Hannah bit her lip, her heart heavy. “And he gave it up for Jade.”
“That’s just a glimpse of how much Tanner loves that woman.” Matt looked at the ceiling as though he was searching for the right words, words that might come close to describing the relationship between Jade and Tanner. “He’s loved her since he was a boy.”
Hannah nodded and tears welled in her eyes. “I know.”
Matt narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched, and stared at her a long moment. “What’ll he do if something happens to her?”
“No.” Hannah shook her head. “We can’t think that way.”
“I know.” He hesitated. “I’ll be home before Monday. I promised Tanner.”
Hannah stared at her slippers. “Next Sunday night, before the surgery, let’s pray around her hospital bed.”
“Definitely.” He studied Hannah’s face. “God’s in control. Nothing will happen to Jade that isn’t somehow part of His plan.”
Tears threatened to spill onto her face and Hannah bit her lip to keep from crying. “I feel so helpless.” She let her head fall against his chest. “Pray that God gives me a way to help her this week, okay?”
Matt nodded. “I will.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve gotta run. Keep me posted on how she’s doing.”
“I will.” Hannah opened his suit coat and slipped her arms around him, hugging him long and close, relishing the feel of his strong, warm body against hers. Since the day they met, Matt had made her feel safe and protected. And lately—as they shared the role of parenting Kody—she was falling more in love with him every day. “I love you.”
Matt drew back, his hands still locked near the small of her back. “I may not have known you since I was a boy, Hannah, but I’ve waited a lifetime for you. And now … I can’t help but know that God had me wait because He knew. He knew one day a beautiful woman with a broken heart would come into my life.”
He brought his lips to hers and kissed her in a way she would remember all week long. His voice was thick with emotion when he continued.
“And He knew that only together would either of us find the strength to love like this.”
Twenty-Eight
From the moment he stepped foot in the courtroom, everything that could go wrong for Matt did.
More than half the jurors were single women in their late thirties and forties. Two jurors were high school teachers, one a college professor, and two were entertainers—young men who had, respectively, a pierced eyebrow and tongue, and a full-neck tattoo.
Usually, in the cases he and Tanner handled, it was best to stay away from anyone too liberal or artsy, anyone in entertainment or academia. Those types of people often, though not always, made jurors who already had their minds set against anything remotely involving God. Some of them would have bought completely into the current-day separation of church and state mind-set. There was a chance these people walked through life believing even the mention of God was illegal.
Matt remembered attending a book conference once in which he and Tanner were promoting a title, Stand up for Freedom, that had come out of their early work at the CPRR. The book was intended to appeal primarily to Christians, but the publisher had seen its crossover potential for the general market and asked them to attend the conference.
Midway through the morning, a woman approached Matt and Tanner and looked at their book. Then, as though she were a covert operative in an underworld spy game, she leaned close and asked, “Is this book … you know—” she looked both ways— “religious?”
Matt remembered Tanner’s grin. He leaned close in turn, looked both ways as she had done, and whispered, “Yes! It’s about religious freedom.” He dropped the whisper and stood tall. “The good news is in America you don’t have to whisper about religion. It’s your right to talk about it.” He glanced around the room—a place where every topic from mysticism to magic arts to a dozen Middle Eastern practices was highlighted in dozens of books. “In fact, you can even talk about it right here.” He handed her the book. “Read it and see for yourself.”
Monday morning, Matt assessed the jurors and wondered what Tanner would have done about it. Thanked God, probably. Assumed there was a reason and moved ahead. So even though the jury selection was grim at best, Matt committed the case to the Lord and carried on.
The premise of Tanner’s case, which he’d built long before Matt took over, was simple. After interviewing everyone involved, after studying the contract signed by the Benson City Council and Pastor Casey Carson of the First Church of the Valley, Tanner had thought of something new, something he’d never considered before.
If the Benson City Council was requiring First Church of the Valley to refrain from teaching that Jesus Christ is the only way to salvation, then, in a sense, a local public governing body was defining religion.
Maybe not defining it for the entire state of Colorado, or even the town of Benson, but in drawing up a contract that allowed any group to use City Hall except those who preach the Gospel of Christ, they were, without a doubt, defining religion.
Tanner’s tactic, therefore, was this: The city of Benson was in violation of the Constitution, wherein no law should be made “respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”
In other words, for the first time since religious freedom cases had become necessary, Tanner intended to use the very argument his opponents had used for years. Instead of spending an entire case trying to prove his client had not violated the separation of church and state clause, he would turn the tables and accuse the defendant of that very thing.
So Matt’s task was twofold.
First, he would have to depict the First Church of the Valley as a law-abiding organization with as much right to rent City Hall as any other group. Then he would present the biased contract and accuse the Benson City Council of making a law that established a Christ-less religion and prohibited Pastor Carson’s church from the free exercise of their faith.
Matt had never prided himself in his opening or closing arguments. He preferred the behind-the-scenes research and examination phases of a case. But now, with Tanner holding a bedside vigil at Jade’s side, counting down the days until her brain surgery, Matt had more righteous fire stirring within him than at any time in the past few years.
Because their side had filed the suit, Matt presented his arguments first. He stood and made his way toward the jurors, meeting each of their gazes with a warmth usually reserved for church friends and business associates. “Good morning,” he said, nodding in their direction. “Thank you for being here today, for believing that in this courtroom over the next few days there might be something more important happening than your routine schedules. Something in which each of you obviously believes.”
Matt glanced at the notepad in his hands and his confidence grew. Tanner had to be praying for him; the words coming from his mouth sounded so much like Tanner it was uncanny.
Thank You, God; give me the words …
Be strong and bold, for I am with you.
The answer resonated in his soul and came straight from the Scripture he’d read that morning. A sense of peace and sureness filled his senses as he began explaining his case for the jury in clear and passionate detail.
He told them that the First Amendment to the Constitution involved a safeguard for people like Pastor Casey Carson. “People whom the founders of this great nation wanted to protect.” Matt stopped, slid his left hand into his pants pocket and moved his gaze from one juror to the next. “Do you know why? Because they were familiar with religious persecution. It was something that troubled them enough to leave the comforts of England, their homeland, and venture into a new world, a new life.”
Matt’s tone grew stronger. “No one would tell them whom to worship and how. No, in America a person would be free to worship as they chose, and the government—no matter how many generations would pass—would never, ever establish a law prohibiting the freedom of religion.”<
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Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw the attorneys for the City of Benson conferring in silent whispers. Tanner was right! They were surprised by this argument. No doubt they had planned to take the very same approach, accusing Pastor Carson and the First Church of the Valley of crossing the line that separated church and state by daring to preach the name of Christ in a public building.
But now, just minutes into the trial’s first day, partway through Matt’s opening arguments, there was a current of electricity running through the courtroom that Matt was sure everyone could feel. The church hadn’t crossed a line, the Benson City Council had.
Matt took three sure steps over to the plaintiff’s table and pulled the lease agreement from a file. When he was back in front of the jury, he held it up. “I hold a lease agreement written and agreed upon by the Benson City Council.” He paused and paced a few steps. “Now keep in mind, when the founders of the Constitution referred to Congress, they meant any public governing body. Therefore, the First Amendment applies to the Benson City Council as strongly as it applies to the president of the United States.”
He raised the lease agreement higher and uttered a single, humorless chuckle. “I’m about to read you a clause in this lease agreement that will astonish you. It will make you wonder how it is that the U.S. Constitution has come to be taken so lightly by people like the Benson City Council members.”
Matt could almost picture Tanner in the corner of the room giving him a thumbs-up. Encouraged by a strength that could only have been from God, Matt continued. “At first this … lease agreement … looks like the ordinary sort. It includes the names of the lessor—in this case, the City of Benson—and the lessee—in this case, First Church of the Valley. It requires that a specific amount of rent be paid on time each month and that the facility is cared for in a specific manner.”
He flipped the page. “It details how the building may be set up for community events and how it must be cleaned after each use.” He pointed to a section highlighted in yellow near the bottom of the second page. “The part you won’t believe is down here.”
There were still a few feet separating him from the jury box, and now Matt took a step closer, leaning on the railing and angling his back slightly toward the jury. That way when he held up the lease agreement, most of them in the middle section could read the words over his shoulder. “Right here, on line forty-three, item seventeen, is a stipulation to the agreement that reads: ‘City Hall may not be rented by any group who teaches faith in Jesus Christ as the only way to salvation.’ ”
Matt turned and faced the jury again. The outrage he’d felt upon first reading the clause was fresh within him, and Matt let it show in his eyes. “Give yourself a minute to let that sink in. City Hall, a place that may be rented by any group willing to pay and follow a lease, may not be rented by a group who teaches faith in Jesus Christ … as the only way to salvation.”
He paused and leaked the air from his lungs, giving his expression time to relax. “There’s a name for people who teach that type of doctrine. In this country, we call them Christians.” At this point Matt returned to the table and exchanged the lease for a hardback copy of the Bible, paper-clipped at a verse in the book of John.
Matt opened it and stood squarely before the jurors. “Many of you may not read the Bible; you may not even like the Bible.” He leveled his gaze at them. “But you are Americans, and for that reason you must hear what I’m about to read. He’d memorized the verse decades ago, but he read it from the Bible now, so the jury would have no doubts about the teaching and where it came from. Matt cleared his throat. “In the book of John, chapter fourteen, verse six, the Bible quotes Jesus as saying, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’ ”
There was utter silence in the courtroom as Matt closed the Bible and met the faces—some curious, some troubled—of each and every juror. Matt’s voice was so quiet they had to strain forward to hear him. “Jesus told the people that he was the only road to heaven. And that, friends, is the very belief banned by the Benson City Council.”
Matt set the Bible back on the table, selected another document, and tossed his hands in the air, his voice loud once more. “Sure, you can rent the City Hall in Benson if you believe in voodoo or witchcraft. You can preach a doctrine of multiple gods or no God at all.” He raised a single finger. “Ah … but preach the Christian doctrine, the one established by Jesus, and here’s what will happen.”
The jurors were clearly spellbound. Across the room Matt saw the opposing attorneys scribbling furiously on their legal pads. He leaned against the jury box and positioned the document in his hands so the jury could see it. “This is a letter Pastor Carson received from the Benson City Council eight months after he and the First Church of the Valley—a Christian congregation—began renting out the Benson City Hall.”
He glanced at the document, holding it in the air just in front of his face so he had no trouble reading it. “ ‘Dear Mr. Carson, this is to inform you that your right to meet at the Benson City Hall has hereby been reneged due to a lease violation by you and your group.’ ” Matt raised an eyebrow at the jury and then returned his attention to the letter. “ ‘Our records show that because of this violation, the city of Benson owes you and your organization no money in refunded lease payments. This enforcement goes into effect immediately, as your time slot at City Hall will be filled by another organization this coming Sunday. Sincerely, the Benson City Council.’ ”
Matt went on to explain how the letter took the First Church of the Valley by surprise.
“See—” he gazed at the jurors—“the church leaders had missed the clause at the end of the lease agreement. They had no idea why they were in violation of the lease.” Matt paced several steps back and forth, making eye contact with each of the jurors. Any doubts they may have had about him and his argument were dissolving like sugar in water.
The church, Matt told them, had paid one year’s rent up front—seven hundred dollars per month for a total of $8,400. “In addition to kicking the church out of their rented facility with virtually no warning because of a lease clause that clearly violates the U.S. Constitution—” he paused for effect—“the Benson City Council made the poor decision to keep thousands of dollars in lease money. Even though the building was no longer available to the church.”
For the next twenty minutes Matt gave the jury the gist of the story, the fact that Pastor Carson contacted the City Council and talked to a secretary who told him about the overlooked clause in the lease and then added, “Your church’s name convinced us you wouldn’t be in violation.”
Matt allowed his tone to grow incensed for a moment, and he could read the same emotion in the eyes of several jurors. “The church’s name?” He shook his head. “In other words, since the name Christ or Jesus wasn’t in the name of Pastor Carson’s church, the Benson City Council thought they were safe. Safe enough that they didn’t need to check what doctrine was being preached each Sunday.” He shifted his weight and cocked his head. “But then someone told someone, and they told someone else, and the Sunday before Pastor Carson’s church lost their lease, three members of the Benson City Council showed up at the Sunday service.”
Matt prayed his closing words would leave an impression. “This was a case, ladies and gentlemen, that had to be brought to trial. Because the Benson City Council had the audacity to make a law prohibiting the free exercise of religion—in this case, the Christian religion. An action that flies in the face of our Constitution and everything this country stands for. An action our founding fathers hoped to avert when they wrote the First Amendment.”
He paced to the far end of the jury and noticed that each pair of eyes followed him. “We cannot allow that, friends. Not here, not in Benson. Not anywhere in the United States. Because once we let our government decide what’s acceptable in church meetings taking place in City Halls, we’re only a short jump to letting them decide what’
s acceptable in churches.” Matt’s voice rang with sincerity. “And that would mean everything our forefathers stood for, every battle fought in the name of freedom, would be for nothing.”
Matt shrugged one shoulder. “And so, honestly, ladies and gentlemen, this is not a case about separation of church and state. It’s a case about standing up for freedom. My freedom, your freedom.” He pointed to the front row of spectators where Pastor Carson was seated next to his wife among fifty people from First Church of the Valley. “Their freedom. On that note, we are not only asking that this church be allowed to maintain their lease with the Benson City Hall. We’re asking for damages. Certainly the money kept by the city these past months, when Pastor Carson’s church has had to meet in various less desirable facilities. But also punitive damages.”
He glanced at the attorneys for the city of Benson and several City Council members seated behind them. “Because what the Benson City Council did in this matter is inexcusable and deserves some type of punishment. That way word will get out: We’re serious about freedom in America. Dead serious.” He gripped the jury box and looked at them with a heart full of compassion. “You can’t write laws that fly in the face of the Constitution and expect that act of defiance to go unpunished.” There was a beat. “Each of you is here today to carry on where Thomas Jefferson and his peers first began. Protecting freedom for this generation and every generation after it.” Matt nodded. “Thank you.”
The lead attorney for the City of Benson was an older, distinguished man whose tone was irritating and who focused on the appearance of things. Leasing City Hall to a Christian church would give the appearance of state-sponsored religion; allowing First Church of the Valley to preach Jesus Christ as the only way to salvation would give an appearance of narrow-mindedness, a lack of political tolerance. The entire matter gave the public the appearance that the Benson City Council had crossed the line between church and state. The attorney barely brushed over the fact that Pastor Carson had signed the lease agreement, binding him to whatever stipulations it contained. If a clause in the contract violated the U.S. Constitution—as Matt was suggesting—the fact that the pastor signed it would be of no significance.