The Veritas Conflict (64 page)

“I know it seems like that to us. But there are likely many complex issues involved in this—not the least of which are the legal questions—and the administration is probably so far removed from a faith-based worldview that it might view this as an unnecessary and trivial nuisance.”

“Trivial!” Another student stood up, her voice incredulous. “That money is a hard, cold symbol of our credibility here on campus. Imagine what a difference it would make to have a science professor who actually addressed some of the credible scientific theories that are consistent with the Bible. Imagine what a difference it would make to people like that guy who wants everyone to picket our barbecue tomorrow. Maybe then all the people wed to their secular, relativistic mind-sets wouldn’t be quite so ready to harass us!”

From her position by the door, Claire could hear sounds of frustration and indignation all over the room. Several people didn’t join in the talking but seemed indrawn, nervous.

She squirmed, thinking about her own barbecue work slot tomorrow. Would Jo Markowitz or Bethany walk by and give them a wide berth? Would her hallmates see her being picketed and roll their eyes?

“Let me address that, please.” Mansfield’s voice cut through the grumbling, and the room quieted in a matter of seconds.

“Tomorrow by Mem Hall, you will be cheerfully providing a service for any student who needs a study break. Anyone can come and get free hot dogs and hamburgers all day. They can take the food and split, or they can hang out and socialize, maybe even play some volleyball. There will be no strings, no—as the young man put it—proselytizing. As you all know, the college forbids organized proselytizing. But of course we want our friends to recognize that what we do, we do out of God’s abundance in our hearts. We will, in other words, be evangelizing with our very lives. And we might very well be picketed because of it.”

A student in the corner spoke up, her voice tentative. “Will you be there with us, Dr. Mansfield?”

The professor smiled. “Of course. At least for part of it. The young reporter who wrote that article sees evangelism as something sinister, almost as a personal affront. Our reaction tomorrow—in fact, our reaction to any controversy—can either substantiate his ridicule or show it to be completely baseless.”

Doug Turner raised his hand. “What I don’t get is why they can’t see that we’re doing something fun
for them! Why
do they have to make it so complicated?”

“You have just asked one of the main questions we all ask when people are resistant to the gospel: Why are people so resistant to something so beautiful, so
right?
Why can we give a perfect apologetic to a friend in class and get nothing but an uncomprehending stare in return? Why don’t they get it?”

Mansfield stirred from where he was standing by the fireplace. He took a brass poker from a rack of hearth tools and shifted the logs. Several glowing pieces fell inward, their embers scattering.

“A few years ago,” he said, poking at the embers, “I was snowed in after a conference in Colorado. Several colleagues and I were stuck in a little inn for two days. It was a charming place, with a cozy den, a fireplace much like this one, and—thankfully—shelves of books to entertain bored people stranded in a snowstorm.”

The students chuckled as he continued. “A colleague showed me a book by a female author I’d never heard of. He explained—quite passionately—that the novelist wrote fantastic historical fiction, that her research was impeccable, and that readers were transported into whatever time and place she was writing about.

“Now, I read a great deal, but I had never even seen her name. But my colleague was so enthusiastic, that I took the book and read it.” He smiled. “And I loved it. So I took down another one, and I loved that one, too. And then the strangest thing happened. I began to see that author’s name everywhere. When we finally flew out two days later, I saw a whole row of her novels on the fiction shelf in the airport bookstore. I
started to see her books advertised in magazines and on the bestseller lists in newspapers. Had that author just become popular? No—I had been staring right at her books in the stores for years. So what had happened?”

Mansfield reached for his Bible, flipping to a particular page. “Matthew 13:13 and 16. Therefore, I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand.… But blessed are your eyes for they see, and your ears for they hear.”

He looked up at the students. “What had happened with that novelist was simply that I hadn’t been tuned in. I saw but didn’t have eyes to see. Just like your classmates, my colleagues, and those people who will probably picket you tomorrow. They have ears but do not hear, eyes but do not see. First Corinthians says, The natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; nor can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.’

“Remember that tomorrow during the barbecue, and in every class, every late-night dorm discussion. What is so stark and clear to you, they truly
do not see
. You can’t force a spiritually blind classmate to get it’ any more than you can force a physically blind classmate to appreciate a beautiful view. But you can pray, and you can watch for where God is working. Watch for those people who ask the questions, where God may be stirring their spirit. God may be giving them eyes to see.”

Claire’s mind flickered to her conversation with Bethany in the T station and then to the derisive looks she’d seen toward Brad in class. She slowly raised her hand.

“But, Professor Mansfield, can I ask a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Doesn’t that just give us an excuse to
not
share, to
not
try, because we know most people in our classes aren’t really listening?” She sighed. “I’m only a freshman, and I’m already tired of people rolling their eyes behind my back. I would love to just give up and say, ‘They aren’t going to get it.’ ”

Mansfield’s gaze was kind. “Believe me, I understand. More than you know. But God doesn’t give us the option of backing out. We’re told to be witnesses for Him, and we have to take our cue from those the Bible has given us as role models. Do you have your Bible with you?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you read 1 Corinthians, chapter 4, verses 10 through 14?”

Claire reached for her bag and pulled out a small pocket Bible.

“Our dedication to Christ makes us look like fools, but you are so wise! We are weak, but you are so powerful! You are well thought of, but we are laughed at.

“To this very hour we go hungry and thirsty, without enough clothes to keep us warm. We have endured many beatings, and we have no homes of our own. We have worked wearily with our own hands to earn our living. We bless those who curse us. We are patient with those who abuse us. We respond gently when evil things are said about us. Yet we are treated like the worlds garbage, like everybody’s trash—right up to the present moment. I am not writing these things to shame you, but to warn you as my beloved children.”

She stopped reading and looked up. Her smile was wan, but real. “Okay. I get it.”

There were chuckles around the room as Mansfield turned back to address the group. Claire stared at the words on the page before her.

God, make me willing…

“Tonight,” Mansfield was saying, “we meet in this house for a reason. How many of you don’t know the story of Phillips Brooks?”

A large percentage of the crowd—including Claire—raised their hands.

“Phillips Brooks was a graduate of Harvard and a preacher at Trinity Church. He was a beloved figure here, intimately involved in the life of Harvard. Even though he turned down all requests to become a professor, he did serve on the board of overseers. He felt strongly that true Christian faith, a vibrant love affair with God, and purposeful obedience to Gods will, would show itself through action—through caring for the poor, through evangelism, through service to one’s fellow man.

“Interestingly, the students responded to his challenge with passion and fervor. One of Harvard’s most effective organizations ever—the Harvard Young Mens Christian Association—was founded in 1886. It became the largest organization in the colleges history, and a shining beacon for fellowship, service, and evangelism.

“This building,” Mansfield gestured at the rafters, “was built as a memorial following Phillips Brooks’s untimely death at the turn of the century, a permanent residence for the YMCA. The outpouring of support, of love, of grief, at the death of the beloved man led to a spiritual awakening on campus. Now, as you may know, this house primarily holds the offices of the student volunteer clubs on campus.”

Mansfield reached for a sheaf of papers at his side.

“As you prepare for tomorrow—and for every class, every debate, every conversation from here on out—let me read you the challenging words from Phillips Brooks’s address to the freshman class of 1883. This exhortation could apply to those—whether Christian or not—at any college in the nation.” Mansfield looked down at the paper.

“He who comes here … must feel himself drawn up and on to live his fullest and to give himself to obedience to truth and fellowman and to God. If any do not do so, if there is any man so false to the spirit of this place that he grows timid or grows reckless here, that he seeks freedom in sluggishness, or thinks that freedom means self-will instead of loyalty to the Eternal Master, if there is any man of whom this place makes a skeptic or a profligate, what can we sadly say but this: that he was not worthy of the place to which he came.… The man whom the college ruins is not fit for the college. He should have gone elsewhere.”

As the students walked down the steps of the building heading for the usual evening of food and fellowship, Claire noticed that many were walking in silence. Perhaps they too felt the weight of the challenge, the pensiveness of the day to come.

Claire hung back as the room gradually emptied. She conferred briefly with Mansfield and agreed to touch bases midway through the morning, at the barbecue. He had, he said, some further ideas for their research.

She gave him a quick hug, and then Teresa and several others pulled her toward dinner.

Stefan and Sherry were bundled up in thick coats, about to leave his room, when there was a loud knock on the door. Stefan swung the door open, and his father stepped into the room.

“I must speak—” Anton Pike saw Sherry and broke off.

“Hello,” Sherry said, her eyes curious.

Stefan made no introductions. He turned to Sherry with a smile. “Can you do me a favor, Sher? I need to chat here for a second.” He held up his car keys. “Can you go warm up the car and tell everyone to go ahead? Ask Niles to take them in his truck. Well drive tonight and meet them there.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’ll be pretty crowded down—”

“Just go warm up the car, Sherry. Now.”

“Fine.” Sherry snatched the keys from his hand and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Anton stared after her, his eyes brooding. He turned to his son. “You’re letting your control slip. Your power will degrade if unused.”

“My control is just fine, father. What are you doing here?”

Ten minutes later Stefan walked to his car. It was running, and the heat was on. Sherry sat in the passenger seat, looking sullenly out the window.

Stefan got in and slammed the door behind him, his face tight. He steered the car away from the curb, not speaking, anticipation, anger, and fear swirling in his brain.

Late that night Claire stared up at the empty loft in the darkness above her, then turned on her side with a sigh, praying for her roommate, for Stefan.

She could see the brilliance of the full moon through a gap in the curtains at the window. It traced a shimmering ribbon across her floor, right up to her bed. Her skin prickling, Claire stared up at the lovely example of Gods visible hand in the world.

Her voice came out in a whisper. “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork.”

She closed her eyes, listening to the next verse of the psalm in her mind.
Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge
.

A warmth came over her as she snuggled into the blankets. She felt God’s closeness, His protection. And something else. A sense of purpose. She was washed with the same feeling she had sensed earlier that night.

What is it, Lord!

There was no answer, and her tired, overwhelmed mind retreated into sleep.

The moon grew larger outside her window, and the shimmering path came alive, soft images of the past few months dancing before her.

She watched her struggles and timidity in class, her worries over how she would look, what people would think. Her heart sank at Doug Turner’s dejection during his lonely evolution debate, at Sherry’s averted eyes following Claire’s angry response to Stefan’s mockery.

The images switched to a plane crash on a rainy night, and she saw herself faced again with that essential choice—stand or retreat. Then Bethany’s confused face rose before her mind, and she somehow saw more than before—she saw herself in the quiet T station, talking, and as Bethany listened an invisible hand drew a small gold cross on her chest.

Claire began to shake, tears leaking from her eyes as she saw a very pregnant Bethany kneeling, crying, beside a tousled bed. Claire heaved great sobs, watching a tiny baby girl come forth, held up squalling to her mother’s outstretched arms.

The scene switched again. Claire was on a mountainside looking out through unfamiliar eyes. She was laboring to breathe, pain racking her body. She felt the worried hands of teenage hikers and looked with great effort at the unconscious girl beside her. Her eyes opened with a gasp. A great, shining being with wings outstretched stood beside the girl. His eyes gazed into hers, his tender look telling her all she needed to know about the imminence of her own homecoming.