Blood of the Lamb (21 page)

My mouth must have been hanging open, because she said, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You’re so different,” I said.

“Now you know how I felt,” she said. “It was freaky. I was living with a stranger. Plus you had the whole new God-thing going on, too, and that was extra-freaky. You became like this saint. The last thing I wanted around was a saint.”

“It’s the last thing I am,” I said.

Our food came, and as we ate the fresh grilled fish in the glow of the full moon, I found myself being pulled to the enigmatic woman sitting across from me. The combination of her familiarity and mystery was even more hypnotic than the moonlight shimmering atop the gentle ripples of the bay.

But my feelings were out of sync with my thoughts, as if a war were waging between my head and my heart. I felt physical, sexual attraction to someone I wasn’t sure I could ever like as a person again. She seemed so different, but anyone could for an evening.

After dinner, we continued east along the coast into Tallahassee.

“Sorry this has to be part of our evening together,” I said. “I just found out late this afternoon.”

“Are you kidding?” she said. “It’ll be fun. I still can’t believe you’re going to be on
Larry King
.”

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically, “if you want my autograph, you better get it now. The price’ll probably double after the show.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but double of nothing I can afford.”

The familiar music swelled then faded in the small teardrop earpiece I was wearing, while on the twenty-inch Sony monitor beside the camera in front of me, a shot of the
Larry King Live
logo dissolved into a live shot of Larry King.

I was seated in the Channel 7 news room where, via satellite, I was joining four other guests around the country for
Larry King Live
.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’m joined by Evangelist Bobby Earl Caldwell. He’ll be here for the full hour to talk about the death of his daughter inside a Florida state prison facility where he was conducting a crusade. Plus, theologians from the new PBS special on Abraham along with John Jordan, chaplain of the prison where Nicole Caldwell was murdered.”

The monitor in front of me filled with an earnest-looking Bobby Earl Caldwell wearing a thousand dollar suit, makeup, and slicked back hair.

“Welcome, Reverend Caldwell,” King said. “Before we begin, let me say again how sorry I am about your daughter.”

“Thank you, Larry.”

“Now let’s meet our panel,” King said. “First, Rabbi Daniel Rosenberg, author of
Abraham: Father of Faith
, Father David O’Donnell, author of
Abraham: Figure of Faithfulness
, and Imam Syed Jumal, author of
Our Father Abraham
.”

As Larry King introduced each of them, their faces appeared on the monitor before me. Both the priest and the rabbi were handsome young men in their early thirties, dressed smartly in black suits, the priest wearing a Roman collar, the rabbi wearing a black yarmulka. The Imam was a thin black man in his fifties with graying hair, large glasses, and a white koofi.

“All three men can be seen on the PBS special
Abraham: Father of Nations
airing later this month.

“And from Florida, prison chaplain, John Jordan.”

Suddenly, the camera was on me, and it was my face filling the screen in front of me, as I assumed it was on screens around the world. It was an awkward moment. My first reaction was to smile, but then I thought it inappropriate, so I just nodded instead. The camera lingered long past the time it took me to nod.

“Okay,” King said, “first question is an obvious one: What was your little daughter doing inside a state prison facility?”

“Singing with her mother, my wife, Bunny, as a part of our evangelistic outreach.”

“But prison?” King said, turning his hand palm up. His eyes grew wide, his brow furrowing as his large glasses rose on his nose.

“Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, has called us to reach out with love to the least of these his brethern—the ones the rest of the world has forgotten about. We’ve done it all of Nicole’s life and never had an incident.”

“You’ve come under a lot of criticism lately for taking her inside,” King continued, “but there seems to be just as many supporters coming to your defense.”

“I think they understand Bunny and I are just doing what God’s called us to do,” Bobby Earl said. “And that we took every precaution.”

“What precautions did you take?” King asked.

Bobby Earl told him.

“So, Chaplain Jordan, Nicole was in your office when she was murdered?”

Suddenly, my face was filling the screen again.

“Yes,” I said.

When I didn’t elaborate, King smiled at my awkwardness and announced it was time for a break.

During the break, Susan walked over from where she had been standing against the back wall of the studio.

“Let the others talk, too,” she said.

I smiled. “I’ll try not to prattle on during the next segment.”

“Chaplain Jordan,” King said when we came back from the break, “do you know if there’re any suspects in the case?”

“Yes,” I said.

“There are?”

“Yes.”

“But no arrest?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Chaplain, are the Caldwells suspects?”

“No one has been ruled out,” I said.

“How does that feel?” King asked Bobby Earl.

“Just awful,” he said. “Anyone who knows us knows how much we loved Nicole, knows we could never do such a thing. But the good book tells us to expect to suffer for righteousness.”

“And Nicole was adopted, right?”

“Yes,” Bobby Earl said.

“But it doesn’t hurt any less losing an adopted child.”

“No.”

“Now, let’s bring in the rest of our panel,” King said. “They’re all members of the group discussing Abraham on PBS in an upcoming special. Reverend Caldwell, last week on your broadcast you compared yourself to Abraham, didn’t you?”

“Well, I think I was misunderstood,” he said.

“Let’s take a look at the clip,” King said.

The screen filled with Bobby Earl preaching in his New Orleans studio. And if there had been any question before, there was no doubt now—Bobby Earl had indeed compared himself to Abraham and Nicole to Isaac.

For the next few minutes, Bobby Earl tried to explain why he had made the comparisons between himself and Abraham and Nicole and Isaac. The longer he talked, the more defensive he became, until eventually he told Larry King that until God had tested him in a similar manner, he could never understand. No one could.

“Fair enough,” King said, and took another break.

“Rabbi Rosenberg,” King said after the break, “what is it about the story of Abraham and Isaac that makes it so enduring?”

“Well, first,” Daniel Rosenberg said, as his faced filled the monitor in front of me, “we must remember what having an heir meant to Abraham, his culture and religion—it was everything. And God had promised this childless man that he would become the father of nations. But for twenty-five years, his wife remained barren.”

“Think about how cruel that was,” Father David said, jumping in before the director could cut to him. “Twenty-five eternal years waiting for a child, all the while being called the father of nations.”

“And now,” Rosenberg said, “after all the waiting, all the testing, all the suffering, all the years of feeling like the biggest fool on the planet, Abraham is given a son—”

“Only to have God ask for him back,” Larry King said. “Right, Chaplain Jordan?”

“No,” I said, my face filling the screen. “God doesn’t just ask for Isaac back. He asks Abraham to kill him.”

As the camera cut back to King, my mind exploded with a terrifying thought:
Maybe Bobby Earl had compared himself to Abraham because he had done what Abraham had been willing to do—kill his own child. Was Bobby Earl subconsciously confessing?

“‘Take your son, your only son whom you love,’” King was saying, “‘and go forth up to the land of Moriah and offer him up on a high mountain that I will show you.’ I mean this was the ultimate test, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Father David said, “and he failed it.”

“What?” Larry King asked in surprise.

“I think he failed,” Father David said. “I know everyone says what a great act of faith this was on Abraham’s part—how he was willing to sacrifice his only son—but the real test was how he would respond to God, or to the voice inside his head he thought was God. He should have said no.”

“Wow,” King said, “I never thought of it that way. But it’s kind of like a father sending his son off to war, isn’t it? No one wants to do it, but sometimes…”

“Wait a minute now,” Imam Jumal said, breaking his silence at long last. “We’ve got to view this from an eternal position. Obedience to God is all that matters. Whatever we give up or even sacrifice in this life will be given back to us a hundred-fold by God in the next.”

“Amen,” Bobby Earl said.

“Of course, the Qur’an teaches that it was Ishmael, not Isaac, that God asked for and Abraham offered.”

Bobby Earl seemed unable to respond to that, and we went to break.

“So you believe you’ll be back with Nicole one day?” Larry King asked Bobby Earl after the break.

“Absolutely,” he said, tears filling his eyes. “It’s why I can rejoice. My loss is heaven’s gain. God will reward me and Nicole for our faithful service.”

“But you know people can’t understand that,” King said. “If Abraham were alive today, and he told us God told him to kill his son, we’d lock him up in a mental institution.”

“It’s interesting,” Rabbi Rosenberg said, “that the Hebrew word for prophet has a connotation of madness in it.”

Maybe Abraham was mad, I thought. Just a crazy old man who’d been out in the desert heat too long… Or maybe, just maybe, he trusted God beyond what I can even begin to understand.

“Really?” King said. “That is interesting, but I guess that’s true, most of the things the old prophets did, we would think of as crazy today, wouldn’t we, Chaplain Jordan?”

“Yeah,” I said. “There’s a very fine line between faith and foolishness. Most acts of faith are illogical—they don’t make any sense from a practical standpoint.”

During the next break, Susan waved and blew me a kiss, and when I asked how I was doing, she gave me two thumbs up.

“Does it offend you men that Reverend Caldwell compared himself to Abraham?” King asked after the break.

“Deeply,” Imam Jamal said. “I am very sorry for the loss of his daughter, but her death does not make him Abraham, the father of our faith.”

“Larry,” Bobby Earl said, “I never said I was Abraham. I only meant that I know what it’s like to offer everything up to God.”

“How could God ask such a thing of Abraham, Rabbi Rosenberg?”

“Maybe God views death very differently than we do,” he said. “Maybe God expects everything from us.”

“But we can’t forget,” I heard myself saying before I knew what I was doing, “that in the story this test came at the end of Abraham’s life, after he spent twenty-five years learning he could trust God. This was like his final exam. And, God didn’t accept Abraham’s sacrifice of his son. He tested him, yes, but didn’t allow him to follow through with it. He instead provided a lamb. The God who tests is also the God who provides.”

“Which is a beautiful picture of Christ,” Father David said. “Think about Isaac carrying the wood for the fire up the mountain the way Christ carried his cross to Calvary.”

“And it’s certainly a picture of resurrection,” Rabbi Rosenberg added. “Ultimately, nothing is lost, for God redeems and returns to us everything in the end.”

“Chaplain Jordan, since this story has been getting so much attention, you’ve received a lot of criticism for not adequately protecting Nicole while she was in your chapel.”

My face filled the monitor, the growing pink glow of my embarrassment obvious.

It wasn’t a question and I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Well,” King said, “do you have anything to say to that?”

“What can I say?” I asked. “I deserve the criticism. I should’ve never left her side.”

“Okay,” he said, hesitated a moment, then asked, “Who’s responsibility was it to keep her safe?”

“Mine,” I said.

“Bobby Earl,” King said, “why take the chance?”

“Ah,” Bobby Earl said, seeming at a loss.

“Why take her in such a dangerous place?” King added. “Why ask people like Chaplain Jordan and others to do such a difficult job?”

“Larry,” Bobby Earl said, “this is what God has called me to do. You’d have to ask him.”

“God?” King asked with a laugh.

“Yes,” Bobby Earl said sincerely.

“Chaplain Jordan,” King said, “do you think Nicole’s killer will be found?”

“I’m certain of it,” I said.

“Bobby Earl,” King said, “do you think most people sitting at home watching us tonight think you killed your daughter?”

“Heavens, no,” Bobby Earl said. “I think they realize—”

“But as I understand it,” King said, “you and your wife were the only two people to go in or out of that locked office where Nicole was killed. Are you saying your wife did it?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Bunny could never do such a thing. She’s a—”

“Looks like we’re out of time for tonight,” King said. “I want to thank my guests—”

“One more thing before we go,” Bobby Earl said. “Earlier you asked if we were suspects and Chaplain Jordan said no one had been ruled out, which might have sounded like we were, but I have been assured by the governor this week that we have been cleared and that they’re not going to waste time investigating innocent people.”

“Oh,” King said. “So, Chaplain Jordan, the Caldwells are not suspects in the investigation?”

“As I said before, Larry, no one has been ruled out.”

“But the governor said—” Bobby Earl began.

“The governor,” I said, “is not conducting the investigation.”