Chapter 1 - The Chained Dog“…God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace.”
- Words of absolution during the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession) of the Latin rite of the Church
The town of Ars, France, 1830
“Merci, Father.”
The women left the confessional, and the priest waited a few moments for the next person to enter. A few minutes passed, and when no one did he realized his work for the day had come to an end. He got up and exited the confessional, bringing to a close what had been a very long day. He had started early in the morning, at sunrise, and had been hearing confessions for the past seventeen hours. It was now well past eleven and the church was darkened but not empty. He looked out over the church, felt a twinge of pride, and gave a soft small smile. His little parish church had grown since he first came here over twelve years ago. It had grown to become a destination for pilgrims. They traveled far and wide, from all corners of France and Europe, to visit the little church in the town of Ars, and even now, at the late hour, they lingered in its chapels, praying for healings or forgiveness or for loved ones who had passed on.
Father John Vianney felt his pride grow as he took in the sight of the devoted souls still keeping vigil even at the late hour. An instant later he quickly reminded himself that it was not he who had done all this and not to let his human pride get the better of him. It was not he who had built the church into a destination for believers. It was not he who had built up the church and the school. It was not he who worked miracles in Ars; it was God who had done it. Vianney had been but his instrument. He offered up a short prayer of thanksgiving and asked God for the grace to keep himself humble. He looked up at the ceiling of the church and smiled more broadly. He said a prayer of thanksgiving for the many blessings God had doled out onto the town of Ars, their little church, and the pilgrims that came here.
He took a spot in the front row of the church and knelt in the pew to say his evening prayers. He flipped through his prayer book, reading the daily office of prayers. He had prayed from this book every morning, afternoon, and evening since being ordained a priest. They were the same prayers that every priest across the world, from the pope to the deacon of the smallest parish, would say that day. At the end he asked God not for blessings of greatness, not for success or for miracles, but only that he receive the grace he needed to continue serving the people of Ars and to do Gods will. Once he was finished he got up and began his walk to the back the church. He was stopped numerous times by pilgrims asking for one last blessing. He refused no one a moments attention. He blessed rosaries, medals, and children. It took him almost another twenty minutes to reach the exit.
Father Vianney stepped out into the night. It was brisk but not too cold, and he could see his breath. The full moon rode high in the night sky. He could see stars in every direction. Again he thanked God, this time for the glory of creation. He brought his thoughts back to the place he always tried to go in his mind. He reminded himself that he was so small and so insignificant in the grand scheme of the cosmos. He considered himself an utterly simple man. Having barely been able to pass the course of study at seminary, he knew he could not understand all the things he saw around him.
To this day he still had only a rudimentary use of Latin. He had been such a poor student that when he was first ordained, he had not been allowed to do the very thing he had spent the last twelve hours doing: hearing confessions. In fact, it had been a minor miracle that he was ordained to the priesthood at all. It took a nationwide shortage of priests in France, the personal pleading of his mentor, and a leap of faith by the bishop to make it happen. Now here he stood, nearly twenty-odd years later, on the steps of his church in a growing parish as a priest.
He had been sent to Ars on his first assignment because the town was a small backwater, far from anything important, fallen into disrepair, and all but forgotten by the Church. He had been sent to Ars because it was assumed that was where the worst student in the seminary could do the least damage. As he looked up at the stars his heart filled with joy at how far he and the people of Ars had come. When he first arrived the town had almost completely rejected him. In fact, most of the townspeople had tried to drive him out because of his tough stances on drinking, gambling, and dancing. But slowly, through prayer, sacrifice, and persistence, he had won them over.
The church had grown. Chapels were added and a school was built. Eventually miracles started to occur. People were healed of illnesses. Quickly word had spread and the people began to come — a trickle at first and then more and more until it was a tidal wave. Vianney felt humble and small but also overjoyed and grateful. Of all the places in the universe, of all the people in the world, God had looked with favor on Ars. All his work, prayers, fasting, and thanksgiving was pleasing to God.
Vianney walked the short way up the street to the school, the second floor of which housed his small residence. In the courtyard a rough stout man stood waiting for him. “Good evening, Father,” he said.
“Good evening, Charles.”
“Weve been watching all evening,” the man replied. “I havent seen anyone or anything. We will be here the rest of the night. You shouldnt have any trouble.”
“Im grateful to you and the others,” said Father Vianney. “At least with you here, I know that what I must face is inside the house and I am safe from assault by outside forces.”
“Father, I promise you no one will get into the house, but are you sure you dont want anyone inside with you?”
Vianney looked down and nodded his head. “Yes, Im sure. What goes on inside is for me to face. But, Charles, I will not be alone. I will have the Lord on my side.”
“It has been many years, Father; will it never end?”
“Who knows? Perhaps tonight will be the night it ends, but even still I cannot live forever.”
“Oh, Father, dont say that! If something should happen to you while we are just standing outside...”