Hermann held up his hands until silence had fallen, and then he spoke in Esperanto.
"Brothers and sisters! Hear me out with the same love with which I speak to you. The Hermann Goring before you is not the man of the same name who lived on Earth. He abhors that man, that evil being.
"Yet, that I stand here before you today, a new man, reborn, testifies that evil can be overcome. A person can change for the better. I have paid for what I did. Paid in the only coin worth anything. Paid with guilt and shame and self-hate. Paid with a vow to kill off the old self, bury it, and go forth as a new man.
"But I'm not here to impress you with what a wretch I was. I'm here to tell you about the Church of the Second Chance. How it came into being, what its credo is, what its tenets.
"Now, I know that those of you who were raised in Judaeo-Christian and Moslem countries, afid those Orientals who encountered Christian or Moslem visitors or occupiers of their country, are expecting an appeal to faith.
"No! By the Lord among us, I will not do that! The Church doesn't ask you to believe on faith only. The Church brings— not faith—but knowledge! Not faith, I say. Knowledge!
"The Church does not ask you to believe in things as they should be or perhaps will be some day. The Church asks you to consider facts and then to act as the facts require. It asks you to believe only in the believable.
"Consider this. Beyond any dispute, we were all born on Earth and we died there. Is there anyone among you who would contradict that?
"No? Then consider this. Man is born to sorrow and evil as the sparks fly upward. Can any of you, remembering your life on Earth and here deny that?
"Whatever the religion on Earth, it promised something that just was not true. The evidence of that is that we are not in Hell or Heaven. Nor are we going through reincarnations, except in a limited sense that we are given new bodies and new life if we die.
"The first resurrection was a tremendous, an almost shattering, shock. No one, religionist, agnostic, or atheist, was in the state he believed he'd be in after the end of Terrestrial existence.
"Yet, here we are, like it or not. Nor is escape from this world possible, as it was on Earth. If you are killed or kill yourself, you rise the next day. Can anyone deny this?"
"No, but I sure as hell don't like it!" a man shouted. There was a general laugh, and Hermann looked at the man who had made the remark. He was Sam Clemens himself, standing in the middle of the crowd on a chair on a platform erected for this occasion.
"Please, brother Clemens, do me the courtesy of not interrupting," Hermann said. "Very well. So far, facts only. Now, can anyone deny that this world is not a natural one? I do not mean by that that this planet itself, the sun, the stars, are artificial. This planet was created by God. But The River and The Valley are not natural. Nor is the resurrection a supernatural event."
"How do you know that?" a woman yelled. "Now you're getting away from facts. You're slipping into surmise."
"That isn't all he's slipping into!" a man shouted.
Hermann waited for the laughter to subside.
"Sister, I can prove to you that the resurrection is not something worked directly by God. It was and is performed by people like us. They may not be Terrestrials. They undoubtedly are superior in wisdom and science. But they look much like us. And some of us have talked face to face with them!"
Uproar. Not because the crowd had not heard this before, though not in just these terms. The unbelievers just wanted to have some fun, to relieve tension.
Hermann took a drink of water and by the time he'd put the cup down, he had comparative silence.
"This world and these resurrections, if not made with human hands, have been brought about by hands that are human in appearance. There are two men who can testify to this. For all I know, there may be many others. One of these is an Englishman named Richard Francis Burton. He was not unknown on Earth during his time, in fact, he was famous. He lived from 1821 to 1890, and he was an explorer, anthropologist, innovator, author, and linguist extraordinaire. Perhaps some of you have heard of him? If so, please raise your hands.
"Ah, I count at least forty, among them your consul, Samuel Clemens."
Clemens did not seem to like what he was hearing. He was scowling and chewing frantically on the end of his cigar.
Goring proceeded to recount his experiences with Burton, stressing what Burton had told him. The crowd was caught; there was scarcely a sound. This was something new, something no Chancer missionary had ever spoken of.
"Burton called this mysterious being the Ethical. Now, according to Burton, the Ethical who talked to him did not agree with his fellows. Apparently, there is dissension even among beings whom we could account as gods. Dispute or discord in Olympus, if I may draw such a parallel. Though I do not think that the so-called Ethicals are gods, angels, or demons. They are human beings like us but advanced to a higher ethical plane. What their disagreement is, I frankly do not know. Perhaps it is about the means used to achieve a goal.
"But! The goal is the same! Have no doubt of that. And what is that goal? First, let me tell you of the other witness.
"Again, to be frank..."
"I thought you were Hermann!" a man shouted.
"Call me Meier," Goring said, but he did not pause to explain the joke.
"About a year after Resurrection Day, he, the witness, was sitting in a hut on a ledge on a very high foothill in a land far to the north of here. He has a natal name, Jacques Gillot, but we of the Church usually refer to him as La Viro. The Man, in English. We also call him La Fondinto, the Founder. He had been a very religious man on Earth during all his long life. But now his faith was smashed, totally discredited. He was bewildered, very troubled.
"This man had always tried to lead a virtuous life according to the teachings of his church, which spoke for God. He did not think that he was a good man. After all, Jesus Himself had said that no man was good, including Himself.
"But, relatively speaking, Jacques Gillot was good. He was not perfect; he had lied but only so he would not hurt another's feelings, never to escape the consequences of his own deeds. He had never said anything behind a person's back he wouldn't say to his face. He had never been unfaithful to his wife. He had given his wife and children an intense interest and love without spoiling them. He had never turned a person away from his table because of social position, political preference, race, or religion. He had been unjust a number of times, but that was from hastiness and ignorance, and he had always apologized and determined to repair these faults. He had been robbed and betrayed but had left vengeance up to God. However, he wouldn't let anyone walk over him without a fight.
"And he had died with his sins forgiven and the rites administered.
"So what was he doing here, rubbing elbows with politicians, back-stabbers, child-beaters, dishonest businessmen, unethical lawyers, rapacious doctors, adulterers, rapists, thieves, murderers, torturers, terrorists, hypocrites, cheaters, word-breakers, parasites, the mean, the grasping, the vicious, the unfeeling?
"As he sat in that hut just below the mountain, as the rain beat and the wind howled and the lightning exploded and the thunder boomed like the footsteps of an angry god, he pondered on the seeming injustice. And he reluctantly came to this conclusion. In the eyes of Someone, capital S, he was not much better than those others.
"It didn't make him feel any better to reflect that everybody else was in his state. When a man's sinking in a boat, knowing that everybody else aboard is going to drown doesn't bring much joy.