger and I thought we might take tonight to commemorate your journey and celebrate your return home on the morrow?

I thank you for such a special invitation, he said. You have an impressive collection of maps displayed here.

Two are original. Copies, if you will, of Magellan and Sir Francis Drake’s voyages. Prepared by the hand of monks in only twelve copies. The two you see, each represents one of the twelve. Personally marqued by their respective captain’s hand, he said.

I never suspected your ship would contain such a cabin, and the antiquities you have collected, Miguel stated with sincere appreciation.

Sit, please sit. Where are my manners? the captain boomed. You are my guest and we must eat and drink while we can. The cook will be righteously indignant if we do not consume it all.

The two men sat and began to serve themselves. The wine was tasted and proclaimed fit.

This port is excellent, Captain—

Please, call me Paul, the captain interrupted.

Thank you, Paul. It tastes very much like a 1920 Douro. It has a unique depth and richness of character.

How does a lad of your years know a wine like this? Paul queried.

You might not believe it, but I had this same wine, a Quinta de Dios, on multiple occasions at the Vatican.

Well, it is quite rare. This is from my personal stores, but the pope can have anything in this world. He has but to ask for it.

Did I mention the pope? Miguel offered.

Uh, no, no, but I mean the Vatican and all. I just assumed—

Captain, the repast is delicious, especially the bread. The roast is so tender and juicy I would believe it is from the chianina breed. A special animal that is raised in the center of Italy, south of Florence, Miguel countered.

You are indeed a special young man. Your palette is highly trained. I must travel to Rome more often to enjoy all that is available to its citizens, Paul said.

The conversation and the meal continued for several hours, in good humor and full of questions and answers from both men. Miguel sensed the talk, though lively, had an undercurrent of apprehension. It was well after three bells when the captain summoned the steward to clear the table. The two men had consumed less than half the presented meal, but had nearly finished the port. The captain was offering Miguel a snifter of brandy when the steward closed the door. Sitting in his chair once more, he focused his gaze on Miguel.

All I have heard about you is true. I have enjoyed this meal and the conversation on this evening more than any I can recall for years. You are well spoken and well presented, Paul stated with purpose. I have something for you.

Rising from his chair, he went to the far side of his bed and retrieved a large envelope. Handing it to Miguel, he sat once more.

Miguel turned the envelope in his hands, and was struck by the papal seal in dark red wax. He ran his fingers across it as he looked at the captain.

What manner of communication is this? he puzzled.

It is to be opened by you, in private only, upon your return to Virgin Gorda. Once you’ve read it, you will follow the instructions inside to the letter. You may surmise some of its contents through your education and your instructors. I noted your reaction to His Holiness’s seal, DuCassi said.

It then struck him full force. He was under the care and protection of the Holy See from the time he had bade his final farewell. He began to feel everyone, except him, knew it was to be not so final a farewell after all.

I seem to be repeatedly thanking you, sir, Miguel stated in earnest.

Son, it seems to me that I should be thanking you for your help in this voyage. The crew is content. To see you work alongside them in their daily tasks has bestowed a measure of dignity on their work, no matter how menial. Now let me tell you a tale, Paul said. "For over three hundred years the Vatican has owned its own ships, captained by those deemed worthy. The Church requires