After two years of research and inspiration, the sequel to Hills of Zion is now available for $16.99 through Gospel Publishers.
Fields of Zion Now Available
The Year 1209 and the Repetition of Violent Intolerance
An evil, power-hungry authoritarian garners support for a full-scale invasion. He appeals to a powerful religious figure for justification for his actions. His imminent invasion targets a group that speaks a similar but distinct language and nurtures their own culture. The result is several years of protracted, unbridled warfare that eliminates hundreds of thousands of the authoritarian’s neighboring ethnic group and permanently squelches that culture.
Surely, you say, my description refers to Vladimir Putin and his right-hand religious leader, Patriarch Kirill. The two have recently expressed their desire to force Ukraine into the Russian orbit of political and religious control at the cost of Ukrainian culture and identity. We read daily accounts of the slaughter of innocents as they wait at train stations, ride their bikes, or sleep in their apartments. Ghastly news continues unabated and the world wonders at the horror. How could this happen? How can a modern society sit back and allow such atrocities? The crisis in Ukraine is just one more example of how mankind refuses to learn from history.
The first paragraph of this article refers to the Albigensian Crusade, a major political and religious pacification that took place in what is now southern France over 800 years ago. The book Hills of Zion covers the first intensely violent month of this period that lasted from 1209 to 1223 and resulted in the annihilation of nearly a million civilians.
At the dawn of 1209, a flourishing culture existed along France’s Mediterranean coast. The regions of Languedoc and Provence possessed their own culture, territory, and language (related to Parisienne French),. Their political allegiance loosely answered to the King of Aragon, but they were left to manage affairs almost autonomously. Although they did not subscribe to a particular religious affiliation, this southern district of Francophones countenanced all Christian denominations and even Jews. The cosmopolitan rulers openly allowed Cathars, Gnostics, Waldensians, Albigensians, and other sects to teach in public spaces and among the nobility.
This openness and desire for freedom of expression eventually caught the unwanted attention of Catholic authorities. For years, the Pope sent delegations to the region to preach against these “heresies”, but to no avail. Local barons continued to support religious rights. Then, a powerful noble from France by the name of Simon de Montfort, who already controlled lands on both sides of the English Channel, decided the situation was ripe for a power grab.
Montfort enlisted the support of the King of France, but more importantly, from the Pope in Rome. With the most powerful monarch in western Europe and the most powerful religious leader sanctioning his moves, Montfort declared war on the freedom-loving Occitans, the name given to the inhabitants of Languedoc and Provence. The result was utter carnage, as French mercenaries by the tens of thousands descended upon the peace-loving and liberal-thinking Occitans.
Farms and vineyards were laid waste, towns sacked and destroyed, leaders killed in battle or arrested and murdered on false charges, women raped, and children slaughtered, simply because of their professed nationality and culture. The destruction was complete, and no neighboring nation dared interfere because Montfort had played the “nuclear” card- support from Pope Innocent III, a man who had the supposed power to send people to hell for their intransigence or beliefs.
Fast forward to today’s crisis in Europe. Have we learned anything at all in 800 years? The civilized world watches in disbelief as Ukrainians experience the terror of having their beloved culture, and life itself ripped from their grasp. If the Occitans had made a treaty with a stronger overlord, their culture would not have been so utterly decimated. If Ukraine could only have joined NATO before Putin enacted his evil plans, a people and culture could have been preserved for posterity.
No, we have not learned from history. And apparently, we never will.
Are Christians Dedicated to Truth or Integrated with Society?
Perhaps the fiercest religious debate of the Middle Ages was whether Christianity should be nurtured by the populace or controlled by the governing powers. In ancient Rome, the government had a monopoly on religious practices. They sifted out those religions deemed too dangerous or divisive for societal cohesion and embraced those which enhanced the senate’s, and later, the emperor’s power. When Christian thought collided with the empire, these considerations were taken into account.
Christianity thrived in the first centuries after Christ’s ministry because Christians adamantly opposed being absorbed by the worldly system. Their kingdom was not of this world. The Church maintained her peculiarity at a time when other religions melted into a hodgepodge of confusion. During plagues, wars, and earthquakes, Christians reached out to their fellow men and showed them God’s love in a very tangible way.
Along came Constantine, who saw in Christianity a valuable tool to manipulate for his political benefit. Luring a majority of Christians into the public arena, he successfully united church and state into a beast that he could control. For the next thousand years or more, the European states maintained control of the populace by controlling the thoughts and beliefs of their citizens. Cultural cohesion was considered paramount to independent thought. The nobility and upper classes used this religious manipulation to keep the peasants under their control, but free-thinkers persisted in an underground movement that sought to return Christianity to its unfettered roots.
Christianity was synthesized into a system inseparable from culture and society, and thereby the Roman church lost the vision of the kingdom of God. Instead of maintaining a strict separation based on the free exercise of conscience and will, Papal forces exerted constant pressure on the people of Europe to conform for the sake of societal unity. Believers were now fully committed and integrated into this monolithic system.
In Hills of Zion, the Roman Catholic church actively engages those who feel that their freedom of conscience is paramount to civil freedom. The Waldensians, Albigensians, and others readily offered their lives to torment and death to preserve that freedom of conscience. Cardinal Michaud finds difficulty in understanding Jean’s resistance to integration. Beulan’s personal interpretation of Scripture causes him to be ostracized by his colleagues at the monastery. Marie’s parents are murdered for accepting a baptism not acknowledged by the authorities.
In his book The First Amendment and the Remnant, Leonard Verduin clearly delineates this titanic struggle between those who supported a plural society, free from the fetters of religious dogma, and those who sought to merge truth with politics, thereby diluting true faith in favor of absolute control. Mode d’integration is discussed at length, and Verduin deftly explains how these “heretical” groups were early supporters of religious freedom.
We have heretics to thank for giving us the right to worship freely and live in a free society. They were tortured, harassed, belittled, and burned at the stake or drowned for our present freedoms- and they accomplished this amazing work without violence. Today, Christians face the same threat from potent humanism, but the remedy remains the same. Are we willing to follow the way of the cross that Jesus taught?
The early Christians overcame by being themselves, simply practicing the gospel that they preached and refusing to get sucked into politics. When the Church finally succumbed to this pressure in the Fourth century, she lost her identity and merged with the worldly system. What will our generation do?
When Young Christians are Persecuted
In Hills of Zion, I bring together several main characters from various walks of life, each with their own unique internal conflict. Some seek the truth directly while others fail to identify the cry in their heart for the true Gospel. In preparing for the sequel, Fields of Zion, I pondered the inevitable aftermath of Perci and Marie’s violent experiences. How would this affect their relationships with each other; with others? Could they ever be “normal”?
We think of martyrs as mature men and women of faith. But what happens when youths experience severe persecution for the sake of Christ? How do they manage the strain? In The Martyr’s Mirror, several instances are recorded where minors willingly sacrificed their lives for Jesus’ sake. Many were tortured to obtain confessions or to betray their brethren. Most passed the test of fiery trial, but some did not.
What would be the spiritual and psychological ramifications for young Christians who endure suffering? Fields of Zion explores those outcomes. Perci made a brave decision to surrender his goals and status to become a follower of Christ. What temptations must he face when the sanctifying fire begins to burn the dross? How would Marie cope with life after nearly dying for Christ?
One girl of twelve, Eulalia of Barcelona, was so possessed by the spirit of Christ that her parents sequestered her in the countryside for months to prevent her from testifying and being martyred. In 304, the judge entreated her in soft tones to cease her faith, for she was too young to die. She responded by spitting on the idol offered her. The result was torn limbs and cutting hooks ripped into her side.
Another youth, fourteen-year-old Pelagius, in the tenth century near Cordoba, Spain, had his limbs severed one by one before finally being beheaded by Muslims. Unfortunately, one instance tells of a young boy who failed the test when persecution came. In 684, the Byzantine emperor commissioned one Simeon to confront Constantine Sylvanus, an outspoken critic of image worship. Sylvanus was a teacher whose students adored and revered him. Simeon ordered Sylvanus’ students to execute their beloved teacher. All refused but one. In the heat of the moment, a lad named Justus stabbed the poor teacher to death with his pen. This story especially touches my heart, as I am also a teacher. What would my students do? Probably not a very healthy mental exercise.
Youths are not immune to persecution. Children tend to heal emotionally and psychologically from traumatic occurrences, but that does not mean they do not suffer long-term effects from torture and privation.
Is violence acceptable in Christian literature?
More than any other topic concerning Hills of Zion, the pros and cons of the violent scenes are discussed. After communicating with a candid reader today, I have decided to address the issue.
I have found that the most difficult aspect of writing is trying to satisfy as many readers as possible without negating the original intent or risking the alienation of the core targeted audience. Maintaining that balancing act can spell disaster for a novel, so how does the writer manage to stay the middle course?
Let us consider the following points. What is the purpose for using violent scenes? What is the targeted age of readership? Are the violent scenes promoting wanton sin, or do they employ reverse psychology? Are these scenes necessary to move the plot or teach a lesson?
To answer the first questions, I must analyze my motives for writing the book in the first place. My primary goal was to reach young people, roughly the age of fifteen to twenty-five, with the message of peace and reconciliation and instill in them an understanding of what our forefathers experienced. Simply stating that almost a thousand years ago, our spiritual ancestors were persecuted by Catholic forces during the Albigensian Crusade, does not paint a vivid picture that can be appreciated and understood.
Do the scenes promote death and destruction, or do they attempt to dissuade from those acts? The fact that many readers have been affected by the accurate and detailed accounts in the book show that the violent scenes tended to turn the reader against violence instead of finding some sort of fulfillment from those scenes.
Strictly from the writing angle, any scene must actively move the plot forward and assist the reader on his journey through the story. Enhancing the setting, creating conflict or climax, teaching a lesson, or revealing human nature, can all be valid reasons for utilizing certain scenes.
To address some specific moments of violence in Hills of Zion and explain the reasons for their usage, the author will address particular scenes; avoiding, for the sake of time, minor incidents. The first, and perhaps most unsavory occurrence, is when Perci attempts to intervene on Marie’s behalf. After a standoff with the bailiff, the Black Knight enters the scene.
Unbeknownst to the reader, this ominous character will soon be responsible for the course that Perci takes. The youth is at a crossroads in life and doesn’t even realize it. Already suffering from guilty feelings of manslaughter, he is attempting to reclaim honor by defending an innocent girl. What Perci fails to realize is that his attempt to redeem himself without true repentance will only drag him further into evil.
The Black Knight is the epitome of evil, and I wanted to instill this into the reader’s mind as swiftly as possible. So I allowed a brief and brutal scene to show that Sir Charles (the Black Knight) was a ruthless, wicked man with a troubled mind. He dispatches the hapless bailiff without so much as a twinge of conscience. The random execution is meant to contradict another choice that Perci has- to follow the way of peace that Marie will encourage.
The battle outside the gates of Beziers and the ensuing destruction of the town follow history closely. But besides that, we are approaching a climactic and decisive experience where Perci must witness death on a horrible and personal scale in order to fully appreciate what Marie had propagated in his mind. The battle sequence, followed by his activities in the town, show how blood lust can take control of a person and drive them to perform despicable acts, even in the name of a supposedly reasonable cause.
Graphic scenes follow in quick succession as the town is sacked and pillaged. Many of those scenes are documented, either at Beziers or other locations that suffered a similar fate. Perci wavers between sickness of heart and a final nihilistic push to complete his downward spiral into sin. Only the chance meeting with Marie on the road, and only after he nearly kills her by mistake, does the youth come to his senses and realize where pride and violence have taken him. Through Marie’s act of forgiveness, the door to repentance and restoration suddenly opens and Perci’s trail of brutality ends as suddenly as it started.
An argument could be made that the details behind the violence is unnecessary and could be elucidated in a careful manner. I will not argue against that premise, for it is valid; however, will sin be considered serious if it does not disturb or ruffle the reader?
In conclusion, violence is unsavory for the Christian and not a subject to dwell upon, but when used for the sake of promoting truth and teaching spiritual lessons, it can become a tool. I realize there will remain those who feel the author went too far in describing these scenes. I respect that stance. If I felt there were any other way to support the narrative and teach the same lessons and leave the same impressions, I would have taken another course.
These were violent times. Christians suffered violently. Whether the reader agrees with my assessment or not, we need to reconnect with the past and more fully understand what the faithful followers of Christ experienced so that we could have a functioning Church today. I wrote this story in weakness, and in weakness I accept responsibility for any offense created by this novel. Any feedback, especially on this topic, is desired by the author.
Who were the Waldensians?
The novel Hills of Zion covers the religious upheaval of 1208-1209 in Western Europe. Pope Innocent III primarily targeted the Cathar movement in Languedoc and Provence; however, many dissenting groups existed during this period.
Among these were the Cathars, Albigensians, Waldensians, Humiliati, Henricians, Paulicians, and Beghards. Further confusing the student of history is the term Albi-Waldensian. This last group seems to denote Waldensians who had settled in this region of conflict, but they remained distinctly different.
The exciting part about this area of study is that the verdict remains fluid. Almost all commentary on the events surrounding the Albigensian Crusade was produced by pro-Catholic sentiment. Not surprisingly, we find all these groups clumped together, as if religious confusion were homogeneous. The reality is that belief systems were widely varied and highly developed by the early Thirteenth Century.
The novel portrays mainly the Waldensians and Cathars, in that order. An Albigensian group, with less distinction, is mentioned in Chapter Nine, when Beulan stumbles upon the galley slave, Luc. Jean is a barbe, the title given to itinerant Waldensian preachers .
Peter Waldo (Pierre Valdes in the native French) was a wealthy merchant from Lyon. According to tradition, around 1170, he witnessed the death of a close friend during a banquet. The victim likely died from a heart attack. The grim occurrence set off a series of actions in Pierre’s life that would culminate in the Waldensian movement.
Feeling that his soul was endangered, he employed a local scribe to translate the Scriptures from Latin into French. Delving into the Bible for a time, he concluded that Christians of his day were not living in accordance with God’s Word. He began to preach the message of repentance in individual households, expanding eventually to street corners.
His studies finally led him to sell his earthly possessions and embark on a lifelong ministry of preaching to the poor. His accentuated drift from Catholic orthodoxy brought him into conflict with the local bishop, who ordered that he cease his activities or suffer consequences. When the noose tightened, he journeyed to Rome and appealed to Pope Alexander.
Initially, he was granted an “unwritten” charter to continue his activities. But when thousands rallied to his pleas of salvation through repentance and faith, the Roman church lashed out, banishing Pierre from Lyonnais and threatening him with further discipline if he failed to adjust.
Valdes fades slowly from the pages of documented history, but evidence indicates that he survived well into the first decade of the Thirteenth Century. Men with higher education took the mantle and assisted in structuring the Waldensian Church on a Biblical model. By the 1220’s, though, most of the educated leaders had defected to the Catholic camp. The prime example was Durand d’Osca, who abandoned his Brethren around 1210 and is featured in the coming sequel Fields of Zion.
Confusion abounds in the many texts written about the early movement. Some sources even disagree whether Valdes was actually excommunicated. Further complications arise when the student realizes that Catholic authorities consistently confused the many groups, lumping belief systems together arbitrarily to suit their arguments.
By the Fourteenth Century, Waldensian doctrine and practice had spread throughout Germany, Italy, Switzerland, and Poland. Small numbers were found in Illyria, Slovakia, and England. The movement gradually became monolithic with prescribed practices and ordinances.
Like all Spiritually led movements, the Waldensian faith had gradually lost the fervor of the original movement. At the dawn of the Reformation, they were ripe for disintegration. Having lost the conviction of nonresistance, the Genevan branch of Protestantism convinced them to defend themselves against Catholic encroachment.
Thus, the Waldensian, who had avoided the world and her trappings for over three centuries, were seduced into armed conflict. Many lost their lives during this period. With the successful rise of Protestantism, coupled with their lack of conviction and separation from the world, the Waldensians slipped into permanent obscurity.
How do you begin a story?
I never realized the complications of writing a story until I began. After several false starts, the beginning of my novel remained elusive.
Most books begin with a startling statement or a paragraph to orientate the reader, positioning them firmly in time and place. But this was my first attempt in the literary field. Hobbling my efforts was the substance of the initial inspiration. The context of the dream in chapter fourteen was the dynamic event to change my character, or at least present him with an opportunity for introspection.
Extending the story from that vantage point seemed effortless, but how to lead to that point- that was the crux of my problem. Hills of Zion needed more than one main character to furnish a complete story, and so I daydreamed about the period of history. What kind of people, and from what walks of life, would search for the truth, and under what conditions?
Every story worth exploring must have both male and female characters. This led to Marie. I wanted her to contrast Perci, a sixteen-year old Norman page whose ambitions would drive him toward the destruction of his conscience. Marie needed to be intrinsically innocent, so she became an eleven-year old maiden. She would be severely abused by the political system, and somehow, Perci would intercede on her behalf. I didn’t want some unrealistic romanticized tale of love, so my story begins with an age gap to prevent this, at least in the immediate future.
Next came Beulan. I have always been a fan of Ireland, and many monks studied in that isolated quarter. So an Irish monk emerged as a key figure.
At this juncture, I had to decide on a solid time period. The only firm decision on this point was that the novel would take place in the Middle Ages. That narrowed the frame down to between 500 and 1500, a thousand years to consider!
The story had to occur during a time of severe religious persecution. I poured over history books and pinpointed an intriguing period when the Papacy had reached its zenith of power. Innocent III (far from innocent in actions) seemed to foot the bill. Relatively young, intelligent, and with an uncanny grasp for political persuasion and manipulation, he initiated the Albigensian Crusade against heretical groups and started the Inquisition. The first year of open conflict was 1209. Wanting some space to build my story, I opted for 1208.
As I studied the specific time period, the inspiration settled on me to incorporate some high figures in the Roman church. Knowing that leaders in that vast institution were not monolithic in their reaction to dissent, I chose three cardinals to represent the three basic attitudes held by those in religious authority. These three terms summarize those attitudes: passive, aggressive, and empathetic.
I developed Cardinal Michaud with empathy in mind. But he wasn’t to be a character that openly rebelled or traveled around consoling the faithful Christians who would be persecuted by the Inquisition. He must be a dynamic character who slowly awakens to the unrestrained violence toward individual conscience.
Cardinal Michaud needed an antagonist to pull him away from the Catholic mindset (the Waldensian minister, Jean) and an antagonist to force him into callous actions. Though Lotario (the Pope) controlled the pawns in this conflict, I created a lesser minion to antagonize Michaud, Cardinal Cencio.
Adding to the conflict of the narrative, I created a brother for Perci who would instigate a feud with the main character. For Jean, I created Marjorie, because every faithful minister needs a solid wife behind the scenes. I also needed a few assorted villains. Sir Charles (the Black Knight) was needed to drag Perci away from the peaceful voice of truth embodied in Marie. I also felt the need to create Willem, the crazed apostate who sold out his Waldensian brethren to save his own skin.
At this point, I felt confident that the all pieces necessary for a wide-ranging historical novel were in place. I just needed a suitable starting point. Almost immediately, I imagined a story frame. An old man would divulge this story to his grandchildren. The story would have stakes involved, not just for the story itself, but for the influence it may have on these two grandsons. They would be on the brink of making a poor decision that would destroy them either spiritually, or physically, or both.
A story frame was enacted so that the first chapter would be grandfather warning his descendants of their folly. The last chapter would shore up all the lessons they should have learned by listening to the tale. The grandfather would not reveal his identity in relation to the story.
But then came my most difficult dilemma. How do I take all these characters and infuse them in the story while maintaining continuity and the reader’s interest?
Years ago, I read my favorite book about the Battle of Gettysburg, Michael Shaara’s Killer Angels. One by one, he introduced the main characters, the movers of the battle events. Remaining mostly separate, the story jumped around the battle field, giving insight into the motivations and determination of each character. I settled on this type of format, for better or worse, and the rest is history.
My main concern with this format is that in the modern era, readers are impatient. They will not suffer through a story for ten pages before the action begins. The discerning modern reader wants the main character up front and in the thick of the fray instantly. They want to transition neatly from scene to scene with no conscious sidetracking to other pertinent events.
Dear readers, if you lean toward the “modern” mindset, you may be disappointed, or at least temporarily disoriented. My introduction gives fair warning to this fact. If you enjoy a slow build from varying angles, bearing their own complexities which later become both apparent and relevant, and you appreciate obscure periods of history, you will not be disappointed.
Since this is my first literary effort, I would like to end this blog with a question- how did you, as the reader, adjust to the unorthodox structure of Hills of Zion? Were you able to follow the events and connect the dots? Did you find it a fulfilling read, or were the obstacles in structure and style beyond your grasp? The author would like to know.