The Hand of God (12 page)

“Yeah, I wasn’t up on stage or anything, but where I was sitting.”  He turned and lowered the collar on the back of his shirt.  “I had a cyst on the back of my neck, a big one.  After the revival, it was gone!  God healed me!”

“Well, Amen, Lee, that’s great to hear.” I said.  Lee always had to include himself in whatever was going on at church.  Otherwise, it would have meant that the Lord passed him by for some reason, and he couldn’t accept that.

“So what did you think of the Bishop?  Is he for real?  You think he’s of God or Satan?”  One thing in the Christian community, at least for Protestants was to always investigate any supposed prophets or miracle workers. Some guy shows up healing people and doing miracles, people think he’s either a man of God, a false prophet sent by Satan, or a fraud.  They usually turned out to be frauds.  I did my best to give the politically correct answer.

“Well Lee, I’m not sure myself.  I’ve been praying about it and staying in the Word to see what the Lord reveals to me.”

“Great idea Pastor Charlie!  You’re such wise man of God!”

“Thank you Lee, talk to you again soon.”

Almost all of my interactions that morning were like that.  I was exhausted by the time the tenth person came through asking the same questions and telling the same stories.  Like a good pastor I kept smiling and shaking hands.  Thankfully the whole thing only lasted about an hour, and then I got to preach.  At least when I preach, I get thirty full minutes to talk and not be interrupted or have to listen to anyone.  My sermon that week was on miracles, for obvious reasons.  The sermon went on without incident.  I was able to do my post sermon greetings and head out after everyone had left. 

I walked out to my Tahoe, the only car left in the parking lot, and saw a piece of paper under the windshield wiper.  I pulled it out and read it.

BISHOP HOOVER

OF

I AM THE WAY MINISTRIES

LIVE AT THE AT&T CENTER

WEDNESDAY JUNE 25TH AT 7:00PM

WITNESS GOD’S MIRACLES LIVE!

The Bishop was growing.  In just one week he went from filling a tent to booking the AT&T center.  He was up to something big; I just wasn’t sure what it was.  In all the information I’d read about his ministry, he’d always been low profile and kept things low key.  He never engaged with the media or booked large venues.  So, I had to find out what had changed.  Maybe he’s the anti-Christ getting ready to take over the world.  I’m not sure why he’d start in San Antonio though.  I could see in D.C. or Israel maybe.  I wondered if they would let me in if I tried to attend.  I had a feeling I’d hear from him before then.

I climbed into my Tahoe and headed home.  It was a nice Sunday afternoon, hot as usual.  I planned on sitting in the air conditioning and eating some tacos.  When I reached my apartment, I right away saw that plan was shot to hell.  Sitting in my living room was a short, stocky bald man.  He looked up at me with his bruised and bloodied face.  He looked as if he’d just been in a war.  His clothes were torn, his left eye swollen shut and the right side of his face looked as if it had been burned.  His left ear was missing as well. 

“Can you help me Pastor?” The man said.  It took me a minute, but I finally recognized his voice as someone I was familiar with: Jesus, the shorter of the Bishop’s goons..
             

Chapter 21

I had no idea why Jesus was standing in front of me.  Perhaps the Christian thing to do would have been to give him some food, nurse his wounds and find out why he was in my apartment.  However, I was no normal Christian; I was the Hand of God, descendant of the fallen Angel of Death.  So instead, I punched him in the nose as hard as I could.  He was caught completely off guard and flew backward, slamming the back of his head on my coffee table.  I’m not sure what kind of response he was expecting.  Perhaps after taking me hostage and smacking me around he was expecting a foot massage.

I threw him over my shoulder and carried him out to my Tahoe.  The little guy weighed a ton, but I got him into the back without slipping any vertebrae.  It was time for an overdue visit to the chapel.  Jesus would make a suitable guest, and I could hopefully find some information about the Bishop.  David Davidson, or whoever he was, said I may have some kind of supernatural powers.  Maybe Jesus could help me figure out what my powers were and how to use them.

I managed to get Jesus stripped and tied to the cross in the chapel before he woke up.  There has to be something sacrilegious about torturing a guy named Jesus on a cross, but there we were.  I broke open an ammonia capsule and shoved it up his nose. He grunted and twitched as his eyes fluttered open.  His eyes widened when he saw me and he looked around.

“What’s going on?  Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re in my chapel, Jesus.  And you’re going to tell me everything you know about the Bishop.  But first off, why were you in my apartment?”
             

“The Bishop.  I failed him.  He doesn’t tolerate failure.”

“Failed? How?”

“He sent me to visit other church leaders about joining his ministry.  One of the bigger churches in San Antonio wouldn’t even see me.  I bullied my way in to talk to the church leadership, and they called the cops. I took off before they got there, but the Bishop wasn’t happy.”

“I can see his unhappiness all over your face.  So why did you come see me?”

“I know you see through him.  Everyone thinks he’s some kind of super prophet, but you’re right-he’s not what people think. .I know you want to stop him.”    He struggled against the ropes, unable to budge.

“Well, aren’t you just a little saint? What is the Bishop’s plan?  What is he exactly?”

“I don’t know.  I know he wants other churches to get in line with him.  He has some big, global plan.  He says it’s everyone’s last chance to get right with God.  But I don’t know what he is.  He’s powerful, incredibly powerful.”  He spat out a mouthful of blood.

“So what was your role in all of this?”

“He got me out of jail back east.  Told the judge he’d keep me out of trouble, so they released me to him.  But he just gives me jobs to do and I do them.  What are you going to do to me?”

“Now that’s a stupid question, Jesus.  You’re tied to a cross. What, what do you think I’m going to do to you?”

Tears welled up in his eyes as he began to sob.

“Oh no, please.  I didn’t have a choice!  The Bishop would have killed me if I didn’t follow him.  I came to you for help!”

“Oh, but I am helping you Jesus, I’m setting you free.  Plus it has come to my attention that I myself may have some kind of power, not unlike the Bishop’s.  I thought you would be useful in helping me explore this.”

He shook his head frantically.

“No!  No! No! No! No! I saw the kinds of things he could do.  Please don’t!”

“Well Jesus, how many people begged you for mercy as you had them tied to a chair?  I would guess quite a few.  Yet, that didn’t stop you now, did it?”

“The Bishop told me you were a murderer!”

“And you were in jail for what? Jaywalking?”

“Please don’t do this!”?” Tears poured down his face as he went into all-out blubber mode.

“Oh, stop that. You’re a grown man. Let’s get started.”

I had no idea where to begin.  How does one figure out what his super power is?  My ancestor was an angel of death.  So, did he have a weapon of some sort?  A scythe? A sword?  A chainsaw?  I obviously inherited the urge and the ability to kill. 

“Let me go!  Please don’t do this!  I can help you!” 

“Stop that! You’re, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“I can help you stop the Bishop.”

“Yean, I can tell by the beating you took, you got him right where you want him.”  I searched Jesus’ eyes to see if he might be telling the truth.  I doubted it.  He was in all out beg-for-your-life mode and would say anything at this point.  I’d seen it countless times. It, it was always the same, and not terribly productive.  Then I remembered the thing the Bishop did to that preacher in San Antonio.  So I figured I’d give it a try.  I put my hand over Jesus’ face and pres
sed tightly.  Nothing happened.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Just bear with me.  I’m trying to find a new way to kill you.”

“You are insane!”

“Not as much as the Bishop, apparently.”

He grunted something I couldn’t understand.  I stood a few feet away and shot my palms out toward him, fingers pointed outward.  Still nothing.  I wish Dave/Ezrael had been more specific. 

I decided to stick to a power I was more familiar with. Walking to my work bench, I grabbed the bone saw.  There was an idea swirling around my head.  I wasn’t sure where it came from, but there it was so I had to give it a whirl.  I fired up the saw and watched Jesus’ eyes widen as soon as he realized his fate. 

“Oh my God!  No!  Please!”  He began saying something in Spanish. I knew enough of the language to know he was praying. 

I began cutting around the edge of his forehead, slowly working the saw around his crown.  His screams filled the air as blood sprayed the cross along with my face and coveralls.  The smell of smoldering flesh and bone filled the air, along with Jesus’ continued screams.  He really shrieked like a little girl, it was quite unsettling.  I always hoped if I ever met my end in this fashion, that I’d be able to retain a bit more of my dignity. 

After several minutes, I had worked the saw all the way around his skull.  Blood was oozing from the incision, but he was still alive.  I didn’t want to kill him just yet.  His screams had turned to loud sobs and he was gasping for breath. 

“Please!  You don’t have to do this!  Just stop, please!”

I examined the cut, indulging myself to admire it for a moment.  I didn’t have any medical training, but I have to say, I was impressed with myself.  Carefully, I reached up and slowly pulled the top of his skull off.  I had to twist a little, but it came off with a neat popping sound due to the suction.  Jesus’ brain was fully exposed as I sat the skull cap onto my work bench.

“What the hell?  What the hell?” Jesus screamed at the sight of the top of his own head on my table.

“Just shut up already.  Have some self-respect, man.”

I took off my rubber gloves and touched the top of his brain.  It was soft, but firm.  It was fascinating.  Part of me regretted not playing more with my victims all along.  I held up both my hands and thrust them into his brain.  Jesus began screaming again as he felt the pressure of my fingers inside his head.  As I dug my fingers in, a wave of emotion hit me.  First pain, then images, dozens of images; memories, suffering, other people’s suffering.  I saw the Bishop, the pastor at the San Antonio church, I saw a woman with a small boy waving goodbye, there were so many.  I couldn’t keep up with them after a few seconds.  These were all Jesus’ memories pouring into me.  I was gaining his memories and his knowledge.  Everything he had ever seen, I now knew.

After what seemed like forever, I pulled my hands out and stepped away.  Jesus hung limp from the cross.  I had invaded him in the most personal way possible.  That was apparently my “super” ability.  I literally stole this thoughts right out of his head.  Granted it was rather gruesome, but effective.  I now knew he was telling the truth as far as what he knew about the Bishop.  So he wasn’t too much help there.

I reached out and touched him.  I didn’t know how, but my fingers sank into his chest, touching his heart.  Jesus jumped back to life as if someone just startled him.  I jumped back at least three feet when he moved.  He let out a gasp, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.