As I was with Bob Moses so I will be with you. I will never leave you nor forsake you.
Joshua let the silent thought settle on his heart. It was true of course; God would be with him. But what about the law office? What of the dream to fight tyrannical forces bent on destroying religious freedom?
Joshua was suddenly more tired than he'd been in weeks. He rested his head on his desk and closed his eyes. As I was with Bob Moses… As I was with Bob Moses… As I was with Bob Moses… Joshua remembered the two cases he and Bob had battled together, how God had indeed been with them, bringing both victory and visibility, a presence in the Philadelphia area that had caused certain political groups to take notice. But that was then, God… I'm all alone now. I can't do it on my own.
Be strong and courageous… you will lead the people of this town to inherit the land…
Joshua closed his eyes tighter. Are You talking to me, God? head the people of the town to inherit what land? He shook his head slightly to clear the strange words. He probably needed more sleep. He might even be coming down with something. That could explain this heavy, tired feeling…
Inherit the land? He couldn't scrounge up a single case, let alone inherit the land.
Before he could pull himself up from his desk he heard a voice. Not the kind of inner knowing that comes when God whispers… but an audible voice.
“Be strong and very courageous, Joshua. Be careful to follow all the ways My servant Bob Moses showed you; do not turn from them to the right or to the left, that you may he successful wherever you go.”
Joshua sat straight up, eyes wide. A clamminess came over his hands and neck, and he glanced about the room. The boxes were no longer scattered over the floor, but stacked neatly by the door. And one of the photos on the wall looked different. In place of Bob's picture hung one of a younger man—a man with angry eyes and a handsome, chiseled face. What in the…?
“If… if that's You talking, God… I want to be strong for You.” Joshua's eyes darted about the room, but the windows offered none of the familiar views—only golden light almost too brilliant to take in. His heart began to race. “I… I can't do it alone…”
“Have I not commanded you?”
Joshua sat stone still in his chair as the voice rang out again. It was booming, yet it warmed the room the way Joshua's heater warmed his car on winter days.
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. Remember the command that Bob Moses, servant of the Lord, gave you. The Lord your God is giving you rest and has granted you this land. You will cross My Jordan, and take possession of the land the Lord your God is giving you for your own. “
Joshua banged his head twice against the palm of his hand. Was he having a stroke? No, maybe it was an inner ear infection, something that made sounds form into sentences when he was the only one in the room. There was a flash of light—and then he saw it.
In the corner of the room, there in front of Bob's old book-case, stood a man wearing the finest armor, a man whose eyes blazed with shining light. A golden man unlike anyone Joshua had ever seen before. His breath caught in his throat and his jaw dropped as the man drew his sword. Joshua's teeth and even the tips of his fingers trembled, but something deep in his gut told him he was not in danger. He could trust this man.
He stood, his knees knocking, and made his way closer to the soldier. “Are you… are you friend or foe?” Joshua forced his voice to cooperate and then waited stiffly, as though his feet were planted in cement.
“Neither. I have come as commander of the army of the Lord.”
Joshua felt his eyes fly open even wider than before. Commander of the army of the Lord? That meant the man was an…an angel? It was impossible…but what other explanation was there? Joshua fell facedown to the ground, managing in a muffled voice, “What message does my Lord have for me?”
The strangely peaceful soldier studied Joshua for a moment. “Take off your shoes, Joshua, for you stand on holy ground.”
Immediately Joshua fumbled with his laces, loosened their grip on his feet, and slid his shoes off, arranging them neatly so they faced Bob's bookcase. Who was this man and where had he come from? If he was an angel did he know about Bob? Had he spoken with him? Was this God's way of getting Joshua's attention? And what of the strange light outside and the odd picture on the wall?
But before he could ask any of the hundreds of questions pelting the roof of his heart, the phone rang. Joshua groped about, but nothing was where it should have been.
Again and again the phone rang, until Joshua sat bolt upright and opened his eyes, his mouth dry, heart pounding. He was breathing fast and he glanced around the room, stunned at the sight that met him.
The man was gone. In his place were all the boxes and piles of papers and books that had been there minutes earlier. His eyes darted to the photographs on the wall and he exhaled his relief. Bob's picture was back, and there was no sign of the angry young man whose picture had been there a moment ago.
Joshua remembered the voice and what had been said. What land? How could he be crossing the Lord's Jordan when the Holy Land was thousands of miles away?
None of it made sense.
The phone rang once more and the sound of it startled Joshua, jerking him further back to reality There was wetness at the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it with the back of his hand as every-thing became utterly clear. He hadn't heard a voice or been visited by a commander in the Lord's army Of course not.
He had fallen asleep and it had all been a dream.
He reached for the receiver and snapped it to his ear. “Religious Freedom Institute, Joshua Nunn.”
“Good. You're in.” It was Frank Furlong the town's mayor. Joshua eased back into his chair and willed his heart to slow down. He and Frank had been friends for twenty years.
“Yeah… sorry I was busy What's up, Frank?”
There was a pause. “I got wind of something today. Could be big, could be nothing, but I'd like to talk about it. How about over lunch tomorrow?”
Images of the golden soldier and the sound of a booming voice like none he'd ever heard before still clamored for Joshua's attention. “Tomorrow's Saturday Can't it wait?” He and Helen had plans to drive to the lake and take in an afternoon of fishing. Joshua figured they'd talk about his work plans—especially now that it seemed clear the law office wasn't going to survive.
Again the mayor hesitated. “This is very big, Joshua. If it hap-pens, it'll come down on Monday, and well need your help. In fact, you'll be the primary counsel.” There was a beat. “Tomorrow at noon, okay? Alvins on Walnut.”
The fog was still clearing from Joshua's head, but he heard the urgency in Frank's voice. He and Helen could fish Sunday after church. “I'll be there.”
He hung up the phone, staring at it, pondering. What could possibly be so urgent? Whatever it was, it involved the city of Bethany, and Frank wanted him as primary counsel. A surge of hope wound its way through Joshua's being. Was this the answer he'd been praying for? Was God going to let him keep the office after all? He considered the idea when a draft from the air conditioning sifted between his toes.
Frowning, he glanced down. He had only socks on his feet. What's this about? In the dream there'd been something about taking off his shoes because the place was holy but that had only been a dream, right? So where were his shoes? He looked around the room and finally spotted them several feet away Sitting neatly, side by side, facing Bob's old bookcase.
Two
Jordan Riley paced confidently in front of the judge like a caged and hungry animal, feeding off the fact that every eye in the room was on him. These were his closing arguments, and in the New York courtroom where the drama was taking place he had already claimed victory more times than he could remember.
He was certain this case would end in similar fashion.
“Finally, Your Honor, Mr. Campbell completely disregarded schoo
l policy by praying with a child during school hours.” Jordan reached for a document from the plaintiff's table and found the highlighted section. “Page four, section thirteen, states clearly that if a teacher ignores the existing separation between church and state he or she shall be terminated immediately.”
Jordan set the paper down and stared hard at the simple man across the courtroom. Flanked by frustrated attorneys from the local branch of the teacher's union, the man looked calm, almost serene. As though he didn't understand the ramifications of what was about to take place. Or perhaps he believed, thanks to some misguided faith in God Almighty, that the battle might end miraculously in his favor.
A bitter feeling as familiar as his own name oozed from the crevices of Jordan's heart and seeped into the core of his being. We'll see where your God gets you this time.
He faced the judge again and motioned toward the defendant. “The religious right threaten to take over this country every day, Your Honor. Their agenda is clear: to evangelize all those around them to their way of thinking.” Jordan took several steps toward the peaceful teacher and gestured in his direction. “Your Honor, the danger here is clear. If we allow people such as Mr. Campbell to control the minds of our youth, we lose the free society our forefathers fought to give us. In its place we will have a culture of robots controlled by some mystical belief in a God that doesn't exist. Human robots without compassion for people different from themselves. Robots who teach hatred toward people with alternative lifestyles or differing religions. All of this under the guise of public education?” Jordan waited a beat. “It's a travesty of the most frightening kind, Your Honor.”
Mr. Campbell's attorneys shifted, glancing furtively at their notes and avoiding eye contact with their client. Jordan resisted a smile. Even Campbell's counsel could tell which way the case was going. It was all over but the celebrating.
“For that reason, it is my recommendation that Mr. Campbell be fired by the school district for violating this country's separation of church and state. In doing so, this court will send a mes-sage to other teachers, other school districts that prayer of any sort simply will not be tolerated on public school grounds.” He nodded.” Thank you, Your Honor.”
He took his seat and watched one of Campbell's attorney's weakly take the floor. The man adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Our stance in this matter, Your Honor, is of course the matter of freedom.” He checked his notes. “Freedom of speech and religious freedom.”
Jordan was up immediately. “Objection, Your Honor.” He smiled in a practiced way that fell just short of condescending. “Mr. Campbell's right to religious freedom has never been the issue. No one told him he couldn't pray He just can't pray with a student in a public school setting.”
The judge—an icy woman in her late forties whose patience for the religious right was limited at best—nodded her chin pointedly. “Sustained.” She tossed a disdainful look at Campbell's counsel. “You will stick to the issue at hand.”
The man looked lost. “Yes, Your Honor.” His eyes fell again to the file in his hand, and Jordan shifted his gaze back to the teacher, still seated peacefully at the table. Where's your God now, Campbell? You're going down in flames. Jordan relished the thought. One less do-gooder trying to change the landscape of American culture on a belief that was no more substantiated than Santa Claus.
Without warning, a picture flashed through Jordan's mind of himself at age thirteen, kneeling in prayer, tears streaming down his face and—
For a single moment, Jordan's heart ached for the child he'd been. He blinked and the image disappeared.
Campbell's attorney finally gathered himself together enough to speak. “Uh…very well, Your Honor, our stance will focus entirely on Mr. Campbell's freedom of speech.”
The man looked at his partner, and Jordan almost felt sorry for him. None of the attorneys he knew working for a national teacher's union would want the job of defending an instructor in a religious freedom case. Obviously the legal team was ill-prepared, and the way they glanced at their watches every few minutes confirmed the fact that they were merely marking time until they could get back to the office.
“Your Honor, you'll remember that the student Mr. Campbell was praying with had lost her best friend in a car accident the day before.”
Jordan refrained from wincing, but he couldn't stop his heart from remembering a sorrow that could never be resolved. Praying in the wake of a friend's death did more harm than good. After all, how would the girl in question face life now, knowing that God—assuming there was a God—had chosen not to help her friend?
Campbell's attorney was droning on, and Jordan glanced again at the teacher. Much as he disliked what the man had done, what he stood for, Jordan had to admit there was some-thing likable about the guy. Besides that, something about Campbell's eyes looked familiar. Where had he seen eyes like that before?
Another image filled Jordan's mind, and he flinched as he remembered. Long, long ago…the eyes had belonged to a man he'd trusted… a man he'd loved like a father… a man who'd lied to him.
Jordan brought himself back to the present and made a men-tal note to stay in tune with the proceedings. This was no time to be drifting back to the hardest days of his life. Back when peo-ple's prayers had been for him… back when his mother—
“And so, Your Honor, we'd like you to consider the spirit of the law in this case.” Campbell's attorney actually sounded as though he meant it. “The defendant was not leading his class in prayer, nor was he teaching on prayer in the classroom. Rather he was doing what comes naturally for someone of his religion. He was praying with a student who looked as if she needed prayer.” The counsel shuffled his notes into a different order and cast a last glance at the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Without missing a beat the judge slid back her chair and leaned into the microphone. “There will be a ten-minute break while I evaluate the information. After that time I will return with my decision.” She rapped her gavel on the desk and left through a door behind her chair.
Joshua caught himself watching Campbell's attorneys, how they whispered to their client and shook their heads, their eyes narrow and dark. Jordan looked back at the file on the table in front of him. Why was he so drawn to Campbell, anyway? The man deserved to lose his job; indeed, whatever punishment the court might decide would not be enough to undo the damage done to that student. She would have trusted Campbell. He was an adult—a teacher, no less—and clearly the girl was suffering through one of the hardest times of her life. Now she had only two choices: Buy into the faith lie or be scarred for life knowing God had failed to help her friend—and in the process probably doubting whether He even existed. Jordan knew where that went. He never wanted to go there again.
“Great job, Riley” The hand on his shoulder belonged to Peter T. Hawkins, president of Humanity Organized and United in Responsibility, better known as HOUR. The legal group ranked up there with any other civil liberties organization fighting against the religious right. Jordan had been working with HOUR for nearly six years and was considered young and brilliant, tal-ented in a way that made his superiors salivate over the cases they might win at his hand.
“Thanks, sir.” Jordan grinned. “Looks pretty good.”
“Another slam dunk.” Hawkins crossed his arms and smiled hard at Jordan. The senior lawyer had been a brilliant litigator in his day and now made only occasional appearances for closing arguments in the cases of his attorneys. It was considered an honor when he showed up, and he showed up often at Jordan's cases.
Hawkins shook his head. “Lady Luck was smiling on us the day we hired you, my friend. By the time you're done with this country's Jesus freaks, they'll be meeting in barns at night and prayer will be little more than a state of mind. I'm telling you, Riley, you've got the gift. We have big things planned for you, real big.”
The long ago memory of the man's face—of eyes filled with compassion, a voice lowered in prayer—came
to mind again, and Jordan willed it away. This was no time to be sucked into the past, not with his career taking off before his eyes. “Right, thanks.”
The judge entered the courtroom and resumed her place at the bench, rapping her gavel until the crowd quieted. Hawkins smile faded into an appropriately somber expression as he took a seat next to Jordan. “Here we go,” he whispered.
“Order. I have a decision in the case of Humanity Organized and United in Responsibility versus The New York School District.” The judge sifted through several pieces of paper and looked at Campbell. “This case is not about emotions, Mr. Campbell. It is not about car accidents or grieving high school students. It is about following the rules as they are spelled out.” She sighed and Jordan could taste the victory at hand. “You are a state employee, paid by the state to impart education to the chil-dren of this state. The rules—as Mr. Riley pointed out—are very clear in this case: A teacher may not pray with a student because to do so would be a violation of the separation of church and state.” She sat back in her chair and angled her head. “The conse-quences are also clearly spelled out. And since you chose to ignore them, I have no choice but to do as Mr. Riley has recom-mended and order the New York School District to terminate your contract immediately “
The thrill of notching another win filled Jordan's senses, but rather than revel in the victory he glanced over his shoulder at Campbell. The man lowered his head for the briefest moment— and Jordan had the disconcerting feeling that the disappointment was a mere speed bump on whatever private journey Campbell was a part of. Then Campbell looked up and smiled at the judge, his eyes still full of that strangely disquieting peace.