IN WASHINGTON THE NEXT DAY, NEWS REPORTERS were crowding into the room at the Press Club. In the front of the room, the moderator of the press conference glanced at his watch, and then looked out over the room filled with television cameras and reporters.
Behind the moderator there was a row of six men and three women, standing and smiling stiffly. One of the women had a clerical collar, as did three of the men. Another was arrayed in bishop’s robes. Then the moderator stepped up to the tangle of microphones at the podium. He smiled and thanked everyone for coming.
“Let me say first,” the moderator explained, “that we are not going to be commenting today about the fact that two men were executed on live international television last night.”
There were a few snickers from the reporters.
“That is the subject for another press conference, perhaps, at another time. We are here today to comment on the 7QA fragment and its implications for twenty-first century Christianity.”
Then the moderator looked down at his prepared notes and began.
“This coalition represents a broad cross-section of the Christian denominations in America. As such, we have representatives from the National Council of Churches, from the American Conference of Bishops, and from most major segments of the mainline Christian community.
“Each of our representatives will be giving a short statement. But by way of introduction, I want you to know that a Joint Statement has been prepared by our coalition. And there should be enough copies of the Statement for all of you on the table in the back of the room, so you can pick one up as you leave.”
The moderator introduced the representatives, who each, in turn, made three-minute statements.
Then the floor was opened for questions. The first question came from a newswoman in the front.
“Doesn’t this 7QA fragment mean that Christians everywhere will have to start questioning everything they used to believe in the Gospel stories—questioning who Jesus really was?”
In response, several speakers from the panel emphasized that faith and science were partners in truth, not combatants. Yes, there would perhaps be a new understanding of Jesus, but that is the essence of faith—that it is a living and evolving concept, not a static, rigid, absolutist experience.
What if this archaeological discovery disproves the resurrection? one reporter asked. Wouldn’t that be the end of Christianity?
Not at all, the panelists replied. One speaker emphasized that “the jury was still out” on 7QA, while on the other hand, the verdict on the traditional idea of Christ had been settled for two thousand years. Another panelist pointed out that the resurrection was a spiritual idea, with spiritual aspects to it. If Jesus was not physically resurrected, that did not mean that there was not, in some sense, a spiritual resurrection. In order to successfully survive in the twenty-first century, the panelist pointed out, Christianity needed to, in effect, reinvent itself. That included being willing to rediscover who Jesus really was.
Then a question came from a reporter in the back of the room. Jack Hornby, a veteran from the Washington Herald stood up and said he was addressing his question to anyone on the panel who would like to respond.
“This ‘spiritual resurrection’ that you are talking about sounds pretty safe—pretty bland. And if you will pardon my observation, pretty meaningless. In light of this 7QA fragment discovery, why not fight for the idea that either Jesus really walked out of the grave, or else he didn’t? If he didn’t, then maybe it’s time for Christianity to take him down from the throne, in a manner of speaking.”
After a few of the panelists tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to respond, the moderator stepped up to the microphone. This was a difficult and complicated issue, and couldn’t be answered, he said, in a simple way. Indeed, the moderator pointed out, it could not be answered in the kind of abbreviated and simplified format that many reporters would prefer.
“Then why did you bother to call a press conference and invite the press?” Hornby shot back. But before the irritated moderator could close, Hornby launched a final question:
“I would be interested in your reaction to the lawsuit that was recently filed by Dr. Reichstad, the scientist who discovered this fragment. He has sued a Reverend Angus MacCameron, who criticized his interpretations of the fragment. Are you aware of that lawsuit, and if so, what is your response?”
The moderator responded firmly. “We are aware of that lawsuit. As we understand it, this lawsuit is some kind of blood feud, if I can call it that, between Dr. Reichstad and this fundamentalist preacher MacCameron. Further, we do not believe that a right-wing religious extremist like MacCameron has anything intelligent to add to the debate over the 7QA Jesus fragment.”
As the reporters quickly pushed their way out of the room, one of them came over to Hornby.
“Did you make it over to the press conference of the Union of Conservative Baptists and the American Evangelical Alliance this morning?”
“Yeah,” Hornby said, “I caught most of it.”
“I missed it,” the other reporter noted. “I didn’t think I could make that one and still get here for this one and then make my deadline by noon. So, anything interesting?”
Hornby smiled. He knew he was being pumped for news by a competitor. Some reporters really took a hard line on that sort of thing, and many of them would ignore that kind of ploy and walk away; others, even more direct, would tell another reporter to “buzz off.”
But Jack Hornby had worked out his own approach over the years. Being a veteran reporter and having won a Pulitzer Prize had given him a certain leeway that others didn’t have. He didn’t mind tossing a few bones to the competition. He believed in freedom of the press—and maybe that meant letting the other guys know what was going on. In the end, though, Hornby had his own line in the sand, where his cooperation with other reporters ended and his own personal drive for the story took over.
“Those guys are the right-wing conservatives,” Hornby explained. “These guys at the Press Club, on the other hand, are the moderate-to-liberal mainliners,” Hornby noted. “Same lineup as usual this morning. The conservatives were suggesting a couple of possible explanations for the 7QA fragment. How it really doesn’t conflict with a bodily resurrection of Christ. Some of them still had doubts about its validity. I also heard that a couple of TV preachers are planning a big rally down in Atlanta over this.”
Then the other reporter opened the door for Hornby, and as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he followed up this thought, squinting a little in the noonday sun.
“Jack, I think a lot more people are going to end up trusting this 7QA thing than the Bible. I think as time goes on, even a lot of churchgoing people are going to start thinking that, hey, you don’t bow down and worship Jesus if you know that he’s really still dead and his body is out there in a grave somewhere. The more I’m thinking about this, the more I believe we may have a real religious revolution in the making.”
Hornby was silent, but he was eyeing the other reporter intently.
“Right?” the reporter asked.
But Hornby just kept looking at him, tight-lipped. The other reporter smiled. He knew he was getting close to Hornby’s line in the sand.
“Maybe,” Hornby finally replied. “Maybe not. One thing I’ve learned in this business—things are not always as they seem.”
“So what’s your take on this lawsuit by Reichstad?” the reporter asked as he flagged down a cab.
“You take this cab, I’ll catch the next one,” Hornby shouted out as he walked in the opposite direction. The other reporter had just crossed the line.
As Hornby walked away he paged through his small notebook, looking for the telephone number of attorney Will Chambers. Earlier that day he had checked the court file in Reichstad vs. MacCameron and Digging for Truth Magazine. Chamber’s Notice of Retainer had just been filed.
The reporter hadn’t talked to Will Chambers for a couple of years. The last contact was over a story that Hornby had written about one of Will’s cases. Will had sued a federal agency for retaliating against his client, a low-level federal employee who had become a whistleblower over some illegal practices in the agency. Since that story had broken, the attorney had fallen off the reporter’s radar screen.
Hornby pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started dialing Will’s office. He was getting close to his deadline for getting the Reichstad lawsuit story in the next morning’s paper, but so far he had been running into a brick wall. J-Fox Sherman, who was usually more than happy to talk to the press, had not returned any of his phone calls.
The veteran reporter figured he could coax some lively quotes out of Will. With that, and with his background investigation on the lawsuit, his editor would certainly run the story. It had all of the elements of a great feature: a controversial religious issue, defamation of the professional reputation of a renowned scientist, and an interesting match-up of lawyers.
But earlier, when he had stopped at the U.S. District Courthouse just off Constitution Avenue and reviewed the file in the clerk’s office, he had found the defining reason why the lawsuit ought to make great copy. The case had been assigned to be tried before the brilliant and controversial jurist Judge Jeremiah Kaye.
Kaye was the judge who had banned prayer at the meetings of the D.C. school board. Yet he was also the judge who had ruled in favor of the right of a Christian rescue mission to violate zoning laws by running a soup kitchen and “salvation chapel.” Unpredictable and always interesting, Judge Kaye never backed down from tough decisions. In one case he had ordered the President of the United States to obey a subpoena from Congress. In his order, Judge Kaye had given the President forty-eight hours to comply, and had indicated that he was prepared to send U.S. Marshals to the White House to enforce the order if necessary.
Hornby walked down the sidewalk with his cell phone to his ear. As he waited for someone to pick up the phone at Chambers’ office, he felt certain that this case was as newsworthy as any story he had ever covered.
Betty answered the phone and transferred the call to Will. In his typical blunt style Hornby zeroed in on the issues of the case. He said he wanted to do a feature—possibly the first part of an ongoing series on the lawsuit as it progressed. So, what did Will think of the allegations against Reverend MacCameron?
Will gave him a few well-scripted comments. As Hornby walked past the statue of Blackstone, the famed English jurist, that stood guard over the front of the federal courthouse, he furiously scribbled down Will’s comments on his notepad.
“Thanks, Will,” Jack said at the end of the conversation. “Look for it in tomorrow’s Herald.” Then Hornby circled the quote from Will that he planned on using at the conclusion of the piece:
Our Constitution protects the right of free speech because that is how we can ensure that our nation will remain free. But in this case the stakes are even higher. If my client was correct in what he wrote, and it is our contention that he was—then truth itself is on trial.
Hornby hailed a cab and started back to the paper. He decided to call his editor, and told him that he would be able to put the final touches on this story within the hour.
Hornby kept his word, turning the piece in with five minutes to spare. But by late afternoon the reporter had heard nothing. He sauntered over to the city editor’s office. The door was closed, so he grabbed a cup of coffee and waited outside in the hallway. After a few minutes the door swung open.
The managing editor stepped out of the office, giving Hornby a less than polite nod as he walked past him and disappeared up the stairs.
When Hornby walked into the room the city editor did not look surprised.
“Jack, sorry, we’ve decided not to run your piece,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Why?” the reporter asked, bewildered.
“Space. Several late-breaking things came in and bumped your story out.”
“Like what? You mean like someone gets bit by the presidential poodle? I noticed that the story about the White House dog is going to be on page one. Is that the kind of really important late-breaking news you’re talking about? What’s going on here?”
“Settle down, Jack. You always take this stuff so personally. Look, all you’ve got is a lawsuit—sure, some interesting stuff may eventually come out. But lawsuits get filed every day in this city. Let’s give it time. See if it grows some legs.”
“Lawsuits get filed,” Jack bulleted back, “but not like this one. You know that. Come on, tell me what the bottom line is here.”
“Bottom line? Here it is,” the city editor shot back, “Your story got dumped by the managing editor. Go talk to him.”
“I will,” Hornby snapped as he strode out of the office. And as he walked away he shouted, “I’ll be back.”
“I’m always open to a good story,” the city editor yelled.
“Sure,” Hornby muttered to himself as he charged up the stairs to the managing editor’s office, “as long as it’s got the President’s poodle in it.”
The city editor immediately punched the extension number for the managing editor, and in a few seconds was warning him that Jack Hornby was on his way up.
“He’s coming to pressure you about that Reichstad libel lawsuit story.”
“What did you tell him?” the managing editor asked.
“That we got crunched for space—late-breaking news—he didn’t buy it. But then, what else could I tell him?”
“Keep Hornby out of this,” the managing editor said. “I’m getting some real clear signals from the publisher himself on this one. This story is considered not newsworthy.”
“And since when does the publisher tell the journalists what is, or is not, newsworthy?” the city editor asked, slightly irritated.
“You sound like a rookie when you talk like that,” the managing editor growled. “Get with the program. There will be no story on this lawsuit until I say so—and only if I say so. Meanwhile, if Hornby gives you any more problems, try this—tell him this is a religion story—and we’ve got religion reporters that will cover the story, if it needs covering. His beat is not religion.”
“Sure,” the city editor sighed, “I’m sure a Pulitzer-winning reporter like Jack Hornby is going to swallow that.”
“Then let me make it crystal-clear,” the voice on the other end of the telephone said. “This story on the Reichstad lawsuit is dead. And buried. Now, you just make sure it doesn’t miraculously rise up and walk out of the tomb on the third day, all right?” Before the city editor could respond, his superior had hung up on him.
The city editor cleaned up a few things on his desk. As he grabbed his coat to leave early for the day he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He knew it was Hornby—the footsteps were heavy and they were coming fast.
As he braced for Hornby to blow into his office again, he said to himself out loud, “This is not going to be pretty.”