The bell rang. I begrudgingly turned my attention to Gabriel as he introduced himself to the class. He wrote the words Pastor Saint Moon on the dry-erase board at the front of the room. I wondered why he used that name. It was his sister’s married name—not his.
“I’m new to Rose Crest, but I imagine some of you knew my uncle, Donald Saint Moon. Though most of you probably knew him as Don Mooney.”
I almost let out a short laugh. The idea that Don had been Gabriel’s uncle was somewhat amusing—it was more like he was his great-great-great-multiplied-by-ten grandnephew.
“I want to jump right in where Mr. Shumway left off. Who remembers what you discussed last week?”
Katie’s hand shot straight up. “We had just started a discussion on the parable of the Good Samaritan. We read the scriptural account the last time Mr. Shumway was here.”
“Grace”—Gabriel turned toward me—“can you tell us what you know about the Good Samaritan?”
“What?” The only thing I could think of at the moment was how the guy in the leather jacket had called Talbot the Good Samaritan when he’d stopped the fight in the club. The image of Talbot leaning over me as I lay on the ground—offering his hand to help, fog swirling behind him—flashed in my mind. I pushed the mental picture out of my head. It was a stupid thing to think about, and surely not what Gabriel had meant.
“Can you summarize the story for us?” Gabriel asked.
“Oh yeah, sure.”
“Stand up so everyone can see you.”
I stood. “A Jewish man had been robbed, beaten, and left for dead on the side of the road. Two wealthy men of his own people saw him and did nothing because they were scared. But when a Samaritan—who the Jews hated—saw him, he took pity on the man and brought him to an inn and paid to make sure he was nursed back to health.”
“And what does that mean to you?”
I thought about it for a moment. “It means that if you have the ability and the opportunity to help someone, but you don’t do anything just because you’re scared or it’s inconvenient or something, then maybe you’re just as bad as the people who caused the problem in the first place.”
“Good analysis,” he said. “Thank you.”
I was about to sit back down, but something about that explanation bothered me. “So doesn’t that mean if you have the abilities needed to help someone, then you should do it? I mean, the Good Samaritan could have just kept on walking like everyone else. But he chose to do something instead. That’s what makes him a hero. He didn’t let fear hold him back.”
“Yes, but the Samaritan also didn’t try to hunt down the bandits and fight them. He helped the wounded man through charity and compassion. Violence and fighting are not the answer.”
“But what if you’re at war? What if it’s a battle between good and evil? Shouldn’t you ‘fight fire with fire’?” I looked at Daniel, because that was how he’d described the reason for God’s creating the Urbat in the first place. In the battle against the devil and demons, God had created His own warriors to protect humankind. He’d imbued them with the essence of the most powerful beast in their highland forests—ancient wolves—in order to “fight fire with fire.” I looked back at Gabriel. “When you’re at war with someone evil, then it’s totally different, right? Sometimes you have to use extreme tactics to protect the ones you love?”
Gabriel cleared his throat. “Believe me, Grace. I’ve been to war. That’s not a place you want to go.”
I didn’t know what to say in return, so Gabriel and I just stood there, staring at each other for a moment, until Claire asked from behind me, “Were you in the Middle East?”
Gabriel blinked and looked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The Middle East? The war? My brother’s in Iraq.”
Gabriel took a step back. “Oh, yes. I’ve been to the Middle East.”
“What’s it like?”
“I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.” His voice was soft, and I wasn’t sure he said it loud enough for anyone other than me to hear.