A God for Lions is based on Albino Luciani’s (John Paul I) doctoral thesis The Origin of the Human Soul in which he defines the human mind, versus the human spirit, versus the human soul.  The reincarnated Luciani, in the voice of a ten year old boy, examines each of these and proves that only one will survive into the afterlife and, much to the chagrin of organized religion, it is not the soul.  As Dante once took the reader through the various levels of hell, the reincarnated Luciani takes the reader through the various heavens of the Christian, the Jew, the Muslim, the Hindu, the Buddhist, the Tao and others.

The author ingeniously weaves four dozen or so warm, entertaining and delightful short stories, each with its own purpose, yet, each contributing to the overall objective of the book.  In his search for an afterlife, the boy Luciani strikes upon the sure bet - if one follows certain rules in this life, one can be certain one will live on in the afterlife. As the author promises, this book will remove the question mark (?) from the end of your life, once and for all.

This is, perhaps, the most educational book on the evolution of the world's major religions ever written. This, because it conveys complex theology in simple to understand layman's language. Scripture, particularly the Bible, is generally not very enjoyable to read. Yet, A God for Lions is a joy to read. The author brilliantly incorporates passages from all the scriptures of the world into fun and entertaining literary bytes that will warm the heart of the most cold blooded of us all.

This book will bring great comfort to the aging and those who contemplate death. But, it is most important to the young and those who contemplate life. If every teenager would read this book, what a wonderful world it would be.

                                                   Brent Howell, playwight, London

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                               An Interplanetary Dignity

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I remember the first time Audrey told me of him. She spoke of him as if he were some sort of foreign dignitary; some sort of interplanetary dignitary. That, early the day before, he had boarded a giant spaceship and, although he would be traveling at the speed of light, it would take him several months to get here.

I remember the day he arrived. I remember all seven pounds of him. Each and every one of them. I remember his first frown. His first smile. His first tear. His first laugh.

I remember his first step. His first word. His first bruise. His first day at school. His First Communion. His first baseball mitt. His first homerun.

But, of all the things I remember of him, was his first hug.  It came from deep within him; an electric communication of some sort or other.  One that could have only come from royalty; perhaps, divinity. It has never left me; his first hug.  For it was heaven, you see! `  `

Then there were the many talks I had with him.  My many conversations with this little man from a distant past.  Here I want to share some of them with you.  From his first question, to that time we visited the New Jerusalem together for the very first time.  Where we checked into the Golden Hotel that sits at the crossroads of Faith and Reality.

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`                                    The Bike

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`         A Christmas story reprinted from  A God for Lions

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By the time of his tenth birthday, biking, hiking, climbing, swimming, baseball, basketball, football, hockey, tennis and a somersault or two had claimed half of him.  Yet, curiosity, scrutiny, intellect, impulsiveness or just simply the need to know, had taken over the other half.  That had, at this very early age, made him into the Sherlock Holmes of our household.  But, unlike his celebrated predecessor of the nineteenth century, his investigation was not of this world, but of the next.

It was late in the afternoon when I went down the steps into the family room to see what the little rascal was up to? As I entered the room, he exclaimed, “I sold my bike.  I got two hundred dollars for it!”

He was sitting at the table surrounded by a dozen books hunched over reading one of them and I took it as being something that was written in the book. 

I asked, “Who sold his bike?” 

“I sold my bike!” he repeated.

Suddenly, it struck me that he was, indeed, talking about himself.  “You sold your bike for two hundred dollars?  Are you crazy? That bike cost your mother and I almost a thousand dollars.”

“That’s the most I could get for it.  I tried to get more.  But that’s the most I could get for it.  It makes no difference how much it cost you. All that counts is what I got for it,” he shot back, quite adamantly.

“But you don’t have any right to sell your bike,” I corrected him, raising my voice just short of a shout.

“Yes I do,” he replied, “It says right here, ’Sell all that thou hast’. . . ““

What do you mean, right here?” I started an interrogation.

“Here, here in Luke,” he answered, reading from the text, once again, “‘Sell all that thou hast’. . .” 

As I peered closer, I saw that he was reading from the New Testament. “What did you do with the money?”  I questioned, this time with a tone of anger, “Where is the money?”

“Mrs. Jackson has it,” he responded.

“Mrs. Jackson has it?” I bellowed. “What is she doing with it?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but she needs it.  Much more than we do. As you know her husband died a couple of months ago, she is losing the house, and she has four young children to bring up. It is Christmastime and they will nothing to eat and no presents under the tree."

“But you don’t have any right giving her that kind of money,” I continued my grilling. 

“Yes, I do,” he completed the sentence he had just read.  “‘Sell all that thou hast and give to the poor!‘”

“But,” I continued my onslaught, “she shouldn’t have taken it from you.  You’re just a child.”

“She doesn’t know where it came from.  I sealed it up in an envelope and slid it under her door,” he replied with a somewhat mischievous smile.

“You put it under her door?” I barked, now more frustrated than ever.

“Yes, it says here,” he went on now more confident then ever, “‘Take heed that ye do not give your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father who is in heaven.  Therefore when thou doest give, do not sound the trumpet before thee, as do the hypocrites in the synagogues and in the streets.’

“Just think,” he added, “if anything should happen to me, God forbid, then I will have a bike in heaven.  I will be able to get around. I will be able to go over to Grandma and Grandpa’s place and visit them.  I might even be able to visit with Mr. Jackson and will be able to tell him that his children did not go hungry.

“Christ says here,” he continued, “‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt.  But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. For where your treasure is, will be your heart also. . .’“

He summed it all up, “And this is from Matthew, ‘If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell all that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.’ It is the message of all four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."  

Then he trumped all that he had to say, “‘It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.’  Even if he makes it, he will have nothing there.  He won’t be able to get around and visit all his friends who have gone before him.