Announcing...Resist the Devil, a novel about religious devotion gone horribly wrong.

Resist the Devil tells the story of terrorism's pathology: the twisted thinking and desperate extremism that drive ordinary people to unthinkable acts. With an intimate and honest look at everyday Christianity and Islam, Resist the Devil traces terror to its source - and where it finds it may be the worst news of all.

When Terry decides to pull out all the stops in his fight against terrorism, he has no idea what kind of dangers await him, or how deeply his one small decision will affect the lives of so many others. Gina can see that something is terribly wrong and, like the mythical Cassandra, she can't stop it and nobody will listen. Al just wants to get through grad school and pay the rent, too. What he gets is a grisly role he never asked for in a war as old as humanity. Read the first several chapters right here and then decide.

Resist the Devil

I am of the mujihadeen. My father was a traitor and now he abides in the fire where he belongs. I will not be like him. I am of the faithful ones and my day will come. The unbelievers will be surprised, and I will secure my place in the Garden.

Terry Caulfield, Manchester, New Hampshire, Sunday, June 2, 2013

“…Out for a Sunday afternoon stroll getting mowed down by machine guns…“

My car radio was near loud enough to deafen me. I reached quickly for the volume knob and turned it down. I’d arrived at the church that morning in a pelting rainstorm. The radio hadn’t sounded so loud then.

I’m the pastor of Faith Community Christian Center in Manchester. Most Sundays after church I drive to the Twin Maples rest home to conduct a service there. Sometimes I’m accompanied by my wife and children, but my children being small, my wife often takes them home for a nap.

This was one of those times I was going alone. Three-year-old Tabitha had an ear infection again and Tysie was beat.

The local Christian station had a Bible-study discussion program they aired on Sunday afternoons, and along about then it was looking at Matthew chapter twenty-four.

Having memorized that passage back in Bible college, it was easy to see that they were on verse six: And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.

“It’s hard to tell at this point, Sue,” a man’s voice said.

It wasn’t the same man that usually moderated these discussions. I found myself wondering if the regular moderator was on vacation. Perhaps he and his family were in a beautiful mountain place where they could hear the still, small voice of God.

“We’ve got very little information to work with, and the police aren’t letting reporters into the area. I’m on Beech Street and I can’t see anything, but I do hear a lot of weapons fire, some automatic weapons fire.”

Clearly this was not simply an abstract discussion of “wars and rumours of wars”, but breaking news from one of the actual wars that Christ had predicted two millennia beforehand. I turned the volume up again and listened intently, anxious to learn what I could.

A woman’s voice was next, presumably belonging to Sue.

“Mark, can you tell me what the traffic situation is like in the area where you’re standing?”

“Well, it looks pretty confused. Manchester PD has barricades and tape set up half a block from Lincoln Street, and they’re using Lincoln Street, apparently, as a staging area. People I’ve talked with are having trouble getting through to pretty much anywhere…”

“AH!” I heard my own voice cry out as I felt as if I’d been struck hard in the chest. Beech Street, Manchester PD, Lincoln Street—whatever was happening, was happening in my town and I was headed straight for it. I pulled off the street into a bank parking lot.

Slowly, more details trickled in as I sat in my car with the engine off. I was praying fervently of course, but I still felt so helpless. Apparently there were two groups shooting at each other in a five-by-five block area that included the block where the rest home was. I asked the Lord’s forgiveness for ever entertaining thoughts of grumbling over spending my Sunday afternoons with the old folks.

There was a tour group of children that nobody seemed to be able to locate. I prayed for God’s hand of protection upon them and waited.

I must have sat there for a long time. I wanted to turn the car around and go home to Tysie and the children, but my attention was glued to the radio and I kept waiting just one more minute before interrupting the voices to start the engine.

Reports come in slowly. The children had been taken hostage in the area of the shooting. The identity of the children and of the hostage-takers were being kept confidential, to protect the confidentiality of the children and so as not to interfere with any future investigation.

At one point I heard an explosion. It must have been close because it rocked the car slightly. A moment later I heard about the explosion on the radio.

I got out of the car and ran through the parking lot and into the back lot of St. Stephen’s Catholic Church. Another explosion shook the ground and one step later I heard its boom. I remembered seeing a sign designating the St. Stephen’s Read more.