Scottish Catholic Observer

Joe Brown was a fanatical communist—a hardened atheist. But Joe was not to blame. He was brought up that way. Joe Brown’s father made sure that his son had the correct philosophy of life… HIS philosophy. It was ground into the boy. Sam Brown had even called his boy Joe after Josef Stalin the tyrannical dictator of Soviet Russia. Joe Stalin was his hero, his god and there would be no room in his, or his son’s life, for any other god. And that’s how young Joe grew up.

Like father, like son. He stood at attention at old Sam’s humanist funeral and proudly sang the Internationale with the rest of them. He resented and scoffed at religion. His old man was right, he reckoned, as was Uncle Joe. He would make sure that HIS children would get their priorities right as he had… should he ever have any young ones.

It was time for the local party’s annual dance and Joe went along to the public hall where it was being held. Annie Johnston, the local party chairman, spotted Joe as soon as he walked into the hall and came straight over.

“Joe, I want you to meet my pal, Peggy,” she said, introducing him to the attractive girl by her side. Joe was smitten right away and, after a few dances, arranged to meet Peggy another time. And, ‘another time’ became another time and another time.

They never talked politics or religion… until one night.

“How come I’ve never seen you at any of the of party meetings?” Joe said.

“That’s because I don’t go to any meetings,” Peggy replied.

“Why not?” Joe said, furrowing his brow, annoyed that this girl wasn’t as committed as he was. “Annie never misses a meeting.”

“That’s because she’s a devout member of the party,” Peggy answered.

“And you’re not?” Joe said, disappointment in his voice.

“I could NEVER be a member,” Peggy said, “Don’t believe in it and what they stand for.”

Joe’s heart sank. This was impossible! A pal of Annie. The local treasurer, chairman and party stalwart, NOT a member of the greatest party in the world?

“They don’t believe in God,” Peggy went on.

“Of course we don’t,” Joe said, “Religion is the opiate of the people… the greatest man who ever lived, Karl Marx, said that.”

“Well, he was a buffoon,” Peggy said irritably.

“You can’t believe in God and Jesus and all that rubbish, surely?” Joe went on.

“I do, with all my heart,” Peggy said.

“You go to church, then?”

“I do,” Peggy said, “I go to Mass every Sunday and I go to a novena during the week AND, I’m in the Children of Mary.”

Joe went home in a daze that night. How could he have been so stupid to fall for a religious fanatic. Not only that… but a CATHOLIC! Old Sam would be turning in his grave. This was against everything he ever believed in. This romance would have to be nipped in the bud immediately.

But love would not be side tracked. He feelings were too strong and he was genuinely devoted to Peggy… as she was to him despite his atheisim.

Joe reckoned that he would soon knock this rubbish out of Peggy’s head and make her see sense. And Peggy had the same idea. She would make a special novena that it was JOE who would see sense. God would not let her down, she was sure of that.

And so they were married… in St Jude’s Catholic Church. Joe reluctantly agreed to marry in the chapel to please Peggy. Besides, he reckoned, it was only a ritual that didn’t mean anything. She would be happy and that was all that mattered, but it would be the last time he’d ever enter that ‘building.’

He apologised in his thoughts to Uncle Josef for momentarily straying from the true faith. And he promised he’d make sure his children, when they come, would follow in he and his old dad’s footsteps.

However, there was no sign of any offspring coming along. And Peggy was getting anxious. Time was marching on and. she was getting older. Prayers and novenas were increased but not only a plea for a child, but also for Joe too who seemed to get bitter as he got older. He blamed the ills of the world on religion… from the North of Ireland to the Middle East. Peggy stuck to her Faith. Every year she joined the parish pilgrimage to Lourdes and Joe never objected.. until the last one.

“It’s a waste of money,” he snapped. “We could use it elsewhere”.

“It’s only once a year,” Peggy pleaded. “And I feel closer to Our Blessed Lady when I’m there.”

“Fiction!” was Joe’s reaction. But he reluctantly let her go providing she did not bring back ‘any Rosaries or bottles of water… or any of that rubbish’

Peggy went with a heavy heart determined to bombard Our Lady with pleas that she would conceive and that her husband would ‘see the light.’

And, of course she DID bring back little mementoes of her visit to that beautiful shrine… keeping them well hidden from her husband. Once she had tried to hang a picture of the Sacred Heart on the wall and Joe went berserk. Tearing it down, he snapped. “There’s only one picture goes up there and that is comrade Lenin,”

Peggy had words with her parish priest, Fr Flannigan, who sympathised with her and advised her to keep praying. This she did… and did… and did.

Joe was a good husband in every way. His only fault being his bitterness towards religion… although he never interfered with Peggy’s deep Faith. But he DID draw the line when Peggy attempted to display any holy pictures on their walls or keep a holy water font by their door.

Peggy’s illness came suddenly and Joe was forever at her hospital bedside. For a while it was touch and go as test after test was carried out on her by baffled doctors. She asked Joe to get Fr Flannigan to come and he did, making sure that he was not present during the priest’s visit. He told friends at his political meetings that he didn’t want to be there ‘while that priest spouted his ‘mumbo jumbo.’’ His cronies agreed with him.

Peggy rallied round after a while and wept when she was told the shattering news that she would never be able to conceive.

The terrible news was ammunition for Joe and, while his heart went out to her, he couldn’t stop himself saying: “Where did all your prayers go then, eh?” At the same time he squeezed her hand affectionately

“It’s God’s will,” was all she could say.

“Na, that’s rubbish!” Joe scoffed.

“Tell me something, Joe,” Peggy said, holding back her anger, “why are you so adamant that there is no God. Is it because your father drummed that into you?”

“He was a wise man, my old man,” Joe shrugged.

“He was a fool, Joe. How do you think this universe was created… it just didn’t happen. There had to be a designer… a planner.”

“There was the Big Bang,” Joe argued.

“So, who created the big bang? Then there’s Our Lady… look at all her appearances on earth… Lourdes, for instance,” she pressed on.

“A wee lassie’s hallucinations,” Joe said smugly.

“Pilgrims in Lourdes didn’t hallucinate when they found themselves cured of crippling diseases, of their sight being restored suddenly, or the deaf suddenly hearing.” Peggy snapped.

“OUR LADY? Ach, don’t make me laugh. The human mind can create these things,” Joe answered.

“Yes OUR LADY.  And SHE sorted your crowd out anyway…”

“What do you mean she ‘sorted my crowd out?’” Joe snapped.

“Jesus is MY saviour. Who is yours?”

“The great Josef Stalin. He guided his country with wisdom and love,” Joe said in admiration.

“LOVE?” Peggy cried. “He was a tyrant! He killed millions and spread his errors throughout the world… and it was OUR Lady who said that.”

“Rubbish!” Joe said, anger welling up inside him.”

“Yes, and it was Our Lady who sorted him out,” Peggy said, pride in her voice.

“How come?”

“She told the children at Fatima all about Uncle Joe’s plans for the Soviet Union but , in the end, HER immaculate Heart would triumph… and it did. Where is your soviet union now, eh? It’s dust… just like the Berlin Wall.” Peggy said it with great satisfaction.

“Humph!!” Joe said with a grunt.

But Joe would have none of it. Let Peggy believe what she wanted to believe. She was a good wife and if she believed in Jesus and Mary so much and her omnipotent God, how come He won’t answer her prayer and give her the child she so desperately longs for?

Time was approaching for the parish’s annual pilgrimage to Lourdes.

“You’re off then, are you?” Joe said, knowing he would miss her even if it was just for one week.

“Of course,” Peggy said happily.

“It’s a right waste of money,” Joe said, shaking his head… sorry that his wife was so naive.

“It’s not a waste to me,” Peggy said. “I’ll have a word with Our Lady about you… AND other things.” She didn’t have to spell out to Joe what the other things might be.

At the grotto Peggy went to Mass, lit a votive candle and put up her petitions to Our Blessed Lady. She braved the chill and invigorating water of the baths and returned home with a happy heart. Little did Joe know that every time he ran a bath Peggy would put in a little sprinkle of Lourdes water unknown to him.

Joe never changed. He attended his meetings faithfully and sang the Internationale with gusto.

It wasn’t long after Peggy’s Lourdes visit that Joe was shocked as he walked into the kitchen and found her lying motionless on the floor. Panic gripped him and minutes later an ambulance was screaming towards the local hospital. After a brief examination, the young doctor assured Joe that Peggy had only fainted.

“Her blood pressure is a little high,” he said, “But nothing to worry about”

Peggy was discharged after a good cup of tea and a prescription for pills for her blood pressure.

“Look after your wife,” the doctor said, shaking Joe by the hand as they were leaving.”After all we must take care of our expectant mums, eh?” Joe staggered.

“Expecta…expe… ?” he stuttered.

Peggy, of course, was over the moon. But it was no less than she expected, After all she had bombarded Our Lady with tearful pleas and Our Lady, being a mother herself, understood exactly how she felt. Peggy could not wait to get down to St Jude’s and the beautiful Lady altar there to fall on her knees and thank Her.

“See, you know what that means?” she said to Joe.

“It means they doctors who said you would never conceive” were wrong,” he replied.

“No, no,” Peggy was adamant, “It means Our Blessed Lady answered my prayer.

“Aw, don’t give me that!” Joe said with a wave of his hand.

And the time came when Peggy gave birth to a little girl she called Mary…despite Joe’s protestations… who wanted to call his daughter Josephine.

Peggy could never convince Joe that her conceiving was a miracle—a blessing from Our Lady. It was doctors who got their diagnosis completely wrong, he insisted.

Joe had no Faith and that was it. Peggy kept up her prayerful blast to Heaven and, once more, the parish’s annual pilgrimage time came around.

“We’re not going to Lourdes this year, Joe,” Peggy said.

“Good!” Joe exclaimed, “That’ll save a few bob.”

“We’re going to the Holy Land instead,” Peggy said smiling and waiting for his reaction.

Joe spluttered before composing himself.

“Good!” he said, “You’re off to Moscow, eh?”

Peggy let his facetious comment go.

The pilgrimage was a great success and Peggy came back full of joy and enthusiasm.

“Oh, it was wonderful, Joe,” she gushed. “We saw EVERYTHING—the Mount of Olives, Gethsemene, the Room of the Last Supper, Nazareth, the Holy Sepulchre… It was just heaven… to be so near Our Lord. You could feel His presence… just wonderful!”

Joe just grumped.

“Look, I brought this”, Peggy said and brought out a beautiful Crucifix—made of scented sandalwood and two feet long with a bronzed figure of the crucified Christ nailed to it.

“You can get rid of THAT,” Joe snapped.

“It’s going up on that wall,” Peggy said determinedly, pointing the wall above their bed.

“NEVER!!” Joe “ Get rid of it.”

“RIGHT,” Peggy cried. “But, I’m telling you… if that Crucifix goes. I go”

Her angry words flattened Joe.

“You wouldn’t?” he said, worriedly.

“Try me,” Peggy answered, her face flushed with anger.

Joe could see she was determined. He had never seen her so angry and he flustered. After all, he did not have to look at to cross… just ignore it and keep Peggy happy… AND in the house.

“All right, you can keep it,” he said softly, “but make sure you put it on a good strong nail. If that thing fell off it could give you a nasty bump on the head.”

“Aye, and that’s what you need to bring you to your senses,” Peggy retorted.

And, so, the beautiful Crucifix took pride of place above her head on Peggy’s wall.

It was Saturday night and Peggy was arranging what she should wear for Mass the next morning. She pulled out her best clothes and arranged them on the chair. She could not hide her excitement… for this was Easter Sunday.

“What’s the excitement?” Joe said, seeing her enthusiasm.

“It’s Easter Sunday, Joe… YOU should be excited too. EVERYBODY should be excited.”

“Rubbish!” Joe said, making a ‘face.’

“Joe, HE DIED for you,” Peggy said, pointing up to the Crucifix AND he rose again from the dead. It’s the wonderful day of HIS resurrection.”

“Phooey!”

“You don’t believe that Jesus rose from the dead?” Peggy said sadly.

“Who could believe a story like that?” Joe replied. “When you’re dead, you’re dead… finished!”

“I’m sorry for you, Joe!”

“It would take a miracle to make me believe that HE rose from the dead,” he said. “In fact I’d eat my hat… yours too… that… monstrosity you call an Easter bonnet.”

Peggy smiled and left the room going downstairs to call a taxi to take her to Mass. As she hung up she heard a crash coming from the bedroom and hurried upstairs. Bursting into the room her hand came up to her mouth. Joe was lying prostrate on the floor.

She hurried to him and cradled his head in her arms.

“Oh. Joe!”

Joe’s eyes opened slowly and, stuttering and, almost incoherent, raised a shaking arm and pointed to the Crucifix above the bed.

Peggy looked up. Her jaw fell. GONE was the figure of Jesus, only the bare wood of the cross with the nails still embedded in it was hanging there. And the sweet smell of the sandalwood wafted through the room. Peggy felt her heart swell. She helped a stunned Joe to his feet. He was flustered and stammering.

“WHI…WHA…” he began.

“He’s GONE, Joe, He is risen, Our Lord has risen!” Tears flooded Peggy’s eyes. “Come on, downstairs, have a cup of tea, Joe.”

She led him down to the kitchen. Suddenly the honking of an impatient taxi blasted out.

“Oh, that’s my taxi,” Peggy said. But, before she hurried out, she handed Joe the salt cellar. “It’s upstairs, in the wardrobe… top shelf,” she smiled, hurrying out and climbing into the taxi.

“St Jude’s Church,” she said to the driver.

Peggy was off to Easter Sunday mass to praise and thank THE RISEN CHRIST.