Harry had never been all that interested in God. He'd never really thought that God had been all that interested in him, either, though he'd always believed that if there was a Devil, there must be a God out there somewhere as well. But after a certain archangel had oh-so patiently explained some things to him, he was starting to lose the plausible deniability he used to have.
That, and he had a young lady in his charge who was deeply in need of a miracle, because the way that things were currently being run at the camp, the deck seemed to be stacked against her. Harry didn't want to think about what would happen if she lost control, any more than Thomas did. So as he and Inari walked along the perimeter, waiting to meet the rest of their motley little family who'd been reassigned to Bravo, he stopped to listen to the Sunday message.
Father Sam was young, but so had Tony Forthill been, once upon a time. And Harry respected Forthill, in spite of their doctrinal differences, so he was willing to at least hear what this kid had to say. Maybe he was for real.