His face glistening with perspiration and clenched with the effort of driving the message home, Reverend Wilkins leaned far over the podium. He waited a long moment, the only sound in the church a whimpering baby, then rasped slowly and heavily, “All—of—us.”
He straightened, gave his face another wipe, asked them, “Does the Lord give us what we deserve? Are we gonna be punished for all eternity?” The reverend shook his head. “First He sends His Son to die for our sins, since He knows we’ll never get ourselves outta this mess alone. And then what does He do? Does He cry about it? Does He moan about how tough it was to bring us back, how long He had to fight and struggle and suffer and sacrifice? Look at these stories. Look at them. How do they end? Rejoice! Brothers, sisters, rejoice! What was lost has now been found!”
Catherine raised one hand over her head, cried, “Yes, Lord, yes!” She raised her other hand, clapped them above her head, cried, “Praise God!”
TJ leaned back with a small smile on his face, fairly certain now that everything was going to be just fine.
Chapter Sixteen
Congressman John Silverwood’s Monday was a typically frantic day. Far too much to do in far too little time. Nothing received the attention he would have liked to give it. Quite simply, almost every issue required a full-time commitment.
He was dictating a letter to an irate constituent and giving less than half an ear to the television on his coffee table. A midwestern congressman on the screen was taking overly long to come to the point. He was playing to the House, only most of the House wasn’t there. They, like Silverwood, had already decided how they were going to vote and were using the speech as an opportunity to do some pressing homework. Silverwood figured the man was good for another fifteen minutes minimum, time enough for three more letters and, if he was lucky, a couple of calls.
Bobby stuck his head through the door, mouth pressed out of shape by the ever-present pen. He wore his bug-eyed expression, which marked something urgent. Silverwood stopped the dictation machine, looked a question.
“Senator Atterly’s on line one,” Bobby said.
“You’re kidding,” Silverwood said, dropping his feet to the floor and reaching for the phone.
“Afternoon, Congressman. Thought I’d find you in. It’s the farm bill’s third reading this afternoon, isn’t it?” Even over the phone the senator had a commanding presence.
“Almost finished, sir,” Silverwood replied, eyeing the TV set. “I’d give it another half hour at the outside.”
“Won’t keep you, then. Just called to say some friends and I are getting together for a prayer circle tomorrow evening. Thought you might like to join us.”
“A prayer circle,” Silverwood repeated dully. He watched Bobby roll his eyes and slide from the room.
“That’s right. A good friend’s been going through a right hard time recently. Rather not say who it is over the phone. You know him, or at least know of him. Some people from my Bible study group had the idea of getting together, having a Bible reading and praying for help and guidance. You’d be surprised how much that can do for someone in need.”
“I’m sure I would, sir,” Silverwood said, trying to sound interested. “I’m honored that you would think to invite me.”
“Well, ordinarily I wouldn’t, you know, invite a comparative stranger to something like this. But I’ve found myself thinking quite a lot these past few days about your friend Case. Then it struck me this afternoon that I ought to see if you’d be interested. I’ve learned to follow these hunches. Some call them ‘the leading of the Spirit.’ “Silverwood kept his voice casual, asked, “Have you been seeing much of TJ recently, Senator?”
“Try to make every one of his morning prayer meetings that I can. The man’s—well, I remember how I felt when my own staff told me about it. You’ve got to see it to believe what goes on there. I tell you, the Holy Spirit is there in that room. Man, is it ever.”
“I see,” Silverwood said, toying with a pencil on his desk. “You’re probably right, sir. I really should try to make it over there one morning.”
“You do that.” The voice was once again brisk and in command. “Now then. About tomorrow evening. We’d planned to meet here in my office at half-past seven. Should be through by eight, eight-thirty at the latest.”
“Just a second.” Silverwood glanced at his diary, saw the evening was clear, said, “Senator, I’m terribly sorry, but tomorrow night is just not going to be possible.”
“What a shame,” Senator Atterly seemed genuinely disappointed. “Tell you what. Let’s get together after one of the morning sessions, I’ll introduce you to a few of my Bible study group. At least a handful are there most days.”
“That’s very kind, Senator. Thank you for the invitation. This week’s kind of tight, but I’ll be sure to make time just as soon as I possibly can.”
They exchanged goodbyes, and Silverwood hung up the phone. Morning prayer sessions, evening prayer circles, Bible study, probably church on Sunday too. Silverwood shook his head, turned back to his dictation, wondered where a man that busy found the time.
****
The taping of TJ’s interview for Good Morning America took place late Monday afternoon.
First someone called and obtained his agreement not to appear on another network’s program until theirs was aired, in exchange for limiting their questions to educational issues only. With the pressure off, they decided to do a nationwide build-up by playing segments of the WBTV interview on the news programs of ABC affiliate stations. TJ kept waiting for someone from higher up to pounce, call him in, ask him what on earth he thought he was doing giving unauthorized interviews to the media. But he heard nothing.
John Nakamishi drove him to the WBTV studios, the Washington station where the interview was to be taped. “Nervous?”
“Not yet.” TJ felt a strong sense of the Spirit’s presence, which left no room for pre-program jitters. It was getting so he could say, to himself at least, that it really was the Spirit, that he really was being used by the Lord, that it really was His will at work here. “I keep waiting for a nerve attack. I hate giving interviews. Always have.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great, sir.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘sir.’ It makes me feel about a thousand years old.”
“I say it with the greatest respect, sir.” John pulled into the studio parking lot, said, “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to be a part of all this.”
TJ opened his mouth to reply, saw Jeremy getting out of a nearby car. “What on earth is he doing here?”
“He wanted to join us, but said he probably wouldn’t be able to make it to the OEOB in time. Something about trouble with some plumbing they had to install. I suggested that he meet us here.”
TJ got out of the car and squinted his eyes at the sunlight. The day held an almost springtime warmth—quite a change from the previous week.
He spotted a bloodstained bandage wrapped around Jeremy’s left hand. “Good grief, man, what have you done to yourself now?”
“Hammer slipped. Thought I’d try to nail with my knuckles for a change.” He nodded to Nak, said, “How you doing, son?”
“Just fine, Mr. Hughes. Sorry about the hand.”
“Ain’t nothing that hasn’t happened before. Always like to leave a little blood on a project. Kind of atoning for all those thoughts I have when the board I measured six times ends up being two inches too short.” He looked at TJ, asked, “All set for your big show?”
“I suppose so. I keep waiting for a bad case of jitters to set in. I can’t believe how calm I feel.”
“That’s because the Lord’s walkin’ right alongside you, TJ. Take it from me. Something big’s goin’ on. I can smell it.”
“Me too,” Nak agreed.
“Well,” TJ said. “Ready to go in?”
“Not us, old son. We won’t be any use to you in there.”
“So what do you intend to do?”
“Get back in the car where it’s nice and quiet, and pray just as hard as we know how.” He held out one hand to TJ, the other to Nak, said, “Maybe we oughtta bow our heads for just a minute before you take off.”
TJ took a light grip on the bandaged hand, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.
“Lord God, we sure do appreciate your lettin’ us be here today,” Jeremy began. “It’s not necessary for us to know what you’re plannin’. Just bein’ a part of all this is enough. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since my heart’s been so full. Or when I’ve been so sure of anythin’, either. Thank you, Father, for usin’ us. Thank you for lettin’ us know how great it is to feel your presence so close. We ask you to give special guidance to your servant, our brother TJ. He’s a good man, Lord. You chose well. Show him what it is he needs to do, and give him the strength to carry it out. In Christ’s holy name do we pray. Amen.”
TJ stood for a moment, holding on to their hands, giving silent thanks for the support of friends like these.
“Catherine said to tell you she always did her best prayin’ when she was on her knees beside her bed, which is right where she’ll be till I call her,” Jeremy said.
“Thank you both,” TJ said quietly.
Jeremy let go of TJ’s hand, whacked his shoulder, smiled, said, “The Lord be with you.”
****
TJ sat in the stiff-backed leather chair surrounded by mirrors. A young black man silently and efficiently applied cosmetics to his face. TJ endured it quietly, was amazed at how calm he remained. Nothing seemed to faze him—not the curious glances cast his way, not the laughter behind his back, not the smirks on some of the faces of people meeting him oh-so-respectfully, not the endless waiting and shunting and prepping. He was there, yet totally detached, untouched by their petty games and cynical humor. He truly felt as though he was not of their world.
There was a knock on the door, and a woman’s voice said, “Mr. Case? May I come in?”
“We’re just finished in here, Sandra darling.” The rather effeminate young man whipped the towel off from around TJ’s neck. “He’s all yours.”
“Thanks, Andy.” The young man left without a word or backward glance; his place was taken by Sandra Hastings. “No, no, please don’t get up. How are you today, Mr. Case?”
“Just fine, Miss Hastings. It’s very nice to see you again.”
“May I?” She sat down beside him, gave him a wry smile. “You know, I haven’t been able to get your interview out of my mind.”
“It’s certainly given you a great deal of publicity, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, all over the country, and there’ve been some rumblings about bringing me to New York, thanks to you. But that’s not what I meant.”
TJ nodded. He knew, but felt it important that she be the one to say it.
“I’ve never read the Bible much. Well, hardly ever. My parents weren’t really churchgoers, and I guess it was something I always figured was for, well, weaklings. I hope that doesn’t offend you.”
“Not at all.”
“You know, people who couldn’t make it on their own, people who needed some sort of crutch. It didn’t really matter whether God existed or not, just so long as I could get on with my own life. And the Bible was full of boring old stories that happened too long ago to mean much to anybody.” She laughed. “I guess that must sound horrible to you.”
“No,” TJ replied. “Tragic, perhaps. And certainly something that too many people today believe is true. But I admire your honesty. There’s always hope for someone who’s willing to have an open mind and heart, and the first step toward this is to be honest both with yourself and with others.”
She regarded him frankly, said, “I’ll bet your prayer meetings are something else, Mr. Case. Would there be any chance of my attending the one tomorrow?”
“It would be an honor to have you,” he replied. “I’ll have my assistant meet you at the entrance and escort you upstairs.”
She glanced at her watch, said, “It’s about fifteen minutes until you’re scheduled to go on the air. If you’re ready, I’ll take you up to the studio.”
She led him down a hallway, past more people who did double-takes as they saw him. TJ imagined that any locally done interview given airtime nationwide would have attracted a lot of attention. He could feel their eyes probing his back, and yet still remained detached from it all.
Climbing the stairs, Sandra told him, “It turns out that the New York office had just decided to give this religion thing greater coverage. Our interview came in at the right moment.”
She pushed open the door marked with an enormous 4, said, “Good luck, Mr. Case.” Her smile did not erase the worry in her eyes. “Vic can be pretty tough sometimes, especially about religious stuff. Be on your toes in there.”
Two men wearing headsets came over, shook his hand, guided him away from Sandra and toward the lone chair placed center-stage. They sat him down, straightened his coat, pointed out the television monitor where Victor Morgan could be seen studying a script. There was a camera set and lights, each with technicians, on either side of the monitor. The men stepped back, asked him to look directly at the screen. Minute adjustments were made to the lights overhead and to each side. The cameras raised, ran closer, slid back minor distances. TJ sat and waited and wondered if anyone else could feel the growing Presence.
“All right, Mr. Case.” A woman’s voice came from directly overhead. TJ decided she was one of the people seated behind the smoked glass that covered the wall in front of him. “Can you hear me?”
“Just fine,” he replied. He could not recall if the physical sense of the Spirit had ever been this strong before. The Presence seemed literally to be filling the room. He had no idea what he was going to be saying, and no concern about it whatsoever. His gentle and powerful Lord would guide him. There was no room for doubt.
The disembodied voice reached him as from a great distance. “This interview’s being taped for tomorrow morning’s show, Mr. Case. You’ll be hearing Victor Morgan’s voice just like you can hear me now. Please try to keep your eyes on the monitor throughout the interview. It makes a much better appearance if your eyes remain as steady as possible. Do you have any questions?”
“No, thank you.”
“All right then, three minutes, everybody.”
It came to him then. There was no single perception of individual words. It was a vision. In the span between heartbeats the totality of the interview was laid out for him. The questions, the answers, the power. It was there.
“Ten seconds.”
He was ready.
The ON AIR sign lit up. Victor Morgan was facing directly into the monitor. “Our next guest is coming to us from our Washington studio. His name is Mr. Thomas Case, Special Assistant to the President for Education. Mr. Case has made quite a name for himself recently with his evangelizing efforts within the White House itself.”
Victor Morgan turned so that through the monitor it seemed as though TJ were watching himself from behind Mr. Morgan’s shoulder. Then the picture switched, and Victor Morgan was staring directly at him. “Good morning, Mr. Case. Thank you for joining us.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Morgan,” TJ replied.
Even seated and seen from the waist up, Victor Morgan looked tall. Arms long and lanky, his body slightly arched in the way many tall people greet the world, his face knife-edged and very intelligent, his smile a flickering gesture that touched only his mouth. “Mr. Case, as many of our viewers are aware, you have organized massive prayer meetings with top level government officials. Yet there are obviously times when presidential policy conflicts with religious belief. In such a case, where does your loyalty lie?”
“The only place it can,” TJ Case replied. “I base my entire life upon the rock of faith in God.”
The smile flickered, a bit derisive this time. “Do you really feel that the future of our nation should be entrusted to people who put faith first and
their country second?”
“The tragedy of any nation is when it is entrusted to someone who would feel otherwise.”
This was clearly not the answer Morgan was expecting. “Are you saying that people currently in positions of authority, in your opinion, should not be there because they do not share your beliefs?”
“My opinion has nothing to do with it,” TJ replied, his voice eternally calm. “You yourself are a perfect example. Do you consider yourself to be a Christian?”
“We are discussing people in national office,” Victor Morgan rapped out.
“I can think of no better way to describe your own position,” TJ said. “You hold responsibility for shaping the perspective and thinking of millions of Americans. And yet a question of faith makes you extremely uncomfortable.”
“You are saying, then, that everyone must feel and think exactly as you do,” Victor Morgan said, tightly controlled anger in his eyes and voice.
“I am saying that people should be willing to discuss matters of faith publicly. You call yourself objective, when in truth what you mean is that you hold yourself aloof from any heartfelt contact with the issues at hand. You hide behind barriers of cynicism and intellectual analysis. The question of faith is treated as meaningless because it is not something that you can hold and manipulate and turn to your professional advantage.”
TJ Case turned away from the monitor and faced the camera square on. “What I am saying is that people should have a choice. People should be able to turn on the television or look at a newspaper and know that here, in this instance, they are dealing with an atheistic approach to life and to events of this world. And, if they prefer, they should be able to turn the channel and find a station that is directly and overtly Christian.”
Victor Morgan’s face on the monitor seemed turned to stone.
“The same is true with our schools,” TJ went on as he knew he should. “People should be given a choice. A true, direct, honest choice. If they wish to educate their children according to Christian principles, they should be so permitted.
The Presence Page 26
