Solomon's Porch (45 page)

“Let’s hold off on any judgments, Mr. Harwell. I think you might be making some progress toward your salvation.” Peter was happy to play along with the less serious, tongue in cheek teasing.

“My question is, do the ends ever justify the means? If I do eight good things and two bad things and the net result of my efforts is one great big good thing, have I sinned?

“Let me be even more specific, Peter. In business, men and women like me have to make tough decisions daily. Sometimes it’s a choice between the lesser of two evils. Modern capitalism, by its very nature, can be ruthless on its losers. Yet communism, state controlled anything, is far worse for everyone. Help me out here, Peter. You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?”

Yes and no,
Peter thought to himself. Harwell appeared to be seeking some form of absolution or excuse for his sin, but his question was profound and certainly could not be dodged.

“I will answer your question as best as I can, Mr. Harwell. First of all, are you so sure that it was necessary to do the bad things you did in order to ultimately succeed? Is it possible that you succeeded in spite of your sin?”

“At the time I can assure you, Peter, that every move I made was well-considered. Who knows what would have happened if I’d gone left instead of right to spare an economic injury to someone else.”

“I do not believe, Mr. Harwell, that sin is required to be a success in business. That said, none of us is blameless before God. You know why I was sent to prison, Mr. Harwell, don’t you?”

“Theft and embezzlement, if what I’ve been told is true.”

“Oh, it’s true, Mr. Harwell. I wasn’t trying to create a new product or out compete a rival, I just wanted money. I have no excuse for what I did, but God has forgiven me for my mistakes. I no longer own them, to the Lord it is as if they never happened.”

“So you’re saying if my goal was legitimate I have an excuse?”

“Mr. Harwell, consider this. Christ makes it clear that it is a sin to kill. From the Ten Commandments to the Sermon on the Mount, God is consistent; He says we are to love our brothers and sisters as we love ourselves. Killing another human being is the ultimate form of hatred, evil, and ungodliness. What right have I to end the life God gave to another?”

“I detect a but coming on the horizon.”

“But Mr. Harwell, what if the world hadn’t stopped Hitler? What if the Jews had perished from the earth before it was Christ’s time to appear as one of them?”

“So you’re saying … ”

“We must seek forgiveness for our sins, Mr. Harwell. Obviously, you know you’ve done some wrong on your journey of worldly success. Seek Christ, accept Him as your Savior, ask for His forgiveness. Atone for your sins as the Spirit leads you.”

“You mean go back and find people I wronged twenty years ago, apologize to them, and compensate them?”

“What a marvelous example that would be to the world wouldn’t it, Mr. Harwell? If you humbled yourself, others might follow your lead.”

“I’m still not sure that you’ve answered my question.”

“Christ is an absolute, Mr. Harwell, a mysterious and perfect combination of God and man. We are mortal beings, inherently flawed. In order to be righteous, to be in right standing with God, we must seek forgiveness and strive with our free will not to repeat our mistakes.”

“Now I know better, that’s what you’re saying?”

“I’m sure that you knew better then too, Mr. Harwell. God is your judge, not me. I can only tell you how His word answers your question.”

“Profit is not evil, is it Peter?”

“No, at least I do not believe that it is. To fail to use the wealth God gives you for the betterment of others, that is most certainly a sin.”

“How much should I give? And to whom? I’ve never given a dime to a church, does that mean my gifts are … ”

“Thank you, Mr. Harwell. Rabbi Rosefielde, your time starts now.”

“She’s really beginning to annoy me,” Larry moaned. “I believe Miss Spence is enjoying her referee duties a bit too much.”

“She may not be real warm and fuzzy, brother,” Kenny said, “but I understand the need for what she’s doing.”

“Peter, good evening.”

“Good evening, Rabbi. Shalom.”

“Shalom. I have so much to ask you, my friend, but there is so little time.” Like Cardinal Reardon, Rabbi David Rosefielde was a humble man, honest and completely uninterested in pretense.

“Perhaps soon we can talk, you and me, privately and at length.”

“I look forward to that, Peter. Of all of the questions I have one issue strikes me as being most important. If the world is to believe you, people must accept the concept of a reality greater than their senses, the existence of a Force of Uncreated Energy we label God.”

“Yes, Rabbi. For less advanced societies acceptance through faith of the nature of God was easier, but today we suffer from excessive hubris, we believe man is all powerful, and we worship God’s creation and ignore Him.”

“I agree. Perhaps an important lesson of the restriction is to teach us that God is not only real, but also that He is omnipotent.”

“As I see it, Rabbi, you are exactly right. God wants us to quit our violent ways, that is His message, but remember Christ’s first commandment to us is that we are to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind. We are being blessed by a direct application of His power, this astounding restriction. We should respect the miracle with thanksgiving and obedience.”

“Peter, what happens when the restriction ends? Like all miracles, the passage of time diminishes their impact. What else can we do to leave a lasting impression, if you will, of the true nature of the universe?”

What a spectacular question, Peter thought, so astute. To Peter the existence of God and the unseen spiritual dimension was a given, but not so to a skeptical world.

A direct answer to the Rabbi’s question then presented itself.

“Good Lord!” Doris Spence shrieked. “How did that man get in here?”

Standing behind Peter, literally appearing out of nowhere was a man, about thirty, with light brown, curly hair. His white robe seemed to be emitting rather than reflecting light, his skin was a radiant bronze and his eyes sparkled like bright blue bolts of liquid flame.

“My name is Gabriel,” the angel said, “and I am here to speak for the Lord.”

Twenty-Five

“You getting all this, Chuck? Status, I need status.” The Executive Director was unnerved, along with everyone else involved with the broadcast, but he was professional enough not to lose sight of his duties in the midst of a crisis.

“Copy that. Everything appears nominal. Transmission nominal, audio nominal, tape … hey, what the hell?”

“Chuck, talk to me, Chucky.”

“Ah, transmission nominal, recording malfunctioning. Tape check shows new subject Gabriel not, well he’s not coming through on tape. No image, no audio. All other systems nominal.”

“Repeat that.” The Executive Director heard what was said, but it made no sense, so it didn’t register.

“This Gabriel character’s image and voice is being transmitted live but, as far as we can tell, isn’t being recorded.”

“Chuck, I mean come on man that’s nuts.”

“Like any of the rest of this makes sense. Suggest we move on, keep monitoring.”

“Mommy, that’s my angel!” Kevin said, pointing at the screen. “What’s he doing on the TV with daddy?”

“I’m sure that he’s helping your father, Kev. That’s a good thing.”

“I guess so, mom. I’m gonna pray the angel brings daddy home.”

“I’ll join you in that prayer, son.”

A few seconds after Gabriel appeared, four Secret Service agents rushed on to the stage. They were powerless to attack or otherwise subdue the intruder, but they surrounded the President and started shouting orders that the panel should disperse. Immediately.

But no one moved. An indecisive moment that felt like an hour passed by. The audience offered only a dull murmur, they all kept their seats.

“Please, I assure you that there is nothing to be frightened of,” the President said, as he stood and moved away from his panicked security detail. “I know this man. Well, he’s not a man, but I know him.”

“Yes, please, you have no idea how blessed you are to be here tonight.” Peter followed the President’s lead. “This is the Archangel Gabriel. He is a holy messenger. No one in this room has anything to fear from him.”

“Bravo, bravo,” Thomas Peterson said, as he stood and mockingly applauded. “Best show I’ve seen in years, Carson. Last time I saw a trick that slick was in Vegas when a couple of homosexuals in tights made an elephant disappear.”

“Thomas Peterson, we have no time for your stupidity. Sit down and keep quiet.” Gabriel’s voice was commanding and firm, but Peterson was not impressed.

“I’ll do no such thing, Mr. Gabriel. Archangel of the Lord indeed, why when I … ”

Gabriel sighed and waved his arm across his body. In response, the rotund Reverend Peterson not only stopped talking, he floated up three feet in the air and ten feet away from the table. He hung there, suspended like a flabby side of beef. The look on his face was a mixture of horror and astonishment.

“My apologies, Peter. That was distasteful, but I’m afraid Thomas Peterson left me no choice. This is a unique opportunity. We must make the best possible use of our time.”

“David, please tell me that you see Peterson floating above the table.” Doris Spence, like the rest of the audience in the East Room, was dazed and unsure where reality ended and illusion began.

“We all see him, Doris, get a grip. We’ve got a job to do here. There are about a billion people watching this spectacle. Doris? Doris?”

“Right, David. Right. God, yes.” Martz’s admonitions pulled Doris out of her stupor and she tried to refocus.

“Peter,” Alex Anderson said, realizing someone had to get things moving again, “what do you want us to do? Should we continue on as before?”

Peter looked up at Gabriel who said nothing, but he did keep his hand reassuringly resting on Peter’s shoulder.

“Mr. Anderson, why don’t we move forward. Gabriel can get involved as he wishes.”

Evidently that was the right decision because Gabriel gave a confirming nod to Peter. The moderators took a minute to reorganize their notes.

Gabriel’s appearance at the White House also answered a nagging question for many of the select. Somewhere around a quarter of them had seen Gabriel in their visions, including Rabbi Rosefielde, Cardinal Reardon, and the President.

“Uh, Rabbi, I suppose you are still up.” Doris was holding her own, barely, but her former confident swagger was gone.

“Peter, you are truly taking us where no one has gone before.” The Rabbi’s skin was ashy and his hands were shaking as he reached for a glass of water. After taking a nervous sip he said, “May I ask Gabriel a question?”

The angel nodded, but said nothing.

“You knew the Biblical prophet Daniel? Spoke with him?”

“Yes,” Gabriel replied.

“You appeared to the Holy Virgin, announcing Christ’s birth?”

“Yes. I have been in many places over the ages. Those mentioned in the Book are but a few of tens of thousands.”

“I don’t know exactly why I’m asking this, Gabriel, but is it possible for you to show us some of what you’ve witnessed in your service to God?”

“You ask, Rabbi, because it is the will of the Lord.”

Gabriel raised his arms in the air; reaching up toward heaven. He also chanted a few words in Hebrew that no one in the room other than Kenny understood.

“Watch yourself,” Kenny warned after Gabriel spoke. “If I heard right, I believe we … ”

There were exactly two-hundred-and-ten living souls in the East Room when Gabriel announced his blessing. They were all now frozen, unable to move or speak, except for Peter, Gail, and the disciples.

Afterward, every one of the two hundred and ten claimed to have seen the same vision.

It began on a lonely and desolate hill outside of ancient Jerusalem. Three men, bloodied and beaten, were being crucified. A small crowd was heckling the Man on the middle cross, calling him vile names and mocking Him as He suffered.

The blessed, as those present in the East Room would soon come to be called, would all later swear that they were more than spectators to scenes; they believed that they were actually present in the vision in a physical body and able to fully experience the five senses.

Some vividly described the putrid smell of sweat, excrement, blood, and death that permeated Golgotha. Others would never forget the jeering of the crowd and the cries of mourning from the small group of mostly women at the foot of the middle cross. A few recalled being pushed by soldiers and stumbling over the rocky ground.

As they watched, they heard Christ cry out in a language none of them understood and then die. They looked on as the Roman soldiers punctured His side with a spear and witnessed it gush forth blood and water.

Then the sky completely darkened, even though it had been a cloudless afternoon only a second before. Next a violent earthquake struck, causing a panic. As the crowd began to run, a torrential rain deluged the killing ground.