Butler Wren and the Sign From God

by Anthony Lukas

Table of Contents

Table of Contents
parts 1, 2, 3

conclusion

Wren knew he was not the best or smartest of lawyers, and going up against the high-priced spread always caused a bit of anxiety. He had no desire to be like the $500 an hour bunch, the glitzy cars, the four-figure suits, the high-income residences around his modest home in the far west of the city. He had been among them early on before being rescued by Linda and ensconced in the modest offices at the venerable Flynn.

Still, he’d always muddled along, trying to overcome his apprehensions with a desire to do good for his clients. Clients like Arlo. He had known Arlo a long time. Watched him start his business with a cart, then two, and then going brick and mortar. Building his livelihood with hard work, long hours and imagination.

“A dog with scrambled egg and chutney? Really?” Wren had said.

“Trust me,” Arlo replied. And now comes some sanctimonious yahoo, threatening Arlo with legal expenses and costs all apparently for self-aggrandizement, propaganda and public relations.

“Prosperity gospel,” muttered Rose, looking at her laptop. “Figures.”

“What?”

“Rave. He espouses the prosperity gospel.” To Butler’s questioning look, “Also known as the health and wealth gospel or the gospel of success.”

Wren still looked confused.

“Oh, Butler, we really need to broaden your view of the world. There are sects of evangelicals who teach that positive thoughts and prayers and, of course, donations to their church produce health, wealth and happiness. These birds preach that the way to gain riches is to donate more money, especially to their church and ministers. And, of course, the quantity of material prosperity a person can expect to gain is in proportion to what a person gives.” Rose sat back and looked at Butler.

“People buy that?” he asked.

“A great many buy into it, judging from the wealth some of these preachers accumulate. You going to finish those onion rings?”

Wren absently pushed the tray of rings in a orange chili sauce across to Rose. He thought of all the thousands that Rave’s live stream could reach; they all would send him money in pursuit of their own prosperity. He shook his head.

“Rave can’t win this case, can he?” said Rose, crunching an onion ring.

“Well, of course he can’t win the case,” snorted Wren. “What judge is going to grant such a ludicrous application?”

* * *

Well, thought Wren, this may not be good.

They were sitting in the chambers of the good Judge Michael Peabody. A relatively new judge on the bench, though he had been an attorney for about as long as Wren. He was gray-haired with prominent jowls and a well-fed appearance.

Silas Rant, esteemed counsel for the petitioner Jeremiah Rave, was also a person of not inconsiderable bulk. Wren was feeling positively slim in comparison..

While the judge perused the plaintiff’s papers, Wren perused the judge’s walls. A discreet cross here, an award from the Attorneys for Conservatism there, a plaque from Attorneys for Religious Freedom, member of the Knights of Columbus. A picture of the judge at the Wall in Jerusalem with his family. Hmm.

The judge stirred with a “So, Mr. Rant, your client, the good Reverend Rave, seeks to stop Mr. Jones from painting over the image that has mysteriously appeared on the wall of this business?”

“Indeed so,” rumbled Mr. Rant from deep within his obviously well-fed chest. “To do so would be a desecration of the Lord ‘s image.”

The judge nodded. “Yes, of course, I understand that.”

Oh dear.

“Still. you are asking this court to interfere with private property rights.”

Better, nodded Wren.

“Only to protect the Constitutional rights of Christians, your Honor, to worship their Lord Jesus.”

“In an alley?” interjected Wren, feeling a need to make his presence felt.

“Wherever the Lord God requires, Mr. Wren,” said Rant dismissively. “His road leads through all places high and low, even alleys.”

“And over the property rights of Mr. Jones?” said Wren.

“That is what this hearing will determine, Mr. Wren,” rumbled the judge.

Oh dear.

After they had adjourned to the courtroom, Butler sat silently while Rant walked his client through his testimony. The Reverend explained his religious convictions, history and current ministry at the Crystal Church. He explained he was in the city for a convocation of like-minded evangelicals for fellowship and prayer.

And fundraising, thought Wren.

“Why here?” asked Rant.

Rave made a thoughtful pause and said, “This city is in much need of prayer and guidance. We wished to bring our collective spiritual energy to this place to heal it.”

And fund-raise.

The Reverend went into the the deep significance of the image on the wall and emotionally testified what a blasphemy it would be if it were to be destroyed. Wren just managed not to nap. After an hour or so, Rant thanked the Reverend for his thoughtful testimony and sat down.

The judge said, “Your witness, Mr. Wren.”

Butler rose and glanced back at the members of the press in the audience. On with the show.

“Mr. Rave,” began Wren, approaching the witness box.

“That is the Reverend Rave,” interjected the judge. “I will have respect for men of the cloth in my courtroom, Mr. Wren.”

Dunderhead. “Yes,of course, your Honor and, speaking of cloth, Reverend Rave, that is quite the suit you’re wearing. A Ralph Sand, is it not?”

“Well, yes it is.”

“I thought so; custom-tailored, cost about, what, six thousand?”

“Objection!” said Rant, lumbering to his feet. “What possible relevance—”

“Oh, I see Mr. Rant has the same make of suit,” said Wren, “though if cost is measured by the yard, his must have cost considerably more.”

“Mr. Wren,” came a warning growl from the judge.

“My point is that you both seem to be involved in very lucrative professions.”

“I have been most blessed by the Lord. I believe there is nothing wrong with wealth. It is the Lord’s reward for a good life, as I often preach to my flock.”

“Is that ‘flock’ as in sheep or pigeons?”

“Mr. Wren!” barked Judge Dunderhead. “Enough, move on.”

“Of course, your Honor. Now, Reverend, do you believe this image to be a sign from the Lord?”

“I do.”

“Placed there by miraculous means?”

“Well, I do not know that, Mr. Wren. By the hand of God, or the hand of a man inspired by God, it makes no difference. The message is the same. It gives glory to the one true Savior.”

“‘One true savior.’ So you believe your branch of religion is the only true religion?”

“Of course! That is the message of the wall, a sign to turn away from heathen beliefs and sinful ways and to the Lord’s word.”

“As solely interpreted by you, of course.”

“It is my privilege and calling to interpret the Lord’s words.”

“For a price.”

“Mr. Wren.” A whine from the bench.

“Of course, your Honor. Let us move on to the nub, shall we? Do you own this wall?”

“Of course not.”

“But you seek to impose your will upon Arlo Roman?”

“Who?”

“Arlo Roman, the small businessman who owns this wall.”

“I seek to enforce a higher law than mere property law.”

“And if the judge disagrees with you?”

“Then I shall appeal.”

“To God?”

“To the appeals court and beyond, Mr. Wren. I shall take this to the United States Supreme Court, if necessary, and each appeal will be for the glory of the Lord.”

And he would, thought Wren. The ego-maniacal, profiteering zealot had the means, while a small businessman like Arlo did not. Arlo could not win; even if the judge ruled in his favor, Rave would prolong the case for years, prevailing not by merit but by exhaustion. Wren grew angry thinking of the arrogant faith of people like Rave, an arrogance that exploited the simple believers like those who brought flowers to the wall.

“Mr. Wren?”

Wren stared at Rave, his fine suit, his just-so haircut and then thought how long someone like Mr. Diego would have had to work to afford such a suit, if he were so inclined to waste his money in such an absurd fashion. Mr. Diego, saving all his son’s schoolwork so he could remember his son’s growing up. Mr. Diego—

“Mr. Wren, do you have more questions for this witness?”

Can’t win here in this place, thought Wren, turning slowly to stare at Arlo and, beside him, Crystal, who was looking a bit worried. Can’t win here—

“Mr. Wren?” asked the judge.

“Yes, yes, your Honor; if I could have just a moment.” He went over to Arlo and whispered, “Do you trust me?”

“What?” he whispered back. “Do I trust you? Butler, you’ve been my lawyer for twenty years, helped me start the business, always there when I needed you. Of course I trust you.”

“Then try not to look too shocked.” Wren turned to the judge. “Your Honor, after due consideration, my client withdraws his opposition to the motion for injunction as it is presently worded.”

Arlo kept a straight face, Rave looked triumphant, and Rant looked suspicious.

“Really? Mr. Jones, is this correct? This means you are agreeing to not paint over your wall.”

“Well,” said Butler, “to be precise, Mr. Jones is agreeing not to cover over the image that is the subject of this litigation. Correct, Arlo?”

Arlo nodded and said, “Correct,” with no hesitation, bless him.

More words, some signatures and the deed was done. Rant and Rave had left, the Reverend beaming for the press and talking of a triumph for the Lord.

* * *

The juvenile courts were situated far from the courthouse for adult cases, the distance emphasizing the distance between the different purposes of the two systems, the juvenile system’s primary aim being to intervene in young offenders’ lives to prevent their becoming adult criminals.

The city’s judges rotate the duty of presiding over the juvenile court’s proceedings. The current judge was the venerable Judge Hazel Von Bonnet. She looked down on her courtroom with piercing blue eyes, fashionably quaffed snow-white hair and an expression that demanded attention and respect.

She had finished working through much of her calendar of minors with a sternness tempered with kindness, encouraging those who were doing well and cautioning those who were not, telling them they were being given an opportunity to straighten their lives, an opportunity for which there would be consequences if they failed to take advantage of it.

The clerk then called the Diego matter, and Wren and James came forward.

“Mr. Wren,” said the judge, “I have reviewed the court’s probationary officer report on young Mr. Diego as well as the materials that you have supplied to that officer and the court. I see both parents are present in court today, which is, of course, an excellent sign.”

She leaned forward in her chair. “James, as I am sure Mr. Wren has explained to you, no one regards your artistic endeavors as the crime of the century. However, it is encumbered on me to be sure that you come away from this experience with an understanding of and respect for the rights of other people, a right that includes their being free from your interfering with their property and businesses. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Honor,” said James, just as Wren had prepped him.

“I am sure you do,” said the judge, “and with the help of your parents, I am sure I will never have to see you before me again. Nonetheless, to recompense the community for the trouble you have caused it, I will be requiring you to perform some community service.” She glanced down and studied some papers. “I see that Mr. Wren has made some proposals for such within your neighborhood.” She looked up from the documents and gazed at Wren for a few moments, causing Wren to begin to feel a slight unease.

“I’m sure that will be satisfactory,” she said, putting aside the court documents. “The court will be in recess for ten minutes.” She left the bench and went into her chambers.

Wren turned to Mr. Diego. “Have you had a chance to survey the situation?” he asked in a low voice.

Mr. Diego grinned. “Oh yes, we’re close to finishing our plans.” He put an arm around James.

“Very good. Now—” But Wren stopped when he saw the court clerk, Vivian Clark, approach. She was a woman in her fifties and had been Judge Von Bonnet’s clerk for years. Wren knew her through many court appearances.

“Butler,” she said, “the judge would like to see you in chambers for a few minutes.”

Judge Von Bonnet was seated behind her desk, casually leafing through a file. She waved at the two to sit. “Mr. Wren,” she said, “I have heard much about your appearance the other day before Judge Peabody.”

“Oh?” said Wren. “Already?”

“The court clerks’ grapevine is most efficient,” she said, eyeing her court clerk, who assumed a most innocent expression.

“An unusual case. The petitioner presented some rather... novel pleadings,” said the judge in a tone that Wren realized was one of disapproval. “I understand that Judge Peabody actually had an evidentiary hearing on the matter.” Her tone now suggested even deeper disapproval.

“Indeed,” said Wren and realized that had the case been before Judge Von Bonnet, it would have been dismissed before testimony had even been taken. The good judge would never have tolerated such an absurd petition to clutter her court docket. He also realized that the judge did not approve of Peabody’s handling of the matter, although one judge never openly criticized another.

He also realized the court file that the judge had been sifting through rather casually was James’. She now paused on a photograph of the graffiti that James had painted. “I understand that you acquiesced to the request for the injunction preventing your client from painting the wall in question.”

My, thought Wren, the news on the grapevine is most detailed. “Well,” said Wren, “to be more specific, my client agreed not to paint that portion of the wall on which the image appears.”

The judge pondered this for a moment or two. “I see,” she said. “So the matter has not really been... concluded.”

“Well... not entirely, your Honor.”

Judge Hazel Von Bonnet closed James’ file. “Well, I am sure you have the matter well in hand,” she said with a slight smile. “So nice to have seen you again.”

Wren and Clark left chambers and, after the door closed behind them, Wren said in a low voice, “My gods, that woman is wicked smart.”

The clerk just smiled. “Indeed.”

* * *

They stood before Arlo’s wall. A small crowd of people as well as Butler, Rose, Father Cariou and... “Vivian? What are you doing here?” asked Wren.

“Oh, just passing by,” said the court clerk. Wren wondered how quickly Judge Von Bonnet would be informed about the changes to the wall.

The wall. The shadowy Virgin and Child remained. But now they were surrounded by scenes in a riot of color. Here a rabbi held aloft the Torah scrolls, There an Egyptian priest worshiped before an image of Osiris. Here an Orthodox priest stood before an intricate icon. There a Mayan priest offered sacrifices of grains to his gods atop a monumental pyramid. An Imam preached to his flock the teachings of the Koran. A group of monks prayed before a golden statue of the Buddha.

“You have a most devious husband,” said the priest.

“As I well know,” sighed Rose.

“You wound me,” said Wren, smiling and waving at James up on a ladder at the upper corner of the wall. He appeared to be completing a scene of the god Zeus and his court.

James waved back. Mr. Diego, on a ladder at the opposite side of the mural, was finishing up a scene of Hindu worshipers dancing before an image of Krishna.

There was gasps behind him as a small knot of people came up including camo man.

“Oh, sorry,” Wren said to him, “I didn’t see you there in your camouflage suit.” The gibe earned Wren a sour look.

“You have blasphemed,” said one of the group. “You have defied the court order!”

“Oh no,” said Wren.“We have strictly abided by the wording of the petition. The Virgin and Child remain untouched.”

Wren turned away from them as Arlo appeared out his back door and came up to Wren. “You like?” asked Wren.

“I love it! It’s spectacular!”

“Still attracting a lot of people to your alley,” said Rose.

Arlo waved his hands. “Yeah, yeah, but they’re here to see the art, not some creepy alleged miracle. Whole different crowd. And they spend their money on my dogs, business is up at least a third.” He grinned. “And...” he took Rose by the arm and led her and the rest to a bottom corner of the wall. “Ta-da!”

There was a picture of a man, facing the alley, a bun and hot dog in his hands offering them to the viewer.

“That’s you!” said Rose.

“Yes, it is,” said Arlo. “James says I am the god of the hot dog!”

Wren grinned and shook his head and looked around for Crystal. She remained standing where they had near the still-muttering evangelicals. She stood for a while gazing at the mural, studying the many scenes of people throughout the ages, of their hopes and faith in the existence of something beyond this life. And she smiled a small smile.