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of KOGO, San Diego. Our lines are open, so give us a call.1-214-555-1212 from anywhere in the United States. 1-214-555-1212.”
    The first several nights on the network had been a battle of the extremes. The believers and the non-believers railed away at one another. It was great radio, with Luke and Jake carefully crafting a forum from among the more articulate. All was prelude, awaiting the visitor. The callers seemed to understand, tempering their comments against the possibility of his arrival, hedging their bets. But nothing happened.
    The nun that led Luke into Bishop Noonan’s office seemed to barely touch the ground, as though treading in a sacred place, a cloister.
    “Luke, Luke,” he boomed, shattering the illusion. He smiled his welcome and charged from behind his desk like a pulling guard on an end sweep. He was a tiny man, but Luke would later learn to brace himself for the onslaught of his handshake. The first nearly took him off his feet.
    “Sit. Sit. Father John Noonan. Never mind all that eminence stuff. I’m just a parish priest with a fancy hat. Can we get you anything? Coffee?
    Luke nodded not. “I’m happy to meet you . . . father. I could sure use a little help.”
    “What can I do?”
    “Well, I’m lost in all of this. I’m just a guy on the radio and now this. I’m just not prepared. I don’t know any more theology than I learned in high school, father.” He poured his heart and his questions out for two more hours. The priest listened with a warmth and acceptance that opened Luke’s floodgates. In a matter of minutes he trusted this man with his deepest fears. “Yes. I understand. Go on,” was all the bishop said.
    Finally, Luke slumped back in the chair, his emotions emptied.
    “Well, first, remember, for example, that Jesus didn’t pick the scholars for his time on Earth either, Luke. He picked regular working stiffs like you. I sense in you a belief, sincerity and openness and I think that’s why this entity is using you. I’ve been listening every night and that’s come through to me loud and clear. You’re instincts are good, Luke, and when you get off track, he’ll guide you. Just be yourself and ask him what’s in your heart. The other thing is I want you to call on me anytime you like, day or night if you want to talk things through. I can also put you in touch with the other denominations, people without an axe to grind.”
    He didn’t tell Luke about the calls he’d received from Rome.
    The following week, the visitor returned. “A lot of people are concerned about judgement, aren’t they Luke. Judgment for their sins.”
    “Well, I’ve said things that don’t agree with scripture on that, exactly.”
    “Like your idea about Moses making up the Ten Commandments?” Luke froze, the adrenaline coursing through him, remembering that afternoon with Eileen back in Bridgeport.
    Silence.
    “Luke, you weren’t entirely mistaken. Moses was angry with his people who we’re turning back to the old ways. The commandments were inspired but the story was embellished later. Remember, these were tribal people where events were passed on in stories and changed through many generations.”
    “So, what about judgment? Are the commandments what we’ll be judged on?”
    “You must think for yourself. Decent people will judge themselves. But the truly evil will be punished through endless, empty awareness.” Again, he was gone.
    The reports of spontaneous healing were overwhelming the Vatican daily. All that could be done now was to collect the tidal wave of information, to be sorted through later.
    Cardinal Giuseppe Guglieamo, Vatican secretary of state had been professionally skeptical. Then, he heard the tapes of the radio and watched the 16-millimeter film of healings, taken by the American television networks. Now, as the last of the film wound through the projector, he dropped from his chair to his knees, looking up to the
    screen as to a crucifix. The projectionist