“Then all men are condemned to a life of evil,” Kevin said.

Dr. Francis faced him. Kevin watched, unmoving except for his right foot, tapping away. His round blue eyes held steady, stared with the innocence of a child’s, probing, magnetic, unabashed. These eyes attracted long stares from the secure and forced the less secure to avert their gaze. Kevin was twenty-eight, but he possessed a strange blend of brilliance and naiveté that Dr. Francis could not understand. The full-grown man thirsted for knowledge like a five-year-old. Something to do with a unique rearing in a bizarre home, but Kevin had never been forthcoming.

“A lifetime strugglewith evil, not a life of evil,” Dr. Francis clarified.

“And does man simply choose evil, or does he create it?” Kevin asked, already many thoughts beyond his initial question. “Is evil a force that swims in human blood, struggling to find its way into the heart, or is it an external possibility wanting to be formed?”

“I would say man chooses evil rather than creates it. Human nature’s saturated with evil as a result of the Fall. We are all evil.”

“And we are all good,” Kevin said, tapping his foot. “The good, the bad, and the beautiful.”

Dr. Francis nodded at the use of the phrase he’d coined, which referred to the man created in God’s nature, the beautiful man, struggling between the good and the bad. “The good, the bad, and the beautiful. Indeed.” He stepped for the door. “Walk with me, Kevin.”

Kevin ran both hands past his temples and stood. Dr. Francis led him from the office and up a flight of steps to the world above, as Kevin liked to call it.

“How is your paper on the natures progressing?” Dr. Francis asked.

“Guaranteed to raise your eyebrows.” They stepped into the empty main hall. “I’m using a story to illustrate my conclusion. Not conventional, I know, but since Christ preferred to use fiction to communicate truth, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed from him.”

“As long as it makes the point. I look forward to reading it.”

Kevin walked with Dr. John Francis down the hall, thinking that he liked this man beside him. The sound of their shoes striking the hardwood floor echoed through the chamber steeped in tradition. The older man strolled casually, his ready smile hinting at wisdom far beyond his words. Kevin glanced up at the paintings of the divinity school’s founders along the wall to his right. Bold, gentle giants, Dr. Francis called them.

“Speaking of evil, all men are capable of gossip, don’t you think?” Kevin asked.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Even the bishop is capable of gossip.”

“Of course.”

“Do you think the bishop does gossip? Sometimes?”

The dean’s answer waited three steps. “We are all human.”

They came to the large door that opened to the central campus and Dr. Francis pushed it open. Despite the ocean breezes, Long Beach could not escape periodic stretches of oppressive heat. Kevin stepped out into the bright midday sunlight, and for a moment their philosophical bantering felt trivial in light of the world before him. A dozen seminary students walked across the manicured park, heads bent in thought or tilted back with smiles. Two dozen poplars formed an avenue through the expansive lawn. The chapel’s steeple towered over the trees beyond the park. To his right, the Augustine Memorial Library glistened in the sun. The Divinity School of the Pacific, South, was at a glance statelier and more modern than its parent, the Episcopal seminary in Berkeley.

Here was the real world, made up of normal people with sensible histories and ordinary families pursuing an admirable profession. He, on the other hand, was a twenty-eight-year-old convert who really had no business attending seminary at all, much less leading a flock one day. Not because he didn’t have honorable intent, but because of who he was. Because he was Kevin Parson, who had really only discovered his spiritual side for the first time three years ago. In spite of his wholehearted embrace of the church, he still felt no holier—and maybe less—than any drunk on the street might. Not even the dean knew his whole story, and Kevin wasn’t sure the man would be so supportive if he did.

“You have a brilliant mind, Kevin,” the dean said, gazing out at the grounds. “I’ve seen a lot of people come and go, and few of them have your same tenacity for the truth. But believe me, the deepest questions can drive a man mad. The problem of evil is one of those questions. You’d be wise to court it slowly.”

Kevin looked into the graying man’s eyes, and for a moment neither spoke. The dean winked and Kevin offered a slight smile. Kevin liked this man as much as he might like a father.

“You’re a wise man, Dr. Francis. Thanks. I’ll see you in class next week.”

“Don’t forget your paper.”

“Never.”

The dean dipped his head.

Kevin took one step down to the concrete landing and turned back. “Just one last thought. In absolute terms, gossip isn’t so different from murder, right?”

“Ultimately, no.”

“Then the bishop is ultimately capable of murder, isn’t he?”

The dean lifted his right eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

Kevin smiled. “Not really. Neither is more evil.”

“You’ve made your point, Kevin. I’ll be sure to warn the bishop against any sudden urges to kill his fellowman.”

Kevin chuckled. He turned and walked down the steps. Behind him the door closed with a soft thump. He turned back. The steps were empty.

He was alone. A stranger in a strange world. How many grown men would stare at a flight of steps just vacated by a professor of philosophy and feel utterly alone? He scratched his head and ruffled his hair.

Kevin headed for the parking lot. The sense of solitude left him before he reached his car, which was good. He was changing, wasn’t he? The hope of change was why he’d chosen to become a priest in the first place. He’d escaped the demons of his past and begun a new life as a new creature. He had put his old self in the grave and, despite the lingering memories, he was coming to life, like an aspen in the spring.

So much change in so little time. God willing, the past would remain buried.

He swung his beige Sable out of the lot and merged with the steady flow of traffic on Long Beach Boulevard. Evil. The problem of evil. Like traffic—never ending.

On the other hand, grace and love weren’t exactly running scared, were they? He had more to be thankful for than he ever imagined possible. Grace, for starters. A fine school with fine teachers. His own home. He might not have a rack of friends to call on at his every whim, but he did have a few. One at least. Dr. John Francis liked him.

He humphed. Okay, so he had a ways to go on the social front. Samantha had called him, though. They’d talked twice in the last two weeks. And Sam was no slouch. Now there was a friend. Maybe more than a—

His cell phone chirped loudly from the cup holder. He’d gotten the thing a week ago and had used it once, placed a call to his home phone to see if it worked. It had, but only after he’d activated the voice mail, which had required a call to the salesman.

The cell rang again and he picked it up. The thing was small enough to swallow if you got hungry enough. He pushed the red button and immediately knew it was the wrong one. Ignore “Send” above the green button. Green is go and red is stop, the salesman had said.

Kevin lifted the phone to his ear, heard silence, and tossed it on the passenger seat, feeling foolish. It was probably the salesman, calling to see if he was enjoying his new phone. Then again, why would a salesman bother to check on a nineteen-dollar purchase?

The phone chirped again. Behind him, a horn honked. A blue Mercedes crowded his bumper. Kevin punched the accelerator and picked up the phone. Red brake lights cut across all three lanes ahead. He slowed down—the Mercedes would have to chill. He pressed the green button.