I don't know what I will call the next book - this might be the start.

Prologue

"What is the name of this Kip again? Bally Bog Hole?"

"You know well Cardinal that it is not. But you always called it that. You used that name to upset your brother."

"Well he's gone now, so no matter!"

"He got some peace Cardinal. He was happy here."

"That scoundrel was never happy, except when he was rooting in a cave, or another hole in the ground, looking for The Grail, or whatever he called it - some other lost relic - like himself. He was lost as well. Why didn't he just be a priest and get on with his duties."

"Well you know the know-alls, including you, would not let him do that. All he wanted was a bit of peace, after the other thing. He was hounded and driven to distraction by his own community."

"He was obsessed with it. Is anyone at this wake going to offer me a drink? Get me one Monsignor - a large Irish."

This time Joseph, stay dead. The church can't deal with another resurrection.

Chapter 1

Joe Mara, was a missioner of the Sacred Heart of Jesus posted in the Philippines when he was kidnapped. Ironically by some young men he had instructed in the Catholic faith.

He was held for a month, while his captors dragged him around the jungle while trying to outrun the Militia and collect a phantom ransom. The order he belonged to had no funds, those that they had were given over for the education of the natives and the construction of churches and community halls.

On that faithful Friday, before Easter, when the rebels were close to being discovered, they decided to execute the priest. One of his former pupils knew the devotion Joe had to The Sacred Heart, and his fondness for chanting "Sacred heart of Jesus I place all my trust in Thee", decided to shoot him in the heart, to "Burst The Bleeding Heart of Jesus".

He stood Joe at the edge of a cliff, above a tree filled ravine, and then expertly aiming pulled the trigger. The gun, a relic of the first World War, not maintained, with a dirty barrel, fractured, burning his face and throwing him backwards.

The barrel top, and forward sight, flew in Joe's direction struck him, bursting through his cassock and bounced off his chest, but not before tearing a long gash. He was blown backwards by the force and his body fell over and down, into the forest below.

Satisfied that the priest was dead, either from a wound, or from the fall, the rebels fled to avoid the perusing military.

An hour later, as dusk approached they halted in their flight. Turning from the setting sun, they began to explore the land behind for signs of the perusing soldiers.

The were first astonished, then horrified when in the distance, they saw the priest, high in a forest tree, standing arms outstretched: his bleeding heart emblazoned by the setting sun, a red glow spreading over his white cassock, resurrected and mocking them.