“That’s why you invited me here?” I say, repulsed.
His Eminence folds his hands together. “You and your brother have something I want: you know what Nogara found. And in return, I have something you want.”
I stare at the evidence on the table. So this is how Simon’s guardian angel answers prayers.
“Many weeks ago,” Cardinal Boia continues, “when I learned what your brother had begun doing with the Orthodox, I asked the Holy Father to summon him back to Rome to answer for it. I thought the problem was solved. But ten days later, I received word that your brother was still making trips, so I had to find a solution myself.”
The last sentence emerges in a growl, as if this was when John Paul made it personal. I wonder if Boia’s solution is an allusion to the attack on Michael Black.
“Why are you fighting the Holy Father?” I say. “He wants the Orthodox here.”
His Eminence lifts a hand over his head and curls a finger toward himself. I don’t understand the gesture. Then I see two nuns waiting at the door behind me. Beckoned, they come bearing demitasse cups and a plate of chocolates. When they’re gone, Boia throws back the espresso and smudges his mouth with a napkin. Then he pushes his chair back and leans his huge frame into it.
“The idea sounds pretty, you think?” he says, forcing his meaty hands together. “Two Churches, reunited after a thousand years?” He smiles. “But you’re the gospel teacher. The one Nogara talked about. You know that isn’t what scripture says.”
My hands clench into fists under the table. “What scripture says is, Every kingdom divided against itself will be laid waste, and no house divided against itself will stand.”
For a second, Cardinal Boia unconsciously bares his teeth. Then he says something I don’t expect.
“Tell me something: what does the Beloved Disciple do? In the fourth gospel, what sets him apart?”
I can’t imagine what point he thinks he’s making. The Beloved Disciple is a mysterious character who appears only in the gospel of John. He is never named except by this title.
Not waiting for me to answer, Boia continues, “When Jesus is arrested and brought before the high priest, the Beloved Disciple goes right in with him, even though Peter doesn’t. When Jesus is crucified, the Beloved Disciple is standing at the cross, even though Peter isn’t. When Peter rushes to see Christ’s empty tomb, the Beloved Disciple runs faster and gets there first. The other gospels never mention this fellow. They say only Peter followed Jesus to the high priest. Only Peter ran to the empty tomb. There was only one true leader of the disciples: Peter. So how can the gospel of John claim to be the testimony of this one man, the Beloved Disciple, when he doesn’t even seem to have existed?”
I begin to tell him what he already knows—that the Beloved Disciple is a literary creation, an attempt to justify why John’s gospel is so different—but His Eminence cuts me off.
“He’s a fiction. He’s some other group of Christians trying to say, ‘We matter, too. What we say is worth reading. We’re just as important as Peter.’ But they weren’t as important as Peter. Our Lord founded the Church on Peter alone. The other gospels are clear about that. Yet these Orthodox patriarchs say the same thing: ‘We descend from apostles, too. We’re just as important as the pope.’ But they aren’t. There was only one Peter, and he has only one successor: the pope. No one sits at the table with him. That’s what our Lord intended, and I will do everything in my power to keep it that way.”
I’m speechless. In all the gospels there is no mention of anything I see around me. No palaces. No cardinals. No Secretariats of State. Boia is the fiction, the power-grabber with no roots in scripture.