The Presence

by T. Davis Bunn

It was packed. There was no other word for it. Every seat was taken, and people lined the dual stairways, sitting so close together that he had to carefully pick his way down.

  Bella was there at the podium. “Have I got a surprise for you.”

  “Good morning, Bella.” He smiled at the excitement in her eyes, wished there was some way to tell her of the change he had witnessed in her. Go look in the mirror, he wanted to say. See the miraculous power of your Lord.

  “You notice the two guys with hearing aids and bulges under their coats when you came in? Guess who they’re here for.” She glanced up behind him, said, “Uh oh. Too late. Here they come.”

  TJ turned, glanced up, felt himself freeze. One of the men with the earpiece was clearing a way down the stairs. Behind him walked the President and his wife.

  People began turning, saw who it was, and raggedly the room came to its feet. A silent hush fell upon all who were there. Two people in the first row hastily moved out of the way and offered up their seats. It was the only time the President looked up, the only time he smiled.

  While everyone was sitting down, TJ knew the Lord was with him, and his stomach began to relax. It was hard not to criticize himself for doubting, for being so afraid, for wishing he were elsewhere. The Spirit filled him with His gentle grace, and he realized a comforting sense of forgiveness for his own earthly concerns.

  He opened his Bible, allowing the Spirit to direct him to the passages. He felt the Holy Spirit’s presence grow until it seemed as though he were lit up like a mighty beacon. He wished the room a good morning, said, “Our first reading this morning comes from the thirty-fourth chapter of Ezekiel, taken from verses two through ten. Because this is so long, I am going to select certain segments. I would therefore ask that you all just listen to me this morning, then read the entire section later at your leisure.

  “‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Woe to the shepherds of Israel who only take care of themselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals.

  “‘Therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the Lord: As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, because my flock lacks a shepherd and so has been plundered and has become food for all the wild animals, and because my shepherds did not search for my flock but cared for themselves rather than for my flock, therefore, O shepherds, hear the word of the Lord. I am against the shepherds and will hold them accountable for my flock.’”

  TJ turned the pages, understanding perfectly what was to be said, and why. “For each of us there is a position here on earth, a responsibility that the Lord in His wisdom has given us. What we do with this service, how we love our fellowman and serve our Lord, will determine our reward in the hereafter.”

  He looked down, said, “The second reading comes from the sixteenth chapter of Luke, verses ten through twelve:

  “‘Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches? And if you have not been trustworthy with someone else’s property, who will give you property of your own?’”

  “It is so very important,” TJ went on, “for us to recognize that all talents, all positions, all wealth, all fame—all are gifts from our Lord. We have been entrusted with them so that we might learn the lessons inherent in all such things—honesty, neighborly love, trust in our Lord’s guidance, concern for that which is not of this world.”

  He bent his head once again, said, “Our final reading comes from the second chapter of Colossians, verses six through nine:

  “So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.

  “See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ. For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and you have been given fullness in Christ, who is head over every power and authority.”

  “It is so glorious to serve the Lord,” he said, wishing words weren’t so limiting in sharing with them that which filled his being. “It is so absolutely wonderful. The gift of His presence makes all things complete. Nothing of this world can compare. We spend our lives running from desire to desire, ambition to ambition, forever fleeing from that inner emptiness, the aching void that we are terrified of facing and admitting that it really is there. We carry the emptiness with us, ever seeking to fill it with the trinkets of this world, and never knowing peace.

  “Why? Because the peace can come to us in only one way. Faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. That is the only way. There is no alternative. In accepting Him as our Lord and Savior, we open our hearts to His glorious love. His eternal light fills the emptiness, and our hunger is stilled. And we see that there is no other way to be filled except through Him.”

  TJ bowed his head, said, “Let us pray.

  “Oh, Lord, Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day. We thank you for your glorious gift of service, this means by which we add depth and value to our lives. We give, and in giving, we receive.

  “Help us, O Father, to understand through experience what it means to have you lead our lives. Fill us with your presence, Lord. Fill us with your Spirit.”

  There was a sensation of reaching out, as though all were drawn together in the presence of the Lord. TJ stopped, so full of the love that swept out across the room that he could not speak. In that flood of divine love, he sensed a oneness with all who prayed with him.

  “All who believe are one, part of the body of Christ. Help us to lay our fears and our barriers at your feet, and to recognize this oneness for ourselves. Oneness with each other, oneness with you. Saved for all eternity by the grace of your Son, Jesus Christ, in whose name we pray. Amen.”

  When all had lifted their eyes and sat in the silence that had become the usual ending for these sessions, TJ quoted the final passage of Jude from memory:

  “To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.”

  ****

  Congressman John Silverwood entered the hotel suite, and flinched as Senator Erskins came swooping down upon him.

  “Hey, it’s our man of the hour!” He clapped Silverwood on the back, led him into the room. “Yessir, the man came through for us, just like I said he would.”

  Mr. Shermann eased himself to his feet, walked over, offered Silverwood his feather-light hand. “You have done us all a very great service, Congressman. I am in your debt.”

  “You hear that?” Senator Erskins’ own hand seemed to weigh a ton as it rested on his shoulder. “Washington’s senior power broker is in your debt. Son, you don’t know how many people wish all their lives they could stand in your shoes.”

  “Your speech at the hearing was excellent, Congressman.” Mr. Shermann indicated the trolley. “Would you care for a victory drink?”

  “The man drinks Scotch on the rocks, water on the side.” Senator Erskins was positively beaming. “Yessir, we all sat right here and watched it live. I tell you, son, I couldn’t have done it better myself. Hey, Ted?”

  Ted Robinson did not rise from his seat. He gave Silverwood a grim look, said, “No, it was exactly what you wanted.”

  “What we wanted,” Senator Erskins corrected. “Aw, don’t mind Ted, son. He’s had a tough week, flying up here twice and keeping the home fires burning over the telephone. C’m on, sit down right here, l
et me get you your drink.”

  “I spoke to our clients, Congressman,” Mr. Shermann said tonelessly. “They were delighted as well. They asked me to extend to you their heartfelt thanks, and to inform you that they would be backing your next campaign very heavily.”

  “In the strictest confidentiality, hey, Tony?” Senator Erskins walked over, set down the drink, said, “There you are, son, drink up.”

  “Oh my, yes,” Mr. Shermann replied. “They are true professionals at the art of confidentiality. You can count on their support in whatever way necessary, Congressman, but there will be no record of this assistance. None whatsoever.”

  “They know and we know and they know we know,” Senator Erskins said. “That’s all that counts.”

  Congressman Silverwood sat woodenly, sipping at a drink he did not taste, turning and looking at each of the people in turn, taking in nothing.

  It had been the hardest afternoon of his entire life. Nothing in memory could approach what he had just gone through. As he had sat and spoken into the microphone, saying those hated words that had cost him two totally sleepless nights, he had felt as though something inside had been torn apart.

  Afterwards, as he was sitting there trying to keep his expression from folding while the television cameras were still focused on him, he saw that only three of the committee members offered any criticism of his action. Most seemed anxious to absolve the Atlas Group of any possible wrongdoing. The motion to dismiss them from further questioning passed eleven votes to three.

  He had waited for the entire chamber to empty before leaving his seat. He had tried to scribble notes, to show that something urgent occupied his attention, but even the pretense was beyond him. He had sat and stared at the empty page, and felt as though blood were dripping from his forehead.

  Now he listened, maintaining the outer poise and nodding in time to the voices, but all he could truly hear was the emptiness rattling around inside him. It was a wound so deep he honestly doubted if it would ever heal.

  Mr. Shermann was saying, “I’m afraid the situation with this Mr. Case has not ended as we hoped. It seems that he has wormed his way so deeply into the White House power structure that even these severe breaches in confidence are going to be overlooked.”

  “Is Atlas still concerned about him?” Senator Erskins was suddenly very serious.

  “Not only Atlas, I’m afraid. It seems that he has aroused the concerns of many of my clients. Very powerful clients, I hasten to add.”

  “Well,” Senator Erskins paused to glance Silverwood’s direction. “Does this mean that some other action needs to be taken?”

  Silverwood felt himself shrivel inside. Not again, he said silently. I just can’t take any more. Please. Don’t ask me to do it. Whatever it is, let somebody else take over.

  “No,” Mr. Shermann replied, adjusting his glasses with a delicate touch. “I am pleased to say that this particular matter has been taken entirely out of our hands.”

  That surprised the senator. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Senator. The gentlemen concerned have decided not to take me into their confidence.” Mr. Shermann made a vague gesture, concluded, “In all frankness, perhaps it is better this way. Some things it is better just not to know, don’t you agree?”

  ****

  Catherine and TJ had drawn up their chairs close to the fireplace after dinner, and Jeremy was down on his knees using one of the old-fashioned corn poppers. He claimed it was the only way to eat real popcorn. When it was done, TJ tasted it, declared the man a genius. The only time he’d tried to do it, TJ said, he’d melted the pot. Yeah, well, we all got our little gifts, Jeremy replied, settling himself down. Ain’t that right?

  Catherine took a handful of popcorn, said, “You know what? I’d love to know what happened to those two poor fools, what were their names?”

  “Preacher Jones and Father Coughlin,” TJ said. “But be careful who you go calling a fool.”

  “Doggone straight,” Jeremy said. “Personally speakin’, I can look back over a long life of makin’ mistakes.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” Catherine chuckled. “I found myself telling the children the story yesterday. And now I want to hear how it ends.”

  Jeremy made an astonished face. “You been stealin’ my stories?”

  She reached over, patted his knee, said, “Just borrowing them, Jem. Just borrowing them for a while. Now why don’t you tell us what happened.”

  “Well, y’all know the Father’s just received his kinda original baptism, right? And old Preacher Jones, he’s still stuck in the hospital, just like Saint Peter said he’d be. So the next day, he wakes up from his nap and finds a round, fifty-year-old cherub in a monkey suit sitting beside his bed. He shakes his head clear, and realizes he’s looking at a Catholic priest.

  “The priest’s wearin’ one of those little red caps perched on top of his round head. He’s got on the dog collar, the vest with all those little cloth buttons, the watch chain with the gold cross bouncing on his belly, the rosary in his pudgy fingers, the works.

  “He gives Preacher Jones a little smile that pushes out his fat red cheeks and says, ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Jones. I do so hope you’re feelin’ better after your rest. My name is Archbishop Claven. I came down just as soon as I heard you wanted to speak to a man of the church.’

  “The reverend starts to jump all over the man. Then he remembers Saint Peter and bites down real hard on his tongue. He takes a coupla deep breaths, says in a real low trembly voice, ‘Wanna convert.’

  “The archbishop positively beams. He reaches into his pocket, brings out a little black notebook and one a’ those square silver pencils, and says out loud real slow as he writes, ‘Mister Jones wants to convert.’

  “‘And what, may I ask, is the reason for this desire to convert, Mr. Jones?’

  “He doesn’t say anything but, ‘Had a vision.’ Real short and sharp-like. Kinda eats up the words in embarrassment.

  “The archbishop opens his eyes real wide at the news. ‘A vision,’ he says, and smiles that little grin one more time. ‘Well, now, isn’t that nice. And just what kind of vision did you have, Mr. Jones?’

  “‘Oh, just your ordinary everyday vision,’ Preacher Jones replies, squirmin’ around a little at the memory.

  “So the little archbishop bends over his notebook once more, and speaks the words out as he writes, ‘Mister Jones had an ordinary vision.’

  “Now his sayin’ his vision was ordinary and havin’ somebody else call it ordinary are two very different balls of wax. Especially when that somebody is a total stranger you don’t care for in any particular fashion. So Preacher Jones finds himself gettin’ a little hot and bothered.

  “‘Just look here, now,’ he says, speaking loud for the first time. ‘Who do you plan on showin’ that stuff to you’re writing down there?’

  “‘Oh, Mr. Jones, we’re going to give this the widest publicity we possibly can.’ The archbishop does everything but jump up and down in his seat. ‘We’ll send it to Rome, and we’ll read it out in all the churches right across the nation, and we’ll tell all the little children about it down in Central America. Yessir, Mr. Jones, don’t you worry about this for a minute. This is wonderful news, how a Baptist minister has seen the light and decided to convert to the One True Church.’ You can tell that the archbishop kinda capitalizes those last three words in his mind as he speaks.

  “I’d like to tell you what Preacher Jones has to say about that, but I can’t. I just can’t. First of all, I’m not all that sure I can remember the exact order, on account of the preacher speakin’ kinda rapid-like. And second, it’d prob’bly give you third-degree burns on your ears. Lemme just say that old Preacher Jones sits up straight as an arrow and lets the archbishop have both barrels right square in the face. That poor fellow does a flip and a roll off the back of his chair, runs across the floor, and claws at the door before he finds the handle. It tak
es him a while to get the door open, see, on account of him not wantin’ to take his eyes off old Preacher Jones. Probably afraid if he does the man’s gonna jump outta bed and eat him, bones and all.

  “‘Course, now, soon as the archbishop’s gone and the reverend has his heartbeat down below two hundred, he’s awful sorry for what he’s done. These two tears trickle down his face, and he kinda pleads with the ceiling real hard. Just one more chance, he says, gimme one more chance, Peter, I’ll do better next time. Please. Only next time don’t make him so fat and full of hisself, okay?

  “You know, old Preacher Jones is so wore out by all that shoutin’ that he just falls asleep, skips dinner, and sleeps right through the night. The next mornin’ he wakes up, and dang if there’s not another priest waitin’ for him to open his eyes. This one’s different, though. Real different. Preacher Jones decides this is about the biggest man he’s seen in all his born days.

  “Yessir, that fellow sittin’ there waitin’ for him to wake up is about six feet nine, and musta weighed in at close on two hundred and seventy-five pounds. All of it solid muscle, too. Not a speck of fat on him. Built like an upside-down pyramid, with this jaw on him that’d been just right for Samson to take hold of and mow down the enemy. Big fellow. Real big. And he ain’t wearin’ no smile, neither.

  “‘Hear you gave the archbishop a right hard time yesterday,’ that big fellow says, and it sounds like a bear’s growlin’ deep down inside some cave.

  “Preacher Jones kinda scrambles upright and does that little yammer people make when they been shocked awake, you know, kinda, ‘Hamayamahamaha.’

  “‘My name’s Father Prentiss,’ that big fellow rumbles. ‘I’ve come down here to take Father Coughlin’s place.’ Then he leans real close to the bed, gives Preacher Jones a look that freezes the man up solid, and growls, ‘You can think of me as the clean-up squad.’

  “The father leans back, and you can hear that poor little hospital chair moan like its back is breakin’, which it probably is. ‘I just finished seminary last month,’ the man says. ‘Thought I was going down to South America to help in one of the new missions. Then I got this call to come down here. Didn’t have to think much about why.’