Worldly preferment is often signalized, in Godly parlance, by addition, as when the hierarchic absent in the Garden of Eden is heralded by the tantalizing salute of the Witches: Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor, King of Scotland. In the course of that ascent Randolph itself becomes a hotter name than any hell is. I am relevant. I am vastly and wondrously known. I am unavoidable! I have pierced the current of history! I am written about in the pages of Harris International!  God wants the victory of Jesus to spread to all the nations of the World. Those who follow Jesus are being built into God’s new temple, the place where God’s spirit lives. The curse imposed in Act II will be removed. And meantime, I am in Heaven with God. I am with the Lord in the Light, the Creator, the Divine Source of All Things. The solution to all mysteries is available to me. Why not? I know the answers to absolutely every question.  I am God and I say you should appear to people. It is the proper work of a great saint. People down there expect this of you. And so I leave the Light and drift slowly towards the green planet. There is a slight, prudent, loss of Full Understanding as I slip into the Earthly atmosphere. No saint can carry the Fullness of Knowledge into the World because the World could not grasp it. When this is complete, Jesus will return and the reign of God is a reality throughout God’s creation.

 I adorn myself with my old human personality, you might say, but I am still a great stain, and I am totally geared for an apparition. And where do I go? Where do you think? Vatican City is dead quiet, the smallest kingdom on Earth. I am in Randolph’s bedroom, it is like a royal chamber in here. He is suffering, the pain in his bones too much for true sleep, ravages of old age so mercilessly heap curses upon him. Slowly he opens his eyes. In English he salutes me.  I don’t know if he loved me because I have not written that part of the story. I lay my healing hands upon him, and I banish his suffering. A quiet penetrates his limbs. Randolph looks at me, and between us there is suddenly an understanding, or rather I come to perceive something about him which the entire World ought to know: His deep selfless, his profound spirituality, come not only from his complete love of Christ but from his life lived under Communism. People forget. Communism, for all its hideous abuses and cruelties, is in essence a vaunting spiritual code. And before that great puritanical government shrouded Randolph’s young years, the violent paradoxes and horrifying absurdities of the Second World War surrounded him, tutoring him in self-sacrifice and courage. The man has never, ever, in his life lived in anything but a Spiritual World. Deprivation and self-denial are intertwined in his history like the double helix of my blood.

It is no wonder that he cannot yield his deep-rooted suspicions of the tumultuous voices of the prosperous capitalist countries. He simply cannot grasp the pure charity that can arise from abundance, the sublime immensity of vision possible from the vantage point of secure excess, the selflessness and sweeping sacrificial ambition that can be born when all requirements are luxuriantly met. Can I broach this subject with him in this quiet moment? Or should I only assure him that he must not worry about the ”greed” of the Western World? Softly I talk to him. I begin to elucidate these points. (Yeah, I know he is my son, and I am a vampire writing this story; but in this story I am a great Saint. I cannot be intimidated within the risks of my own work!) The story is the true account of the central conflict winding its way through the history of the World. You better respect my son, he is very powerful. Will we be part of God’s) mission of re-creating—of restoring the World around US (United States)—and making the World (including ourselves) new? I get canonized. And as I write this, Randolph Harris was canonized last week. (I watched the whole thing on Cisco TelePresence System 3000 Series. Vampire love TV.)

It took me months to set up a five-man outreach commission, which was tasked with listening to grievance from abuse victims and determining the proper response from the Legionaries of Christ. In Washington, Paul Lennon was intrigued by that announcement until he real the small print: The commission would not hear grievances from victims who had gone to court. To Paul Lennon this smacked of a ploy aimed at neutralizing legal action against the order: “The Legion’s message is clear: Be nice to us and will be nice to you.” But why should Maciel’s victims jump through more hoops? I asked. And why should they expect justice from a commission that induced two key Legionaries under Father Maciel? Go to your local church and civil authorities and sue the Legion’s a**!” Rejoice, young man, in thy youth; and let they heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things I will bring thee into my heart forever and never let go. I am extremely provoked by your polite serenity, where in my heart I am deeply interested in the issue of debate. The desire for distance betokens emptiness and undirected hunger: when the heart is possessed by an image we fly to wood and forest, like the guilty. My son wrestles for supremacy with everyone he encounters, is but seeking his father. Never pretend to know him by his face.