The Veritas Conflict (46 page)

“But that’s diff—”

“Is different? Why? Why is Harvard willing to adhere so closely to Mrs. Widener’s stipulations and not those of Grindley or Donaldson? In fact, why has Harvard forgotten that these grants and endowments even
exist?
Unlike your UFO example, actively considering a faith-based approach to scholarship is something that hundreds of other universities do every day. Why can’t Harvard take up that mantle and do a better job of it—even if its just in one class out of hundreds? Why have they so thoroughly forgotten these grants? Is it because—perhaps, just perhaps—this college has such a systemic problem with a lack of ideological diversity that it doesn’t think the purpose of those endowments even needs to be considered anymore?”

Sharon was sitting back in her chair, clearly annoyed. “Mansfield, give me a break. Of course they don’t need to be considered anymore. Those stipulations were clearly for another day and age. No one really believes that only men should receive scholarships or that anyone actually
believes
creationism anymore. These stipulations serve no purpose in the modern university. And because it serves no purpose for those funds to just sit there, of course this institution should feel free to reallocate the money.”

“Really? So you’re saying that we should, in essence, feel free to pick and choose which beliefs are right? Well then, by all means, let’s just put out a missive to all of Harvard’s current donors explaining that we’ll feel free to reallocate those funds as soon as we disagree with their conditions. In fact, that means the endowment for gay scholarships will be free for reappropriation whenever the pendulum of popular opinion swings back the other way and it no longer becomes politically correct to support nontraditional lifestyles.” He nodded pleasantly.

Wham!
Anton’s gavel hit the table with such force that several people nearly started to their feet. Anton stood and pointed the gavel at Mansfield. “That is enough of your disrespectful, agenda-driven threats, Professor Mansfield. It is intolerable that you would use this committee as a forum for your hate speech, and it calls into question whether you belong on this steering committee at all. We cannot abide by—”

“Excuse me.” Cheryl Crenshaw’s quiet voice spoke from the side of the room. There was a rustling as all heads turned in her direction. She slowly stood to her feet. “I apologize for interrupting, but coming from the finance arena I believe you may be missing something. Our esteemed colleague bring? up an important point. We cannot afford for donors to think their gifts may be misused. Our endowment is the backbone of everything we do here. No matter how old-fashioned an idea may seem to us, if we accept a gift it is traditionally thought that we must abide by it. Therefore—”

“Are you seriously suggesting that we hire a professor to—”

“All I’m suggesting, Mr. Chairman, is that we cannot so cavalierly dismiss the concerns of the ideological diversity task force. In fact, since the nations popular opinion is apt to change over time—as Professor Mansfield suggested—this task force may have saved this university significant heartache and money in litigation, fines, or other discrimination charges. I believe you should send this to the administration to be resolved in due time.”

“Ms. Crenshaw,” Anton’s voice was smooth as glass, “we appreciate your input, but I must point out that the academic steering committee has traditionally operated under the jurisdiction of Harvard’s president and the other officers. I think we can all agree that this is a matter for an officer of the university rather than an administrator—”

“Normally, perhaps, but in this case you have both.” Cheryl Crenshaw smiled at the group, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “It will be announced tomorrow that I am the new chief financial officer of Harvard University.”

As the committee members murmured their congratulations, Mansfield could hardly contain himself, watching Anton struggle for self-control.

“Therefore, Mr. Chairman,” Cheryl said, “I hope this committee will choose to send the matter of these faith-based grants and endowments to the administration, so that this matter can be more fully explored.” She turned to Mansfield. “Unless you believe you should first do more digging in the files and approach the administration once you have further information on these examples.”

“No!”

Mansfield and Cheryl turned to see Anton holding up a stiff hand. He dropped his arm and laughed awkwardly. “No, that won’t be necessary. I think we already have more than enough information to vote on sending this matter to the administration for its review. All in favor say aye.”

A chorus of voices chimed in. “Aye.”

“All opposed, nay.”

Several strong nays were heard.

“The ayes have it, and the motion is carried.” Anton rapped his gavel against its stand.

Mansfield shook his head, bemused. That was the quickest battle he’d won in years.

Murmurs of conversation began to rise around the table. He looked at the report in his hands. Somehow he had to move to a vote on his task force recommendations.

“Mr. Chairman.” Cheryl’s calm voice cut through the other voices in the room. “I would also like to make an informal suggestion to this committee. Now that this issue has been formally presented on the record, it may not be long before someone else gets hold of it. I don’t imagine that the press would find out or that they’d care, but we can’t
take the risk that they find out on a slow news day.” She smiled. “its your decision, but I’d urge you to establish—for the record—some type of immediate good-faith effort to actually resolve these lost endowments.”

Mansfield grinned to himself. Her soft-spoken manner was deceiving.

“And what would you suggest, Ms. Crenshaw?” Anton said, his voice clipped.

“Well, one thought might be to provisionally honor one of those endowments that could be quickly implemented without controversy. Such as the—” she turned toward Mansfield—“the Crist lectures, I believe you said the name was?”

Mansfield nodded.

“We’d have to establish that the facts are as Dr. Mansfield described, but if so it seems likely that you could choose someone to give a Crist lecture by the end of this year, even while the administration of the endowment and the organization of future lectures is being worked out. The finance office could almost immediately release funds to a Christian student group to cover the cost of publicizing and organizing the lecture. That also keeps it limited enough that we could choose not to continue the lectures if the endowments turn out to be invalid or some such thing.”

Mansfield watched heads nod around the table.

Jack leaned forward. “I agree. Anton, I move that we provisionally endorse the Crist lectures, put our action in the minutes, and file the record of this meeting with the administration. In the interest of time and simplicity, I move that we ask Professor Mansfield to either give a Crist lecture by the end of this semester or appoint someone else to do so. I also move that we approve the ideological diversity task forces recommendation to form a subcommittee to look into their proposals and take volunteers to serve on that subcommittee.” He raised his hand. “I’d like to volunteer for that subcommittee.”

Jack kept his hand up, and his gaze swept around the table. Mansfield looked on, his head spinning, as four or five hands were raised. Several others chimed in, “Second the motion.”

Anton’s hands were balled into fists, his knuckles white, a pen clenched in one fist. “Very well. All in favor of Jack’s proposal say aye.”

Mansfield caught Jack’s eye with a nod of thanks as a round of ayes rose from the table.

“All opposed, nay.”

There was silence.

Anton’s voice was strained. “The ayes have it, and the motion is carried.” He banged his gavel against the table. “This meeting is adjourned.”

Without a word he strode from the room.

Ten minutes and much backslapping later, Mansfield walked out the front doors of the building and breathed a heartfelt prayer of gratitude. The administration would probably take years to resolve such a big issue, but what a first step! As soon as he got to his office, he would call his faithful HCF prayer warriors with the news.

He turned the corner of the building, passing the side entrances at ground level. Suddenly, the skin prickled on the back of his neck. He turned his head just slightly. Anton Pike was standing in the deep shadow of an entranceway watching him pass.

Mansfield looked straight ahead. He found himself quickening his step. What was going on?

He remembered the danger he’d felt early on in the meeting, the chairman’s knee-jerk reaction against any further investigation of the old endowments. His sense of peace fled. Maybe the detective work wasn’t over after all.

FORTY-ONE

I
N A DORM ROOM ACROSS CAMPUS, THE PHONE RANG
. The head of every tired but faithful prayer warrior came up with a jerk. They looked at the phone, their expressions intent, as it rang once more. Finally, Brad leaned over and pulled the phone toward him.

“Hello?”

In an instant, the expression on Brad’s face changed to jubilation. He jumped up, still listening, and began relaying the conversation, one ear still against the receiver. The others cheered and began high-fiving each other.

Above their heads, the heavenly warriors clasped arms in thanksgiving. Gael looked down at his charge just as Brad called out to her.

“Claire, Mansfield says to call Ian. He wants you both in his office right away.”

Gael watched as Claire hurried to gather her things and make the call.

Another angel, of many years experience, approached. “The prayers of the young saints are effective!” he said.

“And our battle is fully underway, my friend. Our first hand has been played, and the enemy is now considering their counterattack.”

Claire hung up the phone and hurried out the door. Gael prepared to follow her.

“Vigilance, my friend. The enemy does not yet know of the role your young charge will play in the great battle.”

Gael’s head snapped around. “What?” He glanced back at Claire as she headed down the stairs and out the door.

The other angel smiled. “Go. All will reveal itself in due course.”

Coffee cups littered the desk in front of Ian and Claire as Mansfield looked up from his notes.

“If Pike wanted to steer us away from something, I have to think there must be something else there to be found. Something that he knows might make even more difference in our attempt to create a level playing field for faith-based viewpoints.”

He tapped his pen against the palm of his hand for a long moment. Claire sat quietly, trying to contain her thrill at being privy to the inner circle.

“I’d love to think that the administration will see the injustice and move on it quickly,” Mansfield said, “but this grant thing is a big deal with lots of legal angles. I think its more likely we’re entering a waiting game that may take years. That said, I also think we should use this waiting time to do a little more digging and find what it is that Professor Pike doesn’t want us to see. Ian, what’s your time like?”

Ian pursed his lips. “Well, if you want to know the truth, I’ve spent so much time on the task force project that I’m really behind in a couple of classes. If someone else can do most of the legwork, I can put in a few hours in the next week or two. But once I have to start studying for finals …” He sliced his hand through the air. “I’m done.”

Mansfield looked at Claire. She tried to keep her breathing even. “Claire, I’m going to need to hire a permanent research assistant who can fill in with Ian and continue working on this. I was very pleased with the work you did before, but its a slightly different thing hiring a permanent assistant. Before I proceed, I’d like to ask you a question. Would you share with us how you came to know the Lord? We’d like to get to know you a little better, my dear.”

Claire cleared her throat. “Well, I guess it started with my parents. Mom and Dad went to Wheaton, but we only went to church off and on as I was growing up.”

Her voice was soft as she told of her childhood in a nominal Christian home, and of the Christian schools that at first left her cold and untouched. She described her father’s poor financial decisions, the bankruptcy, the resulting struggles, and the eventual spiritual reawakening that had gently dawned on the whole family.

“I always believed in God, but religion was a private thing for me. I didn’t like to talk about it, and I didn’t understand the Jesus thing at all. But after my mom—and then my dad—recommitted their lives to Jesus, I began to see a difference in them that I couldn’t explain. I began to
want to
know what it was about Jesus that had given them this newness. But here I was,” she smiled ruefully, “an involved student at a Christian high school. I was too embarrassed to ask anyone about it. Then came the retreat.”

Claire looked off into the distance. “I went with the church youth group to a wilderness camp in the Porcupine Mountains. You know—one of those places with team-building exercises like rope courses and rappelling down rocks and such. There was an amazing camp counselor there—Miss Gana. She was originally from Nigeria, and she was such a beautiful person. She had such a strong relationship with the Lord and was articulate and firm in her convictions. She made every student feel like they were the most special person there. I’d never met anyone like her.