[The Molue. Night. A faint rumble of thunder in the distance. Wind blows cold, like harmattan. It is about 10 p.m. The Oldman sits upright, eyes half-closed, speaking in his slow, measured cadence.]
Oldman:
“Faith is a mystery—it can move mountains.”
(He pauses, Xi-facing, letting the words hang in the air.)
“You see, we are non-orthodox Christians. We don’t have many rituals. That’s just the reality. There’s a paucity—an absence—of formality in how we worship. And because of that, we must lean entirely—entirely—on the Holy Spirit.”
(He pauses again, the bus rocking gently.)
“We don’t have the luxury of depending on tradition or liturgy. Rather, we depend on presence. On power. On the whisper of God. And so, we are here—because we must take our faith to the next level. It is necessary.”
If our faith moves mountains? Good. Let it move them.
But if it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Because in climbing those mountains—whether physical or spiritual—we grow stronger. We are changed. And through it all, one truth remains: God is God. Unchanging. Ever-present. Faithful.
The skies groaned. No moon was visible, but the winds warned of rain.
Narrator (aside):
Indeed, we had few rituals. I’d seen Pentecostals discard them, then retrieve them years later—without apology. They now explained away their earlier rejection with the same glibness with which they preached the prosperity gospel. It was unnerving. They even berated Catholicism for its Eucharist, with breathtaking certainty.
Narrator (to Oldman):
“A decade ago, no Eucharist in their services. Now, suddenly, they know better than two thousand years of tradition? Better than eighty generations of priests?”
Oldman:
(gently, as if correcting a child)
“Our fellowship is different. We borrow freely from Catholic theology, but we do so humbly. Whatever the Mother Church teaches—or fails to teach—has not arisen from a lack of diligence. We must treat its liturgy with respect, even if we cannot reconcile ourselves to it. It is not that Catholic Church. It is our Catholic Church.”
(Then, almost playfully, with a raised finger)
“But remember this—We are not Catholics! We are not Catholics!”
Narrator:
The Molue passengers chuckled. His double emphasis always drew a laugh. (He never said it once—he always said, “We are not Catholics! We are not Catholics!”)
Narrator (aside):
Those born Catholic may never grasp the complex relationship true lovers of Christ hold toward the Catholic Church. This relationship includes respect and even love. However, it is mixed with revulsion at all the bowing before statues.
Passenger (from the back, in pidgin):
“Na Catholic I for dey go, but dem too dey bow for graven images. Remove that bowing? Dem no get rival. Dem no be like these 419 churches. At least, dem dey help poor people.”
Narrator:
The simplest people—Molue people—spoke from the heart. They said what they meant, and meant what they said.
Oldman (to Narrator, later in private):
“I love the Catholic Church, no question. It is MY Catholic Church. Jesus established it not only for them, but for me, for you, and for you—and you—and you.”
(He points to several onlookers, smiling.)
Narrator:
This explained why he quoted so freely from Catholic literature without guilt, but stood apart when conscience demanded.
Narrator (later, in private talk):
“You often say we’ve been conditioned to see the Catholic Church as unchristian.”
Oldman:
“Yes. Even anti-Christian. And the Church hasn’t helped—being fastidious about things without clear biblical reference.”
Narrator:
“Such as?”
Oldman:
“Marian doctrines. They divide Catholics and Protestants.”
Narrator:
“Which ones do you disagree with?”
Oldman:
“Divine Motherhood? I agree. Mary is Theotokos—God-bearer. Case closed.
Perpetual Virginity? I disagree. It’s not essential to salvation.
It adds to Scripture—and Scripture warns against that.”
Narrator (reading aloud):
“Revelation 22:18–19… If anyone adds to them, God will add to him the plagues…”
Oldman (snapping his fingers):
“There you go!”
Narrator:
“The Immaculate Conception?”
Oldman:
“Man-made. Less than 200 years old. What were the Fathers doing all that time?”
Narrator:
“And Co-Redemptrix?”
Oldman:
“Not in aid of salvation. For there is one God and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus (1 Timothy 2:5). Case closed.”
Narrator:
“But arguments for Mary as Mediatrix—Eve brings sin, Mary brings grace… doesn’t that move you?”
Oldman:
“No. That’s never been dogma. Making her the new Eve from whom all graces flow? Problematic.”
Narrator:
“Then why say the Rosary?”
Oldman (grinning):
“No chance I’m giving that up! The Rosary isn’t about Mediatrix. It reaffirms Theotokos. Honors her. Recognizes her as intercessor.”
Narrator:
“Where do you stand on Sola Scriptura?”
Oldman:
“Tell me your thoughts first.”
Narrator:
“I’d lean toward Prima Scriptura. Scripture first, but tradition has its place.”
Oldman (scribbling notes):
“I’m learning from you.”
Narrator:
“But literacy was only 5–10% in early Rome. A magisterium was necessary then. Today, with literacy over 70%—should its role be revisited?”
Oldman:
“You deserve a handclap! That’s the critique at the heart of the Magisterium. In its current form, less than 200 years old. For most of history, synods and Fathers guided the Church.”
Narrator:
“So scrap the Magisterium?”
Oldman (grimly):
“It is broken glass on the narrow way. The Holy Spirit guided Irenaeus, Polycarp, Timothy. He guides us still.”
Narrator (half-joking):
“Then what is the Magisterium? A helper to the Helper? An alarm clock for the Holy Spirit?”
Oldman (glaring):
“Flippancy in matters of faith is intolerable. Worse than rough stones—broken glass.”
(He softens.)
“But yes—Magisterium divides. If the Church is ever to unify, its role must shrink, not grow.”
Narrator:
“Or be tested, like an academic board. Qualified magisters nominating others, region by region.”
Oldman (chuckling):
“You’ve thought this out thoroughly. Perhaps one day we’ll see it.”
[Thunder cracks. The bus sways. The Oldman folds his notes, and silence falls.]
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