The President

by Parker Hudson

  For the first time William felt the tinge of panic creeping around the edges of his awareness. What have I started? With all these leaders arrayed against us, and their arguments so believable, we obviously can’t finish this. And then the country will be worse off than when we started and I will have dishonored God! Is this just all some ego trip on my part? Is God really interested in this? Have I led all these people astray?

  His team remained seated in the Oval Office around the television as Ryan Denning wrapped up the day’s successful events. The silence among them was growing ominous. William felt they had already lost, and he could tell that the others, even Michael Tate and Jerry Richardson, shared that opinion.

  He closed his eyes and said a brief prayer for strength, then stood up and turned off the television. From somewhere an image came into his mind as he turned around and addressed the men and women who, other than his family, were closest to him.

  “If we had eyes that could see spiritual beings, I imagine that Washington is right now almost totally dark with Satan’s powers and demons. They must be reveling in what has been said and done here today. They must feel that they’ve already defeated us...and I have to confess that I’ve let them convince me that they’re right!”

  He looked around the room and could tell from the diverted eyes and shifts in chairs that he was not alone. “And they are right, if we keep relying on our own abilities and resources. Ladies and gentlemen, we can’t defeat them. I felt a minute ago that we ought to give up. But I’m convinced that that’s what the enemy wants us to believe. Well, we’re not going to, only because his power is so much greater than theirs. As Paul writes, we’ve got to call on him, because in our own strength we’ll always lose—that’s the history of this nation for the last forty years. We didn’t start down this road to honor our own wit or brilliance, but to honor God, whatever happens in November. And we can start that process right now by honoring him with our trust, that no matter how dark it seems right this minute, in God we trust. That’s the whole point of what we’re about—we don’t know what the next seven months hold for us, but we know who holds the next seven months!

  “I want us to pray right now, and pray as Brewster must have done on the Mayflower, and Washington at Valley Forge, and Lincoln all through the Civil War, that God will use our impending, predictable defeat so that the unexpected victory will then be his, and his alone! Please join me in surrendering completely to him, but not to the enemy.”

  Everyone in the room slid to their knees, and William began their prayers by resubmitting their lives and their efforts to God’s will and to God’s guidance. Then Michael Tate prayed for their protection and for boldness in proclaiming what they knew to be the truth. All the other members of the team joined in lifting prayers from the White House to God’s throne room, and they stayed on their knees for over an hour, humbly beseeching their Creator to use their weakness to create a victory that the whole nation would acknowledge as God’s, and God’s alone.

  As the most powerful men and women on earth finally admitted their total lack of power and gave their futures completely to him, God’s Holy Spirit was at last released to begin his work in the land.

  OFF THE SOUTHERN COAST OF SPAIN—As the crew of the USS Fortson prepared to leave the Mediterranean through the Straits of Gibraltar, Hugh Harrison was in his stateroom finishing up his paperwork so that he would be free for their last anti-submarine exercise off Iceland on the way back to Norfolk.

  That Saturday evening he reread the final report on the death of Petty Officer Simpson, with the conclusion of accidental death affirmed by the admiral. But he had also watched the day before in Barcelona as Chief Ellis had sent a copy of the report to his attorney brother in Chicago, still promising to anyone who would listen that someone had to “pay” for his fiancée’s death.

  Now Hugh had to write an objective fitness report for young Ensign Malone. He sat with the blank form in front of him for over thirty minutes, searching for the words that would fulfill the requirements of the Captain’s Mast but not destroy the well-meaning young man’s career before it started. This task brought back memories of the afternoon a month earlier when the senior officers had assembled in the wardroom for the Captain’s Mast after the incident with the lesbians’ show. Hugh would never forget how distracted Captain Robertson appeared that day, clearly worrying about lawsuits from Chief Ellis on the one hand and a gay rights attorney on the other.

  After all the testimony the captain had punished everyone involved, but the degree of punishment in Hugh’s mind didn’t square with the reality of what had occurred. The three seaman who were the ringleaders were each demoted one rank and fined a thousand dollars. The three officers, including Malone, were each fined two thousand dollars, restricted to the ship until Norfolk, and a letter of reprimand was to be placed in each of their service records. All the other participants were fined five hundred dollars. But the two lesbians were given a verbal warning not to participate in such activities in public again, and fined a hundred dollars. Hugh would never forget the smile on Dobbs’ face when these last punishments were announced.

  So he had been sitting, trying to write something sounding like a reprimand, as ordered, but that also somehow communicated that young men away from home for six months will behave exactly like young men away from home for six months. And any lawyer who doesn’t agree should stop going to the local nude review in his hometown, Hugh thought. But words he could write just wouldn’t come, at least not words he could make a part of the official record.

  There was a knock on his stateroom door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and in came Radioman First Class Ross Ewing and Seaman Raymond Tyson, hats in hands. Except for receiving radio messages from Ewing and watching the incident between Tyson and Wolf Higgins months before, Hugh had had almost nothing to do with these men, who were both members of other departments.

  Ewing, the older of the two, spoke first. “Mr. Harrison, I know this is a little unusual, but Seaman Tyson has a problem, and he’s tried to handle it like his chief told him, but he’s still got it, and we both thought maybe you could give us some advice.”

  Hugh motioned for them to come in. In the cramped quarters of his small stateroom there were only two chairs, so the younger men stood, and Hugh shifted around to face them. “Why me, Ewing?”

  The senior petty officer smiled. “I’m not sure, sir. It’s just that when you hear the problem, well—you’ve always seemed like a fair and reasonable person, and we’re not looking for you to do anything necessarily, just give us some advice.”

  “Okay. Shoot. What’s the problem, Tyson?”

  “Sir, you know I came onboard with the homosexuals in the supply department. Two weeks ago, after reading the Bible with our study group for five months and praying daily, I asked Jesus to come into my life and to save me from what I now know is a lie and an abomination to God. And, sir, praise God, he has! I don’t want that lifestyle any more, and I know that God has saved me from it. I can’t tell you what joy and peace I’ve found. I know I’ve got a lot to work through and a lot of problems ahead, and he has to work in me every day, but I’m free.”

  “That’s wonderful, Tyson. I’m very happy for you. But that sounds like a...a blessing, not a problem.”

  “Oh, it is, sir. It is. But here’s the problem. I’m trying not to be pulled back into that lifestyle. But when I went to Chief Osborne to ask to be moved out of the homosexual berthing area—I just can’t live there any longer, sir!—he told me to see Lieutenant Commander Dobbs. And when I went to see him, he blew up at me and told me that homosexuality is not a choice and that I’d always be a homosexual, and I should just live where I’d been assigned and be quiet. He particularly didn’t like it when I told him that Jesus had set me free from the lie that I know has engulfed him, too.

  “But that was ten days ago, sir, and I’m still living in that place and, sir, the things they do—I don’t want to go back
ever again. I’m trying not to fall back into that life, but living there makes it almost impossible for me to resist. Please, sir. I want to break away. I’ve asked God to help me fight it. But I can’t live there. And Lieutenant Commander Dobbs says I have to. Can you please help me get away from them?”

  Hugh thought for a few moments. Having just barely resisted a strong temptation himself, he understood exactly what young Seaman Tyson was saying. What a situation for Dobbs, to have one of his homosexuals go against everything he’s been preaching and choose not to be a homosexual any more! And what should the captain do? Will Dobbs threaten to sue to keep Tyson a homosexual? Hugh almost smiled at the thought, but realized that for Tyson this was nothing to smile about. And what about the social engineers in Washington who never considered that homosexual activity might be a choice?

  Hugh rocked forward in his chair. “Of course, Tyson, I’ll try to help. Neither Lieutenant Commander Dobbs nor I am the last word on where people berth on the ship. But the best thing for you, and I might recommend it if you agree, is for you to get off in Lisbon and start over at another duty station, without the baggage you’ll take with you, one way or the other, anywhere on the Fortson.”

  Tyson looked at Ewing and then back at Hugh. “Yes sir, that might be best, as much as I’d hate to lose Ross and the others in the Bible study. But I understand what you’re saying. A completely clean start in a new place is probably best for me.”

  “Well, I don’t think there’s any real precedence or procedure for this, but I’ll talk to the XO in the morning, and we’ll try to work something out.”

  “Thank you, sir,” they both said, and left.

  ACROSS THE NATION—Morris Mason was William’s age and had been a pastor in a mainline Christian denomination in Sacramento for twenty-five years. His decision to attend seminary had been primarily based on his desire to help other people and only secondarily to escape the Vietnam War draft. He had joined with friends and radical professors at the seminary in questioning whether Jesus Christ had in fact physically risen from the dead, whether the Bible was really infallible, and whether any doctrine really mattered, so long as one genuinely tried to be a good person, and taught others to be good.

  But years of belittling other pastors who clearly harbored no such doubts about their own faith had recently given way to a questioning of his own assumptions; and when in late January the president had issued his national challenge, both his parishioners and he had wanted to know which world-view was right.

  That Saturday he had watched the entire People’s March on Washington and listened to all the speeches. He was troubled. Was there really no God? Was man alone to make it on his own? Were the few parishioners who had reported miracles of healing and of changed lives over the years just deluded? Most importantly, was his life a lie? Was the altar to which he prayed every week empty, in which case why did he continue? Or if it really was filled with the presence of the God who made everything, then how could he deny that God had also made the Bible, or had supernaturally given mankind’s sins to his Son? He realized on that Saturday afternoon that he finally had to choose one way or the other. Both could not be true.

  Reverend Mason told his wife that he had some work to do and went down to their basement. But he actually went to be alone and to pray. Three hours later a different Morris Mason came up the stairs, his eyes red and wet. He walked slowly to his study, found his already neatly typed Easter sermon, tore it up into small pieces, and sat down to write a completely different Easter message to his parish.

  Peggy Bowden and her husband, Martin, had attended church with Janet and Richard Sullivan for five years. Janet had asked Peggy to use her many civic connections to serve on her fundraising committee and to help her go door to door in her precinct. As Janet had said, “Even if they don’t vote for us, the information we leave behind may get them thinking about the Lord.”

  Peggy owed Janet a response, since her candidacy was to be announced officially on Tuesday. Peggy was sitting alone at her desk that Saturday afternoon; the kids were off at college, and Martin was playing golf. She had a piece of stationery out, along with her checkbook; she intended to write a pleasant note to Janet declining to work on the campaign because of time pressures, but enclosing a small check.

  As she picked up her pen, she for some reason visualized herself and Janet calling on her neighbors, door to door, telling them that God not only exists, but holds their eternal futures in his hands. Peggy had prayed for her neighbors for years, and she’d prayed for the courage to witness to them. Now it was suddenly crystal clear to her, in a moment of total clarity, that the call to work with Janet’s campaign was the answer to that long-standing prayer. She smiled and wished that Martin were home. It was simply obvious that she would have to cancel some other commitments, at least through November. Never had she experienced anything spiritual which was so certain!

  Feeling a joy for the Lord she realized had been lost for the past few years, she wrote a note to Janet accepting the post on her campaign committee and included a check which was ten times larger than she had originally intended.

  Bob McEver and his son were having a late lunch with Bob’s divisional supervisor, Ralph Pendergrast and his son, at a local Milwaukee fast food restaurant; the two boys were on the same Little League team, and they’d just won a close game. The boys were at one booth with some teammates and the two men were at another booth across from them.

  “I guess Congress isn’t going to act on reinstating the investment tax credit this year, after President Harrison’s shake-up two months ago,” Bob ventured, knowing that a new ITC could significantly boost their production of large air conditioning compressors.

  Ralph nodded and looked disgusted. “I don’t think anything’s going to happen until the Reverend President gets over all this religion stuff and gets back to running the country.”

  It had become a fashionable joke at the office to refer to William Harrison as the “Reverend President,” and his State of the Union speech had been an easy target for the cynical crowd in the coffee room. Bob McEver had been raised in a Christian family, had lost his faith for a decade, but had then seen his rediscovered relationship with a personal Savior heal and save his marriage. He had felt the power of God change him, but he had never told anyone outside their family about his experience.

  For a month he had quietly smiled at the jokes about the president, but inside he’d known that William Harrison was exactly right, and he’d prayed for the courage to speak up. Now he found himself saying to his older and more experienced supervisor, “Ralph, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but I kind of agree with the president. I think the best thing he can do right now to run the country is stick to his ‘religion stuff,’ because that’s the only hope for our boys here. Without it, I don’t think they’ll have much of a country, ITC or not.”

  Ralph Pendergrast was shocked. He asked incredulously, “You mean you believe, like the president, that God is working around the clock, and we should be praying to him about every little thing that happens?”

  Bob waited and then said. “Ralph, look at those two little boys. Do they look like mistakes or chance happenings to you? Did you hold your son when he was born? I remember thinking what a miracle Jeb was. Only God could have made him. And if God made Jeb, then where do you draw the line to say where God doesn’t get involved? You see, I know that God has healed my relationship with Cheryl—Ralph, I was a gonner, I was out the door. And two days later he simply changed me, and that means Jeb will have his father around—think what that means for him. So God’s done all that for me—he can do and does do anything; so yes, we ought to pray, constantly, and William Harrison is right on target.”

  Ralph Pendergrast had always respected the younger man’s intelligence and hard work. Now he was amazed to see the sincerity on his face. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. Because I’ve felt God’s power myself.”

  “
And God runs everything in your life?”

  “Think about it, Ralph. What’s the alternative? Coincidence? Chaos? A part-time God? And if he does run it all, then we better get ourselves and our nation right with him, and that’s why I support the president.”

  Ralph paused for a moment, thinking. “You say God healed your marriage?...Frankly, Jane and I have been...no, it’s too crazy to think about.”

  Bob began to tell Ralph how to have a restored relationship with God through belief in his Son as the best foundation for relationships with others, particularly one’s spouse. Because they didn’t have time to finish that afternoon, Ralph asked Bob to have lunch on Monday to continue their discussion. For his part, Bob was amazed at how easy it was to share his faith with someone else for the first time.

  23

  We are not to attribute this prohibition of a national religious establishment [in the First Amendment] to an indifference to religion in general, and especially to Christianity, which none could hold in more reverence than the framers of the Constitution.... Probably, at the time of the adoption of the Constitution, and of the Amendments to it...the general if not the universal, sentiment in America was, that Christianity ought to receive encouragement from the State.

  JUSTICE JOSEPH STORY

  U.S. SUPREME COURT, 1833