“Bishop Graham, we have called you here to the Grand Judgment Seat…do you know why?”
The black bag was still over my face. I didn’t know who was addressing me, but I had my suspicious.
“To be judged?” Why else would I be in a place called the Judgment Seat? But my question was, what had I done that would warrant my being here? And where was here? There was no Grand Judgment Seat in the Vatican.
At least, not to my knowledge.
“You smugness and wit will not be tolerated here, Graham. What you have proposed, even in quiet conversations, has been deemed heretical and worthy of judgment.”
This wasn’t a single judgment seat. That was a different voice. Were there more than two people sitting over me? Did the Pope know about this? As the Vicar of Rome, the Pontiff, surely he didn’t support some mystery court in his city…unless..
“What am I accused of proposing?”
My years of law school prepped me for this, though I never thought it would be useful. Choose your words carefully. Never use language that may suggest guilt.
“You are accused of proposing The Holy Roman Catholic Church change the title of that most holy day, Good Friday.”