The Incorruptible — Act II

A Play

Read Act I here

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Act II

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Summary: Forty days have passed since the Spirit granted Merritt power, and Merritt’s congregation has grown. Thomas and Merritt reunite with Justina, and they seek the Vesper’s endorsement for their ministry.

Scene i

A town square. People are milling about in front of a platform. Enter Justina and Rosh. 

JUSTINA: And now you are a deputy?
Could any keep the peace but God?

ROSH: Don’t torment me, Justina, please.
The man I slew still haunts my sleep,
and though I wish there were some prayer
or mortifying act of faith
to wash my conscience clean, my hands
were folded long enough for God.
Withdrawing into silence now
when I have hands to still men’s blades
would be unjust. 

JUSTINA:            Forgive me, Rosh.
Only it seems so strange. My father,
he heard the voice of God, distinct
as vapor’s hiss in still-damp logs,
and when he left, the fireplace
was cold. It’s been so ever since.

ROSH: He put his hand unto his plow,
and I my hand to mine, I hope.
But what about your forty days?
Did God’s voice sound a clarion
for Vesper’s daughter, too?

JUSTINA:                              Indeed.
At least, to say it’s clear I met
the Lord is true, but clarion calls
have no reality compared
to stillness and the dark that waits
beyond the light of reasoning.
What word is there that could express
his presence except unity?

ROSH: I envy you that clarity
without surprise. God sifts the earth
for righteous ones to deify,
and your goodness is evident,
if not to all, at least to me.
But there’s more work laid at my feet.
These kinds of crowds can quickly turn
to violence if that spirit speaks.

JUSTINA: Is it a Mass these people hold?

ROSH: You urge me to expose my doubt,
its limitless capacity.
Of late, some preacher from abroad
has claimed such knowledge of the word
and those prophetic mysteries
that have eluded clever saints
forever that the townsfolk seek
his eisegesis desperately.

JUSTINA: But you resist the word he brings?

ROSH: My misgivings run deep. What’s more,
I feel I’ve seen the man before
and cannot help but doubt his words.
I am a skeptic, needing proof
that he has both your goodness and
your purity. Who else could say
they’re worthy of the visions God 
has given you? But I delay.
I have more rounds tonight to make.

Exeunt Rosh.

JUSTINA: [aside] If only what I said were true,
then Rosh’s trust would be well-placed.
The valley where I prayed contained
no signs like those Ezekiel
proclaimed, no devilish voices came
to tempt me as they came to tempt
Saint Anthony. And even Balaam,
abusing that poor talking ass,
was sent an angel from the Lord.
The absence that I sensed in prayer
these forty days, it was not unity
but proof of God’s mean plans for me.
I’m neither good nor innocent
to the extent Rosh has perceived.

Enter Beggar.

BEGGAR: [to Justina] Fair woman, since it’s Christmas Eve,
is it not right to meet the poor 
man’s open palm with open purse?

JUSTINA: It is right. On Nativity
and every day as well. My coins
are yours, and here’s a woolen cloak.
May it be refuge from the cold.
Are you part of this gathering?
It’s odd to see so great a crowd
without a song upon their lips
to hallelu the newborn king.

BEGGAR: I will not say a greater one
than Christ has come, but we await
a holy prophet like of old.
He speaks with the authority
of one who’s grappled with the Lord
and seen a vision of the end
so terrible it sets the knees
of whole communities to trembling.

JUSTINA: Just to hear you speak of him
falters my pulse. If he has come
from God, I’d like to know this prophet.

BEGGAR: Look, then. He’s at the rostrum now.

Enter Merritt.

JUSTINA: In all my years of quiet prayer, 
I’ve never felt the oppressive weight 
of silence bearing down on me
as I do now.

BEGGAR:            A holy hush
as we await his sacred words.

MERRITT: Whoever won’t believe in me
rejects the one who sent me. Death,
that grim angel, will visit you
and at an hour you least expect—
repent, or be found unprepared.
And whosoever’s exchequer 
is closed to my account, his share
I will withhold, his name blot off
the passenger list of mercy’s boat
when judgment floods over this world.

The crowd moans. A woman faints. Enter Thomas, meandering through the crowd.

MERRITT: The moon will fall like brimstone, boil
the ocean, burn the forests, crops,
and houses. Rolling like a pestle,
Luna will grind mountains to ash.
Then moths, devouring your clothes,
will beat their wings and fan the flames
that whirl in coalsmoke tornadoes. 
The fainthearted will not survive
that eschaton, nor will the strong,
the wise, the brave, but only those
who cast their weight upon my word.

Thomas spots Justina and rushes to her.

THOMAS: Justina! 

JUSTINA:            Thomas?

THOMAS:                       Yep! What luck!
I thought we’d never meet again,
but here you are on Christmas Eve
while father gives his last address
before the temple opens doors.

JUSTINA: That holy prophet there is Merritt?

BEGGAR: I mean no disrespect, but please,
shut up. I cannot hear God’s word.

Thomas leads Justina away from the platform and crowd.

THOMAS: I hope you won’t think me too bold,
but you have not escaped my thoughts
for forty days. I felt this world
was empty as two knocking boats
moored to a dock but meant for sea,
and I, who longed to know the waves,
was stuck on shore with just the breeze
carrying the musk of salty coves 
to ease the drag of endless time.
For it seemed an endless hell to wake
without you, punished for my dreams
of us together these six weeks.
But I have borne my sentence well;
all that was empty, now is full.

JUSTINA: You shock me, Thomas. Last we spoke,
you did not seem so eloquent.
I have to ask: was that rehearsed?

THOMAS: What if it were rehearsed? Does trial
and failure render art untrue
if at the last it captures sense?
You’ve made me eloquent, Justina.
After we met, I vowed my tongue
would never lack the words to express
the pressed-down, running over urge
to praise your snow-swept, dusk-blushed cheeks.

JUSTINA: But praise belongs to God alone.

THOMAS: It is a different kind of praise
I’d render you.

JUSTINA:         I called you kind, 
but now I fear you flatter me.
Can I believe I’ve plagued your thoughts
from just one night beside that wood?

THOMAS: I find it easy to believe.

JUSTINA: I need a moment, Tom, to think.

Merritt continues his sermon to the crowd.

MERRITT: You strive to pay your earthly debts,
are moved to succor widows’ plights,
and quickly issue charity
when beggars ring their yuletide bells,
but I denounce your tendency
to shirk a higher call: You leave
un-gilt the new built altar, see
the priest in poverty, and scorn
my words, as though the end were so
far off, temporal distance blurs
my vision of the things to come.
To prove the spirit’s vision’s clear,
you’ll listen to this prophecy:
There will not fall a flake of snow this eve
until each one of you gives unto me.
Now kiss the crozier, bring your alms,
and you’ll depart in blesséd peace.

The Beggar pushes his way through the crowd, kisses the staff, and gives Justina’s money to Merritt. The crowd lines up behind and follows suit. Snow falls. 

BEGGAR: A miracle! The spirit speaks!

Exeunt Beggar, crowd, and Merritt.

JUSTINA: The crowd hangs on your father’s word—

THOMAS: Like gallowsmen who have no choice
except to swing from rope and beam.

JUSTINA: I would have said like as the sick
would cling to Jesus Christ’s own robe.
As mourners with their eyes to heaven
await supernal consolation.
But by him are their burdens eased?

THOMAS: They leave him with a lightened purse,
and proof he speaks the spirit’s words.
He rallies them to do his work,
to daily die to their desires,
and in attentive silence sit
as their own judgment is pronounced.

JUSTINA: Remarkably contemplative.
I’d soon hear how the spirit called.

Enter Merritt.

MERRITT: There you are, Thomas. I had thought
to find you all alone, but I
am pleased that in your company
a charming Theodora stands.
Such plenitude of beauty never wrapped
a soul, except God fashioned her soul to match.
How shall I call this gift of Zeus?

THOMAS: Have you so soon forgotten her?
It is the holy Vesper’s daughter.

MERRITT: Forgive me! But of course it is.
I should have recognized those cheeks.
A lifetime must have passed since I
last knew the pleasure of your gaze.  

JUSTINA: I’m pleased to find you hard at work
reforming those who’ve bent themselves
to their designs rather than God’s.

MERRITT: Most men are good, and a choice word
is like a shepherd’s crook to guide
the innocent into my fold.

JUSTINA: How wonderful! And did you find
my father when we parted ways
this fall? Did you take on his robes,
and is that holiness the source 
of your most powerful charisma?

MERRITT: We met the Vesper, and he did
assent that we could follow him. 
But then we heard the spirit’s voice,
and we fell prostrate, humbled by
the mercy that had spared our lives.
Because of our obeisance, we
were blessed and granted power like as
Isaiah, but instead of coals
upon our lips to sanctify,
the spirit gave this crozier for
a sign that we now have the right
to rule these lost and wayward sheep.

THOMAS: That he would have the right to rule,
meanwhile I just proselytize.

JUSTINA: To be the feet that bring the lips
that bear good news is not a shame.

THOMAS: I’d kiss the lips and feet that brought
the best news I have seen in weeks.
Come dine with us. We’re in your debt
at least that much.

JUSTINA:               I can’t tonight.
The eve of the Nativity
I spend with father. 

THOMAS:              Can’t you just
this once count us as family?
What will you do with him?

JUSTINA:                           We sing
the season’s hymns by candlelight, 
at midnight break his fast and drink 
fine wine, consume soft cheeses glazed
with cherry, mix the sugar, flour,
and eggs for cake, spread chocolate cream
atop with prodigality,
and once dawn breaks on Christmas morn,
call in the beggars to our feast.

MERRITT: We will not force ourselves on you,
but since we know you keep your oaths,
please swear that you will dine with us
a week from now. And we will try
to make a meal the lavishness
of which will suit a New Year’s fête.

JUSTINA: You have my word.

THOMAS:                               Then we will wait.

Exeunt Thomas and Merritt.

JUSTINA: I’m turned around by these two men.
The road they walked to saintliness
was short, and all their passions rage—
within the boy especially.
But something stirs in me as well.
If God can use them with their flaws,
what might he do with one like me?
To win the affection of a saint
ordained by an immortal hand,
to please him with my beauty, grace,
and manner’s more than I have sought
and yet, his hand is near to grasp.
A hand he might as well have said
he’d lose for us as lovers wed.

Enter Vesper.

JUSTINA: Dear father, I need your advice!

VESPER: A happy Christmas to you too.
Is this the greeting a father gets
after a month and ten long days
apart?

JUSTINA:     Of course not! No. I’ve missed
you dearly, and your face delights
my soul.

VESPER:            If it is not a sin,
I must confess the greatest trial 
of this ascetic life is parting 
with you. Now tell me, precious child,
what is this urgent trouble that
you’re eager to discuss with me?

JUSTINA: It’s been six weeks since we last spoke,
and at the start and at the end,
I met the same two pilgrims, men
who said their quest was holiness.
And I, those forty days ago,
referred them to your tutelage,
since in devotion, none else match
your discipline and quiet zeal.
But now I’ve parted twice with them
and found, instead of pilgrims, one
who prophesies about the end
with spirit-given power and rod.
The other plays a lesser role:
The son pours water on his father’s hands.

VESPER: In no uncertain terms, those men
are scoundrels. Time and fire reveal
a falseness cleverly disguised
as gold, but some impurities
a jeweler’s naked eye perceives.
Disparaging an honest man
is not my way, and even thieves
I give the benefit of doubt,
but these two snakes have shed their skins,
and donned the robes of holy men.

JUSTINA: At God’s command the serpent raised
by Moses was the antidote
for Hebrews in the wilderness.
You’re sure you don’t disparage God
to call these two men scoundrels when
conviction fills the prophet’s speech
with power he claims the spirit gave?

VESPER: The devil has a silver tongue
and often takes the aureoles
of saints to lure his victims in.
But Satan won’t deny himself,
nor will his servants. These two men
can’t help but glut themselves with wealth
they did not earn. They’re not equipped
to sit in silence, for their souls
are clanging gongs of chaos rung
by their insatiable desires.
Justina, promise me you’ll keep
away from them.

JUSTINA:             I’ve stuck myself
on the fine threads of promises
such that I cannot make one more.
My word of honor has detained
me. I must dine with them next week.

VESPER: A week is time enough that God
might free you of your promises.
[Vesper looks heavenward] If it is not a sin to ask, 
may plague or fire from heaven find
their household, Lord, but spare their lives
if they can be made penitent.
And spare Justina most of all.

JUSTINA: What kind of prayer beseeches God
to curse his children? Mercy! Peace!
Forgiveness! Those are what the Vesper
taught me to pray that all’d receive.

VESPER: Children of God! Whose children were
the Pharisees? The Devil’s own,
said Christ. And for false prophets, Paul
wished self-inflicted mutilation!
Would you deny my right to kick
two stumbling blocks from off the road?
For such as those through whom a fault
is born in God’s true children, death
miscarried in the womb were best.

JUSTINA: I see in your vindictiveness
no share of grace. Nor do I see  
an error in them that warrants harm.
Am I so blind to cunning that
I fail to spot the fox’s wiles?
I sought dispassionate advice;
you gave me none. In all my life,
you’ve never spoken words that twist
my stomach into knots like this.

VESPER: Then let the witness of our past
impress how serious I am.
I do not speak from hate for them,
but love for you, Justina. Come,
I do not want to fight tonight 
but sing of Mary, Mother of God,
and angels heralding Christ’s birth.

Exeunt.

Scene ii

New Years Eve in Merritt’s Parlor. Extravagant. A long dining table and a fireplace with hearth flanked by statues of women in repose. Enter Merritt, Thomas, and the Beggar.

MERRITT: We’re closing out a year that saw
our fortunes change quite drastically.
We once were pheasants, now we’re hounds 
the spirit has beset on grouse. 
And we would flush them one and all
except that magpie Vesper’s call. 
As feeble as it is, at least
a few birds heed and ’scape our nets
whenever his alarum squawks 
outside our brake. 

BEGGAR:               How dare he speak 
against the one anointed by 
the spirit’s hand. I’d see him hanged!

MERRITT: Could have him hanged...it wouldn’t do. 
A martyr makes a thousand more. 
But if we did it quietly...
I mean discreetly, where it seems
that he just disappeared, we’d say
the man was driven off by shame. 

THOMAS: I say we let him be. His faith
contains a boring truth, but we
inspire a frenzy none deny. 
He gets the dregs. We get the tea. 

BEGGAR: I’d like to brain the bastard still. 

MERRITT: Perhaps there is another way. 
What shapes a tree more than its seed?

BEGGAR: The axe. 

MERRITT:                No, no. The seed’s the key. 

THOMAS: I’m following your line of thought. 
Of course, killing is easier,
but if we had a champion
to make this magpie change his tune—
it’d take a goddess, I would think—
endorsement by the Vesper would
recover every grouse we’ve lost.

MERRITT: You know who it must be?

THOMAS:                                                I do. 
And there is none I’d rather sway
with words than her for whom we wait. 

MERRITT: You have your father’s instinct, son.
But I long marked Justina out
as one I’d like to know myself.

THOMAS: Some flames are never satisfied.
Recall that you by Bangor Pond
swore that this world had girls enough
for both of us. And yet your bed
is always occupied while mine
has waited forty days for one.
 
MERRITT: Restraint like that is admirable.
But fine. If it will sort you out,
I’ll let you have your fun. 

A bell rings. The Beggar looks at Merritt expectantly.

MERRITT:                      Go on. 

Exeunt Beggar.

THOMAS: Her sight will try to overwhelm
my reason. But I’ve sworn I’ll keep
my wits so she might know my thoughts. 

MERRITT: Some thoughts are best held close to chest. 
Reveal too much and you will find
her drawn to someone else’s bed. 
It’s mystery she’ll need at first. 
A little doubt that makes her want
to prove that she can make you love her. 
Only the cold will seek the heat. 

THOMAS: It seems an odd approach to love. 

MERRITT: You’ll die a virgin, Tom, my boy. 

THOMAS: I’ll see if I can make it work. 

Enter the Beggar and Justina.

BEGGAR: Here’s Miss Justina Vesper, sirs. 

MERRITT: Thank you. Now go fetch us some wine. 

Exeunt Beggar.

THOMAS: We weren’t so sure that you would come. 

JUSTINA: You know I’m faithful to my word. 

MERRITT: Of course you are! It’s just, I don’t
suppose your father would approve
of us, your present company.
For all our talk of building toward
the self-same kingdom, I have found
in holy men a jealous streak.
The root, as with all sin, is pride.
But maybe I’ve read Vesper wrong.
Have I?

JUSTINA: Unfortunately not.

MERRITT: I feared as much. What does he say?

JUSTINA: That you indulge in luxuries,
eat to excess, lack discipline,
and take advantage of the poor.

THOMAS: Oh, is that all?

JUSTINA:        There’s more, but I
would rather not repeat his words.

MERRITT: Then I was right. It’s pride.

JUSTINA:                                                           How so?

MERRITT: The charges brought amount to—what?
That we are not fastidious
in our observance of the law?
We humbly admit that’s true.
But weren’t these charges also brought
against the Lord by those who feared
their ministry would be undone,
and that the men Christ freed by grace
would be the inheritors of power?
They said, “Your men don’t fast, don’t wash.
Why not behave more holily?”
Those deprivations, no offense,
are mere performances and aimed
at garnering an earthly fame.
We do not look to men for praise,
nor even for direction, for
the spirit is our compass’ north,
and we will not be turned aside.

JUSTINA: I never looked at it that way.
But please, let’s not spend all our breath
discussing my poor father’s views.

MERRITT: I’ll say no more. But where’s that fool
I sent to get our wine? This year
to come deserves a proper toast. 
Wait here, and I’ll run to the cellar.

Exeunt Merritt.

JUSTINA: Now we’re alone. How are you, Tom?

THOMAS: I’m fine.

JUSTINA:               You’re reticent compared
to Christmas Eve. I must confess,
your words have weighed on me since then,
but not so like a burden as 
a fragile treasure. Crystal glass
despite its heft is frangible,
and though it glimmers when its whole
as well as in a thousand pieces,
to hold it broken is to close
your hand upon a dagger’s blade.
Which is to say, within your words
I’ve found much to appreciate.

THOMAS: I don’t recall the words I spoke,
but if they edified you, great.

JUSTINA: You’re teasing me to prove a point.
Okay, your words were not rehearsed,
but you insisted they were true.

THOMAS: Were true last week, I have no doubt.
The wind blows north and then blows south.
Sometimes it ushers in a storm,
others a welcome zephyr brings.

JUSTINA: Would you persuade your hoped-for love
that you’re as fickle as the breeze?

THOMAS: The hurricane may grow and wane,
but never does it vacillate. 
It no more chooses where it goes
than sun or moon, but when God’s hand
looses the storehouse of the wind,
his voice instructs it what to do. 

JUSTINA: I see. 

Enter Merritt and Beggar with bottles of wine.

MERRITT:             Ready your glasses, men
and gentlewoman. Zinfandel
or Chardonnay? 

JUSTINA:           I’ll have the red. [Beggar fills their glasses and exits.]
But Merritt, let me ask you this:
Thomas and I have just discussed
if God controls a lover’s words.
Perhaps a prophet’s predisposed
to say our words belong to God,
but James, the brother of our Lord,
advised we grab that rudder tongue
and steer on to perfection’s shores.
Are God’s hands ’round our oaths enclosed?

MERRITT: It’s true that in a certain sense
our best laid plans may come to naught
should they oppose God’s changeless will,
but that is not to say our mouths
are moved by some ventriloquist.
Rather we are to choose with care
the vows we make. It’s no light thing
to look into a maiden’s eyes
and swear the virgin’s robes were less
brilliant a blue, no heartwood shines
with as much luster as her hair,
or songbird’s voice were equal to
the timbre of her own, or that
for her, to have to harrow hell
were no impasse for love. An oath
like that refuses our renegues,
and we must bear it face to face
with God, if such is possible.

JUSTINA: False words condemn a man to death
while truth would see him in love’s arms.

THOMAS: You’ve painted me as one who’d cut
and run, who lacks the fortitude
to face the trials a lover would.
But I’m as loyal as they come.
If I compared me to the wind
it was to show obedience
to higher powers, and after God, 
the highest power is love. For love
and God alone command a man
to leave his father’s house and cleave
the household of his bride-to-be.
I’m powerless to loose love’s chains,
yet I’m content to be love’s slave.

MERRITT: Well said! A better servant Love
could never fashion than my Tom.

JUSTINA: And that’s why I feel doubly spurned.
Renouncing love so newly sworn
as one who wills to be love’s slave
means what was sworn could not be love.
For we know love is not a whip
which boasts a forceful thunderclap
then flees back to its master’s hand.
Love is, in ancient testament,
an arrow made of straight-grained ash
that archers stretched on gutstrings old,
and having loosed, they could not leash;
it either found its mark or failed.
Your sonnet’s recitation was
in honor of whim and not of love. 

THOMAS: My intention has been misconstrued.
I have not strayed but only feared
my earnestness would be abused.

JUSTINA: Then you have missed your mark.

MERRITT:                   Come now!
You must believe Tom speaks the truth.
What archer, having set his eye
on you, would turn aside and shoot
at an inferior target, which
all else definitively is?
Why, even I would want my wife
to be like you. Another drink?

JUSTINA: Yes, please.

THOMAS: [aside]        With wine and flattery
my father’ll pierce Justina’s heart.

JUSTINA: You rarely think of prophet’s wives
except as childbearers who give
to their poor sons ominous names.
What do the wives of prophets do
while their anointed husbands work?

MERRITT: Hosea’s was a whore, but I’d
have mine be as a spotless lamb,
prefiguring the wedding John
foresaw in his apocalypse.
In fact, my library contains
a manuscript illuminated
by some saint’s hand, and when the New
Jerusalem descends arrayed
in bridal majesty, her face
is so like yours, you would forgive
the man who thought you sat for it. 
If you would like to tour the house,
I’ll see if I can find the book.

JUSTINA: Refill my glass and we’ll all go.

MERRITT: Well said! I’ll bring the bottle, too!

Exeunt Merritt and Justina.

THOMAS: My father’s so well-versed with girls
he could, if he decided, make
Justina’s skepticism faith.
Besides, if not for his advice,
my first confession would still stand.

Exeunt.

Scene iii

Interior of a cave. A candle burns before an icon of Mary holding the Christ child. Enter Vesper, who makes the sign of the cross before the icon.

VESPER: O, Theotokos, pure and blessed,
with your most holy Son, I pray
you intercede on my behalf.
Just as the angel of the Lord
once shut the Persian lion’s jaws
when his most worthy servant, Daniel,
was cast into their den and sealed
until at dawn the king returned
to roll away that stone, so let
Justina tread among the brood
of vipers in that christless pit.
And if it’s not a sin to ask,
then let her virgin footsteps crush
the serpent’s head as your assent
to carry God within your womb
shattered the devil’s skull to bits.
Holy, immortal, mighty God,
have mercy on our souls. Amen.

Vesper makes the  sign of the cross and a full prostration. Exeunt.

Scene iv

Merritt’s Parlor on New Years morning. The beggar is passed out on the table beside several empty bottles of wine. Enter Merritt and Thomas.

THOMAS: You were the one who said it’s best
to seem indifferent for a time.

MERRITT: Indifferent? I said no such thing.
I said she needed mystery.

THOMAS: What mystery was in your speech?
“You are the spitting image of
the bride I’ve always dreamed I’d have.”

MERRITT: Don’t blame me that you couldn’t choose
the proper words to woo the girl.

THOMAS: If I had kept to my first course,
she would have ended in my arms.
Those were her very words last night.
I let you make my truth seem false.
But why am I surprised? To lie
is second nature when your house
is built on grift.

MERRITT:         That is too harsh.
We need her as our champion,
and that is more important than
your puppy love. However much
it hurts your pride, you’ll see I’m right.

THOMAS: I’ll have to sleep on that remark.

Exeunt Thomas.

MERRITT: In recent memory, my plans
have gone awry despite my best
intent to execute them right.
I will not underestimate
the oak’s unwillingness to bend
and meet it with an axehead blunt.
So let the whetting stone be spun.

Merritt kicks the beggar’s chair.

MERRITT: Get up, you lazy leech.

BEGGAR:                                     Yes, master—

MERRITT: Hush! I didn’t say to speak.
But listen close. Go out and get
whoever will attend to you,
unfortunate as they may be,
and bring them back so I might teach
them what the Lord requires of us.

BEGGAR: Yes, master.

MERRITT:                      I’ll be in my study.

Exeunt.

Scene v
 
Vesper’s Cave. Enter Justina and the Vesper.

JUSTINA: I don’t see why you must upbraid
them every time they congregate
or send your acolytes to chant
so loudly none inside can hear
the prophet speak.

VESPER:               You still call him
a prophet then?

JUSTINA:                     I do. And you
could learn from him. You can’t deny
they stoke this port town’s love for God
and that their temple’s filled with men
who once were eager to play cards,
who think your robes unmasculine,
and who would never seek the Lord
if reaching him meant following you.

VESPER: You’d like me to concede they fill
their so-called church with aesthetes, stoke
them to a frenzy, masquerade
at holiness, and make the rich
to gamble souls instead of dice? 

JUSTINA: What is this pride that cannot stand
cooperating liturgies
directing sinners’ eyes to God?
You make too much of means. Intent
is what the Lord perceives while we
discern his form as in the dark.
I know that you have touched his hem
and rightly seek to draw men toward
his face. What good is discipline
if rigor cannot move a man?
Be soft, an unexpected curve
whose slope guides men toward the divine.
That is the principal and end, 
for us and them. Let’s work toward that.

VESPER: With one hand on the cornerstone
the other on the sword of truth,
I live with no thought of my life.
But you, Justina, I cannot
relinquish to the powers of hell
simply because a prophet claims
he speaks for God. 

JUSTINA:                  He has a rod
wrought with immortal craftsmanship.
What greater sign could you desire?

VESPER: I don’t contest that spirits grant
men power, but power alone does not
preclude infernal origin.
His is a chthonic counterfeit.
 
JUSTINA: What more could Merritt or his son
do to convince you that they are
legitimate if signs from God
are not enough?

VESPER:        They would submit
their bodies and deny themselves
in service of a higher good.

JUSTINA: Well that I easily can prove.
They both are devotees to love,
would both be subject to its throne,
and I the object of sacrifice.
For one of them has said he’d lose
his hand if he could marry me.

VESPER: That is the way men talk when harm
is still improbable, when love
seems more a servant than a king.
They think they can command that power
to chase a girl to earth’s far end 
on someone else’s feet. But one
blister deters them from their goal,
if it comes at their sole’s expense.

JUSTINA: You may not see the good in them,
but soon you’ll give those men their due.

Exeunt.

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