The priest didn’t flinch at the words. “Let me tell you a story, Sherry. I think it may bring this into perspective for you.

“One day not too many years ago, near the end of World War II, a common man—a doctor—was detained and brought to a detention camp with his wife. His twelve-year-old son was in the safekeeping of his grandmother, or so the doctor thought. In reality his captor, an obsessed man named Karadzic, had also found the boy. Bent upon breaking the doctor’s spirit, they placed the man in a cell adjacent to two other cells—one holding his wife and the other holding his son. Of course he did not know his son was in captivity—he still thought he was safe with his grandmother.

“The wife’s and son’s mouths were strapped shut and each day all three were brutally tortured. The doctor was told that the screams from the cell on his left were his wife’s screams, and those on his right were the screams of a vagrant child, picked from the streets. He was told that if he ordered the child’s death, both he and his wife would be spared, and if he refused, they would both be killed on the eve of the seventh day.

“The doctor wept continually, agonizing over the groans of pain from his wife’s cell. He knew he could spare her with the death of one stray child. Karadzic intended on dragging the son’s body in after the doctor had ordered his execution, in the hopes of breaking his mind.

“But the doctor could not order the child’s death. On the seventh day both he and his wife received a bullet to the head, and the boy was released.” The priest paused and swallowed. “So the doctor gave his and his wife’s lives for another, not even knowing it was that of his own son. Does this seem fair to you, Sherry?”

Sherry’s head swam in the horror of the tale. Another emotion muddied the waters of her mind—confusion. She didn’t respond.

“We don’t always understand why God allows one to die for another’s life. We don’t easily fathom God’s Son’s death. But in the end”—he swallowed again—“in the end, Sherry, we will understand what Christ meant when he said that in order to save your life you must lose it.”

Petrus looked away and shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe my parents’ death saved me for this day—so that I might speak these words to you.”

Sherry dropped her jaw. Father Petrus was the boy? “You were—”

The priest looked back to her and nodded, smiling again. “I was the boy.” Tears wet his cheeks and Sherry’s world spun. Her own eyes blurred.