by Alan Sears
Chapter Thirty-Two
ON TOP OF everything Pat had been through, not the least of which was the separation from his family and being held incommunicado for several months, the news of Matt’s murder had been a crushing blow. He wept not for himself, but for Matt’s family.
Not long ago, Pat would have submerged himself in an ocean of self-pity. That was changing. For years he had taught that people who lived for Christ could face persecution even in America. They certainly faced it all over the globe. It had always been that way. From the moment of the church’s birth, believers had found themselves in jail. Peter, Silas, John, many of the early church leaders spent a lot of time looking at the world from inside a cell. They’d been stoned, beaten and left for dead. Why should he be any different? Wasn’t it an honor to suffer for Christ? The New Testament said it was.
Still, he was human, and his emotions bobbed up and down like a cork on a churning sea. But as the days in isolation went on, he decided his feelings no longer mattered; only his behavior, and the way he represented Jesus. In fact, he remembered something he had learned long ago: “Faith is not a feeling. Faith is what allows us to overcome our feelings.”
A day later, Larry Jordan and Judge Holloway visited Pat in the detention center.
“Are you feeling all right?” Larry asked. “You look like you’re losing weight. Are they feeding you?”
“Yes. Prison food doesn’t agree with me. Neither does prison.”
“Listen, son,” Holloway said. “I know this is your darkest hour, but you have to keep your strength up. Eating is part of that. Your body needs the fuel.”
Pat forced a chuckle. “I used to say the same thing to people who’d lost loved ones. I wish I had a nickel for each time I said that. You wouldn’t have to pour your fortune into my defense.”
“Don’t you worry about my fortune, Pastor,” Holloway said. “I’m not.”
Pat looked at Larry. “Any word on who killed Matt?”
“Not yet. The police are investigating. Strangely, the bullet was a type not sold commercially. It was the kind once manufactured for federal law enforcement.”
“How’s his family doing?” A few weeks ago, Pat would have kept his gaze down. Now he looked Larry square in the eye.
“I visited them. His daughter doesn’t fully understand. His wife is hanging in there.” Larry shifted on the fiberglass chair.
“She’s putting on a good front,” Pat said.
“Do you know her well?” Holloway asked.
Pat shook his head. “I’ve never met her, but I’ve seen enough people pass away to know that parents act strong for the kids. Do they have a good church?”
“She said they did,” Larry answered. “I know people have been bringing food and the pastor has been by several times.”
“That’s good,” Pat said. “That’s good.” He rubbed his eyes. His head and heart hurt for his lost friend. “When’s the funeral?”
“They’re not sure yet,” Larry said. “Since it’s a murder, the authorities may hold the body for a while. I think they’re planning on going ahead with a memorial service and a graveside service after the body is released.”
Pat chewed his lip. “What about that strange bullet? Was he killed because of me?”
“It seems unlikely.” Larry said. “It appears to be a robbery, but the bullet type has raised some eyebrows.”
“We met a day or two before he was killed. I don’t remember exactly. Time in here isn’t the same as time out there. He was in a great mood. He said he’d found something, something really big. He said that I’d be pleased to know but couldn’t tell me yet.”
“That’s true. He called John Knox Smith to tell him he’d made a big discovery about an evidence issue that he didn’t share with us either, one he said might cause Knox to drop everything. He hoped to have you out of here but he wouldn’t tell me a thing; said he’d made a promise to keep his cards close to his vest for a few days.”
“Did they kill him?”
“Who?” Larry asked.
“John or one of his people?”
Larry leaned forward. “Listen, Pastor. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with every one of his prosecutors. We have hammered each other in court. John Knox Smith is arrogant, ambitious, and horribly misguided, but I’ve never seen anything in him to make me think him capable of murder.”
“Why not? He’s no longer the young man I knew at Princeton. There’s something that almost seems to have control of him. He’s capable of imprisoning me for doing nothing more than repeating the teachings of Jesus. He hates Christians and Matt was a Christian.”
“I promise to stay on top of it, Pastor,” Larry said.
“We were all friends once,” Pat said. “Did you know that, Judge Holloway? We went to college together. John and I used to debate. I used to study the Bible with Matt.” Pat ran a hand through his hair. “That was ten lifetimes ago.”
“We have to get down to business, son,” Holloway said. “I’ve had a phone call or two with Scott Freeman, head of the Alliance. He agrees that Larry here should serve as lead counsel.”
“Yes.”
Larry said, “Having Judge Holloway sitting beside you would have gone a long way.”
“Would?”
Larry and Holloway exchanged glances. “Pastor,” Larry said, “there has been an unexpected change.”
Pat straightened. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Joel Thevis—he’s the lead prosecutor on your case—called to ask about who would be replacing Matt. He also told me there’s been a change in trial location…and some other things like new charges.”
“Changed to where, to what?”
“Out of country. The International Criminal Court at The Hague in the Netherlands.”
Pat felt his spine dissolve. “The Hague? Can they do that? I’m an American citizen.”
“I don’t know how,” Holloway said, “but Smith has made it happen. President Blaine has set the ground work for such an action; other countries are now trying hate crime cases there with their expanded jurisdiction. Some of my peers have debated when this would happen. It’s happened sooner than any of us expected.”
“But why? Why would he do this to me?”
“Must be because his case here is weak,” Larry said. “He’s afraid of putting it before a D.C. jury. Maybe there are still a lot of jurors who know and believe in Jesus here, or at least believe in real tolerance. Whatever made Matt so excited is troubling them. European countries are more open to prosecuting hate crimes.”
“Please stop calling it that. I’ve never preached hate, just repentance; just the love of Christ.”
“It’s all the same to them,” Larry said.
“What do we do now?”
“We fight it,” Larry answered. “The Alliance has some good people in Europe who are experienced in international law. We’ve had an office there since 2008. We have a man in Brussels who has tried cases before the ICC, so we’re not walking in blind. I’ve already contacted two attorneys, one a Swiss citizen who has participated in Alliance training programs in that country. The other is a lawyer who has represented the Holy See, the Roman Catholic Church in the EU, and won a couple of tough cases. Your prayer partner back home in Nashville, Father John Corollo, has connections in Rome and made the referral. You will have dedicated and enthusiastic lawyers from two continents and two major faith backgrounds, so you’ll have both sides of the Reformation working for you, so to speak.”
Pat nodded. “That’s an impressive line up of lawyers. It’s another testament to the mysterious ways of God.”
“Pat, slowly—too slowly—the worldwide church has been waking up to what’s at stake here for the believers,” Larry continued. “You are going to see an outpouring of churches and denominations standing up on this issue, more than any of us can now imagine and far more than John Knox Smith could have ever foreseen. The outcome of your case will shape what the body of Christ can publically proc
laim about who the Christ is in a way not seen since the days of Ancient Rome. A major part of that body will be standing with you at The Hague.”
Pat smiled a little more. “Better to wake up now than after the verdict’s in. Does The Hague give them a big advantage?
“I’m afraid so. We lose the impact of having Judge Holloway at our table. His presence could sway most judges in the States, at least to ensure fair rulings on motions and evidence, but he’s unknown overseas and with his wife’s health he can’t leave her for the weeks this will take. Smith’s case against you had lost all the wind in its sails, but what might be thrown out here, might not be there. Do you understand?”
Pat leaned forward. “Will they never learn? C.S. Lewis had them pegged.”
“How so?” Holloway asked.
“Lewis said, ‘A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, 'darkness' on the walls of his cell.’ Don’t they understand? No one can put out the light that is Christ. It doesn’t matter what they do to me; Christ continues forever.” He straightened. “I’m done feeling sorry for myself. I’m done cowering in the shadows.”
Larry grinned. “You know, I think you are.”
“I’m not happy being here,” Pat said softly. “I have moments when I think I will crumble to dust. I won’t lie about that. They’ve taken everything from me, including my family. I couldn’t stop them. But—” He touched his chest. “I will not let them take away my faith. They can strip me of everything but that. And we will go across the seas and boldly proclaim the Gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ!”
“This is quite a change,” Larry said.
Pat gazed at the wall opposite him, seeing something only he could see. “I’m not the first minister in this age jailed for his faith. That occurred to me the other night. At first, I was too depressed to leave my bed. I spent hours counting all my problems. That’s when the C.S. Lewis quote came to me. I also began to think about men like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who opposed Hitler and spent two years in prison before the Nazis hanged him. Names I learned in church history classes in seminary came forward in my brain.”
He returned his gaze to Larry and Holloway. “I also thought of Father Titus Brandsma. Ever heard of him?”
Holloway shook his head.
“I have,” Larry said. “He was a priest in Hitler’s Germany. He was sent to Dachau, perhaps the worst place on earth.”
“Thirty thousand prisoners died there and hundreds of priests and ministers. Brandsma was one of them. He was overworked, fed too little, and made to endure daily beatings. Do you know what he did? He encouraged the prisoners to pray for the guards, and while this was going on, he secretly wrote a book to encourage others. He died in the camp hospital, the result of medical experiments. The more I thought about men like him, the more I realized that things could be worse. If Brandsma could provide spiritual comfort in Dachau, then I can do the same wherever I am. If he could pray for those who abused him, then so can I. I look forward to standing for Christ on the world’s stage.” After a thoughtful pause, Pat said, “Gentlemen, we need to pray for John Knox Smith.”
“I do, but I admit it is a difficult thing to do,” Larry said. He paused and smiled. “I have some other news for you.”
“Judging by that grin, it must be good.”
“Judge Holloway may not be able to help us in an overseas trial, but he can still pull a string or two here. I had a long phone conversation the other day with someone you know. I was asked to deliver a message. With Judge Holloway’s help, I can deliver much more.”
“Why are you being so cryptic?”
Larry rose and Holloway joined him. Larry stepped to the steel door that led from the prisoner conference area to the hall. He opened the door.
Becky Preston walked in.
Pat stood on legs that could barely hold him.
Becky broke into tears, sobbing into her hands.
Larry took her by the elbow and led her to the chair he had been sitting in moments before. “I’m afraid you have only a few minutes. It was as much as we could get.”
“I don’t understand,” Pat said. “How did you arrange this?”
“You don’t need to understand, son,” Holloway said. “Stop wasting time asking questions and tell your wife how much you love her.”
The two men exited.
Becky forced words through ragged sobs. “I’m sorry, Pat. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I was a fool. I should never have left. I belong by your side.”
“I love you, Becky. Now and forever. No matter what they do to me, my love for you will last.”
The words drew more tears from her. “I love you too. God hasn’t given me a moment’s peace since I drove away with the kids. Every time I look in their faces, I see you. Can you forgive me?”
“I already have.” Pat put a hand on the thick plastic sheet that separated them. Tears flooded his eyes.
“I don’t deserve it.”
Pat smiled. “Nonsense. I handled things badly. I made foolish decisions. Truth is, I’ve been naïve about so many things. That’s changed. I’m ready to stand for Christ wherever I am.”
“And I’m going to stand with you.” She took a deep breath. “No matter what, I’ll never leave your side.”
Pat started to speak but the words would not form. He lowered his head and wept—this time for joy.
THE LAST TIME John Knox Smith had attended an intimate dinner at the White House was Christmas Eve several years ago, the same day that Alton Stamper had taken him aside and told him he was going to be nominated to head the Diversity and Tolerance Enforcement Division.
The engraved announcement lying on John’s desk reawakened all the good feelings of that first White House Christmas invitation, back before the event’s name was changed to the more progressive “Winter Festival.” But this time it was addressed to “John Knox Smith & Guest,” meaning that he was free to attend the affair with a companion of his choosing, not necessarily his wife. Fortunately, Cathy was far away, in Connecticut, pursuing whatever dreams she had left. And John thought that was a good thing since Cathy always embarrassed him with those ridiculous, parochial school dresses she wore—at least, that’s what he called them. She had never been cut out for this sort of thing.
He would invite Andrea to join him. She would jump at the chance, and he knew she would be appreciative. She had learned to appreciate John even more after her Italian debacle. More importantly, she looked the part. Andrea was a stand-out in any crowd, John liked having her on his arm, even though their relationship had always been purely professional. Her hair, eyes, jewelry, and evening gown would be splendid, as would those red-soled shoes she always wore. Andrea knew how to dress. They would arrive in a stretch limousine and sip champagne with the leading lights of D.C. society.
However, there was something else on his mind. As much as John liked his work at DTED, he didn’t plan on staying there forever. For a man of his obvious talents, good looks, and ground-breaking accomplishments, the sky was the limit. He had his eyes on the next big appointment. He liked the idea of being “The Honorable John Knox Smith” for life. He liked the perks of high public office. He liked hearing his name frequently on the news and seeing his picture in the newspapers. But he needed another big score in order to continue his upward mobility.
He longed to be named White House Counsel, Appellate Court Judge, or perhaps a member of the Supreme Court when the time came. Attorney General Stamper was apparently a lock to keep his job in the new administration, but that job would be a perfect stepping stone for someone like John. From there, he thought, he could go anywhere, and an appointment like that could come any time. And who knew how long Stamper would last? He might be moving up too.
This was another reason why his decision to try Pat Preston at The Hague loomed so large. To be the first American to win a landmark hate crime decision in that court would be a tremendous accomplishment. John
knew that the victory would make him an international celebrity. He always enjoyed the notoriety of winning big cases and making the news. This would be bigger than anything he had ever done. It would be America’s first foray on such a grand scale. Trying an American there for crimes that were initiated within America’s borders was already a front and center story in the world’s media. It would also mean a new era of jurisprudence since it could end the practice of exclusionary preaching and faith claims in any public forum. The Jesus crowd would finally have a lot less to talk about.
At the party, when John spoke privately to the president and mentioned the impact for his administration’s legacy for taking the Preston case to The Hague, Blaine’s eyes lit up brighter than the White House Winter Festival tree. To John’s way of thinking, his strong reaction was an extraordinary compliment, particularly when the president asked him to make a private appointment to tell him all about it.
“How I would love to be a fly on the wall,” Blaine told him. “Can you imagine the fireworks? John, this is a tremendous coup, and you are definitely the right man for the job. I want to know everything, so tell Roxy to put you on the calendar. When is this trial going to take place?”
John said, “There are still a lot of details to be worked out on both ends, but with any luck we’ll be there by mid-April.”
“Magnificent!” Blaine said. “What a fitting tribute. John, you’re doing an excellent job. I know you’re going to do great things for this country. Thanks in part to you, the poll results show that the religious crowd is lining up with reality. But a word of caution: Don’t attack their private religious practices so directly. Those Catholic bishops and their evangelicals are still pretty unhappy with your mouth. Who cares what they do inside the four walls of their churches if it has no impact outside? Now,” Blaine finished, “I’ve got to get back to my other guests, but I hope you’ll keep me informed and I’d like to know what else you’d like to do these next few years.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“Good. I’ll take that as a promise.”
“Yes, sir,” John said. “Please do that.”
WITH THE SUPPORT of President Blaine and Attorney General Stamper, the remaining hurdles that John and the team had to leap in order to complete all final details at The Hague and make pre-trial arrangements on both sides of the Atlantic proved to be much easier than John had imagined. The DTED team checked and double-checked the forty-count international indictment and charging documents. John knew he couldn’t afford another screw-up like the last one. The official papers were printed in English, French, German, and shipped to the attorneys for both sides, and to the officers of the world court.
On April 4, a caravan of five black SUVs pulled up inside the secure courtyard of the federal detention center in Arlington, Virginia. Five officers in black military uniforms with Kevlar helmets and rifles in their hands circled the vehicles and stood guard outside a steel-reinforced doorway that was dimly lit by a single yellow bulb. When the door opened, Pat Preston, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, walked toward them. He wore handcuffs and manacles bound his legs. Two federal officers led Pat Preston out of the enclosed area and placed him in the back of the center vehicle.
With their red lights flashing, the SUVs drove off the compound and headed south in a tight column, down the 110 toward Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. When they had crossed the elevated ramp and made their way past the front of the terminal and around to the military staging area in the rear, a Marine guard appeared and opened the gates. The young soldier saluted crisply and stood aside. All five units raced ahead toward the mammoth C-135 Stratolifter parked on the tarmac with its engines running.
When Pat was pulled from the SUV, a team of U.S. marshals took charge of him. A member of the ground crew radioed to the cockpit and the captain dropped the ramp in the rear of the plane. Pat Preston was then marched on board. Less than ten hours later, Pat, who had dared to repeatedly say publicly over and over that “Jesus is the only way,” and to claim in his ministry’s theme that, “God sent His only Son into the world so that we might have life through Him,” walked into another cell, a cell in another place far from his home and family, frightened, emotionally spent, and light years from anywhere his soul had ever been before.
Pastor Pat entered the tiny cell that would be his home for the next many weeks He looked at the Spartan furnishings, the metal toilet on the back wall, and the worn blankets piled on top of the single bunk, and smiled. Turning his face toward the single source of light, a bare bulb in a tiny wire cage directly overhead, he whispered, “Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me.”
Acknowledgements
A SPECIAL THANK you to Coral Ridge Ministries for granting permission to use a portion of Dr. D. James Kennedy’s classic sermon “God’s Anvil”* within this book. I am so deeply grateful for the impact this godly man had on my life, on Alliance Defending Freedom, and on this country he so dearly loved. In addition, many thanks to those friends and family members who reviewed early drafts of this manuscript for their many helpful suggestions. Finally, I am very grateful to those who helped get my thoughts down on paper. Thank you all very much.
*D. James Kennedy, “God’s Anvil.” Sermon preached at Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Available from Coral Ridge Ministries, P.O. Box 1920, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33302
About the Author
ALAN SEARS is the President, CEO, and General Counsel of Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF), an international legal alliance that advocates for the right of people to freely live out their faith. He has served in private law practice and in numerous positions within the United States Government, including the Department of Justice; as Assistant U.S. Attorney and Chief of the Criminal Section; as Director of the Attorney General’s Commission on Pornography; and as Associate Solicitor in the Department of the Interior. Alan has coauthored several books, including The ACLU vs. America and the dramatic sequel to In Justice entitled Trial & Error.
SINCE OUR NATION’S birth, religious freedom has been the bedrock principle upon which our society thrives. The First Amendment to the Constitution is unwavering in its affirmation of religious freedom. Yet the core American values we cherish are under fierce and relentless attack by those who are determined to silence people of faith, and redefine the U.S. Constitution. These challenges are more than legal skirmishes, they are ongoing, pitched battles for the soul of America. Alliance Defending Freedom and its more than fifteen hundred allied attorneys work tirelessly to see a world whose laws affirm religious liberty, protect life from conception to natural death, defend the family, and preserve marriage as being between one man and one woman.
For more information, please visit www.ADFlegal.org
Glossary
ACSFA—American Citizens Safety and Freedom Act
AP—Associated Press
ATF—Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms
CLAMP—Citizen-Led Action and Mobilization Programs
DOJ—Department of Justice
DTED—Diversity and Tolerance Enforcement Division,
FACE—Free Access to Clinical Entrances Act
FAC—Faith-based Action Centers
FAA—Federal Aviation Administration
FBI—Federal Bureau of Investigation
HR—Human Resources
ICC—International Criminal Court at The Hague, Netherlands
NTSB—National Transportation Safety Board
OPR—Office of Professional Responsibility, DOJ
PPEEO—Public Policy Enforcement Exempt Organizations
RDTA—Respect for Diversity and Tolerance Act
ROS—Return of Service document filed after execution of a warrant and arrest
UN—United Nations
U.S.—United States
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