The Veritas Conflict (18 page)

A crazed look appeared on the boy’s face, and Caliel could see the unearthly hatred in his eyes. Uh-oh. This had changed in the last few weeks. The angel stepped forward to the woman, prodding her.

As the boy raised his fist, the woman jumped up and grabbed his arm. She started a bit as he angrily swung around to face her, but she spoke sternly enough. “Trevor, now stop it.” She turned to her husband. “You too, Stanley. This is getting ridiculous. It’s the Lord’s day.”

Trevor seethed but quieted. He took his seat, slamming his chair forward. His
mother settled back down and gestured for the family to hold hands.

“Oh, not grace again!” The words blurted from Trevor’s mouth. “C’mon, Mom, it’s stupid.”

“It’s the Lord’s day: We give thanks. You know that, Trevor. Now come on.” She grabbed the hands of those next to her, and Trevor reluctantly did the same.

She bowed her head. “Lord, we thank You for this food that we are about to receive.…”

Caliel leaned forward, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper as he spoke the same words over and over to the woman’s mind.
Sherry, Sherry. Your daughter. Pray!

“… and for this beautiful day, and for family and friends.” She lost her train of thought for a moment then resumed her weekly prayer, the words coming by rote. “Bless all of us, in Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Amen.”

Caliel could feel the tide advancing. The door was closing on this family as a possible spiritual support for his charge.

The world of the shadowlands seemed to recede, the world of the spirit becoming more distinct. The family appeared to move in slow motion, passing the silver dishes of turkey, stuffing, and fruit. Only the dark beings within the troubled son were clearly visible, taunting and mocking their foe.

Caliel raised his arms toward heaven, his wings outstretched, shining brightly.

“Lord, there are those in this family who have a simple understanding of You, although they do not understand their need to commit to a relationship with You. O God, I pray that Your grace and mercy would be sufficient for their lack. Keep reaching out to them with Your loving arms.”

He felt the desperately tender love of the Lord for these lost souls wash over him and continued to pray that they would turn and receive it while there was still time.

SIXTEEN

“S
O
WHAT CLASSES
DID
YOUR FRIENDS TELL YOU TO TAKE
?” Claire had spotted Teresa studying at a carrel in Widener Library and walked over, deciding to take the bull by the horns.

Teresa looked up, eyes wide, then smiled. “Hey. You startled me.” She cocked her head. “What did you say?”

“I decided to drop the advanced religion class I was telling you about on Friday.”

“All right!” Teresa gave her a high five, which Claire, bemused, returned. “This is going to sound funny, but, well … I was praying for you that night, and I felt really spiritually agitated about your class. I didn’t know why.” She grinned. “But after your reaction to my caution on Friday, I figured I wasn’t going to bring
that
up.”

“I know, I know. I’m really sorry I got so irritated at lunch. I don’t know why. You were totally right.”

“Claire, honestly, it’s okay.” Teresa hooked a nearby chair with her foot and pulled it up to the carrel, gesturing for Claire to sit down. “What was it that you asked me when you walked up?”

“Oh … well, before class tomorrow I somehow need to find another class to make my five, since I’m dropping religion. And since I’ll have missed three class sessions, I’m really at a loss as to what course won’t leave me hopelessly behind.” Claire sighed, feeling rudderless. “On Friday you said something about your alumni friends who went here, who warned you to stay
away
from the religion classes. Did they ever steer you
toward
any other classes?”

“Um … yeah. Do you have a class catalog?” She took the booklet Claire offered her. “It seems to me that you have two choices—to take a class that has content you’re already fairly familiar with, or to take a class that doesn’t look that hard.”

Teresa flipped through the catalog pointing out various options. In the end it came down to two choices: a marketing class or a philosophy/ethics class listing many readings by authors Claire already knew. Both had been recommended by one of Teresa’s friends, and both were taught on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons.

Claire doubted her ability to catch up in the completely new subject of business. After her religion debacle she was a little hesitant to brave the class discussions
in philosophy, but finally decided it was probably the best option. She would go by and talk to the professor on Monday morning.

She thanked Teresa and left her to her studies, thankful for her new friend. Why had she ever doubted Teresa’s reaction?

Lord, forgive me. You know what I need even before I ask. Why are You so good to me?

In a corner nearby, six angels watched Claire as she moved through the stacks, looking for a book and quietly singing a praise song to herself. They closed their eyes and raised their hands, giving thanks to the King of kings for His working in Claire’s life.

A high-ranking angel walked up, gently smiling as he looked upon the girl. She had found the book she was looking for and had taken a seat at a study carrel, spreading out her papers before her.

The angel clasped arms with each of his comrades. “Well met, my friends.”

“Well met, Kai.”

Kai stepped forward and laid a hand on Claire’s shoulder. His wings stretched, forming a glistening canopy over her head. He lifted his face to the sky. “Our Master and King, thank You for what You are doing in this girl’s life. Strengthen us to watch over her. Strengthen her parents and friends to pray without ceasing, that Your will may be done.”

Kai dropped his hand and turned to the others. “So it has begun. She has usually made the right choices, and Gods grace has been sufficient in those where she has erred.”

“Gael, Etàn, and Metras—” he selected the three angels—“tomorrow, you must ensure her admittance to the philosophy class.”

Gael inclined his head. “We received that order, but were curious how it fit into the plan.”

“The Lord intends to use that class for many purposes. Primarily it will be her learning ground, her place of testing. And her place of growth, if she cleaves to the Lord.” He turned to the fourth angel. “Caliel, my friend, the Lord is pleased with Sherry’s progress. But the enemy now circles like a roaring lion. He is anxious to devour both of these young women. Both have provided him with an open door, but Claire’s heart is soft. She has repented and been forgiven. Sherry is still leaving the door open.”

Caliel’s face was drawn with concern. “She is not covered in prayer, Kai. There is no one praying for her—”

“Except Claire.”

“Yes, except Claire.”

“See that she is stirred to intercede more. And stir others where you can.” Caliel
nodded. “Claire is already stepping into a praying community, where she can be protected and nurtured. Sherry must come in as well. But it will be her choice. The Lord is knocking; she must answer. And then—she must choose to obey.”

Kai turned to an angel who had been standing quietly to the side, observing. Kai inclined his head in deep respect, giving him the floor. “General Petras, are the other pieces of this plan in place?”

“They are. It will be accelerating very soon. You all have your orders.”

“We do, General, and we stand ready.” Kai’s gaze returned to Claire’s bent head. He smiled, feeling the love of the Lord for this chosen one. “Now she must be ready.”

Whack! The
computer monitor quivered from the blow as Ian stood by his desk, muttering. “I’m gonna kill this stupid thing!”

The screen was frozen, a document halfway loaded on the screen. Three times in twenty minutes. Unbelievable! He checked his watch, annoyance changing to agitation. Mansfield would be at the restaurant any minute now. Why on earth did this always happen when he was in a hurry?

Ian punched the power button twice, waiting with impatience as the computer went through an infuriatingly slow reboot. He glared out the window of his apartment located on the second floor of a beautiful old house and drummed his fingers against his leg.

For the last few days of working on this project deadline, it seemed as if his computer, printer, or fax were constantly out of sorts. And always at the worst times, too…

Ian smacked his forehead. Of course! It made perfect sense.

Feeling a bit foolish, he tentatively placed his hand on the monitor. “In the name of Jesus, if there are any … uh … evil forces working here, I command you to stop your interference and go!”

His voice grew more assured. “This room and this project are covered by the blood of the Lamb, and you have no place here. Demons, I command you to leave by the authority of Jesus Christ.” He paused. “Lord God, I ask for Your protection over this project and ask that the enemy’s eyes would be blinded. In Jesus’ mighty name, amen.”

Four gremlins shot through the walls of Ian’s second-floor apartment writhing in pain. They sped away, hands clapped over their ears, trying to get away from that
Name
. The glowing sword of a member of the heavenly host helped ensure their haste.

A few minutes later, Ian ran down the outside stairs that gave access to his apartment, stuffing a sheaf of papers in his backpack. He hopped on his bicycle and sped away.

An hour later, at a Porter Square restaurant a mile from campus, Ian and Mansfield sat in close conversation. Notebooks, papers, and textbooks were laid out on the table. They had been careful to schedule this meeting after the lunch rush, when they would be able to choose a secluded, high-sided booth. For certain strategy sessions both preferred this place to Mansfield’s office.

A warrior stood guard on the roof of the restaurant, his contingent of angels hidden but available at a moment’s notice. The enemy would have no access to this meeting.

Mansfield scanned the clipboard in front of him. “Which one’s next?”

“Urn … mathematics. There’s probably not much there.”

“Probably not, but check the notes just in case.”

Ian sipped his lemonade, his eyes flickering between several notebooks and lists. “I think we’re clear.”

Mansfield made a note on his clipboard. “Philosophy next?”

“Might as well mark every class.” He saw Mansfield’s stern look and raised his hands defensively. “I’m just saying.

“If we’re going to have any chance at this, we need to be as fair as possible in our report. Just because someone else is not being fair-minded doesn’t give us an excuse. Besides, credibility is a hard enough issue without us compounding the problem by overdoing it.” Mansfield tapped on a thick sheaf of computer paper covered with print. “Let’s just go through class by class.”

At his left hand, Ian set a list of classes slated for the next school year. At his right, between him and his mentor, sat the thick sheaf. The four hundred pages of notes and reports were the result of nearly two years of work by a small committee of professors, students, and graduate TAs such as himself. The cover page read “Initial Report of the Committee on Ideological Diversity, Harvard University” and was dated just two weeks before the start of classes.

Ian flipped through both the draft catalog and the report until he came to philosophy. Both sections were long.
Advanced Philosophical Debate … Existential Thought … Philosophy of Ethics …

“Okay: Advanced Philosophical Debate. Professor Janssen.” Ian set the course description in front of his mentor. “The readings look fairly neutral, but—” he flipped open the thick report—“it scored just three out often. Nearly all respondents cited specific instances where the professor’s ground rules or class discussions actively worked against those with opinions based on objective truth.”

Mansfield jotted a few notes as Ian continued his briefing. “See here? Last fall this girls class was told that ‘religious convictions’ were not appropriate grounds for philosophical debate. Janssen said they had to come up with some other philosophical structure for debating, for example, which actions were right and which were wrong.”

Mansfield frowned but didn’t look up from his clipboard. “Well, that’s a common enough point: You can’t just say, ‘Well, the Bible says so,’ and expect to win an advanced debate. You need to back it up analytically—”

“Obviously, yes. But this was more the standard problem of there not being a level playing field for different ideologies. Janssen disallowed ‘religious convictions,’ but these four students describe several times where class debate drew on Buddhist, Humanist, or New Age philosophy in making a point. Only comments based on Judeo-Christian scriptures were disallowed. Obviously, Humanist philosophy involves just as much religious belief as anything else. Although Humanists usually don’t think so!”

Ian flipped a page over. “And see this segment where the class debated hot topics like abortion? The syllabus materials the professor picked were all ones that steered the debate into prochoice rather than neutral terms from the outset—the classic case of defining the terms, thus controlling the debate.”