Revolution and Revelation
The grand hall of the Vatican was silent, save for the faint echo of footsteps. The Young Pope, Lenny Belardo, sat on a golden throne, his piercing eyes fixed on Felipe Coronel, who stood unflinchingly before him. The room seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension—two men, worlds apart, bound by their uncompromising pursuit of truth.
“You wanted to talk about revolution,” the Pope said, his voice smooth yet laced with an edge of curiosity.
Felipe nodded. “The French Revolution. The guillotines, the blood in the streets. People rising up against the monarchy, against the Church. A moment of justice—or so they thought.”
The Pope leaned forward slightly, his white cassock glowing in the dim light. “And yet, justice born of vengeance often becomes its own form of tyranny. Do you know what Revelation 20 says about such things?”
Felipe crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “You’re talking about the beheadings. ‘I saw the souls of those who had been beheaded because of their testimony about Jesus and because of the word of God.’ You think that’s what the French Revolution was about? A prophecy?”
The Pope smiled faintly, his expression enigmatic. “Prophecy often unfolds in ways we do not expect. The guillotine was not just a tool of execution; it was a symbol of man’s attempt to play God. To decide who lives and who dies. Revelation warns us of such things—of the chaos that comes when we forget the divine order.”
Felipe stepped closer, his voice low but intense. “But what about the divine order that allowed kings and queens to starve their people? What about the Church’s silence while the poor died in the streets? You can’t preach Revelation without acknowledging the sins that led to the revolution.”
The Pope met his gaze, unflinching. “And I do not deny them. The Church has blood on its hands, as do all institutions built by flawed men. But Felipe, tell me this: Does tearing down a corrupt system guarantee a just one will rise in its place? Or does it simply create a vacuum for more bloodshed?”
Felipe was silent for a moment, his mind racing. “Revolution isn’t clean. It’s not supposed to be. But sometimes, it’s the only way to wake people up. To make them see the truth.”
The Pope stood, his presence towering despite his calm demeanor. “And yet, the truth is not always found in the roar of the crowd or the fall of a blade. Revelation speaks of a thousand-year reign of peace—a time when swords will be beaten into plowshares. Tell me, Felipe, how do we reach that? Through more blood? Or through something greater?”
Felipe’s fists clenched, his voice rising. “You can’t preach peace to people who are starving. Revolution is the fire that burns away the old so something new can grow.”
The Pope walked down the steps, standing face-to-face with Felipe. “Perhaps. But fire, unchecked, consumes everything—including the innocent. Revelation 20 warns us not just of beheadings, but of the final judgment. The true revolution is not of this world, Felipe. It begins within. It is a revolution of the soul.”
Felipe stared at him, the weight of the words sinking in. “So what are you saying? That we should just wait for God to fix it all?”
The Pope shook his head. “No. I’m saying that every act of justice, every revolution, must be tempered with humility. With the understanding that we are not gods, but servants. The Eye of God sees all, Felipe. And in the end, it is not the guillotine that will bring justice, but the truth.”
The room fell silent, the echoes of their conversation lingering like a prayer unanswered. Felipe turned to leave, his mind a storm of thoughts.
As he stepped into the Vatican courtyard, he looked up at the sky. The revolution was far from over—but perhaps, for the first time, he saw it not just as a battle of flesh and blood, but of spirit and purpose.
