THE SECOND NUN'S TALE
A MODERN
ADAPTATION OF THE SECOND NUN'S TALE FROM CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY TALES
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THE SECOND NUN'S PROLOGUE At this point, though the gambling
hadn't ended, THE SECOND NUN'S TALE This tale is true. It happened to a
friend, A nun, Cecilia, named for that dear saint Who died for Christ a martyr, and whose end Was so bloodstained, it used to make me faint, Though she endured it all without complaint. My friend was named for her, born on her day, And so she died in that same saintly way. In a Muslim country she served Christ, A nurse among the poorest of the poor, Nor was one Muslim in her care enticed By word or deed to feel a faith less pure, But all her work was to the body cure And leave the soul to worship as it would. She touched their hearts alone by being good. For fifteen years she toiled thus, through wars That came and went like thunderstorms, while she Treated all alike, and shared her stores With all who hungered, giving equally To all sides. None more giving could there be! She was loved by all whom she had served Those many years, a love she well deserved! In time, however, though not by her desire, A few whom she had helped came to believe, Drawn like moths to her internal fire, That faith in Christ would all their sins relieve, And so they hungered for that sweet reprieve. They begged her to be baptized, and confess Their sins, that they the true faith might profess. This she refused awhile, knowing well The penalty was death for all who strayed From Islam to another faith. Her cell, Containing but her cot and cross would fade As in distress she to her Savior prayed. "Dear Lord," she said, "please guide me in this choice! My way is crooked. Let me hear Your voice!" It tore her heart to think that souls that would Be saved must be by Christians turned away. All she meant in life was to do good, Yet here the good and bad on both sides lay. For if this were found out, crazed men would slay Converts and converters both, while all The missions in that country soon would fall. She thought of Saint Cecelia, her namesake, And knew for her the choice would be quite clear. Life was little with a soul at stake, And death for Christ was something she held dear, Rejoicing as her martyrdom came near. But now the Church was waffling on the claim That none could be redeemed but in Christ's name. Cecelia had been sent with orders strict Not to proselytize, but only to Do good to all, and warned not to be tricked By spies into conversions she would rue, And would impugn the good that she might do. Cecelia prayed to Christ all through the night. Near dawn He spoke and bathed her in His light. The next day she told those who wished to be Christians of what Christ had said to her: That if they prayed to Allah fervently And were good Muslims, He would not deter Their entry into Heaven, but it would stir His heart with love for them, just as it would For all who loved God and in life did good. For God loved all who loved Him and had faith That they would find salvation in His heart, And even those who thought He was a wraith And in the life of spirit took no part, All were loved and could be saved. The art Of love of God had many signs, she said, And Christ would know them when He waked the dead. These Muslims then were satisfied that they Were saved by Christ though they were Muslims still, And to both Christ and Allah they would pray, Knowing that through both they did God's will, So long as they did not do others ill. They would be Christians, but they understood This compromise would be for their own good. Years passed, the wars grew worse, until there came An army of the purest of the pure, Who said they did jihad in Allah's name And of the Truth were absolutely sure. They had for all life's ills the only cure, Devoted to the triumph of Islam When all the world would live by the Koran. Hating Christians, they set out to find A villager who might betray the nun, Saying she and others of her kind Had proselytized among them. But no one Would bear false witness against her, or would shun Her hospital until one child, enticed By candy, said his parents prayed to Christ. Ah, then! Through torture and the threat of death, These parents did eventually give way, Naming all who would, under their breath, To Christ their Lord as well as Allah pray, And so did all that little band betray, Who soon were rounded up and tortured, too, Till all did just as they were told to do. Cecelia often spoke of Christ, they said, And openly disparaged the Koran, Told how Christ would come to wake the dead And save those who believed in him, but ban All Muslims from his heaven. Not one man Or woman could be saved but through Christ's love, Which she would often from her Bible prove. Nor did their lies end there, but they averred, Hoping their tormentors thus to please, That she made them repeat what they had heard And pray before the cross upon their knees Before a nurse would tend to their disease Or dress their wounds. Nor would she give them bread Till they affirmed that Christ rose from the dead. Thus the jihadists got what they might need To prove Cecelia tried to proselytize, With testimony false that soon would feed A frenzy in the country round. The lies Became the truth, as those who long had ties To Christians quickly severed them from fear, And no one to Cecelia would come near. Then out of Hell they came, these infidels, To seize Cecelia, rape and torture her, Face her with her followers in their cells As they affirmed what never did occur, And said they'd been abused, as well they were. She looked straight into her accusers' eyes, Burning through both innocence and lies. "God forgive you!" she said to them, "as I Forgive you and will pray for you. Your sin Will be washed clean by love, and by and by We'll meet in Heaven, spiritual kin Joined by faith in God and love within. For the Father and the Son I gladly die, And here and now forgive you for your lie." At this they wept, and some tried to recant, But they were quickly slain upon the spot. A few, possessed by fear, began to rant Against the nun, repeating what was not, And cursed her that they might improve their lot. But when their captors said that they must spit On her, they could not stomach it. So they as well were slain, and then the nun Was dragged before a camera and once more Asked if she'd converted anyone, Which she again denied. Forced to the floor, She said she now knew what her life was for, And thanked God for the chance, a piece of dust, To die for Him, as now she knew she must. She asked God to forgive those who had raped And tortured her, and those who even now Prepared her for beheading, as they draped A hood over her head, and had her bow Down to them, and like a willing cow Stretch her neck that they might easily Find the place where they might set her free. "Forgive them," then she prayed, just as the knife Entered her thin neck with a great stroke. But instead of taking her poor life, As though it found a rod of steel, it broke, Its shattered pieces hot and veiled in smoke. "Allah be merciful!" they cried in fear, Leaping away, afraid of coming near. Cecelia bled profusely from her neck, Lying on the ground in shock and pain. She used her shirt to keep the blood in check, Pressing hard upon the open vein Until she could somehow advantage gain. Eventually, the bleeding slowed. She lay There unattended, and began to pray. "Dear Lord," she said. "I do not know what You Intended by this miracle, but please Give me strength that somehow I might do Your will." And then she got up on her knees Slowly, and by delicate degrees. Seeing which, her torturers soon fled, Not knowing whether she was live or dead. The camera was still rolling as she knelt In front of it, as if to it she prayed, And when she raised her head, the bloody welt On both sides of her neck was well displayed, Deep chasm into which a mouse might wade. Next door three jihadists watched the screen Rapt with wonder at what they had seen. "Forgive them, Lord," she pleaded once again. "They know not what they do. Perhaps someday All people will know love, and in Your name Be good to one another. This I pray." And then she died, and out of camera lay. The three jihadists watching were amazed At the miracle on which they gazed. They came into the room as to a shrine, As did the shepherds on a Christmas night, Looking on what happened as a sign Of something that did all their deeds indict, Something more than which belief was right. And then they prayed as Muslims pray, but to A God the nun Cecelia also knew. |
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