CHAPTER
NINE

I

“I’ve got protesters outside my window — fifteen or twenty of them, waving signs and chanting. Can’t make out what they’re yelling. One sign says, Keep Church and State Separate. Another says, No Gay Haters in Senate. I can’t quite read that other one. Oh, wait — it says, Reason, Not Faith. Huh. Well, Good Reverend, it looks like you’ve stirred up a bit of a hornet’s nest.”

It was Governor Edward Avanes on the speakerphone, calling from Springfield. Eric Snow was sitting behind the desk in his new office on Wilcox Street in downtown Diamond Point, with Debra Wyatt and Art Bullock in the room. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“It’s the least I could do,” he said finally.

“Aw, this is nothing. Ever been burned in effigy? Now, that’ll get your attention! I got charred from Peoria to East St. Louis the last time we cut welfare.”

The governor chuckled at his own humor, then continued.

“Look — I expect some pushback for considering a pastor for the Senate. Might be unprecedented, at least in modern times. Remember when Richie Daley tried to appoint that pastor to the city council, but he had to back down because of all the gay–rights protesters? Well, that’s the price you pay when you’re a Chicago Democrat. Nobody expects a Republican appointee to be in favor of gay marriage anyway. And who cares what the atheists think — what are they, 5 percent of the population? Or is that the gays?”

Eric shrugged. “Depends on who’s counting,” he improvised.

“Anyway, I’m just calling to let you know that Barker is going to plead guilty within two weeks and he’ll get sentenced right on the spot. That way he has to resign immediately from the Senate. And that puts the ball in my court, so to speak.”

“I see,” said Snow, restraining his eagerness.

“Well, there’s no need to drag this out; everybody knows I’ve been mulling this for a while. So I’m planning to hold a news conference within five days of his guilty plea to announce my selection.”

Debra shot a cautious smile in Eric’s direction.

“That’s very decisive of you, Governor,” Eric said. “I suppose it would be presumptuous for me to ask for a preview.”

“To be honest, Eric, I haven’t decided yet. I’ve got the makings of a great senator in both you and McKelvie. He’s safer, of course — more legislative experience and I’ve known him forever. But he’s old school, already past his prime. I don’t just want someone to be a placeholder. I want to launch a career, someone who’s a game changer. That’s why I’m leaning your way, Eric. We just need to minimize your negatives.”

There was a lull before Eric spoke up again. “Well, Governor, just let me know what I can do.”

Avanes was quick and blunt: “You can resign from that church, for one thing. What are you waiting on?”

“My team and I are meeting in my office this morning to discuss that decision. Obviously, it would help if I knew the appointment was mine.”

“No guarantees — not yet. But I’ll tell you what: the sooner people start calling you a former pastor, the better. I want to see ‘Internet entrepreneur’ or ‘successful businessman’ or ‘RTA committee chairman’ next to your name. I want to see ‘philanthropist’ or ‘advisor to the President.’ Your biggest liability is that church; the more distance you put between you and it, the better your chances.”

“If I resign now, won’t the media assume it’s because I’ve already been tipped that I’ll be appointed?”

“Who cares?” snapped Avanes, the sound of him smacking his desk coming through loud and clear. “Your future’s not in that pulpit anyway. Why would you want to keep preaching to the choir? You should be spending your time shaping foreign policy and strengthening national security and cutting taxes, not counting crumpled dollar bills in the offering plate or figuring out whether the choir should sing Amazing Grace or Rock of Ages.”

Fortunately, the phone didn’t pick up Art’s snort across the room.

“I’d love to get news of your resignation by the end of the week,” the governor concluded. “Take some action, Eric. Be decisive. Be a leader. In the meantime, I’m going to go see if these folks outside need some matches for your effigy.” Over and out, click and dial tone.

Eric’s smile faded as he turned off the speaker phone. “Next time, tell us what you really think,” he quipped.

Eric leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he scanned the room. In some ways, he was already getting used to being away from the church. His new office, two miles from the church’s campus, was located in a nondescript four–story, red–brick building populated by lawyers, accountants, and insurance agents. The lobby directory purposefully bore no reference to him.

Snow’s office was straightforward and functional, painted in beige and trimmed with white wood veneer. Outside was a reception area where a young political science graduate of the University of Illinois — an atheist, per Halberstam’s suggestion — sat researching policy positions, working hard to look busier than the task required. In all, Snow rented five large rooms, just in case he would need them for his future campaign staff.

Wyatt and Bullock sat in mismatched wingback chairs, temporary furnishings from Snow’s basement until his newly purchased office furniture arrives.

As usual, Debra Wyatt looked the part of a successful lawyer, smartly dressed in a dark blue suit with a turquoise blouse, while Bullock’s faded blue jeans and brown sweater signaled a pastor on his day off.

She was the first to speak. “Let’s face it: we’re lucky Garry Strider wasn’t at the Elders Prayer meeting. In light of the Harold Beamer situation, this might be the right time for you to resign before we end up flooded with miracle–seekers.”

Bullock exploded, “The Harold Beamer situation?” Glaring at her, he continued, “Are you kidding me? A man afflicted with polio is miraculously healed in our church — and that’s an inconvenient situation? A little girl regains her hearing and eyesight, and we’re cowering because Garry Strider might actually tell the world about it? And now we’re afraid that people who desperately need God might flock to our church? What’s happening here?”

Eric sprang forward in her defense, leaning over his desk as he pointed a finger at his friend. “Art, listen — “

“I’ve listened enough,” he said, rising to take a defiant step toward Snow’s desk. “Eric, people wait their entire lives for the kind of miracles we’re seeing in our church — and now you’re going to walk away? These miracles aren’t coincidences; God is saying something to us. He’s reminding us that the entire church is a miracle. That people’s lives get pieced back together there. That people find hope and salvation there. And healing, if your faith is still big enough for that.”

Eric folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t preach at me, Art.”

“Someone has to! You’ve been spending all your time scheming to get this appointment. You’re not elbow–deep in people’s lives anymore. You’re not a pastor; you’re the Chief Executive Officer of God, Inc. You couldn’t care less about Hanna or Harold; you only care about your political future. You’ve forgotten that the church is the hope of the world. All of the legislation you could ever pass in Washington will never change people’s lives the way this church does.

“How many marriages were put back together in the church last year? How many alcoholics got off booze? How many unemployed found hope? How many chose adoption over abortion? How many homeless people did we feed? How many lives did we save in Africa? How many hurting people discovered the grace of the God who loves them? How many men and women around the world persevered because they’ve seen what’s happening in our church?

“The world is watching,” Art warned. “This church has inspired people all over the planet — and if you walk away now, the message is going to be that God isn’t powerful enough to deal with the problems of the world. No, we need to help him out by packing up and going to Washington. And what’s the congregation going to think? Just when God rewards their faith with these miracles, their leader puts his faith in politics.

“Think about it — when news of these healings sweeps through the community, the church will be like a magnet to the hurting and the spiritually hungry. This is our chance to reach thousands and thousands of people. Eric, we dreamed of this sort of opportunity when we started Diamond Point. When did you give up on that dream?”

Debra, still seated, reached out to touch Art’s arm; he turned to face her.

“Come on, Art — take it easy! Don’t you see that this is Eric’s chance to reach into the corridors of power where the values of the nation are really shaped? He’s not turning his back on God; he’s walking through a new door of opportunity that God is opening for him. Remember how Jabez prayed in the Old Testament that God would expand his influence? That’s what God is doing for Eric. He’s giving him a seat at the table where the decisions are made that will transform our country.”

Eric stood and walked out from behind his desk, putting a hand on the shoulder of his long–time colleague. “Art, do you trust me?” His friend’s eyes were cast downward. “Art, do … you … trust … me? You’ve known me for a long time. Do you believe that I earnestly seek God’s will for my life? Look at me!” Now both hands grasped Art’s shoulders; their eyes locked.

Art’s voice rose low in his throat. “I trust God; I’m just not sure I can trust you anymore.” Pulling away, he stormed toward the door, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair along the way.

He spun around, taking in the sight of Eric Snow, the friend he once knew, and Debra Wyatt, who he still couldn’t quite figure out.

“The governor’s right — you need to resign,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to ask the elders to fire you.”

II

Garry Strider shifted in his chair. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, then repositioned them again. He rubbed his temples, fidgeted with his glasses, stroked his chin — and he wished that he had shaved that morning.

If there was one thing Strider hated, it was being interrogated. He preferred to be the one posing the questions, pressing for answers, demanding details. He didn’t relish John J. Redmond, the Examiner’s much–feared editor and the paper’s former chief investigative reporter, turning the tables on him.

Redmond had caught Strider in the hall and beckoned him into his glass–walled office. Strider flashed back to being summoned by his high school principal for skewering the gym teacher in the student newspaper.

Redmond took his place behind his steel desk, clad in his usual white shirt and dark tie, the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms. His left wrist bore an expensive gold watch — the newspaper’s gift for snagging a Pulitzer. It was his subtle way of reminding everyone in the newsroom that whoever they were and whatever they did, he was better.

“The editorial board is going to have to endorse Snow or McKelvie for the Senate,” he began. “If you’ve dug up something on Snow, we need to know. We don’t want to pat his back on the editorial page and then spank him the next day on the front page.”

Again, Strider felt like he was back in high school — this time caught without having his homework. “Well, I’ve been interviewing a lot of people, checking records, looking at court cases — “

“Yeah, fine, but what’ve you got?”

Strider had been in similar predicaments before. Sometimes he would spend weeks on an investigation that would yield no results. He had learned to feed his boss just enough juicy tidbits to allow him to continue his probe, buying enough time to actually come up with the story he was after. It was worth a try. Then again, Redmond knew a bluff when he heard one.

“Nothing incriminating yet, but I just interviewed a woman who says she’s going to sue Snow for sexual misconduct during a counseling session.”

“How solid is she? Is this one case or part of a pattern?”

“Let’s just say I’ve got some, uh, reservations about her. But her lawsuit might flush out some other victims who haven’t come forward yet.”

Redmond tilted his head. “So let me get this straight: her case is weak and you don’t have any others — is that what you’re saying?”

“For now.”

“Does she have any kind of corroboration?”

“Um, I’m not sure yet.”

“Have you heard any rumors about Snow ever crossing any sexual lines?”

“Actually, no.”

Redmond gave an exasperated sigh. “What else have you got?”

“Looks like negligence at the church’s camp resulted in a kid drowning a couple of summers ago.”

“Does that directly involve Snow?”

“Uh, no, not personally. It’s the subject of a lawsuit; I’m in the middle of reading the depositions.”

“But it’s not part of a pattern of negligence, is that right?”

“Apparently not.”

Again, Redmond exhaled loudly. “Strider, what do you have?”

“I’m still checking some leads — it’s possible Snow discouraged the state’s attorney’s office from filing charges against one of the church’s accountants when she was caught embezzling. I’ve heard the SEC investigated his software company when he cashed out — something about insider trading. Lots of possibilities.”

Redmond was running Strider’s words through a mental grid — Is this a scandal or not? “Sounds like you’ve got a long way to go. Unless he was embezzling from the church, who cares if he’s dragging his feet to help some former employee? The SEC never took any action against him, right? I’ll give you two more weeks to come up with something.”

Relieved, Strider started to get up. “Two weeks,” Redmond repeated. And with Redmond, a deadline is a deadline — period.

Strider walked to the door, then hesitated. There was one topic he hadn’t broached. He knew if he failed to mention it and Redmond found out about it later, he’d be in trouble. But he also knew he had to use caution.

“Um, there’s one other possibility,” he said.

Redmond had already swiveled in his chair to face his computer screen. “What is it?”

“Miracles,” Strider said, uttering the word so softly that Redmond had to strain to hear him.

“What? Did you say miracles? What are they doing — running a faith–healing circus out there?”

“There have been some, well, anomalies lately at their prayer services. It looks like a little girl may have been healed of blindness and deafness.”

Redmond stared at him, incredulous. “Well, hallelujah and pass the collection plate! I hope you’re not wasting too much time on that — unless you’re going to reveal how they’re manipulating people into thinking if they give more money, they’ll get healed in return.”

“I’m not sure that’s their strategy,” Strider replied. “And there are rumors of another healing. People are starting to flock to the place, looking for a miracle.”

Redmond sighed. “Okay, go ahead and write a story on that. It’s colorful, if nothing else — and besides, I don’t want to see it first in the Trib. But don’t focus on the miracles themselves as much as the reaction — you know, desperate and gullible people flocking to the church and the implications for Snow’s candidacy. After all, you can’t prove a miracle, can you?”

With that, he waved Strider away and turned again to his computer. “I can’t believe this may be our next Senator,” the editor was muttering as Strider walked away. “Then again, he’ll probably fit right in with that freak show in Washington.”

III

Transcript

Telephone interview with Arthur Bullock, May 15

—Art, thanks for taking my call. It’s okay for me to record this, right?

—Sure, Strider. I’m taping it too.

— No problem. Hey, we’ve received the results of the genetic test on Hanna Kaarakka.

— Uh–huh.

—And frankly, the docs are astounded. There’s no genetic abnormality whatsoever.

— Is that right?

—Yeah. There was before — no question about it. But now, the results are perfectly normal.

—Well, thank God, then!

—So you’re officially calling this a miracle?

— Listen, Strider, you should really talk with Eric about this.

— I’ve tried, but there’s just no way to get through to him. He’s isolated — probably playing it safe because of the Senate thing.

—You’ve tried?

—Multiple times. He’s got Debra Wyatt gatekeeping for him. And you know how tough she can be.

— [Hesitant laugh] No comment on that.

—When I first mentioned the Hanna incident to Eric, he downplayed it. He seemed allergic to the word miracle. So now I’m asking you: what’s the church’s official position on this?

— [No response]

—Art?

—You’re really putting me on the spot, Garry.

— I don’t see why. Just tell me what you think.

— [Pause] I should really talk with Eric first.

—Art, I’m asking you. Certainly you have an opinion.

— [Pause] Um, Garry—

— Is this a miracle or not?

— [Sigh, pause.] Yes. [Pause] It is. [Pause] She was provably ill with a genetic anomaly, our elder prayed for her, she was spontaneously healed, and now tests show the abnormality is fixed. I think the most logical conclusion is that God healed her.

— So it’s a miracle?

—Absolutely.

—Can I quote you on behalf of the church?

— [Pause] Yes, by all means.

—Will you let me interview Dick Urban?

— Sure.

—And you’ll tell her family that it’s okay to talk with me?

—Yes, I’ll do that.

— Great, I appreciate it. But something has been bothering me: why was Hanna healed and others not? Did her parents give more money?

— I don’t know if they’ve ever given a dime. We’re not selling miracles to the highest bidder.

— So why her?

—Maybe you should ask God.

— [Chuckles] Well, we’re not exactly on speaking terms.

— Look, Garry, I don’t know God’s mind — no one does. Some mysteries will never be fully understood in this world. Maybe he’ll heal some of the others, only not so suddenly. Maybe he knows it’s best not to heal someone right now; sometimes tough times are the only way to shape us and bring us fully to him. Like I said, I don’t have all the answers. But I know he’s always there to comfort, to encourage, to strengthen.

— Do you think God is trying to say something to people through this? Like, it’s a sign of some sort?

— [Pause] I’m not sure. Maybe it’s his way of reminding people that he’s ultimately in control, that he’s active and loving and wants the best for people. [Pause] Maybe he’s reminding people that there’s no greater adventure than following him.

—Could he be sending that message to Eric Snow?

— I didn’t say that, Strider. Let me make that clear.

—Okay, I get it. So, tell me about how people at the church have responded to this.

—Well, the next Elders Prayer service was packed.

— Is that where the second healing took place? I heard something else happened.

—That’s right. A retired teacher who had polio since he was a kid came in with post–polio syndrome. Dick Urban prayed for him — and then, immediately, he was able to walk for the first time since he was, like, nine years old. Not only was the post–polio syndrome gone, but his muscle tone was actually restored.

—Were there witnesses to this?

— Dick and the man’s wife were right there and others were around. We’ve already had calls from medical researchers who want to study him. It was astounding, like with Hanna.

—Would you let Dick give me the details?

— By all means.

— So has word of this second phenomenon —

—Miracle, Garry. It was a miracle, plain and simple.

—Okay, miracle. Has word of this second miracle leaked out?

—Our switchboard has lit up. We had to add extra volunteers to handle the calls.

—What are they asking?

—When the next Elders Prayer service will be. We may move it to the main auditorium to accommodate everyone.

—Well, Art, this is really an amazing story. Are you surprised by all this?

— [Pause] I’ll be honest, Garry: it’s one thing to believe that God can do miracles, but when they actually occur, especially in such a sudden and dramatic fashion — well, it’s breathtaking. It takes faith to the next level.

— Do you think that was God’s intention? To strengthen people’s faith?

—Well, it certainly has had that effect.

— But sometimes people’s faith gets damaged when they find out that stuff like this isn’t real. Some televangelists have staged or faked or exaggerated this sort of thing.

— I acknowledge that. What makes our situation different is that we weren’t out promoting this or trying to raise money from it.

— But when I do the story, even more people are going to flock to your church. And they’ll be ripe for contributions, won’t they? The church’s revenue will go up. So you do have a vested interest in this.

— If that were our motivation, Garry, then I’d be calling you about this. But unless I’m mistaken, you’re the one who called me.

—Yeah, well, that’s true.

—We haven’t been trying to capitalize on it; if anything, we’re just trying to react appropriately. By the way, what’s your reaction, Garry? Has this challenged your skepticism at all?

— [Pause] It’s suspicious, I’ll admit that. But for the story, all I need is you guys claiming it’s a miracle. I’ll just report the facts and I’ll interview some atheist doctors to see if they’ve got alternative explanations. The article doesn’t depend on what I think personally.

— But you asked earlier if maybe this was a sign from God.

—Yeah, so?

— Have you ever considered the possibility that the sign is for you?

— [Chuckle] If God does exist, then he would probably have a lot more on his mind than orchestrating something like this for a person like me.

—You were there, weren’t you?

—Yeah, well, thanks for the interview, Art. If you can turn me over to your secretary, I’d like to get phone numbers for Dick Urban and this guy with the polio.

—You mean, the guy who used to have polio.

— Okay, right.

End of recording.

IV

“What is this?”

Bursting in unannounced just before 8:00 a.m., Eric Snow slapped the Examiner onto his associate pastor’s desk. Art ignored the paper and instead made eye contact with his boss, offering him a transparently insincere grin.

“Well, Reverend Snow — I mean, Senator Snow — I can’t remember the last time I saw you,” he said, extending his hand in a mock gesture as if to a long–lost friend. “How’ve you been? How’s the wife?”

“Don’t pull that with me!”

“Eric, you’ve been incommunicado for more than a week. You haven’t returned my calls, you’re dodging the media, you’ve left us high and dry. What’ve you been doing all this time — working on your acceptance speech?”

Snow thrust a finger toward the article just below the fold of the front page. “Have you seen this?” he demanded, pointing to the headline: SNOW’S CHURCH CLAIMS ‘MIRACULOUS’ HEALINGS. And the subhead: DESPERATE CROWDS FLOCK TO SENATE HOPEFUL’S WEALTHY MEGACHURCH.

“I know you don’t believe in my new direction, but to outright sabotage it? You’re better than this, Art.”

Art slowly rose to face his boss. “Sabotage? I’d say the story is pretty accurate — except this isn’t really your church anymore, is it? You don’t have an office here. You don’t even attend services anymore. This place is just an afterthought to you — a stepping–stone to Washington.”

“Last time I checked, I’m still the senior pastor. So why did you give this interview to Garry Strider?”

“Because you wouldn’t talk to him. Because we ought to be telling the world about this instead of guarding it like it was some sort of a national secret.”

“Really? Sure looks like sabotage to me.” Snow picked up the paper and read an excerpt aloud:

Art grimaced. “Yeah, I read it online already,” he said, slipping back down into his seat. “But I can only be responsible for what I said to Strider — and I merely told him the truth. He was going to write this story with my help or not. Should I have lied to him? Or misled him? I’m not a politician, Eric.”

With a weary nod of his head, Snow tossed the paper back onto Art’s desk. He shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his eyes, which were cupped by dark circles. “You know — we sound like an old couple bickering,” he said. “This isn’t how we operate.”

“You’re the one who charged into here ranting about sabotage.”

There was a hesitant knock at the door and then Dick Urban, arriving for a meeting on how to handle the next Elders Prayer service, walked in. The head elder’s presence was enough to calm the nearly palpable tension between Art and Eric. After exchanging greetings, the three of them rustled chairs into a rough triangle.

“I saw the Examiner article this morning,” Dick began. “I didn’t like the tone, but what do you expect? This isn’t Christianity Today. I’m not sure the story did you any favors in terms of the Senate race, Eric. But I’m glad the word is getting out about the miracles. I have to tell you, this has been the most amazing experience of my life.

“When little Hanna and her parents came up to me, I was glad to pray for them. That’s what we do, right? But after thousands of prayers for sick children over the years, I was getting a little jaded. I’d begun to question whether all these words were really making a difference. I was praying because I was supposed to, not because I was anticipating a direct and unambiguous response from God.

“Then I prayed for Hanna. When her face lit up and I heard her squeal, ‘I can see; I can hear!’ — honestly, a shock went through my body. It was the most immediate and clear–cut intervention of God I have ever witnessed. I was stunned, I was confused — but deep down inside, I knew I’d never be the same.

“And then, Harold Beamer. As I prayed for him, guess who was lurking in the back of my mind? Little Hanna. I was wondering if I’d ever experience something like that again. And sure enough, when he began to walk and run — on legs, mind you, that haven’t supported him in fifty years — well, I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

“I’ve seen answers to prayer before, even though they haven’t been as instantaneous and dramatic. I’ve seen a lot of lives transformed at the church. And now this. When you see God work in such a demonstrable way, it can’t help but bolster your faith.

“And I’ve been thinking: this is the greatest experience in the world — to be the conduit through which God brings hope to broken people and changes lives and eternities. I’ve come to realize that there’s nothing more important, nothing more rewarding, and nothing more urgent than reaching one person at a time and seeing them spring alive in their faith.”

Dick’s eyes engaged them both as he spoke, lingering on one and then the other, but then he turned to look squarely into the senior pastor’s face, a subtle smile forming on his lips. He reached over to nudge Eric’s knee.

“Now, tell me, Eric,” he said, “what’s this I hear about your wanting to resign?”

Eric glanced at Dick, then at Art, then back at Dick. But he didn’t say anything — there was nothing to say.

After letting the silence speak, Dick leaned back in his chair and continued. “A funny thing happened to me last night. I couldn’t sleep, so I went into the family room and turned on the TV, and they were showing a black–and–white episode of The Lone Ranger. Must’ve been from the 1950s.

“Of course, it was silly and melodramatic, but one scene grabbed me. The Lone Ranger and Tonto ride up to a Spanish mission in the middle of the desert. Their horses are kicking up dust, they’ve got their guns drawn; they’re obviously hot on the trail of some bad guys.

“So this monk comes out — and I’m not joking, he looked a little like me. He was balding, with a bare patch on the crown of his head. He has some information about the whereabouts of the bad guys, so he points the Lone Ranger and Tonto in the right direction. Then he says, ‘I want to go with you.’

“The masked man looks at him in a sort of patronizing way and tells him, ‘You’re a brave man, Father, but this may be dangerous. You’d better stay here where it’s safe.’ Even so, the monk is persistent. He insists, ‘But I want to help!’ The Lone Ranger thinks for a moment, and then he says, ‘Well, then, you can pray.’ And with that, he and Tonto gallop off in a cloud of dust toward a showdown with the bad guys, while the monk shuffles back into the monastery.

“Now, normally I wouldn’t have given that scene a second thought. But in light of what’s been happening around here lately, something struck me. Who did the camera follow at that point? Of course, it followed the masked man and his faithful companion — after all, that’s where the action is, that’s where the thrills are, that’s where the adventure lies.”

As he relived the moment, Dick slowly shook his head. “But at that moment I realized that the real adventure was with that monk. The camera should have followed him! If he was actually going to intercede with the Creator of the universe — the God who can restore sight to little Hanna and cause a crippled old man like Harold to dance — then that’s where the real action is.” Again, Dick fastened his eyes on Snow, who had been listening with rapt attention. “All I want to say, Eric, is that I’m not so sure the real adventure is in Washington. I think it’s here at Diamond Point.”

For a moment, nobody said anything. When Eric finally did speak, his voice was more humble and reserved and sincere than either man had heard in quite a while.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Dick. And I agree: these miracles have been amazing. Maybe I have had a selfish interest in trying to keep them under wraps. And I agree with you that Diamond Point has a bright future. But that doesn’t mean God can’t give me a new platform that goes way beyond Diamond Point. Talk about miracles — don’t you think it’s a bit of a miracle that the governor is even considering me for the appointment? Maybe that’s God’s way of nudging me toward Washington.”

Dick became stern. “You’re missing the point, Eric. God is doing something here. Something extraordinary — and it’s only the beginning. You’ve been saying it for years: the church is the hope of the world.

“Don’t gallop off on some quixotic mission to try and transform Washington. That’s a quest for fools and despots. You’ll get devoured by sharks in the next election. You’ll drown in the morass of government and party politics and constant effort to keep thirteen million constituents happy. I guarantee you, Washington will change you a lot more than you’ll change Washington.”