This experience was different in significant ways from the one that involved driving to play my college girlfriend a song that might comfort her.
Back when I was a student, both of the
opposing lines of reasoning going through my head could plausibly have
been nothing more than my own thoughts. But this time, it
would never have occurred to me to just stand up in the middle of a
church pew—especially without having any idea of what I might do
next. It’s just not the way I normally
think. (Or
act.)
Also, Catholics (and I guess maybe other Christian
denominations) believe that long-deceased saints can still perform
miracles—like suddenly healing people of fatal diseases that are
normally incurable. If they can do this, just popping a
couple of
short instructions into somebody’s head ought not to be a particularly
big deal.
Given that these thoughts were nothing like my
own
typically are, what other external source would be more plausible than
the saint with presumably superior powers who I was attempting to
communicate with?
As for the message which had been conveyed, I
was somewhat clueless at first. But with the passage of a
little
time, I came to see there’s an interpretation that’s about as clear and
simple as anyone could hope for.
Bear in mind the background
story that Erlembaldo was about to enter a monastery at the time he was
persuaded to lead the pataria. If he had stuck to his
original
plan and gone into the monastery, then spent the rest of his life there
(which appears to have been his intention), it’s unlikely that he could
have done anywhere near as much good as he did by choosing to stay
involved with the outside world.
I had been sitting in a church
when I asked him to help me be more like him. When someone
with
his background sends you promptly out of a sheltered religious enclave
to a place where you can see a sizeable chunk of the broader world
beyond it, what else could he be saying but “If you want to be like me,
go out into that bigger world and find something worthwhile to do in it?”
