The Ambition

by Lee Strobel

  They dated during Snow’s final years at his software firm, marrying the same week that he cashed in his stake. Their plan was to use the windfall to live the easy life. That was interrupted by the birth of their daughter, Nicole, who inherited his charisma and her beauty. No wonder she was planning to study theater at Northwestern.

  After Nicole was born, he began questioning. Then came his spiritual epiphany. Liz was the first person he told, of course. She had always been spiritually sensitive, and now she found herself pulled toward a fuller commitment to faith, finding resonance with Eric’s conservative theology while focusing on Jesus’ commands to serve the poor.

  Over the years, the church’s missions to Kenya, Uganda, and South Africa became Liz’s primary focus. She liked the way this bridged her two ethnicities — she was able to keep one foot in the largely white congregation in Diamond Point and the other in the African culture that so deeply fed her soul.

  And she wasn’t ready to give up either one.

  “You really expect me to go to Washington and put on cocktail dresses and schmooze with big donors at stuffy fund–raisers?” she was saying. “You want me to give up on our projects in Africa right when they’re blossoming?”

  “You wouldn’t need to pull out of Africa,” he said. “There’s no reason you couldn’t stay involved. In fact, the contacts you’d make in Washington could help.”

  “What about Nicole? How’s all this going to affect her?”

  “She’s going off to college. It’s actually good timing.”

  Liz folded her arms and gazed out the side window. “I’m not going to let Debra Wyatt decide my future. This has to be our decision, Eric.” Her eyes never left the scenery.

  “I know; it will be. Maybe the meeting at the house was premature, but I felt like I needed to get some key people in the loop — if for no other reason than to join us in praying about it.”

  The car got snagged at a traffic light. Snow reached over to squeeze her hand. “Are you dead–set against this?”

  She turned and her eyes met his; her words came slowly.

  “I love you, Eric — you know that. That’s why I hate it when we get into it like this. That’s not like us.”

  “You’re right, Liz.”

  “I still believe that God has his hand on your life. If this is his next step for us, then you know I’ll get on board. But this is a monumental decision. I have to be sure. And I’m not there yet.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You and I — we’ll decide.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Okay, enough of this. I want to hear all about your trip.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  I

  “Hey, Deb — a blast from your past.”

  It was almost five o’clock. In her Loop law office ten stories above LaSalle Street, Debra Wyatt had been deciphering depositions when her cell phone chirped.

  “Well, well — Garry Strider. I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she said as she slowly walked over to her door, shut it, and then strolled back to her desk. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

  Strider let out a laugh. “Come on, Deb! You know I’m not all business. How’ve you been?”

  “Just fine. Now, Strider, get to the point.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m helping out Pete Jackson, our guy over at the Criminal Courts Building. They arraigned Nick Moretti the other day — you know, the hit man. I’m sure you came across his name when you were at the U.S. attorney’s office. Have you been following his case?”

  Debra tucked an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “What about it?”

  “He got sent over to Hector Sepulveda for trial.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I’ve always been suspicious of Sepulveda. He just seems … you know, dirty. Did you come across anything on him when you were part of that investigation into the court system?”

  “You know I can’t talk about that,” she replied. “We looked at a lot of stuff.”

  “Gimme a break, Deb. I’m just looking for some leads. Off the record — is he dirty?”

  “Strider, I can’t say. It would be a breach of confidentiality.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized the irony of her making a statement like that. “I know I’ve crossed a few of those lines in the past,” she said before Strider could interrupt with one of his sarcastic quips. “But no more. You understand? No more, Strider. I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

  Strider didn’t reply.

  “Besides,” she added, “they cleaned up the arraignment system over there. Now there’s a computer that automatically assigns cases.”

  “Yeah, I know. As I said, I’m just nosing around. I came across your name this morning and thought I’d at least try. You’d tell me if he was dirty, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not saying anything about him. And by the way, where did you see my name?”

  “I was going over some records on Diamond Point Fellowship and I saw you listed as one of their elders. I assume that’s their main governing board, right? Man, I was really surprised — so you finally reformed your wicked ways, huh? I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

  Debra cocked her head. Why would Garry Strider be checking records on her church?

  She said, “A lot has happened since we talked last. What’s it been — five, six years? So why are you looking into Diamond Point?”

  “I’m just sniffing around. You know Eric Snow, then?”

  “Sure.”

  “Pretty amazing guy …”

  “I think so.”

  “Is he for real?”

  “Look, Strider, not every institution is corrupt. I’m an elder there, right? Do you think I’d be part of something that wasn’t on the up and up?”

  It was Strider’s turn to pause. “Well, as you say, we haven’t talked for a while.”

  Debra swept his cynicism aside. “If you have questions, why don’t you talk to Art Bullock? He’s the associate pastor. He’ll give you anything you want. In fact, it might do you some good to hang around over there for a while.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Good–bye, Strider.”

  “Wait, wait — don’t hang up. No kidding, I’m interested in how you ended up over there. Could we have lunch sometime?”

  Debra let out a sigh. “Garry,” she said. “Why don’t I trust you?”

  II

  Transcript

  Interview with Arthur Bullock in his office

  at Diamond Point Fellowship, April 12

  —Thanks for letting me tape this, Reverend Bullock. It helps me to be accurate.

  — No problem. You don’t mind if I turn on a recorder myself, do you? I’d like to have my own recording.

  —Yeah, that’s fine, but I’ve never had anyone do that before. Sounds a little paranoid, actually.

  — It’s just that we’ve been burned a few times by the media and I’ve found it’s a good safeguard.

  —We’ve been good to you at the Examiner, haven’t we?

  —Oh, Matthew’s great. He’s one of the best religion writers in the country. So why isn’t he doing this story?

  — Uh, this is going to be more in depth.

  —Your business card says you’re head of the investigative unit. Are we under some sort of investigation?

  — [Laughs] No, nothing like that. Your church is an influential place and we just want to dig a little deeper than a typical feature article.

  —That’s fine. Did my assistant give you the background material?

  —Yeah, Statement of Faith, by–laws, audited financial disclosure, list of ministries, history. Can I also get the minutes of your Board of Elders? Your elders are your main governing body, right?

  —Yes. I mean, no. [Laughs] What I mean is: Yes, they’re our main governing body, but, no, you can’t get their minutes. They discuss very personal matters. We can’t breach that confidentiality.

  —Okay, I get it. I
’ll digest all of this material and get back to you with more specific questions, but let me get some initial stuff out of the way. How did you end up as associate pastor?

  — I was selling life insurance and tried to sell a policy to Eric when he was head of Snow Visionary Software. We hit it off and stayed in touch.

  — Did he buy the policy?

  — [Laughs] No, unfortunately he was already insured. But we became friends.

  — He cashed in at Snow Visionary and then had some sort of spiritual epiphany, is that right?

  —You should talk with him about that. But, yes, I was already a committed Christian and so I mentored him after his conversion. He was a quick study and went to seminary for a while. When he told me he was going to start a church, I said, “Count me in.”

  — Do you have a seminary degree?

  — No, I’ve got an undergraduate degree in biblical studies. But I’m ordained.

  — By who?

  —The elders of this church.

  —So let me get this straight — you and Eric started a church and then the church turned around and ordained you. That’s pretty convenient. You don’t need a seminary degree to be ordained?

  — No, it’s a decision of a denomination or church. It’s all legit.

  —That gives you a big break on your personal taxes, doesn’t it?

  —Well, the government doesn’t tax the money the church gives me for my housing expenses.

  —That’s a sweet deal.

  —You make it sound nefarious. Congress enacted the law.

  — [Laughs] Well, you pastors must have a lot of clout to get something like that passed! Anyway, you’ve got — what? More than a hundred staff members?

  —That’s right.

  —Are a lot of them like you — people who came out of the corporate world instead of the typical route through a seminary?

  —A lot did, but we’ve got some seminary–trained staff too.

  — Uh–huh. How much money do you make?

  — Excuse me?

  —Your salary. How much do you get?

  —We don’t make individual salaries public. The financial statement gives the aggregate amount we spend on salaries. You can do the math and see that the average salary is rather modest.

  —Averages can be deceiving. The little guy might be making dirt while the higher–ups are raking it in. Don’t you think it makes the public suspicious when you don’t disclose individual salaries?

  —Are you suspicious?

  — It’s my job.

  —Well, we’re not public employees. We’re not obligated to tell the world something private like that. I’ll tell you this: I make a lot less than I did when I was selling life insurance.

  — How much did you make selling insurance?

  — Mr. Strider, c’mon! Nobody’s getting rich here.

  — [Laughs] Okay, okay, I’ll move on. Does the church own any property other than your campus?

  —We’ve got a camp for kids near the Quad Cities. We don’t have any vacation homes or beachfront hideaways, if that’s what you’re getting at.

  —Any private jets?

  — No, no jet.

  — Ever charter them?

  — Um, talk to Eric about that.

  —Speaking of Reverend Snow, who should I talk with about scheduling an interview?

  — He’s very busy, especially since this has been the Easter season.

  — Yeah, but he gives interviews, right?

  — Of course.

  — I’ve looked at all the articles we’ve run on him through the years and he’s gotten a lot of good press, especially when he was on that RTA commission. Has that made him think about running for public office?

  —You’ll have to ask him.

  — He’d be an attractive candidate, don’t you think? Strong communicator, smart guy, lots of experience leading large organizations, big bankroll, degree in business.

  — Finance.

  — Right. And he’s not short on ambition.

  — Listen, Garry, these are questions you need to discuss directly with him.

  —Oh, so you wouldn’t rule out politics?

  — Don’t put words in my mouth. Talk to Eric.

  —Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him about his six books too. Most have been compilations of his sermons, right?

  — He starts with material from his sermons and then supplements it and shapes it into a book.

  — Uh–huh. And he uses assistants to help prepare his sermons?

  — They help with research.

  — Uh–huh. And he writes his sermons in his office here, using the church computer and church supplies?

  — Sometimes. What are you getting at?

  —Well, I’ve been thinking about this. A church is a nonprofit organization with tax–exempt status. Under the law, nobody can make use of a tax–exempt organization in order to unduly enrich himself.

  — So?

  — So here we have Eric Snow using the offices of a tax–exempt organization, and assistants employed by a tax–exempt organization, and the basic sermons he did as an employee of a tax–exempt organization, in order to help him produce books that make him a mountain of money. Seems to me he’s unduly profiting from a tax–exempt church.

  — Look, you’re working hard here to make a case. He doesn’t even take a salary, and he pours a lot of his own resources into the church. Pastors all over the country turn sermons into books. Churches allow it to make up for the below–market salaries they get. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.

  —We’ll see. I’m just asking questions, that’s all.

  —Well, I’m curious: what’s prompting all these questions? Why did you decide to research us?

  — Uh, your organization affects lots of people. Obviously, it’s not your typical church.

  — How do you mean?

  —When I think of a church, I picture a steeple and pews and an altar and priests in robes. But you’ve got no crosses on the walls, no altar at the front, no choir, no robes, no organ, no hymnals, no pews — just plush theater seats, a stage, a rock band, and a preacher in casual clothes.

  —We designed it that way for a purpose. We’re trying to create a comfortable environment for people to investigate the Christian faith.

  —Why no crosses?

  —We avoid a lot of symbolism because people can read too much into it based on their background. A cross represents one thing to a Christian, another thing to a Muslim, another thing to a Jewish person. We don’t want to put them off by displaying a cross before we have a chance to teach them the real message of Christ. Besides, if we were really going to symbolize Jesus, we’d also need a loaf of bread, because he’s the bread of life; and a candle, because he’s the light of the world; and a shepherd’s staff, because he’s the great shepherd; and an empty tomb, because he’s resurrected, and on and on. That’s just too much.

  — I have to admit that your auditorium is impressive. How many does it seat?

  — Five thousand six hundred.

  —What did it cost?

  —Maybe fifty million total.

  —Why so much? Why do you need all the high–tech stuff?

  —We want to communicate as efficiently as we can. We believe our message is important for people to hear. We don’t want a poor sound system to get in our way.

  — But fifty million? Why not build a smaller auditorium and have more services — and give the savings to the poor?

  —That’s not practical. There are only so many optimal time slots for church services. When we had our smaller auditorium, we had to hold six services a weekend, and some of them had pretty poor attendance because they were on Sunday night or too early on Sunday morning. Besides, it’s exhausting for a pastor to preach that many times.

  —So you spent fifty million dollars just so Eric Snow doesn’t strain his voice?

  — It’s not that simple, Garry.

  —Some have called your auditorium a monument to
Eric Snow’s ego.

  —That’s ridiculous! Who says that?

  — Some bloggers.

  — Oh, sure, unaccountable critics on the Internet. They’re hardly credible, Garry. I hope your article focuses on knowledgeable people who have substantive things to say.

  — I’m talking to all the right people. But cut me some slack if I step on any toes — the church world is new territory for me.

  —You don’t go to church?

  —Me? [Laughs] Not since my parents dragged me to a Lutheran church when I was a kid.

  — So you’re — what? Agnostic?

  — Skeptical, to say the least.

  — [chuckle] You’re too smart for all of this?

  — Let’s just say I don’t need it. But that brings up another question. Am I going to hell?

  — Depends on how this article turns out! [Laughs]

  — No, seriously. Does your church teach that anyone who believes differently from you do will burn in hell? Being tortured for eternity, of course, by your loving God?

  — [pause] Do we believe in heaven? Yes. Do we believe in hell? Yes. Why? Because Jesus did, and he established through his resurrection that he’s divine, so he seems to know what he’s talking about. But nobody has to go to hell, Garry. You’ve got free will, right?

  —Still, it seems pretty intolerant. Would you classify your church as fundamentalist?

  — No. We believe in the fundamentals of the Bible, but the term fundamentalist carries a lot of baggage. It’s a pejorative these days. We’d be considered evangelical Christian.

  — [Laughs] That’s a pejorative to a lot of people.

  — Unfortunately, you’re right. And that’s too bad. I think that when people get to know us, they see we’re loving and caring people who just want to tell others about how Jesus has changed our lives.

  —Seems like when you say “evangelical,” the first things that come to mind are what you’re against: gay marriage, a woman’s right to choose, embryonic stem cell research. Liberals. Obama.

  —We’re actually for a lot of things, Garry.

  — Oh, yeah. Like the death penalty and torture for terror suspects?