The Walk of Dennis

He had a terrible, splitting headache.  Holding his head in his hands, he stumbled along the dusty road, placing one weary foot in front of the other.  Tears dripped down his cheek and his bruised fingers, splashing onto his dirty feet, where they transformed grime into mud before being dried by the brisk autumn wind. 

                Why, Lord, why?

                Rusticus and Eleutherius had never left his side.  He and Rusticus had shared a childhood friendship which had eventually bled over into adulthood.  They had always been a rebellious and adventurous duo, spiting authority, breaking rules, taking all the risks that teenage boys are wont to take.  It was no surprise to their families—though it was an outrage—when together they joined that then-strange community called the “Christians”.  It was a phase, their fathers said; they would recant before they got into too much trouble.  But they had not.  They merely came to a deeper understanding of and commitment to the Truth which they found there, and eventually joined Eleutherius, who, before them, had dedicated his life to service of that Truth. 

                The work had been difficult and strenuous.  Instructing catechumens, administering the Sacraments, and evading the tyrannical rule of Emperor Decius had been taxing, physically and mentally and spiritually.  Yet they had gotten through it, greatly appreciative of the fact that they were able to serve Truth side-by-side in the most powerful and pagan city in the world.  Rusticus, Eleutherius, and Dennis—the ever-devoted trio, always jumping into the thick of things.  Yet even this perilous life was not to last long.  One day Pope Fabian called them before him to impart terrible news.

                “Our brethren at Lutetia have been brought to the Lord.  Those whom they served have been scattered before the wrath of Decius.”

                A look of ineffable sorrow had crossed Eleutherius’ features.  The Christian community in Gaul had been very small—positively infantile—yet it had faced same the savage persecution that the Church in Rome had been suffering.  “A universal Church with a universal suffering under a universal empire,” he thought with a bitter smile before asking his martyred friend, who had led Lutetia, to pray for him.  Rusticus and Dennis, however, were still focused on their Father; the spark in his eyes, his intake of breath that signaled further speech.  They exchanged glances and were not surprised by the Pope’s next words. 

                “You must go to Lutetia and rebuild the Church there.”

                And so they had bid farewell to their spiritual children in Rome and begun the long trek from Italy to Gaul, eventually stopping at the Ile de la Cite to rebuild the Church there.  Oh!  How many people!  Traveling along the road in terrible pain, Dennis could, even now, see in his mind’s eye the numbers which had flocked to them, eager for Truth, eager for Baptism, longing for Christ.  It was not long before the trio had a following such as Lutetia had never seen.  Countless people were brought to the Truth of the Christian faith.  Such success, however, came at a cost.  Part of that cost was the headless bodies of his two friends slumped at the bottom of the hill.  The soldiers of Decius, frightened at the phenomenal growth of the Christian community, had sought to put a quick end to it.

                Why, Lord, why?

                Rusticus and Eleutherius were gone.  The Romans had finally caught up with them, tortured them, and then granted them peace by relieving them of their heads.  After years of toil among the poor, the ignorant, the souls thirsting for God, they had finally been allowed to see that God.  Yet, though the Romans had been all too eager to send him after his friends, he, Dennis, was not to follow them.  Why, Lord, why?  Can’t You grant me peace?  Rest?  An escape from this life of exile?  Why may I not follow my friends; why may I not be with You?

                “I want you here for now, My son.  You can best serve Me here for just a while longer,” said the Lord.

                “What do You want of me, Lord?  How may I serve?  I am broken!”

                “No matter.  You are, by My grace and power, whole enough to serve me still.  Go forth and tell my children one last time of My greatness and My Love.”

                “How?”

                “Walk.”

                And he did.  And as he did so, the children he was just remembering, the ones who had come to he, Rusticus, and Eleutherius to hear of the Christ, flocked around him one last time.  The soldiers of Decius had sought to make a show of Dennis, to frighten the people with the fate of their Bishop.  There were many spectators.  One little boy cried out in terror and averted his face from the hidden face of Dennis, burying himself in his mother’s skirt.  An elderly woman cried tears much the same as Dennis’ own.  An overwhelming love for these people whom he had led enveloped him.  What would they do without him?  Would they stay strong?  What could he do to give them hope, to serve them one last time?  Some Roman soldiers stood by, staring in horror and disbelief.  And as they watched, and as the crowd grew larger, Dennis began to preach. 

                He spoke again of Christ, of His Love for mankind.  How that Love had led Him to an excruciating death on a Cross.  He spoke of the virtues of Peace, Hope, and Charity.  He encouraged the people to continue growing in their knowledge and love of the Lord.  He would never abandon them, so they should not abandon Him, no matter how difficult following Him became.

                At this point, one of the Romans threw a rock at him.  Dennis stumbled, losing his balance; letting go of his aching head, he fell to his knees.

                “Lord, I know not how much longer I can go on,” he sobbed.

                “Courage, My son; after the battle there will be peace.” 

                 Dennis rose again, once more clutching his head.  His vision was fading now; colors were distorted, the figures of his spiritual children getting farther and farther away.  He forced one foot in front of the other, battling gravity and death, to finish the mission that the Lord had given him.

                At last, the ground evened beneath his feet.  Reaching the top of the hill, he sighed a breath of relief.  He turned about to give one last word of farewell to the faithful who had followed him up the mount; breathed a prayer for those who had beheaded his friends; forgave them for what they had done to him.  And then, turning back around, he walked to the tree that grew in the middle of the hilltop, placed his aching head in the grass at the tree’s roots, and sat down beside it.

                “It is finished, My son,” Dennis heard the Lord whisper to his soul.  And then the faces of the soldiers dissolved, the cries and tears of his spiritual children disappeared, and the world vanished in a single, bright light and a cloud of tangible Peace.  


-December 2012