Daily Prompt –Faith — EVIDENCE (long fiction)

(As a scientist for many decades and a Christian for even longer, I have no problem blending the two perspectives.  I wanted to come up with something to write specifically for this Daily Prompt, but instead, I will supply this short story which should provide insight into how I would view faith.)

 

EVIDENCE

    “Special delivery for Dr. Pennefather.  Can you sign for it?”  Having  been very busy all morning, the student hadn’t heard  the knock.  The man seemed to come from nowhere.  Will Sanders looked up from his lab bench to see a short, moustached man in his  early twenties wearing a brown courier suit.  

      “Sure,”  said Will, “I can sign.”  Though he felt as  if  he’d done  this  before,  he couldn’t remember ever  getting  a  package delivered this way at the lab. 

 The delivery man left, and Will decided to walk down the  hall to check his box for regular mail.  A secretary stopped him in  the hall.

 “Oh,  Will.   There’s  another box  for  Pennefather’s  dating service.   It’s  by  my desk.”  The joke had long  since  lost  its punch.  A few months back Will and Dr. Pennefather had published an article  describing a new technique for identifying the age  of – or dating – fossils,  bones,  or  other  historical  artifacts.    The technique was found to be more accurate than carbon-14 dating, but its  major  advantage was that the test could be  performed  in  a manner  that  completely  nondestructive.   The  process  involved merely  reflecting  microwaves  of a  certain  frequency  off  the material to be tested, and then collect the residual energy  which bounced  off,  using  a special sensing device  developed  by  Dr. Pennefather.  The age of the material could be estimated to within a few decades after only a few minutes of testing.  

      The    new   test   was   of   interest   to    archeologists, paleontologists,  historians, as well as to physical  chemists  who were awed by the simple elegance of the technique.  Will considered himself lucky to have joined the chemistry graduate school when  he did.  Now Colin P. Pennefather and William A. Sanders would forever be  inscribed in the literature as the developers of the  microwave dating  technique.  Requests for reprints of the paper  had  slowed somewhat,  but  they  still came in at a  rate  that  far  exceeded anything  the  department had seen in twenty years.  And  now  the requests  for  dating of materials outnumbered  the  requests  for  reprints.   Scientists  from all over the world sent  packages  of petrified  bones,  plant fossils, ancient artwork  and  literature with requests for estimation of the age.  As long as this  testing did  not  seriously  interfere with  Will’s  thesis  project,  Dr. Pennefather  wanted Will to go ahead and test these  materials  in his spare time.  After all, it was good PR for the university  and for Dr. Pennefather.

      Back  at the lab, Will opened the box he picked up  from  the office.

      “What’s  in the box?” asked Dr. Pennefather.  He  had  emerged from his office a bit blurry-eyed, with an unlit pipe held  tightly in his teeth.  

      “It looks like some cave drawings on a couple rocks,” answered Will, “or else it’s something my little nephew did on our  camping trip  last  month.”   Dr. Pennefather did not see  the  humor.   He marched  out  the door on his way to lunch.  There was  little  you could say to him, save an exciting experimental finding, that could detour him off course to the faculty club this close to noon.  

      Will’s stomach growled.  Lunch sounded like a great idea.   On his way out the door to grab his lunch, he remembered the  special delivery  box.  Why, he had placed it between two machines on  the lab  bench and had forgotten all about it.  It was about the  size of the smaller machine: a rectangle about 2 feet by 6 inches by 6  inches.  

     He  walked over to it and looked at the label.  It was from  Rome, Italy.   Probably something from some ancient ruin.  But  no,  the box  was too light to contain the usual broken pottery  or  bones.  Will  tore off the strange black tape around the outside, and he attempted to pry open the top.  Then he noticed the top was  split so that only a third of the top could be lifted off.  In the  open third  of  the box was a piece of paper with  some  very  detailed instructions on dating the material.  Under the instructions was a cellophane  wrapper housing what appeared to be a piece of  cloth, old  and  yellowed,  but with no designs  or  inscriptions.   Will couldn’t  tell  for sure without investigating  further,  but  the cloth  looked as though it was protruding from a hole that  would open  into the larger compartment of the box.  His  stomach  would not  afford  him  the luxury of  further  investigation  now;  the mystery would have to wait until after lunch.

         Often  Will ate lunch with some of the other  students,  but today he felt solitary.  Opening his brown bag under the shade  of an  elm,  his thoughts drifted to a discussion he’d had  with  Dr. Pennefather at the Dusty Rose bar and grill last week.  It wasn’t widely  known,  but  after some long days in  the  lab – and  there seemed to be no shortage of them lately – Dr. Pennefather and Will, Dr. Branigan and his favorite student, Rob Johnson, would head out for  drinks  and  peanuts.  Rarely, if ever, would a  professor-student  pair allow themselves to be seen in such a  setting,  but the presence  of  another such pair  seemed  to  legitimize  this meeting, especially as a reward for a long day’s work.  

      Early  in  the evening, Rob mentioned something  about  a  new finding he’d heard about on the news.  Bad move, Rob, thought Will.  The finding had to do with the power the mind had over the body.

      “Apparently  in people with multiple personalities,” Rob  went on,  “if  one of these persons is allergic to something,  and  then eats it, he’ll get hives.  Then if another personality takes  over, the hives clear up…apparently within minutes.”

      “Then  if the allergic person is psychic, too, will his  spoon bend  when  he  tries to pick up the  offending  food?”  asked  Dr. Pennefather out of the side of his mouth.  He chuckled slightly and noticed that Dr. Branigan was smiling.  

      Rob hesitated awhile and then fired back.

      “It  means  that  we  may actually  have  the  power  to  heal ourselves.”   Rob would not quit.  Will looked away.  In  spite  of the fact that the paper would appear in the prestigious Journal  of the  American  Medical Association, and with high praise  from the reviewers, it wouldn’t matter to Dr. Pennefather now.  Any  finding that  would show up  in the popular press before it  appears  in  a scientific  journal has got to be suspect, he would say.  At  least that’s  what  he  would  say  if  he  was  completely sober.   Dr. Pennefather’s  normally  skeptical tone was  being  transformed  by scotch to a biting sarcasm.  

      “Maybe that would explain how Oral Roberts does his healings, don’t  you suppose,  Will?”   Dr. Pennefather knew that Will usually  went  to church and could not be found in the lab on Sunday mornings, but he usually kept his opinions about religion at least partially veiled.  If  Will  could only make the professor understand that  he shared some  of the same agnostic beliefs, that he disagreed with many  of the church’s doctrines, that he was only seeking a form  of  truth that  included  his  scientific world, and  that  of  all  of  the personalities   that  fall  under  the  heading  of Religion, he particularly  abhorred  the evangelists of the Oral  Roberts  type.  Will  doubted that Dr. Pennefather would ever  allow  himself  to consider these topics for even a few seconds.

      “Yeah, maybe so,” answered Will, “Wish Oral could heal the NMR so  I  could identify that sample from  Duke.”   Dr.  Pennefather’s laugh dimmed.  The nuclear magnetic resonance spectrophotometer, or NMR,  had been broken for two weeks.  Dr. Pennefather  promised  to have it fixed when Will first noticed the problem, but thinking  he might fix it himself, and then finding more important things to do, he  had  let  it slide.  The conversation quickly  changed  to  Dr. Branigan’s impending sabbatical.

      Will  slid a little against the rough bark of the shade  tree and smiled.  As he thought back on that evening at the Dusty Rose, he  was  proud  of  the way he had asserted  himself  over  Colin Pennefather.   It’s not something he would want to do very  often.  Although  he  was  concerned, of course,  with  simply  making  it through the graduate program – a feat that is always easier if  one has  an amiable relationship with one’s advisor – he truly  admired the  man.   Still, it was good to know he could stand  up  to  the professor should the need arise.

      Folding  his brown sack, Will looked toward the building  near where  he  was  sitting.   Construction  workers  had  begun  their afternoon’s work.  Will’s eyes fell upon a black box with a  handle on  top near a ladder.  Someone was descending from the ladder  and reached  to  open the box.  Will straightened up.   The  experience seemed  uncannily  familiar.   He  watched  carefully  as  the  man unfastened  the  latch and opened it to retrieve  a  wrench.   Will sighed,  looked  over  at the river in the distance,  and  then  he remembered  the box he had left in the lab.  What was in  it?   And why  had  it come by special delivery?  The answers could  wait  no longer.  

     Will  was back in the lab in five minutes.  He opened the  lid to  reveal  the beige cloth in cellophane, but then he  decided  he should  read the instructions before he investigated  further.   He read on:

                                                                        Aug. 3, 2010

 

Dear Dr. Pennefather,

      I am an archeologist studying the ancient ruins of the city of 

Pompeii.  We recently came upon this cloth which was discovered  by 

a  colleague  of  mine among rare artefacts in a  museum  in  Rome.  

Since  the  design  on the cloth is similar to that  found  in  the 

vicinity  of  Pompeii before the Mt. Vesuvius buried the  city,  we 

believe it might belong to that culture.  

      If  you  would be so kind, he would like for you to  date  the 

piece  with  your  microwave  technique.  We  have  wrapped  it  in 

cellophane  under  nitrogen  to  protect  it  from  moisture.    In  


addition, as per the instructions of the museum, much of the  cloth


(the part containing the design), is concealed within the box.  The 

paint used on this cloth is very sensitive to light.  We trust that 

you  will  not attempt to open this section of  the  box.   Serious 

consequences  may  need to be imposed should there be  evidence  of 

tampering…

     The  letter  went on describing how to send the  box  and  the results  back, and it was signed by a Dr. Memex.  Nothing  unusual, thought Will.  Except for the threat of “consequences”.  He  looked back  at  the  box, now open to reveal both  the  large  and  small compartments.  How could this be?, thought Will.  When he left for lunch the covering over the large compartment seemed impenetrable.  At  least  the  cellophane maintaining the  cloth  under  nitrogen appeared to be intact.  Will could not resist.  He took the  cloth out  of  the box and gave it a quick glance.  There  was  a  crude image of  a person, more dense and identifiable as such  in  some places  than  in others.  An instant later he  thought  about  the light-sensitive  paint and quickly but carefully placed the  cloth as it had been in the box.

 

      On  the way to tell Dr. Pennefather, Will remembered where  he had  seen another cloth with a similar image.  Time  magazine  had recently run a story on a cloth reported to be the burial  garment of  Jesus  Christ.   What was it called?  It  had  a funny  name.  Something  like “cloud”.  Will slowed up.  His eyes  widened.   He had to sit  down and think over a few things.   Should  he  tell Pennefather?   After a few seconds, it was clear to him there  was no choice.  The question was how.  Although he wanted to treat  it like any other specimen, that would be impossible.  The “Shroud of Turin.”  That’s what it was called.

      Will  found  Dr.  Pennefather  in  his  office  updating  his literature  files.  It was a good time to interrupt him; he  hated this  task,  and usually welcomed any diversion.  Dr.  Pennefather looked  up  from the paper he was reading, smiled, and said  in  a quizzical tone, “Hello.”

      “Sorry to bother you,” started Will, “but a specimen came  in today  for dating, and I think you should look at.  I have  reason to believe that the person who sent it is not the rightful owner.”  

     It  was not entirely honest, but Will was hoping this angle  would get the professor’s attention.

      Dr.  Pennefather scowled over the top of his  reading  glasses and set down his paper.  

      “What makes you think that?,” asked the professor.

      “Well,  only part of the specimen–an old cloth–was  intended to  be  accessible for testing,” said Will, “and  the  instructions indicated  that there would be dire consequences if there  was  any evidence of our tampering.”

      “Strange” 

      “Uh, that’s not all.  There’s more,” continued Will.

      “Go on”
      “I’m not sure how it happened.  I just left for lunch and came back  to open the package.  After reading the letter I noticed  the whole box was open, exposing the whole specimen.”  In spite of  his efforts, Will’s voice became shaky.  “It’s not just any old cloth. I  believe  it may be the Shroud of Turin…you  know…the  cloth said to be the burial cloth of Jesus.  They want us to date it  to establish or refute its authenticity.  But they didn’t want us  to know what it was.”

      There was a flicker in the professor’s eye which quickly  went out.  He immediately focused on the paper in his hands.

      “Let  me  finish this article and I’ll come to the lab  for  a look.”    Dr.  Pennefather did not look up.  Will left  and  ambled down the hall.

      Once  back  at the lab, Will stared at the box.  He  began  to lift  a corner of the large compartment, but then he put it  down.  In order to keep busy, he washed some lab glassware that had  been sitting in the sink.  He wondered what was taking Dr. Pennefather so  long.   This had to be the most  interesting  specimen  they’d examined, and yet to Dr. Pennefather the Shroud of Turin was  just another old cloth.  Then he heard footsteps.

     “Where’s  the letter?”  The professor had hardly entered  the room  when  he  spoke.   Will handed him  the  letter,  which  Dr. Pennefather scanned briefly.  

      “So  what’s  the big deal?”  blurted  out  Colin  Pennefather.  Then  the  tired professor read the letter a second  time,  sitting down,  more slowly.  His reading speed seemed to decrease  and  his attention  increased with each line.  When he had finished, a  grin on  his face had turned to a hint of a smile.  He looked up at  his student colleague.

      “Will,  I’ve got a faculty meeting this afternoon.  Why  don’t you  spend  a little time in the library and find  out  about  this…”shroud.”  Just get me anything on it.”

      ‘Anything?…everything!’ thought Will.  But all he said  was, “Yes, sir.”

      The library would not be open long enough for Will.  He began by looking for the Time article.  Then he did a computer search of newspaper articles.  Although an article on the shroud appeared in some  major  newspaper every few months, there was  usually  very little  new.  Most of them discussed how many Christians  believed

that  it was the burial cloth of Christ and hoped that this was  a modern-day revelation from God.  Skeptics pointed  out  that  it could  have  been painted by a clever artist in the  middle  ages, although  no  one could explain  the  exquisite  three-dimensional quality  of  the image of the man on the  cloth.   Fiber  analysis indicated  that the cloth could well have come from  pre-Christian Palestine.  Close examination revealed that the image was of a man in  his early thirties that had apparently been crucified.   Blood stains existed in all the places that would be predicted from  the Biblical  account,  including  those  below  the  hairline   where presumably  a crown made of thorns had been.  Nearly all the  news clippings  detailed these things, and nearly all of them conceded that  the main problem for establishing its authenticity was  that the cloth had never been made available for dating.

      Will  moved  on to more scholarly sources.   Although  journal articles  were  almost  nonexistent, he  did  come  across  several helpful  books.  He learned that no pigment had been found  in  the cloth, but that it did contain iron oxide, a constituent of  blood. He  also found a great deal about the history  of the  shroud–who originally owned it, when it had been stolen, when it was  rescued from fire.  For about 150 years–between 1204 and 1353–there were no  reliable  records  of its existence.   Other  than  that,  and especially  after that period, the records were so  detailed  that Will could not keep them straight.  After a day and a half in  the library, he headed to the lab.  He felt like a pack mule under the weight  of  the  books  in his backpack, but  he  marched  like  a crusader.

      Will could have predicted it, but for his own fresh zeal:  Dr. Pennefather only wanted a picture of the shroud to compare with the cloth  in  the  lab.  He was not the least bit interested  in  the details.

     “So let’s run the test,” said Colin Pennefather.  Will  brought the  specimen  to the dark room, while his advisor  calibrated  the equipment.   Will  was careful to take out a small portion  of  the cloth,  as instructed, and ironed it carefully with  gloved  hands. 

     Nearby,  Dr. Pennefather scribbled a few notes into  his  notebook.  He said that he was almost ready.  

      “Take out the whole cloth,” said Dr. Pennefather.  His tone of voice indicated that he meant business.

      “But the note said…”

      “I don’t care.  I have my reasons.”  Will could not guess what those  were, but he ceased his protest.  He wanted another look  at the shroud anyway.

      “I  want to take readings from all portions of the  specimen,” said  Dr.  Pennefather, “That will require use  of  this  makeshift collector,  and  we’ll  have to leave the beam  on  for  about  two seconds.  I brought these glasses to protect our eyes.”

      They  mounted  the large, curved piece of metal on  the  wall.  This  improvisation was designed to bounce the  residual  microwave energy into the machine’s detector.  After extinguishing the lights and  turning on the infrareds, Will lifted the lid of the box  and placed  the  cloth  on  the table.  Each  unfolding  was  slow  and intentional.  Finally it lay flat.  The image was ghostly enough in the daylight, but it took on an especially eerie quality in the red light.   It appeared to float for a bit.  Will blinked.   His  eyes must be playing tricks on him.

      “Turn  on the beam, Will, and I’ll adjust the collector,”  Dr. Pennefather’s voice caused Will to jump.

      “Sorry.   Were  you  expecting somebody  else?”   Will  didn’t appreciate humor at this time.  He turned on the microwave beam and watched  the collector as it was being adjusted.  Once  adjustments were  made, the two stood back, like two boys standing in line  for their  first roller coaster ride.  Quite by accident,  Will  bumped into the frequency knob so that the wrong frequency microwaves were bombarding the cloth.  

      “Damn,” said Will, “Sorry, I bumped the knob.”  He reached  to set the knob back.  

      “No!   Leave it.”  Colin Pennefather’s voice was  higher pitched than usual.  “Look!”

      Will  looked  up at the metal mirror  with  incredulous  eyes.  There before the two of them lay a holographic image of the man  on the  cloth.   It was no longer a two-dimensional specimen;  it  had depth and perspective.  Colin Pennefather turned to glance at Will, his  eyes as big as baseballs.  The look made Will  shiver.   Their two mouths hung open like giant steam shovels.  Will noticed  that when  he tilted his head slightly, he could get a  different  side view – and  not just a slightly different view, as can be  observed on modern holograms.  Moving his head only an inch allowed him to see a great distance around the side of the body!

      Colin Pennefather apparently had not noticed this  phenomenon.  With intense, slightly squinted eyes, he studied the face as if  he were an art critic.  

      “…the  bruise on the forehead…the faint, worn  appearance given  by the few wrinkles, the painful  grimace…the  tightening around  the  lips…all  these  things  give  testimony  to  human suffering.”

      Will  had never known the professor to have a propensity  for art, but then he had to confess there were probably many things he did not know about this man.  Will’s eyes wandered over the  image and came to rest on the legs.

      “…and   those  eyes…even  closed  they  look   warm   and peaceful,”  droned  Colin Pennefather.  “No artist  could  capture these qualities in such depth.”

     And then Will noticed something inexplicable about the image.  It  took  a  few  seconds to sink in.  At  first  it  seemed  like something  was just a little bit askew.  But then his  discontent grew  into a joy that obliterated everything else.   Will looked up at the image and back to the cloth.  He was right.

      “The…the  eyes  on the  specimen…they’re  open!”   Will’s words  brought  the  professor  out of the  museum  and  into  the laboratory.  Sometime during the discovery, or during his relating it  to the elder scientist–Will could not be sure–he bumped  the frequency knob again. The image on the metal mirror was gone.   In the  commotion Will had missed Pennefather’s reaction to the  open eyes.

     “Turn it back.”

     “I’m trying but it won’t come.”

      “Let  me  try it.”  But in spite of their efforts,  the  image could not be restored.     

      “Well,  let’s  begin the dating,” Dr. Pennefather  said  in  a monotone.  Will adjusted the frequency knob and gave the specimen a two second blast of microwaves.

      “What’s the reading?” he asked.

      “Fourteen-point-one-zero,”  came  the  answer.  Although  he  had  calculated  it before, Will wasted no time double checking it.  Yes, indeed.   The number translated into the year 10 A.D.  Since the technique  could only insure correct dating within 50 years, the date for the  cloth could be anywhere from 40 B.C. to 60 A.D., dates contemporary  with the time of Christ.

      “It’s true, then,” Will blurted out, “This is the burial cloth of Christ.”

      “Not  so  fast,”  said  Dr. Pennefather,  “we  need  two  more readings.”  Sure we need two more readings, thought Will.  It was a precaution  they  had  only recently implemented.  But  in  Will’s experience,  no  reading  had  been more than  30  years from  the average.

     It  was  not to be this time.  The second  reading  translated into  the year 2900 A.D.  The two scientists stared at  each  other for only a fraction of a second.  Dr. Pennefather averted his gaze.  Wild  with  speculation, Will thought about  the  so-called  second coming  of  Christ.  Could this reading indicate the year  of  that event?

      The third reading indicated the year 1000 A.D.  Will’s heart sank. But what could these disparate numbers mean?  This had never happened.

     “We better recalibrate,” said Dr. Pennefather.  The professor and   his   student   worked  together,  but   in   vain.    After recalibrating, they could not get a reading from the cloth.   Will retrieved two other specimens he had dated earlier that week; the readings  checked  out  fine.  The two left  the  darkroom,  each dealing with the dilemma alone and in silence.

 —————————–

      After  two days of silence, Will could no longer keep  quiet about the cloth.  He promised himself that he would tell only  one person–Rob Johnson, his closest grad school friend.  But when Rob found  out about the cloth, he couldn’t keep quiet.   Soon rumors began  to circulate that the Shroud of Turin was being  housed  at the most state-of-the-art center for dating.  It didn’t take  long for reporters to descend upon those hallowed halls.  At first  Dr. Pennefather  declined to be interviewed.  Then when he decided  he would  grant  an interview, the media wanted a  press  conference.  Dr. Pennefather consented.  

      When the professor told Will about the press conference, Will was elated.  Just the thought of his advisor getting this kind  of attention gave him his first flutter of excitement.  Next came the more  burning  desire  to see his faith  validated  by scientific evidence.   Not just the dating, which was somewhat  suspect,  but the holographic  image and the miraculous opening  of  the  eyes.  Colin  Pennefather, of all people, was shaken by the  events  that took  place in the darkroom, distinguished scientist that he  was.  Think  of  how valuable his testimony would be  to  the Christian faith  among  the scientific community.  Colin had  not  been  his usual boisterous self.  He had kept to himself most of the  time.  Reflecting, Will thought.

      But   the   day  before  the  press  conference,   Will   was uncomfortable  with  Dr. Pennefather’s behavior.   The  man  again looked smug and all-knowing.

 —————————-

      “Last Friday this reporter received word that the famed Shroud of  Turin, the cloth said to have been wrapped around the  body  of Jesus  Christ  after his crucifixion, had been dated by  Dr.  Colin Pennefather.   Dr.  Pennefather  was the  inventor  of  the modern microwave dating technique…”  

      The reporter’s voice trailed off in Will’s mind.  Will thought he should have been given some of the credit for the technique, but he figured this is the way it would always be.

      “In  a  few moments the public will finally know  whether  the cloth is authentic.  The Christian world is holding its  collective breath.”

      Brother,  thought  Will, what a crock!  Even though  he  could scarcely  contain  his own thoughts about what  Pennefather  would say,  such  sensational  journalism  was not  easy  to   stomach.  Furthermore,  he  doubted  whether this  announcement would have anything  to  do  with  the  faith  of  people  like  his   devout grandmother. Surely she wasn’t holding her breath.

      Will sat near the back of the auditorium, biting his lip.  Rob was on his left.

      “This  is a better turn-out than when Hubel came,”  said  Rob.  The  Nobel laureate had drawn plenty, thought Will.  But  he  could say nothing.  Dr. Pennefather had begun to field questions.

      “Tell us about the appearance of the cloth.  That is, can  you be sure it is the alleged Shroud of Turin?”

      Dr. Pennefather explained that the resemblance of the cloth to published  accounts  made it highly unlikely that it could  be  any other.

      “We  have heard rumors about an unusual image from  the  cloth during the dating process.  Can you comment on this?”

      “Uh…yes.  The detail on the cloth is extraordinary.  If  you saw it in person, your first impulse would be to conclude there was a real person under a transparent cloth.  It is especially engaging under the red lights we use during dating.  Other than that, there was nothing unusual about the specimen.”

      “The floating image, sir.”

      “There  was  no such image.”  After a pause,  the  professor continued, “Any such ‘floating image’ could only be the product of the unusual lighting situation required for such a large specimen, or the product of overactive imaginations.”

        Dr. Pennefather’s wry smile was brief.   He looked down  at his  notes,  and then his eyes searched into the  audience.   Will could not believe it.  The pressure had gotten to old Pennefather. He  would  not   alter his comfortable life, no  matter  what had happened  to  him.  Will wondered if a heart attack would  make  a difference.  Then he thought of the dating.  How could he  escape those questions?

      “Dr.  Pennefather, for once and for all, please tell  us  what you found to be the date of the cloth.”

      Silence filled the large room.

      “My  very  competent  graduate student, Will  Sanders,  and  I worked  together on the dating.  For a more accurate  analysis,  we attempted  to  assay  the whole specimen.  To do this,  we  made  a special  larger  collector to funnel the radiation from  the  whole cloth.   And as we do for every specimen, we took  three  readings.  Its  just  a part of the scientific method.  We found  the  average date  to be 1300 A.D.  Now the technique is accurate to  within  50 years, meaning that the cloth could have been made any time between 1250 and 1350 A.D.”

     Whispers and hushes flew everywhere.

      “Are  you saying sir that this could not have been the  burial cloth of Jesus?”

      “I am a scientist.  I can only supply information on the  date of  the  specimen.  I do not pretend to be an expert  on  Christian history.”

      Will  could not take it any longer.  He got up,  allowing  the bottom part of his cushioned seat to flip up noisily, and went  for a long walk, with no doubt what he believed.



 

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About Cinnwriter

Scientist who enjoys writing fiction, but can hardly find the time for it.
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One Response to Daily Prompt –Faith — EVIDENCE (long fiction)

  1. Pingback: Daily Prompt: The Status Quo | cinnwriterblog

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