The Hand of God (4 page)

I got the chapel cleaned up in time for the Monday morning men’s prayer breakfast.   Taking care of Roger took all night.  Once my service was over, I lowered him down off of the cross.  Then, I dismembered him, cutting him into six large pieces using an autopsy bone saw I purchased online several years ago.  It wasn’t hard to find, but it was rather expensive.  After he was properly dismembered, I placed his remains into a fifty-five gallon brew pot I kept in the back room of the chapel. 

Brew pots were used for exactly that, brewing beer.  Brand new a pot would run for $600.00 or more, but I found this at a swap meet for just over $300.00.  The pot was hooked into a well and could heat up to well over boiling.  I filled it three quarters of the way with water and then about two pounds of lye.   I sealed the lid on and began the process.  It would take almost five hours.  Once it was done, Roger would be nothing but a brown soup.  From there, all I had to do was open the release valve and let him run down the drain.  It would be as if he never existed.  This was the most efficient way of body disposal that I knew of.

Once everything was cleaned up, I had just enough time to change clothes, shower and head to the Waffle Barn for breakfast.  I managed to only be a few minutes late, but no one seemed to notice.  The men were sitting around the table already talking among themselves.  There were seven of them this morning.  We usually had anywhere from five to seven guys show up each week.  The discussion would cover everything from sports, news or whatever religious topic was going on at the time.  After some small talk, we would take turns praying, eat and then go about our week.

Jose Villareal stood to great me as I took my seat.  He made it to every breakfast each week. 

“Good morning Pastor Charlie!” he said, shaking my hand.  “How was your evening?”

“Very enlightening,” I said.  “Thank you.” I took a seat next to Jose.

“Well that’s great.  I didn’t see you at church last night.”

“Yes, that’s right.  The Lord has some other things that needed my attention.”

“Oh, well that’s the important thing,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder.  I should have felt exhausted, but I actually felt quite energized.  Doing God’s work always lifts me up, and gives me a sense of purpose.  I was proud to be his vessel of wrath.  We ordered our food and talked about baseball and basketball.  Someone asked if Roger would be joining us today.  I said nothing even though I knew he wouldn’t be.

As our food arrived we took turns praying.  I prayed for everyone’s safety and guidance this coming week.  I also included a few prayer requests from the men.  Jose’s mother was sick; it was something respiratory but didn’t seem serious yet.  Another man in our group, Mario, had a cousin who’d been in an accident.  Then another deacon, Paul, was having financial problems.  I said prayers for each of them.  The other men all took turns praying.  Once the prayers were finished, we began our meal.

Throughout the meal the guys continued to talk among themselves.  I sat and watched mostly.  During this time I would often study them.  There were many times I felt alienated among my flock, even when breaking bread with them.  Even though I love being among them, I knew what I wasn’t one of them.  I’ve felt like this my whole life. They spent their days going to work, raising families, watching sports.  My focus was always on God and his work for me.  This was why I was always disconnected from those around me.  Some would say I was a sociopath.  They could be right, I suppose.  I saw it as a gift.  With the work God had chosen for me, I could not allow myself any emotional attachments.  No telling who God would tell me to kill for His glory.  I couldn’t let feelings get in the way.

The men continued to chat as I started on my pancakes.  There was a loud bang at the front of the restaurant.  The crash startled me, causing me to drop my fork, getting syrup all over my dress pants.  I was trying to clean the syrup off when Mary Ann Westbrook came running through the front door shouting.  She also attended my church, and worked as a nurse at a local nursing home.

“You guys have to see this!” she shouted, jumping up and down.  “At the nursing home, you won’t believe it!”

“Believe what?” I asked.  Every other diner and all the waitresses were looking at us now. 

“One of my patients died this morning,” Mary Ann started, when Jose interrupted her. “Mary Ann, I’m so sorry for your loss, but that isn’t really unusual, is it? I mean, for a nursing home?”

Jose was trying to be helpful, I guess, but I could tell it was annoying Mary Ann almost as it was annoying me. I needed to hear what she had to say. I had a feeling there was something important behind her agitation. “Go on,” I urged gently, shooting Jose a look with my pastoral authority that said “hush.”

“No, of course it isn’t unusual for us to have residents die. It happens. But this lady had been healthy when she came in. She went downhill after she got a stomach infection, and that’s what did her in.” Mary Ann was building to a big finish, I could tell. I wished she would just get to it. “That’s not the weird thing—the miraculous thing!”

“We found her dead this morning. The aide began cleaning her up as I called her family. Then, this preacher who was there visiting another patient came into the room. I guess he’d heard about her dying. He sat down by her, and prayed while he held her hand.” Mary Ann waved her own hands frantically as she spoke, but at least she had stopped hopping. “Well, as he prayed, she woke up! She sat right up, opened her eyes, and started talking!” Mary Ann was flushed as she looked at us, waiting for our reaction.

The men all looked at each other and the rest of the diners began to murmur among themselves.

“It’s a miracle!” Mary Ann exclaimed.  “She’s better now than she was before.  Can you believe it?”

Everyone else was looking at me to see my reaction.  I tried not to look too shocked.  For all I knew, the woman wasn’t really dead to begin with, but something told me she really had been.  Perhaps it was a miracle.  Davidson had said I would know the man when I found him.  I had a feeling I just had.

Chapter 7

When I arrived at the nursing home, the mayhem had already started.  People were gathered outside, trying to see what was going on.  There was even a local news truck parked in the front.  This was going to be great.  If word got out this guy could raise the dead, news crews from San Antonio, Houston and even Dallas would be flocking down here.  I could see the frenzy now.  People would be nearly worshipping the guy, falling at his feet.  I needed to find out what was going on before all that happened.

As I approached the building, Mary Ann was already there.  She ran over to me and led me through the crowd of people, into the nursing home.  Mary Ann was still bounding with excitement. 

“Mrs. Woods is her name,” she said.  “She barely remembers anything, but I thought you’d like to meet her.”  I didn’t really want to meet her, but would do so as a formality.  I was more interested in meeting this preacher.  As if she read my thoughts, Mary Ann spoke again.

“Bishop Hoover is still here.  He is the one who prayed over her.”  Now we were getting somewhere.  We walked down a long hallway, past a nurses’ station.  The place smelled like every nursing home I’d ever been in-a combination of bleach and excrement.  Mary Ann took me to a room where a security guard was standing outside.  He nodded to Mary Ann and let us in.  AA man was sitting at Mrs. Woods’ bedside.  He was wearing a black sport coat and white sweater underneath.  His hair was white and balding on top.  The man smiled as he looked up at us and stood.

“Well, hello,” he said.  “You must be Pastor Sims.  So nice to meet you, my friend.”

I shook his hand and stepped into the room.  His smile was warm and friendly.  He reminded me of someone’s grandpa.  I sat next to him and we both looked at Mrs. Woods.  She was sleeping soundly.  She’d had a busy morning, it seemed.  Her breathing was smooth and even.  I was sure that any stomach infection, or anything else ailing her, was probably completely gone.

“So, Bishop Hoover,” I began.  “You really raise her from the dead?”  I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I figured I may as well get straight to the point.

“Oh, no,” he laughed, waving his hand dismissively.  “I did no such thing.  The Lord, on the other hand,” he pointed to the sky, “that is another story.  When the nurse said she had expired, I came to her.  I had a feeling God wasn’t through with her just yet.  I took her hand and just started praying.  After a few minutes, she sat up!”

He was so animated as he spoke, and he seemed filled with so much joy. He was waving his hands and changing his facial expression, as if his eyes were doing the speaking.  I could see he was a very dynamic preacher, one who was  perfect for leading a congregation into God-knows-what. I don’t think I ever got that worked up over anything.  Part of me hoped I was wrong about this man.  Maybe he wasn’t really dangerous, or maybe this wasn’t the man David Davidson was talking about.  He seemed so kind. 

“I think we should let Mrs. Woods get some rest,” The Bishop said.  “How would you like to join me for lunch?  I’d like to know more about your church.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” I said, even though I’d just eaten.  It seemed odd that he’d just brought a woman back from the dead, and his first thought was about lunch.  Perhaps this wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him.  “So, have you seen this happen before?”

“Oh, heavens yes!!  I’ve been on mission work all over the world.  God’s miracles are alive and well today, my brother.”  He walked toward the window and looked outside.  The sunlight seemed to illuminate him as he stood there.  “Many would have you believe God is not still at work.  That He doesn’t do miracles anymore.  Sadly, many who say that are within the church itself.  Very sad, indeed.”  He turned as he shook his head.  “People accused Jesus of doing the Devil’s work when he began his ministry and raising the dead.  Yet, now we all know better.”

“You’re right, Bishop,” I nodded, “I’ve heard of many miracles, but haven’t had the privilege of experiencing them firsthand.” I walked closer to Mrs. Woods and watched her sleep.  She shifted slightly, as if she knew I was there.  She had an oxygen cannula around her nose and an IV needle on her wrist, giving her fluids. 

“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist Pastor,” the Bishop said.  “Jesus said you receive not because you ask not.  If you assume they won’t happen, then they won’t, for sure.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

We turned toward Mrs. Woods as we heard a moan. She was waking up. Her eyes opened slowly and she looked at us, trying to focus.  She tried to speak but her throat was too dry.  I poured her a glass of water as she sat up.  I held the water to her lips and she took a sip, clearing her throat.  She looked back and forth at each of us before she spoke.

“Are you the one who saved me? Are you an angel?”

The Bishop smiled and clasped his hands over hers. 

“No, my dear, God saved you.  I am merely His servant. You’ve become quite popular in the last few hours.  People have come a long way to see you.”

“To see me?  Oh dear.  My hair is a mess and I don’t have any makeup here.”  She patted her hands on both sides of her head.  We both laughed quietly as she reached for her mirror. 

“Please don’t let them see me like this,” she said.

“I’m sure Mary Ann can get you fixed up Mrs. Woods,” I said.

“Oh yes, that would be nice.”

“Do you have anyone we can call?  Any family?”

She thought for a moment.

“Oh, no.  My children all live out of state except for my oldest son.  He lives in Dallas last I knew.  We haven’t spoken in years.”  Dallas was at least five hours away.  I figured she should have some family by her side through all of this.

“It’s okay,” she continued.  “I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.  They’re all waiting for me to die anyway.  They think I have money stashed away somewhere.”

The Bishop smiled.  I could tell he had a way of putting everyone around him at ease. 

“Oh, nonsense,” he said.  “You’ll be with us for a good long while my dear.  We are blessed to have you back with us.”  He looked up at me and smiled.  “For now, Madame, Pastor Charlie and I will let you get some rest.  I’m sure you’ll have plenty of other visitors before the day is over.”