A Bishop for Mars
by J. C. Miller
part 1
The Martian Cathedral appeared to jut out from the dusty, red stone walls of the Mariner Valley. It was actually a recessed rectangle cut away from the red walls of sheer rock running along the side of the vale. Delicately-lined columns had been carved to hold up ornamental structures with parapets, statuesque carvings, and a red protruding cross that somehow conveyed a softness when contrasted with the harsh environment around it.
Pete knew it was designed to be reminiscent of Petra back on Earth, but he was sure this must be more beautiful. Pete acknowledged that he might be a little biased; his father had hewn the building out of the cliff walls.
The actual bulk of the usable part of the Cathedral was back under the surface. Unlike Earth, Mars lacked a magnetosphere to shield the planet from solar radiation, so the congregation worshiped, lived, and worked underground. The front doors were symbolic only; no airlock was behind them. Everyone came into the church through the underground tunnels that serviced most of the settlement.
Pete looked at the beautiful church out of the porthole of his room in the residential wing a kilometer away from the stately edifice. He knew it was a popular view and a source of pride for this settlement. New Rome was not the most important settlement on Mars, but it was the only one with a cathedral, and the only one with any architecture to boast about. It was a source of pilgrimage for the Roman Catholics on the planet, and plenty of others came to visit too; Mars didn’t exactly have many tourist attractions.
There were other places of worship on Mars, and some rooms were used for prayer services by different groups, but nothing like this. Pete readied himself to make the commute over to the Cathedral. He loved his bishop, but he wasn’t looking forward to having this conversation again.
Pete was the only seminarian the Catholic Church had on Mars. He had been studying for the priesthood for years, but he and the bishop had yet to pull the trigger on ordination. Pete knew that, once again, this meeting would be about whether Pete was ready to be ordained and, if not, whether he thought he really had a vocation to the priesthood or should consider a different path.
The bishop was very understanding, despite Pete’s slow pace in finalizing his decision. Pete was an excellent student: he knew his theology and had memorized the prayers, rites, and rituals far better than anyone expected of a seminarian. He attacked his studies the way all Martians attacked the daily struggle of life on an alien world: by working hard and working smart.
Knocking on the bishop’s open door, Pete entered his office. The old man didn’t notice Pete at first. His eyes were glued to the screen with the latest news report from earth. The bishop’s face suggested it was not good news.
“Is it getting worse?” Pete asked.
“Oh, yes,” the bishop said, looking up and first noticing Pete, “yes. Yes, I think it is. They’ve just made an ultimatum, set a red line. And declined last-ditch mediation efforts,” the bishop explained before pausing to continue watching the feed. “The Pope says he won’t evacuate Rome.”
“Will it be war then?”
“It might be. All we can do is pray and prepare. And speaking of preparation, we should talk about you. You know, I’ve actually corresponded with the Holy Father about you.”
Pete knew where the conversation was going, and he was interested in how a single seminarian even made the list of topics to discuss with the Pope, but it was hard to ignore the screen. The Earth-based news network was talking about the inevitability of World War III. The conflict had been brewing for years, and the buildup had been affecting Mars. As rocket fuel began to be rationed for military purposes, fewer and fewer ships were sent to Mars.
At first, the waves of new settlers trickled to a slow stream before drying up completely. Unmanned supply missions continued, but the resources behind those were diverted, and the fuel previously meant for Mars’ fusion reactors was repurposed to prepare for war. It had been almost a year since any ship from Earth had reached Mars, and longer than that since any had launched.
Mars was nervous, but its eight million residents were surviving. The whole idea behind Mars had been self-sufficiency; it just might be coming a little sooner than planned. The planet’s CEO had been assuring people for weeks that Mars could be self-sufficient as-is.
“Pete, we need to discuss your vocation. What’s holding you back?” the bishop asked sincerely.
“Yes, of course.” Pete replied.
The bishop had been very patient. He was like family to Pete. They became close after his father had died. Pete’s father had been a geological engineer and laser expert. He had worked with architects on Earth in designing the façade of the Cathedral before cutting it bit by bit with his laser rig.
Pete was only eight years old then, watching his father work through a porthole on the perpendicular cliffs until one day his ever-careful father cut a millimeter too deep and brought a mine shaft down on top of himself. They weren’t Catholics, they weren’t anything, but the Church showed up and helped Pete and his mom through those difficult times.
The bishop had taken Pete on a tour of the Cathedral, explaining his father’s special role in making the work of beauty. He had invited Pete to the Cathedral whenever he wanted. Pete could talk to the bishop, he could join worship services, or he could just do his homework up in the choir loft and feel a little closer to his dad. In hindsight, it’s not a surprise that a boy who spent most afternoons in a beautiful Cathedral, watching the pageantry of the Masses and hearing the preaching would find himself on the cusp of priesthood.
“And?” The bishop’s face looked uncharacteristically impatient. “Are you close to making a decision?” His face was grave; it no longer had its usual joyful appearance.
“Well,” Pete started, “I’m still not sure. I just... I want to serve God. But I just don’t know if the priesthood is right for me.”
The bishop stood up, wincing in a little pain at the effort. He was short by Martian standards at just under two meters, which betrayed Earth as his birthplace. Pete was taller, as those who had grown up in the reduced gravity of Mars always were. But the bishop was also old. The low gravity had given the settlers longer than average life spans, but the bishop’s age was really starting to show. He had come over in the second wave of settlement, the first true settlers rather than explorers.
The CEO of Mars, LLC, had thought it made sense to send a holy man over. The Vatican was happy to indulge the request, tapping a bright, brilliant young priest and ordaining him as bishop before the one-way journey. “Is it the celibacy thing?” the bishop asked with a very concerned look on his face.
“No, I mean—”
“Listen,” — the bishop cut Pete off — “I think celibacy is a wonderful thing. A great gift to God. But it’s only a discipline in the Roman Catholic Church, not a dogma. There are churches in communion with Rome with married clergy. We are building something new here. I think we will have some flexibility; a Martian Rite is not out of the question. The Vatican is very understanding of our unique situation and sent me here with more authority than a typical bishop enjoys.”
“No,” Pete interjected, “I mean it. I get the beauty of celibacy. I understand what Saint Paul was getting at.” Pete meant what he said, but there was also the practical difficulty. The Martian colonists had skewed male, and the demographic imbalances were still felt. Pete had no girl and no prospects. And he knew that even in the Eastern Catholic churches with married priests, they had to be married before they became priests, and he wasn’t getting married anytime soon.
The bishop smiled broadly. Pete realized it was too big a smile to be in reaction to the celibacy discussion. “Deacon!” The bishop’s cheerful outburst confirmed his joy was directed elsewhere.
“Your Excellency! Pete,” replied Deacon Al, walking in with a less energetic smile. Deacon Al was a mainstay of the church on Mars. He and his wife had been among the first to visit Pete when his dad died. Deacon Al’s day job as a transportation engineer gave him the opportunity to travel the planet, spreading the gospel, distributing communion, leading charitable efforts, and visiting Christians in their homes. “Did you tell him?” the deacon asked the bishop directly, kicking up a small bit of red Martian dust from his pants and boots as he sat down.
Pete turned back to the bishop, trying to figure out what was going on.
“Fine,” the bishop replied, his cheerful demeanor switching to seriousness as he sat down. “Listen, Pete, my health is failing. Deacon Al wants you to know this. Because if I don’t ordain you soon, I might not be around to ordain you at all. We don’t know when Rome will be able to send a new bishop here.”
“And the people will need you, Pete,” said Deacon Al. “Your studies are done, and you know it. And you’re ready to be a priest.”
The bishop’s face turned briefly into a scowl in response to Deacon Al’s directness. “Now, now,” the bishop said, raising his hand. “We don’t want to pressure you into this. If you’re not called to the priesthood, you’re not. We just want you to know the situation.”
“I appreciate that,” Pete said earnestly. “You’re saying it might be now or never, or at least a long time from now. I’ll certainly think about and pray on it, because—” He didn’t finish the thought. The news program on the screen was being interrupted with a breaking story: the war was starting.
They sat there for a few minutes absorbing the news. Deacon Al spoke first: “Think it will go nuclear?”
“I don’t know,” — the bishop spoke up as the screen showed rockets destroying urban centers — “but people are dying and in great numbers. We must call all people of good will to pray for peace.”
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by J. C. Miller
