He took the call from the president of the Indianapolis Public Schools board on Monday—days after the story about Wendell and Hamilton High had sufficiently blown up. Thanks to the media, Wendell already knew this call was coming.
James Black, president of the school board, had always been a friend, someone Wendell had shared a meal with on a number of occasions. When things were falling apart at Hamilton, Mr. Black had assured Wendell that the trouble wasn’t his fault.
“Kids these days have a mind of their own. Too many video games, too many absent parents.” The words Mr. Black had spoken to Wendell at the end of their worst school year stayed with Wendell still. “You have to figure some kids are going to fail. Period. That’s just the way it is.” The man had shrugged. “No one expected you to turn your school around. If you can, well then, I applaud you.”
The cheering indeed came when James Black and the others at the school district saw the changes at Hamilton High.
“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” Mr. Black phoned him halfway through the last school year. He had chuckled. “You’re making us all look good.”
Wendell had wondered then why Mr. Black never asked exactly what Wendell was doing to make such amazing improvements. He knew the statistics, but not the details about why things were changing for the better. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know. Whatever the reason, the applause had ended as soon as the school board realized what had caused the improvements.
“You should’ve known better, Wendell.” Mr. Black sounded beyond disappointed. “Talk of God does not belong in a public school. Period.” Then the man went on to tell Wendell he needed to disband the Bible study club immediately. “If I hear wind of you attending those meetings . . . in fact, if the meetings are allowed to continue, you will be fired.” He paused, condemnation heavy in his voice. “You’ve been warned, Wendell.”
So this was the mandate the reporters had asked about. Wendell wasn’t surprised, really. He’d figured it was coming sooner or later.
Wendell ached for someone to share this with. He would talk to God. He prayed without ceasing these days. But if he wanted to talk to someone who could look into his eyes and take hold of his hand, there was only one person outside of his family who would meet that need.
Alicia Harris.
He and Alicia had connected recently, but not nearly often enough. She probably understood the depth of his situation, the gravity of all that was at stake. Wendell prayed that his troubles hadn’t rekindled her panic attacks.
He missed Alicia like never before.
Not only that, but he was out of answers when it came to the Raise the Bar club. Good thing he had Luke Baxter. The lawyer would know what to do. Their first meeting was set for one o’clock that afternoon.
The morning flew by and at just before one, Wendell took a spot in the lobby of Luke’s office. The building was on the right side of Indianapolis, five stories high, ornate brick and beautiful white pillars and molding. Wendell hadn’t seen something this nice since the time he took a group of teens to Washington, D.C.
“Wendell Quinn? Luke Baxter.” The man smiled at him. A smile that did nothing to hide the seriousness of the matter at hand.
Wendell stood and shook Luke’s hand. “A hundred lawyers must work here.”
“Feels that way after work when we’re all trying to get out of the parking garage.”
Luke led the way and Wendell followed, his briefcase clutched tight in his hand. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Of course.” Luke sat in the chair behind his desk and motioned for Wendell to take the seat across from him. “Thank you for coming in.”
So far, Luke Baxter had not agreed to take the case. But at least he wanted to talk to Wendell. That was a starting point. The first miracle would be for Luke to agree to represent him.
They would need many more for Wendell to win.
Once he was seated, Wendell put his briefcase on his lap. “I have a few folders full of information I’d like to share with you.” He had been looking forward to this ever since the news broke.
Luke Baxter’s desk was much cleaner than Wendell’s. The area contained a large calendar, a ceramic pencil jar that looked like it was made by a child, and a photo of what appeared to be Luke’s family. Wendell took the first folder out and set it on the desk in front of him.
“This is something I put together before I started the—”
“Mr. Quinn . . .” Luke’s face was filled with kindness. “Let’s talk about the case first. I need you to understand what we’re up against.”
We’re up against. Not you’re up against. Wendell took that as a sign that Luke had already fully committed to the case. He slid the presentation folder back in to his briefcase and set it on the floor beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m anxious to show you why I think we have a chance.”
“I understand that.” Luke leaned forward and set his forearms on the desk. “You need to know, Mr. Quinn, that I’d love nothing more than to help you. But here’s what we’re up against.”
Wendell was listening. For the next half hour the lawyer explained the history of prayer and Bible reading in public schools. Every case he brought up was more discouraging than the one before it. “A test is used for a club like Raise the Bar.” Luke Baxter pulled a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to Wendell. “A three-part test.”
Luke gave Wendell a brief overview of each part of the test. Then the lawyer sighed. “In your case, though what you’re doing is working effectively, none of the three criteria are being met.”
Wendell looked again at the sheet of paper. Have a secular purpose. Neither advance nor inhibit religion. Must not result in excessive entanglement between government and religion. “No offense, Mr. Baxter. But I think you’ve got this all wrong.”
“Call me Luke.” He smiled, patient.
“And you can call me Wendell.”
Luke nodded. “Okay, how do you figure?”
“Well, let’s take that first one.” Wendell lifted his briefcase again. “Can I use my folders for this?”
“Of course.” Luke leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “If you think there’s something I’m missing, I want to know.”
Wendell pulled his folder from the briefcase. The one titled “In This Moment.” He opened to the first page—where the definition of his job description was written. “When I was hired to serve as principal at Hamilton High, I was asked to do the following.” Wendell read from the page in front of him. Establish a schoolwide vision of commitment to high standards and ensure the success of all students. He looked right at Luke. Let him hear me, God. Please, let him hear me. “That’s what they asked me to do. That was my secular duty. My secular purpose, if you will.”
Very slowly, Luke leaned forward again. “Go on.”
A surge of possibility raced through Wendell. “The second point is neutral. More of a nonfactor.” He looked from the paper Luke had given him back to his folder. “Our group merely presents Bible verses and allows students to discuss them. No one is suggesting they should become Christians. When that has happened, it happens on its own. The kids lead that sort of discussion because, frankly, they are hungry for a reason to believe in something more than what they’ve seen. They want a purpose in life.”
Luke winced. “I’m afraid a judge and jury will hear that as advancement of religion. Even just announcing the club during school hours could be seen as promoting religion.”
Wendell felt his heart sink. “What? I thought . . . I was just telling them about an opportunity.”
“But it’s a religious opportunity.” Luke’s tone remained kind. But he didn’t waver on the problem at hand. “A club you, yourself, are leading. That could easily be a violation of church and state.”
“I can’t believe this.” Wendell was ready to stand and pace the room. His heart felt like it had fallen to the floor. “I thought . . . if I didn’t tell them it would be the opposite. A prohibition of religion.” Wendell forced himself to remain in his seat. “The kids want this. If we deny it—if I deny it—isn’t that prohibition?”