The Congress...desirous... to have people of all ranks and degrees duly impressed with a solemn sense of God’s superintending providence, and of their duty, devoutly to rely...on his aid and direction...Do earnestly recommend...a day of humiliation, fasting, and prayer; that we may, with united hearts, confess and bewail our manifold sins and transgressions, and, by a sincere repentance and amendment of life...and through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, obtain his pardon and forgiveness.
CONTINENTAL CONGRESS
MAY 16, 1776
Tuesday, July 2
Six Weeks Later
ATLANTA—As Rebecca drove to work that morning she thought about the billboards along the interstate and the banners on cheap hotels (and on one or two pricey ones) that had been erected since the Supreme Court had ruled in early June that states and cities could regulate prostitution but not prohibit it. The justices had decided in a six to three opinion that prostitution was simply a personal service business and the state could not deny the rights of those who wanted to participate in this occupation. Almost overnight there was wholesale advertising, and just this week she’d seen the first television spot on the six o’clock news extolling the virtues of a particular brothel.
Some in the media had asked whether this ruling was a delayed but pointed reaction to the president’s verbal attack on the Court in his State of the Union address.
But all of the justices retained their customary reticence. The ruling cited a long list of recent precedents in which actions previously considered unlawful by way of prohibition in the Bible were ruled now to be quite appropriate. The Court went out of its way to state that from this point on it would look with displeasure on any law whose only foundation was its biblical precedent. “We have moved beyond ancient texts as our tools for deciding what is right and wrong between consenting adults, when there is no victim,” the justices in their wisdom had proclaimed.
No victim? Rebecca thought again as she rode the hospital elevator to her floor. What about the girls lured into lives of degradation, violence, and disease by the promise of quick money? What about boys for whom sex is just another trip, like going to the grocery store for food? What about families, torn apart by a husband’s infidelity? What about AIDS? Drugs? Where are the ultra-feminists on this one? I hope at least some of those women and their friends are on their knees, searching for answers this morning, while I have to deal with the pregnancy and the disease they’ve helped to create by their “rationality.”
Rebecca had to smile to herself as she prepared for her first patient. It’s amazing. I would never have been thinking like this a year ago. I guess brother William has had more of an effect on me than I sometimes realize.
She checked at the central nurses’ station on her floor and then looked down the list of women who were already signed in that morning. Eunice Porter and Sally Kramer. Here they are again. I meant to check on their records. And there are all those other women who keep showing up pregnant and then just disappearing.
She walked down the hall, stopped at Room 317, opened the door and smiled. “Hello Eunice. How are you this morning?”
“Fine,” she said, but looked away.
“Let’s see. You’re about five months now. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Fine.”
Rebecca was present while the doctor examined Eunice. Afterward, as Rebecca was about to leave the room, her curiosity led her to ask, “Eunice, it’s probably none of my business, but I’m sort of curious. Haven’t you and Ms. Kramer gotten pregnant now twice together? And didn’t both of you have almost full-term abortions? Is that by coincidence?”
Eunice looked down. “I guess so. And I don’t guess it’s any of your business anyway.” She got off the examining table and walked into the curtained-off dressing area.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Rebecca said, standing outside the curtain. “It’s just that I’m in the business of healing and protecting life, not ending it. I assume you won’t be aborting this one.”
“We’ll see,” was the noncommittal response.
“What? It’s against the law again to abort a baby as far along as yours. Why are you even thinking that?”
“Uh. I’m not. I didn’t understand. I know about that law.
“Rebecca was silent. When Eunice came out of the dressing area, Rebecca felt led to say, “If I can arrange it, right now, would you like to see the baby— maybe even tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“How?” Eunice buttoned the last button on her maternity top.
“With ultrasound. Come on, I bet we can squeeze you in, and I’ll be there with you. It doesn’t hurt at all, and I think you’ll see things you never believed possible.”
Eunice was hesitant, but Rebecca’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Well, okay, I guess so, if you think it’ll be okay.”
“Sure. Come on with me, and we’ll set it up.”
Rebecca took Eunice gently by the arm and led her down the hall. Forty-five minutes later, Eunice, with Rebecca holding her hand, had seen the little boy inside her womb. And for the first time in five months she found herself calling him a baby, not a fetus.
RALEIGH—Sarah walked into the Prescotts’ breakfast room late that morning and sliced two bagels in half. She and Katherine, who was visiting again that summer, had worked the evening shift at the sandwich shop the night before.
“Mom, we heard last night that Denise Farris is pregnant.”
Mary looked up from writing her Fourth of July dinner grocery list. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. Can we talk to her about adoption?”
“I think she’s probably going to consider it. I haven’t talked to her personally yet. Maybe Katherine and I can go see her this afternoon. But I guess this will cut into her starting at Yale this fall!”
“Probably. But hopefully she could get a deferral.”
“I hope so.”
“Sarah, isn’t this, what, eight girls in your class who we know are pregnant?”
“Uh, let’s see...yes, eight.”
“What a shame.”
“Mom, I know that but for the grace of God there go I...”
“Yes, sweetheart. I thank him every day and pray for those who haven’t been so blessed.”
Katherine came into the kitchen, still looking a little bleary from sleep. “Hi. Were you talking about Denise?”
Sarah answered, “Yes. Mom, when is that hearing on the computer grant? Will I get to speak before we start at UNC?”
“They’re apparently still gathering applications for the grants, but BioTeam is bringing pressure through our local congressman to be heard quickly. I think there’s going to be a regional competition in August and then perhaps a final national interview this fall.”
“Can you have the data ready on your senior class by August?” Katherine asked.
“Yes,” Sarah answered. “It’s not too scientific, I guess, but it’s real. Not everyone would answer the questions, of course, but I’m sure most of the pregnant girls will testify, at least at the regional level.”
Katherine spread strawberry preserves on her bagel. “I hope that’s as far as BioTeam goes, from what you’ve told me.”
“Don’t count on it,” Mary answered.
NORFOLK—The executive officer and department heads had assembled in the wardroom that morning at eleven, and a few minutes later they rose to their feet as Captain Robertson escorted Rear Admiral Robert Waldrin in to start their meeting.
“Please be seated,” the admiral said and took his place at the head of the wardroom table, the captain and executive officer on each side of him.
“I’ll get right to the point. You of course know that a committee from the navy’s Human Rights Commission has been here for a week investigating all aspects of the experiment in which you have participated for over a year, particularly the events that were tragic or unusual, such as the death of a female petty officer and a live sex show viewed by junior officers. You also know that some have questioned the circumstances of those events and even suggested that the officers and chiefs on the Fortson are either incompetent or bigoted or both.
“As I’ve just briefed Captain Robertson, you’ll be pleased to know that the committee, after extensive interviews with individuals from every group and minority on the ship, has tentatively ruled that these events were either accidents or isolated incidents and that there is no reason for any action or reprimands. In fact, in most cases the leadership on the ship appears to be all that could be expected under these sometimes difficult circumstances. After seeing the progress made on the Fortson, the commission approved six more ships for this manning configuration in January, even before the final report is in, and many of you will have the opportunity to transfer to those ships, if you want.
“I used the word tentative because the one recommendation we will be implementing is for the Human Rights Commission to study the situation on board firsthand for an additional six months. For that reason, normal transfers and rotation of personnel will be frozen until the end of the year, so that the same individuals can continue to interact; and two members of the commission will be assigned to the ship for that same period. The Fortson will be assigned to various training exercises along the East Coast, then enter the shipyard at the end of the year to begin the decommissioning process. I guess she’s finally going to retire after many exemplary years of service to her country. That’s it, and I appreciate the time many of you put into helping the committee with its work. Are there any questions?”
There was silence among the officers. Hugh Harrison, knowing he should keep quiet, nevertheless could not help asking what he assumed many of them were thinking. “Sir, will these two commission members also be members of the ‘mind police,’ taking notes on how we react to situations and what we think?”
Out of the corner of his eye Hugh could see Thomas Dobbs take a deep breath and fold his arms across his chest. Admiral Waldrin looked at Hugh for a long moment before answering. “Even if I sympathized with your question and allowed for its partial validity, I prefer to think that these persons will be on board to learn from the great work you’ve been doing. Isn’t that better?”
Hugh knew he had been skillfully rebuffed and that this was no time or place to pick a fight with the admiral. He simply answered, “Yes, sir.”
“We obviously appreciate the hard work and assistance of the admiral and his staff in this effort,” the captain said. “Admiral Waldrin, all the officers and crew on the Fortson will continue to give this situation our best efforts, and hopefully we’ll have a final report for all concerned with this experiment by the end of the year.”
The admiral nodded, rose, and departed with the captain. The meeting was over.
WASHINGTON—The next day the president finished a round of speeches in the Midwest supporting the local congressional candidates who embraced a biblical view of life. He spent a full day with Senator John Dempsey. His plane returned to Washington that evening, and he arrived back at the White House about ten. An hour later he and Carrie were in bed together, and he was trying to read from his notebook of documents written by the Founding Fathers. However, he was having trouble concentrating.
He put his notebook on the bedside table and turned to Carrie. “I’m looking forward to reading the Declaration of Independence aloud at the Fourth of July celebration tomorrow, but I’m concerned how the nation will accept our proclamation on making it the first national Day of Fasting and Prayer in a century. The polls show we’re still stuck—some improvement, but only about thirty percent will vote with us in November. Almost fifty percent are still undecided or leaning against us. We have no idea what they’ll think about fasting and praying.”
Carrie smiled. “To quote a president I know, ‘It doesn’t matter what others do; it only matters that we seek God’s will and follow it.’”
William sighed. “You’re right, as usual. I just hope that some communities actually do as we’ve suggested and use the Fourth to pray and fast, delaying their festivities until the evening.”
“Now, William, you already know that tens of thousands of them are doing just that, and the networks have even begrudgingly had to report it. So listen to your own advice and trust God.”
He smiled, leaned over, and kissed her. “I’m sorry. Thank God for you, Carrie.”
She set down her book and put her arms around him. “You do need to study the Declaration some more, I know. But I bet the founding fathers didn’t just write all the time. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been any founding mothers or founding children!”
“I see...more valid historical commentary! Are you suggesting that this president needs to tend to the home fires a bit more?”
“Something like that,” she said, pulling him closer. “It’s good for your constitution.”
In May William had issued the official proclamation that this year’s Fourth of July would be the first Day of Fasting and Prayer in decades. Many people and communities ignored it, either from principle or claiming that their plans had already been made. But many organizations, cities, towns, and individuals decided to heed the president’s call. Those included quite a few who said they were still undecided about November but understood the need for a change in the nation and were willing to try prayer and fasting. So most of the holiday’s cookouts and celebrations were moved to the evening, and churches were open across the land for people to pray.
The main event of the day was to be a national hour of submission and prayer scheduled for noon. A platform had been constructed near the base of the Washington Monument. The president planned to walk over from the White House about eleven-thirty and at midday read aloud the Declaration of Independence, originally proclaimed on July 4, 1776. There would then follow several prayers from the platform, but all the Washington-based events were to be concluded by twelve-thirty at the latest, because the emphasis was on the united prayer at similar gatherings at courthouses and state capitols across the nation, where after a brief local word or two, men and women of faith were to pray silently, interceding for the country and the country’s leaders.
The networks were planning to cover the events in Washington just as they had covered the opposition’s march at Easter, but network personnel were wondering what they would do during thirty or more minutes of silent prayer. It wouldn’t appear to make a very interesting visual. Ryan, who had again flown down to Washington, Leslie, and their directors at U.S. Network had decided simply to show the silent prayers from Washington and the fifteen other cities and towns from which they expected local feeds, believing that the sheer boredom would turn viewers to other programs, yet fulfilling their responsibility for “equal time.”
Since there was no parade planned and no speeches other than the president’s reading and a few prayers, Ryan would anchor the broadcast in their Washington studio, and Leslie would report from near the Washington Monument atop one of their mobile units, which had been outfitted with a platform for just such events. She was in position by ten-thirty and chatted with Ryan on their internal intercom about their plans for the afternoon. Across the nation that morning special services were held in tens of thousands of churches and synagogues. The emphasis in each was on prayer, intercessory prayer for the nation. Most congregations had made a point to reach out and to invite, by going door to door, everyone in the neighborhoods around them. And because the president himself had proclaimed this to be a national day of fasting and prayer, many people responded who normally would not have attended a church.
At a church in Nashville, veterans were invited to stand and to pray out loud. At a church in Boise, the members read from the pulpit the Articles of Confederation and prayed between each reading. In many older churches research was done and prayers that had been offered for the nation in those very churches in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were prayed again.
All across the land, people who had been called by God’s name repented, asked his forgiveness for turning from his ways, and humbly asked for renewal and revival, one heart at a time, as the nation considered its course in November. Though the prayers were many and deeply sincere, the numbers of those praying were still a distinct minority of the nation. But no one was counting that day.
Though these services were carried by many local television stations, the national networks ignored them, concentrating on Washington. The U.S. Network’s van had threaded its way through a huge number of people early that morning, many of whom had camped or arrived before dawn, to take its assigned place near the Washington Monument. Leslie stood next to their large van parked in the bright sunlight near the monument and talked with her crew. She was aware that a great number of people were now walking toward their position from all sides of the Mall. There was no parade or demonstration. The coordinating committee had simply asked all those who could to assemble near the monument, and those who lived too far away were asked to do the same at their state capitols and county courthouses.
By eleven-thirty the Mall was completely full of people standing quietly; Leslie could see that some were already praying, many kneeling in the grass. She climbed up to their platform and looked out across the scene. She was astounded to see that the numbers spilled back all the way to the Capitol and to the Lincoln Memorial and that there were even people standing in every side street leading to the Mall. Without anyone telling her, Leslie knew that this was the largest number of people ever assembled in Washington for a single event. She was stunned; and she was amazed by how quiet the huge crowd was. It was simply eerie, and she felt a chill. The word “reverent” came to her mind.
Twenty minutes before noon the president appeared, walking through the crowd with a contingent of Secret Service personnel toward the podium on the platform erected for this event. As he reached the monument, the U.S. Network’s coverage began, and Ryan Denning led from their studio, showing the crowd in Washington from a blimp overhead. They then cut to similar gatherings at state capitols in Providence, Columbus, Atlanta, Austin, Helena, and Sacramento. He was impressed by the numbers but reported the gatherings in a dry manner, as if he were reading from an encyclopedia on state capitals.
For Leslie, in the midst of so many people, it was impossible to remain aloof. When Ryan cut to her, he was not prepared for the excitement and enthusiasm in her voice.
“Ryan, it’s hard to describe the scene here,” she began. The camera panned around from her position, showing the hundreds of thousands of people all around them. “I’m here in the middle of what must be the largest crowd ever assembled in this city, yet I’m almost having to whisper, it’s so quiet! People are already praying silently”—the camera focused in on several groups kneeling around their position—“and I guess I’ve never felt anything like this before, to be honest.”
“Felt?” Ryan asked from the studio, “What do you mean?”
“Yes. It’s difficult to explain, Ryan, but there’s a feeling here, a...a power, almost. I’ve never been in the midst of a million people quietly praying, and to tell you the truth, I can definitely feel something stirring.”
The camera cut back to the studio and Ryan smiled on camera, “Thanks for the report, Leslie. We’ll switch live to Sacramento after this commercial break.”
Once they were temporarily off the air, Ryan spoke to Leslie through her earpiece. “Leslie, what’s the matter with you? You were supposed to find some wildly praying crazies—even the ones who talked about crucifying themselves during this hour. You sound like you want to join them!”
“I’m sorry, Ryan. The crazies aren’t here, or at least we don’t see them. There are just a lot of seemingly nice people standing, kneeling, and praying. Some around us are crying, and the president hasn’t even read anything yet. I really can’t describe it, but there’s a powerful feeling here.”
“Well, try to keep your enthusiasm under control. Remember, that’s William Harrison up there—the man who thinks that women ought to be barefoot and pregnant and that abortion is a sin!”
“Okay. You’re right. Thanks.”
Right at noon William made his way to the microphone at the podium. “Thank you all for coming today, this anniversary of our Declaration of Independence from England and of our Declaration of Dependence on God. We’re here for one single task, to intercede in prayer for our nation and for our nation’s leaders at every level, from local communities to state capitals to Washington. This is not a time for speeches, but for prayer. So I now want to read the document our forefathers wrote as the result of daily prayer in Philadelphia over two hundred years ago. It’s our prayer today that these truths will be reborn in our nation—that men will say decades from now that this generation turned back to the Lord.”
William began to read, “‘When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people...”’
Leslie was watching him on their monitor, which provided a close-up picture, but her eye was drawn to the west over the Lincoln Memorial, where from nowhere there appeared a speck of a dark storm cloud in the otherwise brilliant blue sky.
“‘The separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitles them...”’
Leslie focused back on the president.
“‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights...”’
Leslie was drawn back to the dark cloud, which in just a few moments had grown tremendously and now covered at least a third of the sky, though the sun still beat down brilliantly. Nevertheless, she could see others in the crowd around her turning to look at the dark mass that seemed to grow more menacing with each minute.
The president read on, and as he did so the cloud blocked out the sun. The wind began to pick up. He held his papers tightly and glanced up at one point, but despite the wind he read on, his voice seeming to grow stronger.
To Leslie and the more than one million people gathered around the president, it was obvious that a dangerous storm was approaching. As William began the last paragraph, the first crack of lightning flashed between the clouds, and the resulting thunder drowned him out for a moment. Leslie realized that there was no protection for all these people and that there was nowhere they could go. She feared a stampede as the wind picked up even more, and again a burst of nearby lightning lit the almost black sky. But no one in the crowd moved.
“And for support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.’” William concluded the reading and then continued, almost yelling over the roar of the wind, “Friends, we have nowhere we can go. We’re here. We came here to pray. Whatever now happens, we’ve got to trust in God and pray for his protection of us and of our nation. Please, pray with me.”
Leslie was astounded. As the flags around the monument almost came off their poles in the wind and she had to grasp the rail atop the van to keep from falling over, more than a million people calmly went to their knees, many with outstretched hands, and listened as the president began to pray.
“Dear heavenly Father, the creator of everyone and everything, we come before you today to affirm that you are the true founder of this nation, that it is your will we should seek, your laws we should uphold. We repent and—”
There was a tremendous lightning strike at the top of the Washington Monument, and instantly a clap of thunder so loud that Leslie ducked and screamed involuntarily. Then the rain burst in driving torrents, pushed almost horizontal by the wind.
The power went out on the podium and in the van. The sky was so dark that it seemed like night. A million people were instantly soaking wet, trapped outside in a lightning storm like no one had ever seen.
As she clutched the rail, Leslie found herself falling to her knees because she couldn’t stand up. Her cameraman was lying on the roof next to her, trying to protect his camera.
Again a lightning bolt hit close by, setting a tree on fire, and then the hail came. Leslie screamed as the hail pummeled her body. She bowed her head and turned her back, but the hail wouldn’t stop. She began to cry. She felt the vibration that meant the men in the van had started their portable generator. She cried out, “O God, please help us.” Not even the cameraman next to her could hear her plea in the roar of the wind and the hail. But her cry came through to millions of households across the nation as the returning power allowed her to be seen in the lens of the downed camera, just as she sobbed her prayer.
Ryan was appalled at the only scene they had—Leslie drenched, kneeling, covering her head, and crying. Then power somehow was restored to the pool camera opposite the podium, and they had a picture of the president and the others on the platform, kneeling and praying in the rain and the hail.
Unbelievable, Ryan thought. As if in answer to his thought, the technician on the pool camera managed to swing his camera around, and there for the whole nation to see in the rain and the dark and the hail and the lightning were a million or more people, kneeling together on the Mall. No one was running; no one was even moving. They were all praying.
From the safety of their downtown studio, Ryan said over the pictures, “Ladies and gentlemen, obviously we’re all hoping that the president and the others gathered on the Mall will be protected. We’ll come back to Washington in a moment, but now let’s quickly move to Providence and John Sherry.”
The scene shifted to the area around the courthouse at the Rhode Island capital, which was filled with people on their knees, praying in silence under a bright blue sky with a strong wind blowing. “Yes, Ryan, we’re here in Providence,” anchorman John Sherry came on live, “where, out of an otherwise beautiful sky, a very strong wind just began to blow. But, as you can see, the gusts have not diminished the fervor of the people gathered here today. They listened to the president read the Declaration of Independence, then the governor prayed and invited everyone to, in his words, ‘seek God’s face for our nation.’”
“Thanks, John, now let’s check in on Chuck Shields in Austin.”
“Hi, Ryan,” the anchorman answered from just inside the edge of a tarp which was shaking wildly. “The crowd here in Austin is tremendous, and they’re silently praying now. Some were standing a moment ago, but they’re all on their knees now. A strong wind began blowing just as the governor finished his prayer. It was eerie, Ryan. It’s been raining all morning, but in just the last few minutes the clouds have disappeared and this wind has begun blowing.”
Ryan went on for brief reports from Atlanta and Sacramento, where he was surprised to find throngs of people praying, clear skies, and a strong wind. But not the menacing wind of the storm raging in Washington, which they were still monitoring during their reports from around the nation. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer and during a commercial break asked the director to check. The answer came back: there were brilliant blue skies and a strong wind in every one of the fifteen capitals and county seats they were monitoring, and in every case the skies had cleared and the wind had started just after noon. And in every case the people were still there, praying.
Ryan couldn’t believe it but decided that they would say nothing about it—coincidences did happen. More importantly, he needed to check with Leslie. The hail appeared to have stopped, but it was still dark and raining. While a report came in from Boise, Ryan spoke to Leslie over the intercom. With the noise now reduced, Leslie could hear Ryan in her earpiece, though she didn’t realize that the camera was trained on her. The picture could be seen in the studio, but it was not then being broadcast.
“Yes...yes...Ryan, I’m here.”
“We’ve got two cameras working. One’s up there on you, and the other is somehow up and running on the president. Whoever’s manning that one ought to get a medal.”
“On me?” They could see her look around, still shielding her face from the rain, until she saw the camera on the roof, her cameraman still trying to protect it. “Oh. Ryan, you wouldn’t believe what’s happened.” She struggled to stand up. As she did, she looked out from the van for the first time since she fell and gasped, “Ryan, I can see at least two trees smoldering, and I don’t know if anyone’s been hurt. But, Ryan, these people are all still here, and they’re still praying!” She started to cry again. “It was so awful, I—”
“Leslie, get a hold of yourself,” Ryan said over the intercom. “Wipe your face as best you can and stop crying. We’ve got to come back to you there in Washington in just a minute, or people will start to worry. Now everything’s all right—you’ll be fine. We’ve got a team checking on damage, and once the wind dies down we’ll get the blimp back in position. Just give us a positive, heads-up report, will you? You’ll be a hero.”
“Yes, yes. I will,” she replied into her microphone. As the rain slackened, her cameraman stood up again and put the camera on his shoulder. Leslie wiped her face and looked out. People were standing in the wet grass and in the mud, lifting their hands, and smiling while they prayed!
“We’re going back now to Leslie Sloane in Washington,” Ryan voiced over a picture of the president still praying on his knees. “Leslie, that was some storm. Are you all right?”
The cameraman on the van focused on a very wet Leslie Sloane on top of the van, the presidential platform behind her. “Yes, Ryan, we’re all fine here, though I’m not sure about other spots on the Mall. Ryan, you won’t believe how this storm came up; I hope we’ve got it on tape. I felt it coming, just like I felt these people praying. Ryan, I don’t know anything about spiritual warfare—that’s what the president’s sister called it in our interview with her—but I feel like either this storm was one of the century’s greatest coincidences, or we’ve just lived through a real spiritual battle.”
“Great, Leslie. We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll check with you again in a little while, but right now we’ve got a live update on the Independence Day Golf Classic.”
In towns and cities across the nation, believers and others drawn by concern for America’s future knelt in prayer through much of that afternoon. And in many churches, July Fourth was the kick-off day for their congregations to pray around the clock, seven days a week, until the elections scheduled for Tuesday, November 5.