The Lotus Cross by Ray Anderson (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📕

The Lotus Cross

By Ray Anderson

Prologue

An extraordinary event happened in 33 AD. There was a timeless moment when doubt became faith. The promise had been fulfilled. Those close to the Messiah rejoiced at the miracle of the Resurrection, except for one of the chosen ones. Doubting Thomas, as he would eventually become known, would only believe if he touched the hands that had been nailed to the cross and could thrust his fingers into the wound made by the sword of a Roman soldier. His request was granted eight days after the Resurrection. From that moment, doubt was replaced by an undying faith. Thomas, the only one who touched the open wounds of the risen Christ, preserved the blood that his fingers had touched. He carried the preserved blood as he began his ministry in the East. In 54 AD he established his church in India. Amid much persecution, Thomas had a vessel forged to contain the preserved blood. The vessel was called the Lotus Cross because the beautiful cross holding the pouch that contained traces of the blood of the risen Christ was fashioned upon a base shaped like a lotus flower. For almost six centuries those who gave their lives to protect the faith revered it. A legend arose about the power exuding from this vessel. Believers came from all parts of India to rub their fingers on the face of the shaft. In 635 AD, 24 monks journeyed from India to China along one of the ancient trading routes, carrying the Lotus Cross with them. Another legend was born in China as the faithful came to touch the cross. One hundred fifty years later, amid persecution of the faithful, the Lotus Cross was hidden away for safekeeping. It would remain untouched for over a thousand years.

Chapter 1

London

Snow fell outside the large picture window framed in dark oak trim. Ancient pottery and statues adorned the shelves along one wall. In the corner of the high-ceilinged room was a small altar with a few objects arranged on it. Professor Michael Drake grew up in Northern California, but had lived in England for the past 12 years. He had begun to feel almost like a native, although for the last year he hadn’t felt anything but grief. He was sitting with his legs propped up on his desk going over some notes when his cell phone rang. It was his brother-in-law, Charles Kingsford, who had been in and out of the hospital lately with heart problems. Michael pulled his legs off the desk and answered the phone. “Is everything all right?” He tossed his notes on his desk.

“I’m feeling a bit potty, but I’ll survive,” Charles said. “Thanks for asking, but I’m calling about a different matter.”

Michael leaned forward into the phone. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been on medical leave for a month now. With all this time on my hands, I decided to go through my father’s papers.” Charles’s voice was steady. “I came across a most extraordinary manuscript that he’d translated. Are you aware of an artifact called the Lotus Cross?”

Michael shot up out of his chair. “Yes, I’ve heard of it! The manuscript in your possession refers to it?”

“Yes, you’re the expert.” There was a ring to Charles’s voice. “I’d like to show it to you.”

“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” Michael asked as he massaged the back of his neck with his free hand.

“No, as soon as I realized what I was reading I got on the phone with you.”

Michael turned and walked the few steps to the picture window. “What about Margaret?” he asked, thinking of how much she reminded him of his deceased wife, Karen.

“She’s been worried sick, and besides, she has little interest in this sort of thing.”

Michael squinted as he looked out the window and thought of Karen. He winced at the realization of what would never be. He brought himself back to the present. “I’m leaving for Uganda in the morning.”

“I thought it was too dangerous.” Charles’s voice carried real concern.

“The representative from the World Health Organization contacted me and said the situation has stabilized enough for me to visit the village,” he said as he turned his attention to the altar in the corner of the room.

“I’m anxious for you to see this for yourself. Maybe you could come over for dinner tonight. Margaret would love to see you…it’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.” With a tinge of guilt Michael realized he had been avoiding them. “Sure, I can come tonight. I’m all packed. I have to stop by the Archaeological Institute, but I can swing by there on my way to your house later.”

“Splendid.” A chipper tone came through the phone. “How about eight?”

“Eight will be fine. Give my love to Margaret.”

“I will.”

After they hung up, Michael stood for a moment reflecting on the last time he and Karen had gone to Charles and Margaret’s house for dinner, just before she left for Africa. Even though Margaret was the older sister, she and Karen looked so much alike they could have passed for twins. He walked over to the corner of the room. A recessed light he kept on all the time illuminated the small altar he had set up. He gazed at the picture of Karen hanging on the wall over it. He looked down at the items he had placed on the cloth—a small brooch, a brush, her favorite necklace, a ring her mother had given her—and tears started welling up. He stood there for a few moments looking at her smiling face. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. He could hardly believe that it had been a year since she was killed. “Just keep moving,” he said to himself.

Michael stepped back to his desk. He laid his phone down and stretched his neck from side to side. Something about the call from Charles had jarred him. The thought of a document that described the Lotus Cross was tantalizing. He picked up the phone to call Charles back and tell him he wanted to come now, but he stopped himself from hitting the call button. Instead, he sat down and went online to see what information he could find about the Lotus Cross. His reading glasses hung off the end of his nose as he stared at the screen. There were references to the lotus and the cross, but nothing on the Lotus Cross. “Amazing,” he said to himself.

Michael made his way through London, past Hyde Park, and north toward Charles and Margaret’s home. He drove up Abbey Road and came to the intersection made famous by the Beatles. He remembered the time he and Karen were on their way to dinner with Charles and Margaret, and she made him stop the car as she took off her shoes.

“What’re you doing?” he had asked. “It’s raining.”

She laughed as she opened the door. “I want to feel the pavement under my feet and take it with me wherever I go,” she said with a sparkle in her voice. He got out and watched as she danced across the street, her long blonde hair swaying from side to side. It didn’t matter to her that it was raining. How he missed her laughter and joy for life.

Michael turned into the long driveway and drove up to the large brownstone home.

Margaret opened the door. “You’re right on time.” She stepped aside and ushered him in. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve missed you,” she said as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Michael responded with the same. “I’m glad to be here.”

A cold wind whipped through the entryway as Margaret closed the front door behind him. She took his arm and led him into the den. “When Charles said you were coming for dinner, I was thrilled,” she said, flashing her endearing smile. “I don’t care if it took some old manuscript to get you here; I’m glad you’re here.”

“Michael, old chum,” Charles said, coming in from the other room. “I’m glad you could make it.” He extended his hand in welcome.

Michael reached out his hand and they shook. “Yes, it’s good to be here.”

Margaret reached around Michael’s back and helped him remove his coat. “I know you’re anxious to show Michael that manuscript,” she said, hanging his coat on a rack. She turned and winked just like Karen used to, her hazel eyes sparkling.

Charles’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Why don’t we have a look at it before dinner?”

Michael hesitated to respond, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Go, it’s all right.” Margaret started for the kitchen. “I’ll see you two in a bit.”

“Well, let’s have at it,” Charles said as he rested his hand on Michael’s shoulder and led him down the hall. Pellets of sleet sheeted against the windows as they entered the library. Charles flicked a light switch and illuminated the floor- to-ceiling shelves filled with books. They walked to a large oak table in the middle of the room. Michael slipped into the leather chair positioned in front of the table and gazed down at the ancient manuscript with the clear Chinese characters, then to the translated copy written in longhand.

“This is what I wanted you to see,” Charles said as he brought a second chair up to the table.

Michael put on his reading glasses and scanned the original manuscript, then turned his attention to the translated copy. He became oblivious to the drumbeat of hail against the windowpane as he began reading.

The blood of Jesus spilled forth from the wounds in his hands and his side.

He laid down his life for the multitude of errors brought about by inhuman actions.

He was raised up and carried forth by the Gentle Wind to the One Presence.

The Messiah returned to his followers, his blood purified, his body Light.

Blessings in the Luminous Light to those who see the One Spirit in all things.

Because Thomas doubted, he was given the opportunity to touch Christ’s open wounds.

Thomas reached forth, touched the purified blood, and no longer doubted.

He withdrew his hand, carrying traces of the purified blood upon it.

With this hand he clutched the sacred cloth held close to his heart.

He held this cloth, imbuing it with the purified blood as the heavens opened to him.

This cloth had been around Thomas’s neck since childhood as an act of devotion.

The cloth was sanctified in the manner of the ancient ones to rid it of impurities.

Thomas’s doubt had become faith, with the blood sealed upon the cloth kept close to his heart.

He traveled to the land of a multitude of gods to bring the healing word to many.

There he fashioned the sacred vessel to preserve the cloth imbued with the blood of Christ.

The vessel—shaped as a cross rising out of lotus flowers—held within it the sacred cloth.

The Lotus Cross is the symbol of spiritual awakening arising from earthly desire.

Many came from far and wide to touch the Lotus Cross, believing in its healing power.

When the time was right, this vessel was carried to the land of the Awakening Dragon.

The power within the Lotus Cross healed the wounds of many who believed in its power.

Then the Dragon breathed fire, all was in turmoil, and many turned away from the Light.

The blood of the Anointed One is sanctified until the time of the Coming Forth. Faith moves mountains.

The sands of time erase the past. Only the Gentle Wind remains.

There will be great rejoicing when the Blood is brought forth to heal the downtrodden.

No one knows the day when the Gentle Wind will usher in the Coming Forth.

As the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so the cross rises from the lotus flower.

Michael tapped the edge of the tabletop. “This is amazing. The legend of the Lotus Cross has persisted for centuries,