OKAY, I READ THE STORY. Then I read it again. The facts are plain enough. A young mother. Scared. She believes she has to save her child. So she flees from the authorities.”
“Is that all there is to it?”
“No. But I’m just sticking to the basics. I’m trying to be objective.”
“That must be the trial lawyer in you talking. So what does your objectivity tell you?”
“That the mother believes in what she is doing. Thinks she has heard the voice of God.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not sure. Part of me believes it. Most of me. But I’m conflicted.”
“You’re trying to resolve the conflict?”
“Exactly.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“That’s why I’m talking to you. You’re the one with the theological degrees, Len, not to mention that you’re my favorite law professor. I’m just a trial lawyer.”
“Look, my degree isn’t what’s important. Or my teaching credentials. Let me put it to you plainly, Will. Ultimately, it gets down to miracles. Is the Bible God’s revealed Word?”
“I accept that. But that doesn’t end the debate.”
“Well then, is it just the miraculous birth of Jesus that you’re struggling with? Or is there something else?”
“The nativity story. That’s what I’ve been focusing on. The virgin birth. Angels start appearing. Magi traveling from far away arrive on the scene. King Herod sends out the edict against the children. Visions and dreams. The mother, her husband, and the baby flee to Egypt.
“On the other hand, let me say this. I do know that God does miracles. Look at me—a former agnostic ACLU attorney, now studying the Bible. Going to church. In love with a gospel singer.”
Sitting across the table in the small, silver-sided roadside diner, Len Redgrove chuckled a little at that.
Will Chambers stopped for a second to appreciate the irony in what he had just said.
“But still,” Will continued, “I’m wondering if we have to believe in the mass of supernatural detail that the Bible lays out about these events—that’s all. Do we have to take it literally? Maybe it was meant to be symbolic.”
“Okay,” Redgrove said. “Then start with the innkeeper as an example. Let’s establish the circumstantial facts. What do you think he saw when he encountered that young pregnant woman sitting on a donkey, with her exasperated husband standing next to her?”
Will reflected for a moment. “Probably thought, Here are a couple peasants who can’t come up with enough money to get a decent room.”
“That’s just the point. The Bible doesn’t actually refer to the innkeeper. But he’s implied in the text. The town of Bethlehem was jammed up with travelers who had to return to their town of origin for the census. No room. He looks at these two. What does he see?”
Will was listening closely.
Redgrove continued. “Relying just on his senses—his naturalistic bias, you might say—what did he see? Just another impoverished Jewish couple. He missed the miracle unfolding right in front of him.”
“So miracles aren’t for everyone? Some people are incapable of understanding them? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Understanding miracles,” Redgrove explained, “does not demand that we suspend our objectivity. Just the opposite. It requires true objectivity. God is the only real, objective source of information. His Word gives us the big picture. Otherwise, if left to ourselves, down there at ground level with the innkeeper, we end up merely shutting the door.”
As the waitress dropped the check on the table, Will scooped it up. “You paid last time. I’ll get it.”
“By the way, how is your law practice?” Redgrove asked.
“Busy. Thriving.”
“And how about you?”
“A little restless.” Will gave it another moment of thought, then added, “Actually, I’m pretty discontented. Sometimes I wonder if I ought to stay in the law. If God is working on me, I question the value of what I’m doing as a lawyer.”
“I always thought you would make a gifted lawyer—even back when you were my student. Look at the victories God has given you. He’s used your legal talents.”
“That’s what Fiona tells me too.”
“And how is she?” Redgrove asked.
“She’s just finished a concert tour. She’s coming back tomorrow and we have a date tomorrow night.”
“Haven’t proposed to her yet?”
“No,” Will’s voice dropped slightly. “I…really don’t know that she’ll have me. There seems to be some hesitation on her part. So…” His voice trailed off.
“Give it time. And give it to the Lord. He’s the ultimate matchmaker. If he wants the two of you together, it will work out.”
Will nodded. But those words did not give him any comfort. He shook hands with his old friend and they agreed to meet for dinner again at the usual time next month.
The attorney climbed into his ’57 Corvette and motored home to his large log home which was perched on the rolling Virginia countryside. The sun was setting when he arrived, so he sat for a while on the broad porch that wound around the house and admired the scarlet and orange colors that were fading around the contours of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the horizon. Then he walked inside and turned on the television set.
Punching the channels, he stopped at INN—International News Network. He liked to catch the daily Slice of Life news summary.
After the world news, he was reaching for the remote when something caught his eye. On the television, he saw a blond man in an orange jail jumpsuit shuffling across a courtroom with manacled feet, hands in handcuffs.
“The Georgia farmer is being charged with obstruction of justice and felony child abuse,” the announcer said. “His wife and their four-year-old child are still missing. It is alleged that Fellows aided in their flight from sheriff’s deputies.”
Will studied the desperate look on Joe Fellows’ face as deputies led him up to the judge’s bench.
“Buddy,” Will said out loud to the television, “I hope you have a good lawyer.”