7:32 p.m. Passion Ministry

“Tell me again about seeing the Shroud.”

John, lying with his head in Maggie’s lap, smiled. The couple were both pajama clad, watching flickering candle light. The fireplace sputtered, its smoky warmth banishing the evening dampness. Nearby, Jimmy slept peacefully in his room.

John was resting, gathering strength for the concert. He had just finished one of Maggie’s homemade protein shakes, which Phil had nicknamed Burst of Passion and was itching to market.

John had read about other stigmatics. Marveled at how some thrived on snatches of sleep and minimal nutrition.

Padre Pio, who famously bled from all five of Christ’s wounds for fifty years, ate and slept very little.

Each time it was harder for John to find the energy, the courage, to walk onto a stage and sing for God. It used to be the biggest high, performing for thousands of swaying bodies. Giving hope with music. Ending despair with melody.

Now older and weary, he limited his appearances so he could concentrate on his son and his music. Ironically, his fan base just kept growing. Demanding more.

Of course, Maggie had heard his story of the Shroud many times. She was just trying to distract him. And with what better subject? The epiphany that had transformed his life, privileging him to suffer with Christ.