When Heaven Weeps by Ted Dekker Page A

fussing over him, Karen obviously disagreed.
    Ivena watched Janjic shift his hazel eyes around the table, taking in their stares. Roald Barns, the president of the North American Evangelical Association, and the man who had brought them to this country five years earlier, sat opposite him.
    â€œI think what Frank means,” Roald said, motioning to the boxy man next to him, “is that we have an obligation to excellence. The Dance of the Dead has sold more than any religious book in this century. Excluding the Bible, of course. And that means it’s become an extension of Christianity, so to speak. A voice to the lost world. It’s important to keep that voice pure. I’m sure Jan would agree to that.”
    â€œYes, of course,” Jan said.
    These evangelical leaders had come to honor him and to judge him in one fell swoop, Ivena thought—all dressed in starched white shirts and black ties. God forbid Janjic ever become a carbon copy of these men.
    Ivena had held her tongue long enough while these men spoke their rounds of wisdom. She decided it was time to speak. “It really depends on what voice you’re trying to keep pure, doesn’t it, Frank?” she asked.
    All heads turned to face her. “The message of the book,” Frank said. “The message of the book needs to remain pure. And the lives of we who proclaim that message, of course.”
    â€œAnd what is the message of the book?” Ivena returned.
    â€œWell, I think we already know the message of the book.”
    â€œYes, but indulge me. Janjic tells me that it’s my story as well as his. So then what does this story tell you about God’s relationship with man?”
    The leaders exchanged glances, off balance by her sudden challenge.
    â€œIt’s the story of innocent bloodshed,” Bob Story said to her left. The short, round evangelical leader shifted in his seat. “The death of martyrs, choosing death instead of renouncing Christ. Wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œIn part, yes, that summarizes some of what happened. But what did the story teach you gentlemen? Hmm? I want to know because, unless I’m missing the tone of the past ten minutes, you are more concerned with protecting the image of the church than spreading the message of the martyrs. I believe you think that you have a flawed spokesman in Janjic, and it terrifies you.”
    The room suddenly felt hollowed of air. Janjic looked at her as if she’d lost her senses. But then she was right, and they all knew it. They loved the success of his book, but they did take exception to him now and then.
    â€œTrue, yes? Janjic has written a magnificent book called The Dance of the Dead and he’s been embraced by a world hungering for the unadulterated truth. But Janjic’s just an ordinary man. An excellent writer, obviously, but a man with his share of flaws. Perhaps a man with more than his share of flaws, considering the scars the war has left on his heart. And now that he’s been chosen by the world as a spokesman for your Christianity, you’re quite nervous. Am I wrong?”
    They stared at her unblinking.
    A hotel waiter entered the conference room, perhaps to offer desserts, but with one look around the table, he thought better of it and turned on his heels. The air conditioner hummed behind Ivena, spilling cool air over her neck.
    Roald was the first to recover. “I think I can speak for the group when I say that we have complete confidence in Jan. But you’re right, Ivena. He has been chosen by the world, as you say. Although not without our help, I might add.” They chuckled. “And he is a spokesperson for the church. Frank’s correct—by virtue of his own success Jan has a unique set of standards, I would say. Not unlike any other role model—a sports hero, for example. To whom much is given, much is required.”
    Barney Givens cleared his throat. “I think Roald’s