James Bell - Deadlock

Millie’s chest tightened.

“Drug overdose,” Holden said. “Fourteen years old.” Holden looked down at his hands. “So I sued God.”

His tone was even, unemotional, as if he were reciting the facts of some mundane petty theft case. Then he looked up at her. “I wanted to sue God, tell him what I really thought about him. Disprove him. To myself. I was going to walk away from the ministry.”

“What happened?”

“I wrote up an indictment,” Holden said. “I ended up with a huge legal brief against him. It started to work on me a little bit funny. I found myself arguing God’s side, too. Back and forth. I felt like I was in a body-switching move. But I ended up with my faith back. It hasn’t always been easy since then, but I find that brief is sometimes a lifeline for me. And it’s taken on something of a life of its own.”

“How so?”

“I distribute it in the prisons,” Holden said. “I do some chaplain work at the Correctional Institute in Tehachapi, or down at Wayside. I’m told this brief gets spread around on the inside. And mailed out to other prisons across the country.”

“The prisoners really read it?”

“Sure. Most of the prisoners are jailhouse lawyers to one degree or another. This is something I hope will interest them, get them thinking. And maybe…”

“Yes?”

“If I reach one person, maybe in a way it’s like reaching my daughter. Or a way to atone for not reaching her. Does that sound crazy?”

“Not at all.”

“Hey,” he said jauntily. “Want to read it?”

That was a bolt from the hot blue sky. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s probably very personal.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. But I’d still like you to take a look.”

To her surprise, she wanted to – part of her, at least. And she wanted to tell him about her vision, because he’d talked about something like it in church. For one small moment she wanted to trust this man, and reveal part of herself to him.

But another part of her didn’t want anything to do with him or his so-called brief.

“Thank you anyway,” she said diplomatically. “I really should be getting back to – ”

“Tell you what,” Holden said. “I make a fifteen-foot hook shot from the line, you read it. Deal?”

She looked at him, half admiring his persistence.

“I’ll sweeten the offer,” Holden said. “I’ll make it a left-handed hook.”

“Fine,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Left-handed hook from the line.”

He smiled and dribbled out to the free-throw line. He bounced the ball a couple of times, took a step with his right foot, and delivered a left-handed hook shot that arced beautifully into the afternoon air and down through the net.

Millie stood up and put her hands on her hips. “You are left-handed! What happened to all that full-disclosure stuff?”

“This is street ball we play here, Your Honor,” Holden said. “Now I’ll just get you a copy of the brief.”

On Monday morning the wind came down from the north. Dark clouds conferred in the sky, portending rain. It was the sort of day in the desert Millie had always loved.

Millie took a lounge chair to the backyard with a big cup of coffee and one of her mother’s homemade cinnamon rolls. She told her mother she wished to be left alone, no phone calls. She was going to go into court against Jack Holden. She was surprised at her enthusiasm and genuine interest in finding out what went on in that pastor’s mind. But she had always loved the battleground of ideas, and here it was in her lap.

She settled comfortably in the chair and began to read the thick document. Under the section titled “Statement of Facts” the brief stated:

I have been in jail. I have nearly died. I have lost the people I loved more than anything in the world. I wonder sometimes why I didn’t take my own life. I think I now know why. God isn’t finished with me yet.

The Statement of Facts went on to narrate Holden’s story as he had told her, only in more detail. Millie was caught up in it immediately. She could tell Jack Holden must have been a very good trial lawyer. He had her attention from the start.

Section Two was titled “Issues.” The wording was more casual than a true Supreme Court brief, but Holden was writing this for a lay audience, specifically those behind bars.

I wanted to say that God does not exist, and that I know that to be true. I said that many times to myself, but began to wonder about the statement. I wanted to be an atheist. What proof did I have?

I found that the one thing I could not say with absolute certainty was that God does not exist. One cannot prove the non-existence of anything. We would have to have absolute knowledge of everything to know for certain that God does not exist. And then we would be gods ourselves.

I found that it is valid to be an agnostic, and to say, “I do not yet have enough evidence to convince me that God exists.” This is why I decided to look at whatever evidence there was, and see where it led.

After studying the evidence, I now believe the evidence is strong, not only for a god, but for the Christian God.

Millie sat up in the chair, ignoring the prickles of heat in her ribcage. She read the paragraphs again. She had to admit that his writing was not flabby noodles. She read on.

I propose to do the following in the remainder of this brief. First, I will prove that it is more reasonable than not to believe in God. And then I will prove that it is more reasonable than not to believe that Jesus Christ is his only begotten Son, and that whoever trusts in him will have everlasting life.

“Mom!” Millie shouted.

Ethel came to the back door. “What’s all the hubbub?”

“Can you bring me a legal pad, please? There’s one in my briefcase. And a pen.”

“Are you working out there?” Ethel said with rebuke.

“Please.”

Her mother brought out the pad and pen. “What’s that on your lap?” Ethel said.

“We’ll talk later, Mother. I just need some time alone.”

“What’s with all those wrinkles in your forehead?”

“Mom!”

“All right, all right.” Ethel started back toward the house, muttering.

Millie set the legal pad on her lap and got ready to take notes. Jack Holden wanted a real fight here, did he? All right. She was going to give him one. On the pad she jotted a note: God may be, or may not be, but if you are proposing that he is, the burden is with you.

She flipped to section three, which was titled, simply, “Beauty.” That sent a small spike of anticipation through her. She had just been thinking about the beauty of her surroundings. She read quickly.

Beauty exists. Everyone knows it, for everyone finds something beautiful. There is an amazing agreement on what is beautiful, all across cultural lines. Beethoven and Bach. Sunsets and flowers. Mountains and the Grand Canyon. You can’t escape beauty.

But where does beauty come from? You can’t put it into a mathematical equation. You can’t mix it in a bowl. It is a sense. It is something we feel as a consequence of being human.

Millie paused and looked out at the valley again. The colors, if it were possible, seemed even more vibrant. She felt the wonder of it, and then a small jolt of annoyance. Holden’s writing was a bit too sure of itself, a bit thin on the evidence. Or was it? She jotted a note on the pad. The sense of beauty may simply be a chemical component of our bodies, like the sense of smell.

Holden was claiming that this feeling was from God, not from chemicals. Not enough information, she wrote. We’re going to need more from you, Pastor Holden.