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Fugitive of Faith

By David Mathews

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CHAPTER ONE THE “INTERROGATION”

PETE HOLLOWAY HAD ALWAYS CONSIDERED himself a brave man. He had the reputation of being a straight shooter who faced difficulties and challenges head on, a person with a keen sense of right and wrong who displayed solid integrity and moral fortitude, one who always, at least in his own mind, stood up for what he believed to be just and equitable. After all, he’d earned that reputation, hadn’t he?
Enlisting in the Army following high school, he’d served four years with the 101st Airborne. Then after college, on the heels of the tragic events of 9/11, he’d voluntarily re-enlisted and was deployed during the Iraq War, earning a Purple Heart for being wounded by shrapnel from an IED. He’d survived a faith crisis at age thirty and had beaten testicular cancer at age thirty-two while in seminary. Yes, for all intents and purposes, Pete Holloway was a brave man.
Then why were his palms so sweaty? He tightly gripped the wheel of his well-maintained, late model sedan as he drove through heavy traffic along Alemany Boulevard. Rush hour had nothing to do with the nausea he was feeling. Having lived in the heart of San Francisco most of his life, he was used to navigating the vehicle-choked arteries that crisscrossed the city without giving it a second thought. Then what could be causing these unwanted manifestations of nerves? His thoughts accelerated past his feelings and arrived at his destination, the Ingleside Station of the San Francisco Police Department.
“We’d like you to come down to the station and answer a few questions, that’s all,” a Detective Branch had told him over the phone. He’d been intentionally vague when asked what the questions were about. “No need to worry,” the officer had assured him, “we’d like to get some information from you, that’s all. Just a matter of routine.” But Pete had detected a somewhat artificial casualness in the man’s tone.
He eased his car into a parking space in front of the station and killed the engine. It was then that he noticed his heart beating a little more rapidly than normal. Shame and anger flooded his mind for showing such weakness. “There’s nothing to be concerned about,” he said out loud, trying to convince himself. “I’ll just go in, answer their questions as truthfully as possible, and that will be that. Just like the man said.” He’d done nothing wrong, certainly nothing to warrant the case of nerves he was experiencing at the moment. He was merely overreacting, that’s all. But even that thought troubled him. He was usually not one to overreact. This was not like him. He needed to get a grip.
After stating his name to the desk sergeant, he was ushered into a small room. He’d seen a thousand rooms like this in the movies and on TV: an eight-foot cube containing three chairs and a small desk, nothing more. He glanced up at the corner of the ceiling and was not surprised to see the camera staring back at him. After what seemed like an eternity, a man in his late thirties with slicked-back hair and wearing a sport shirt and khaki pants entered the room with a manila file folder in one hand.
“Mr. Holloway?”
“Yes?”
The man closed the door behind him. “I’m Detective John Branch,” he announced, flashing his badge as evidence.
Pete stood up and shook the officer’s hand. “Pete Holloway.”
“Sit down, please.” His tone was familiarly cordial. Both men sat facing each other across the desk.
Feeling the need to regain some of his confidence, Pete initiated the conversation. “I thought you had to have two detectives present when interrogating a suspect.”
The detective studied him briefly, then laughed lightly. “We usually do, but this isn’t an interrogation. And you’re not a suspect. I just have a few questions I’d like for you to answer, that’s all.”
“Well, I mean to cooperate any way I can,” Pete affirmed, “but you were rather vague on the phone. I’m not sure why I’m here.”
Detective Branch offered no explanation. Instead, he folded his hands across his stomach, leaned back as far as he could in his chair, and led with his first question. “You’re a minister, is that correct?”
Pete blinked in surprise. “Um . . . yes, I’m the pastor of Diamond Heights Baptist Church on East Addison Avenue.”
“And how long have you held that title in that particular church?”
“For the past thirteen years.”“Am I right to assume that the primary responsibility of a man in your position is conducting the public meetings? Giving speeches to those in attendance and that sort of thing?”
“I preach a sermon during our gatherings, yes.” Something told him not to expound on that answer.
“And can you tell me what resource materials you use for your speeches? Your, um . . . sermons?”
Pete shifted uneasily in his seat and cleared his throat. “Mr. Branch, can you tell me why SFPD needs that information?”
The detective bristled noticeably. “I’ll ask the questions for the time being, if you don’t mind, Mr. Holloway. Now, about your resource materials . . .”
Pete chose his words carefully. “Well, my primary source is the Bible, of course. I believe God’s Word is our sole and final authority for all matters of faith and practice. But I also use commentaries, concordances, lexicons, and books by other authors and theologians as support material.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “I don’t see what this line of questioning could possibly have to do with police business.”
Detective Branch stared hard at him for a moment. “Well then, let me shed some light on that for you.” He opened the folder lying on the desk in front of him and shuffled through the papers inside. “Have you heard about the Hate Speech Reparation and Elimination Act?”
Pete stared at the folder on the desk and tensed noticeably. His pulse quickened and his face flushed. So that was what this was all about! Forcing himself to return the detective’s unwavering gaze, he prayed his true feelings wouldn’t betray the confident tone of his reply. “Of course, I’ve heard about it. I received the official letter like every other member of the clergy in this state.”
“Then you’re familiar with the contents of that letter, as well as the full intent of the law.”
“Well, yes, I believe so. As much as I can recall, anyway.”
“Then allow me to refresh your memory.” The detective held out a paper. “Would you mind reading the highlighted section for me? Just so we’re both on the same page.” He offered what appeared to be an insincere smile.
Pete took the paper from him and began reading. “‘The purpose of HB231 is to eradicate all forms of hate speech in the public domain by mandating reeducation, community service, and/or penalties ranging from fines to incarceration for those convicted of this heinous crime. “Hate speech” is defined as any speech that attacks or disparages a person or group on the basis of race, religion, ethnic origin, national origin, sex, disability, sexual orientation, or gender identity. An “attack” may be defined as any statement, either verbal or written, that reflects intolerance toward or denunciation of any individual or group listed above. This includes, but is not limited to, any religious expression that is in conflict with this bill.’” He glanced up at Detective Branch. The man sat there smugly silent; his lips tightly pressed together.
Finally, the officer posed his next question. “Mr. Holloway, are your church services open to the general public?”
Pete felt a tingling sensation shoot down his spine. He nodded. “Yes, of course. We welcome all those who attend our services. We don’t turn anyone away.” His voice intensified. “And we don’t discriminate against anyone seeking to visit our church, if that’s what you’re driving at.”
Ignoring Pete’s last comment, the detective made his point. “Then based on that fact, anything you say or preach in those meetings is considered part of the public domain, and therefore falls under the jurisdiction of this bill, does it not?”
Pete hesitated. “That depends on your definition of ‘public domain’. Preaching in a church building to a voluntary gathering isn’t the same as preaching out on a street corner, or in a public park, or at some civic event where people are forced to listen to what you have to say against their will.”
The officer was unfazed. “According to the terminology in the bill, doesn’t the public domain include church services that are open to the general public?”
Pete was still reluctant to agree. “Um . . . according to the terminology in the bill, I’d have to say . . . yes.” A sudden sharpness creased his voice. “But I can tell you that I don’t agree with it!”
Detective Branch shot him a thinly veiled look of amusement. “Your opinion is irrelevant as far as the state is concerned. I’m sure you’re aware that the governor signed HB231 into law last October.”
“I’m well aware of that. But I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“Then I’ll get right to the heart of the matter, Mr. Holloway.” The officer pulled a report from the stack of papers in front of him. “An official complaint has been filed with this station by someone accusing you of making certain statements in one of your recent public meetings. Statements that, according to this law, are classified as hate speech.”
Stunned, Pete sat frozen in his chair. “I’ve been accused of hate speech? You’ve got to be kidding! I’ve never preached hate, or any-thing that even comes close to that.” He squared his shoulders and frowned at the man sitting across from him. “What exactly am I accused of saying? And when was I to have made these . . . these alleged illegal statements?”
The detective glanced at the report in his hand. “Two weeks ago, on March twenty-third, during your Sunday morning service.”
Pete’s mind flashed back over the past few weeks. What did he say that might remotely have been considered hateful? And who could possibly had taken offense to it? He remembered greeting several visitors in the congregation recently. A middle-aged married couple had even come back two weeks in a row. But they didn’t strike him as the type who would want to get him into trouble. “Mind telling me who filed those charges? I have the legal right to confront my accuser, don’t I?”
The officer dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “This isn’t a court of law, Mr. Holloway, just an interview. Anyway, didn’t you read the whistle blower provision?”
“Whistle blower provision?” Pete fought but failed to suppress his irritation. “Please, do refresh my memory!”
Ignoring the comment, Detective Branch read from a paper in the folder. “Anyone filing a complaint under HB231 is granted full immunity and anonymity to avoid harassment and retribution by the accused.” He returned to the business at hand. “Do you recall what you preached on the morning in question?”
“Offhand, yes. But I can’t quote myself verbatim. I’d have to listen to the tape of the message to be sure.”
The detective looked as pleased as a hound dog that had just treed a raccoon. “Well, apparently someone in your audience had the same idea.” He paused to let that statement sink in. Then he pulled a small recording device from the drawer and set it on the desk between them. “Do you want to hear what you said?”
Pete felt set up and used. His face flushed with anger. “Of course I want to hear it!” he snapped. “I’m dying to know what I said that someone found so offensive.”
With a slight smirk, the officer pushed the play button. Pete leaned forward, eager to catch every one of his own words.
“Turn in your Bibles, if you will, to Romans chapter one. Romans chapter one. Last week we began our journey through the Apostle Paul’s letter to the church in Rome by covering verses one through seventeen. If you recall, that section concluded with the statement that through the gospel, God’s righteousness is revealed to those who believe. In today’s passage, Paul shifts his focus from the righteousness of God to the wrath of God, which is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness. What follows is a clear and unmistakable description of the lifestyles of those who suppress the truth and exchange it for a lie. Follow along as I read verses eighteen through thirty-two.”
Detective Branch hit the pause button. “I won’t make you listen to your whole sermon. I’ll just replay the most disturbing parts.”
“Yes, please do!” Pete replied tersely, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. The man pushed “play” again.
“God has clearly revealed Himself to the ungodly so that they are without excuse. He calls them fools. Three times Paul uses the phrase ‘God gave them up.’ In verse twenty-four He gave them up to the lusts of their impure hearts; in verse twenty-six He gave them up to dishonorable passions; and in verse twenty-eight He gave them up to a debased mind. But it is not only God who does the giving up. Those who reject Him also give up something as well. In verse twenty-five they give up the truth for a lie. And in verses twenty-six and seven they give up natural sexual desires for those contrary to nature. But their rebellion against God doesn’t stop there. Verses twenty-nine and thirty say ‘They were filled with all manner of unrighteousness, evil, covetousness, malice. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, maliciousness. They are gossips, slanderers, haters of God, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, disobedient to parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless.’ That’s quite an extensive list, isn’t it? The downward spiral starts with the rejection of God’s truth for Satan’s lie. But the rebellion of the ungodly degenerates quickly as God gives them over to many debased, sinful desires of the flesh. It culminates with their own destruction. Verse thirty-two states, and I quote, ‘those who practice such things deserve to die.’”
The detective stopped the recording and leaned back in his chair. “Well? What do you have to say to that?”
“I didn’t say anything that could be classified as hate speech, certainly not toward any individual or group,” Pete responded defensively. “I merely preached what the Bible says. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Detective Branch raised his eyebrows and his voice. “In your own words you attacked those who don’t believe like you. You called them fools, dishonorable, debased, unnatural, evil. And you even said these people deserve to die! If that isn’t hate speech, I don’t know what is.”
Pete shook his head. “Those aren’t my words. Those statements didn’t originate with me. I read what God thinks about sin. If I may be so bold as to say it, Mr. Branch, your beef isn’t with me. It’s with God and His Word.”
The officer glowered at him before responding. “Then perhaps the Bible itself should be banned as hate speech.” Pete started to reply but thought better of it. “Let me play another segment of your sermon for you.” He pushed “play” again.
“Paul addresses this topic in his letter to the Corinthian church as well. In First Corinthians six he unequivocally states, ‘ . . . do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.’”
Pete spoke up before his interviewer could comment. “Again, that’s a passage straight out of Scripture. Those words are the Apostle Paul’s, not mine.”
“If you want to believe that rhetoric yourself, fine,” the detective retorted. “If you want to share it in a closed meeting, fine. The state doesn’t have a problem with that. That falls under your right to free speech. But when you preach those ideals publicly, that’s an entirely different matter. Then it falls under the state’s jurisdiction. What you said publicly is nothing short of hateful and offensive.”
“I’ll admit that some people might take offense to the words of the Bible, there’s no denying that,” Pete replied. “Paul also said in First Corinthians, ‘the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.’”
“So, you’re saying those who don’t believe like you or who are offended by your words are going straight to hell?
“Disagreeing with me doesn’t send anyone to hell. Rejecting Christ does. Those who rebel against God will be offended by His Truth. Those are not my words, Mr. Branch, they’re Paul’s.”
The detective cocked his head to one side. “Then maybe you should be more careful who you quote in public from now on. And maybe you should choose your sermon passages a little more wisely.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this!” Pete was incredulous. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Sir, I can’t do what you’re suggesting. The entire Bible is God’s Word. We’re told that all Scripture is breathed out by God, and therefore profitable for teaching, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness.”
“I never said you couldn’t preach about things that are ‘profitable’. But there is nothing profitable, or positive, or even, to use your own terminology, ‘righteous’ about calling individuals or groups ‘ungodly people who deserve to die and go to hell’ simply because their life-styles, beliefs, or standards differ from yours. You’re singling them out and disparaging them. Some might even say your words are inciting violence against them. That’s hate speech in anybody’s book.”
Pete fought to control his voice. “God alone has the authority to define what is righteous and what is not.”
“Whose God, Mr. Holloway? Yours, perhaps. But I’m quite sure the Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, the LGBTQ community, and anyone else who doesn’t hold to the same religious and moral standards as you would be highly offended by your words. And rightfully so. Besides, how can you be so callous as to include those who are suffering from alcoholism in your judgmental list of evil people? Alcoholism is an unfortunate disease, for goodness sake. They can’t help it. Can’t you see the obvious intolerance, bigotry, and hatefulness in your words?”
“Mr. Branch, if you would just listen to the rest of the sermon, you’d know that I also said there is hope for the ungodly,” Pete pleaded his case. “Yes, God condemns all sinners because we’re all without excuse. But he offers His salvation as the only way to avoid His wrath and judgment. Then Paul goes on to say, “And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus.” It’s true that sin brings judgment, and sinners deserve death, but Christ offers the only way to complete forgiveness, eternal life, and true righteousness. That’s not hate at all. If anything, that’s hope!”
The detective leaned his elbows on the desk and replied forcefully. “Mr. Holloway, I’m not here to debate theology with you. I’m here to see that you comply with the law.” His demeanor gradually softened, and a slight smile crossed his face. “But if you must know, I did listen to the rest of your sermon. Every word of it. Several times, in fact.” He cleared his throat. “Look, you’re obviously a man of conviction and character. I’m sure your statements, however flawed, were made with the best of intentions. And I seriously doubt you meant to offend anyone, much less break the law.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Since this is the first offense that I’m aware of, I’m going to be lenient with you. The state believes in giving people who unintentionally break the law a second chance.”
“Well, it’s certainly good to know that at least one of us has some tolerance!” Pete blurted out sarcastically, before chastising himself for letting the cutting remark slip past his lips and out into the public domain.
Detective Branch shot him an amused grin. Then he withdrew a paper from the file and slid it toward the pastor. “We’re willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and overlook this unfortunate incident if you’re willing to sign this Voluntary Compliance Agreement.”
Pete picked up the one-page form and eyed it warily. “What is this exactly?”
“It simply states that you voluntarily agree to abide by the laws of the state of California in this matter.” The man flashed a disarming smile. “If my memory serves me correctly, doesn’t your Bible also tell you to obey those who have authority over you?”
“Sure, as long as that obedience doesn’t conflict with the rest of God’s Word.”
“Then you should have no problem signing that agreement. It’s really just a formality, that’s all.”
Pete silently scanned the document for a few minutes. Then he glanced up at the detective. “And if I elect not to sign this, what then?”
“You’re under no obligation to sign anything, Mr. Holloway. In fact, you can get up and walk out of here any time you choose. But I’d strongly advise against that if I were you,” he cautioned, shaking his head. “The state is committed to taking a hard line with those who refuse to comply with this law. If you won’t sign that agreement, let’s just say, ah . . . things will not go well for you.”
“And just what do you mean by that cryptic threat?” Pete demanded sharply.
The officer held up both palms. “No threat intended. I was merely stating the facts. If you choose not to sign the agreement, then you would be looking at some rather stiff fines and mandatory participation in the state’s reeducation program. Additionally, it’s possible that you could be required to submit all future sermons to the Public Speech Compliance Council for pre-approval."
Pete stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding! You’d force me to have my sermons censored by the state? Mr. Branch, this isn’t Communist China, or the Cold War Soviet Union we live in. This is America, the land of the free. Last time I checked, that included free speech.”
Detective Branch nodded. “I totally understand your frustration, Mr Holloway But I don’t make the laws. I just enforce them.”
“What if I refuse to submit my sermons to the state and continue preaching the Scriptures according to my conscience?”
“Depending on the frequency and severity of future offenses, you could be looking at serving time as well as the possible confiscation of your church property.” He paused to let the full weight of his statement sink in.
Pete ran his hand through his hair and let the air slowly escape his lungs. The detective studied him briefly, and then softened his tone again.
“Mr. Holloway, I know you don’t want the current situation to escalate into something more serious than it already is. And to be honest with you, neither do I. But my hands are tied. I’m sworn to uphold the law. I’m sure you can understand the position I’m in here. However, you should know that the state does offer leniency toward those who have a signed copy of that agreement in their files. You wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder all the time.”
Pete stared at the paper in his hands. He did not want to sign it. If he did, wouldn’t that be the same as admitting he agreed with the law? Wouldn’t he be setting himself up for more serious charges? On the other hand, he didn’t relish the thought of being in the cross-hairs of the state.
Apparently aware of the internal struggle going on in front of him, Detective Branch added, “And I can promise you, as long as it’s on file, you will not have to submit your sermons for pre-approval, nor will your church be targeted for compliance.” He paused for emphasis. “Your word is good enough for us.”
He certainly wasn’t going to let the state sensor his sermons! But he also didn’t want to put the church under the microscope of further scrutiny. That would be detrimental to the ministry he’d worked so hard to establish over the past thirteen years. Besides, those fines would not be a good stewardship of the Lord’s money. He carefully read through the agreement while the detective waited silently. This would allow him to continue preaching without further government interference. Wasn’t that better than not having a church to preach in at all?
Sighing heavily, he reluctantly accepted the pen offered him, and with a slight tremble in his hand signed his signature to the bottom of the agreement.
Feeling like an inmate released from a claustrophobic prison cell, Pete walked out of the Ingleside police station and deeply inhaled the late afternoon air. He rubbed his neck to relieve the physical tension. Then he got in his car and drove home.
But something deep within his spirit told him he’d just made a very grave mistake.

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