The Hand of God (5 page)

We both headed to the door as the Bishop looked at me.

“How about lunch, Pastor Charlie?  Raising the dead always gives me quite an appetite.”

Chapter 8

Even though it was still rather early, I was hungrier than I originally thought.  We found a little café in town.  I hoped to learn as much about my new friend as possible over lunch.  Watching him with people was amazing.  I had alw
ays done well blending in, but
I had to work at it.  For him, it all looked so natural.  In the short time I’d been with him, people just gravitated to him as if he were made of cotton candy or something.  It still didn’t seem right to me.  Man of God or not, no one can be that pleasant all the time, especially someone in ministry.

All members of the clergy had some kind of secret-no matter who you are or how big your church.  Ted Haggard had methamphetamine and gay prostitutes; Jimmy Swaggart just had prostitutes, Jim Jones had Kool-Aid, but that’s another story in itself.  Many ministers, like my former assistant, just liked to look at porn.. In the world of Christendom, porn was a huge no-no.  I thought it was an interesting double-standard, though.  A person could be an alcoholic, drug addict, or even a convicted felon, and the church would embrace him and pray for him, and guide him to healing.  If you liked pornography, though, forget it---- away with you, and hide the women and children. Of course, I guess could say that interest in could go too far, and that was what lead to situations with prostitutes and extra-marital affairs.

Everyone has heard about the Catholic Church scandal with priests abusing children. Some ministers were just plain thieves.  I knew one pastor whose wife was embezzling money from her job so he could buy computers and sell them on the side for dirt cheap.  It was all profit, after all.  I guess they viewed it as a way to supplement their income. Then,  there are the preachers who turn their church into some huge multi-media commercial enterprise. 

Then there was me.  Granted, most would be horrified if they knew my secret.  That is only because they wouldn’t understand.  What I do is important, and it is just.  It’s not like I’m out running around killing people at random.  God exposes their sin, points it out to me, and I make it right.  The world is a better place because of what I do.  God’s kingdom cannot grow until the trash is taken out.  Which led to my current dilemma: who is the Bishop, and how does he fit into all this?

We found a table in the corner. The waitress took our orders as soon as we were seated.  The Bishop ordered a chicken salad sandwich, and I ordered a BLT.  As we ate, I don’t think he ever stopped smiling.  He was really starting to creep me out. 

“So,” I began, “tell me about your ministry.  Do you have a church?”

He shook his head as he sipped his iced tea.

“Not anymore,” he said.  “I did for years.  Back east. It. It was a small Presbyterian fellowship.  They were wonderful people.”

“So what happened?”

“Age happened.  The congregation was getting younger.  I’m getting older.  They wanted to go in new directions and try new things.  I didn’t see anything wrong with the way we were doing things.  After some time and tension, I moved on.”

“That makes sense.  What do you do now?  What brings you here?”

“After I left, I founded I Am the Way Ministries.  Now I travel around the world and do exactly what Jesus told us all to do.  We heal the sick, and feed the poor.”  He was doing the talking-with- his- hands- thing again.

“Sounds fascinating,” I nodded.

“It is, very much so.  Leading a church has a lot of restrictions.  You’re stuck in a building and limited to taking care of your flock, doing hospital visits, writing sermons and lessons.  Now, I visit people around the world, and everyone is my flock.  I help whoever God puts in my path.  Such as yourself, for example.”

Oh boy.

“Myself?”

“Yes, Pastor.  I don’t believe it is any accident that we met.  Do you?” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Uh, I guess not.” I said.

“Well, of course it’s not.  God puts people in our paths for a reason.  What that reason is yet, it’s hard to say.  Could be for my benefit more than your own, or vice-versa.”  He stopped and took a sip of his tea.  I must have been staring off into space.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I was wondering, do you do your ministry all by yourself?”

“Oh, not at all.  It’s always good to have some help and accountability in any ministry.  I have various associates who help me. Sometimes locals in a given town will assist me as well.  I try to include as many as possible.”

This guy sounded untouchable.  I was sure that wasn’t by accident.  He was up to something for sure, but no way to tell what his plan was.  I knew I had plenty of homework to do if I was going to figure this out, but I needed some sleep first.  I’d barely slept in the last few days.

“It was very nice visiting with you, Bishop,” I said.  “But I have got to get some rest.  I’ve had a hectic last few days.”

“Oh, yes.  I know that feeling indeed.  A minister’s work is never done!!  I should let you go as well.  You have your own flock to tend to.  I have some more people to see today, and then I’ll check back in on Mrs. Woods.  Lovely lady, she is.”  He stood and placed his money on the table.

“Thank you, Bishop,” I said, as I put my hand out.  He shook it, still smiling, of course.  I left the café and drove back to my apartment.  Pulling all the curtains closed, I slipped off my shoes and changed out of my suit and into a t-shirt and shorts.  I was so exhausted I could hardly see straight.  I jotted down some notes about the Bishop so I wouldn’t forget them later.  My head hit the pillow and I closed my eyes.  I hoped to fall right asleep, but my brain wouldn’t shut off.  Thoughts about the Bishop, David Davidson, my place in God’s plan, the Bishop’s plans, whatever they were, they would have to wait until later.  Sleep finally took me before any other thoughts could take hold.

Chapter 9

When I sat up I was sitting in a church, but it wasn’t my church.  My mother was sitting in the pew next to me.  Looking down at myself, I saw that I was just a boy, about twelve years old.  The preacher was up front, preaching about sin and judgment.  He told us that God knows all of our sins, no matter what we thought we got away with; God sees and knows all.  We can fool people, but we can never fool God.  He went on to tell us how the punishment for this sin is death.  Not just physical death, either.  Your body might die, but then there is spiritual death, more commonly known as Hell.  Hell is a place of eternal suffering and torment, no relief, no breaks and no escape.

I got up during the service and walked outside.  There was a little boy lying on the ground.  He was covered in blood; most of it around his face and neck.  The boy was my little brother Tommy, but Tommy had died when I was little.  Standing over him was a large Rottweiler that growled and glared at Tommy.  The dog had blood dripping from its mouth; it had just killed my brother and now it was looking at me.  It began to circle me, growling as the hair on its back stood on end. 

I stood completely still.  I should have ran away screaming as fast as I could, but for some reason I just stayed there, moving only my eyes, watching the creature circling me.  Its growl turned into a guttural rumble as it stared me down.  I realized there was something in my hand. I looked down and saw I was holding a sword.  Was that there a minute ago? I couldn’t remember.  The sword was long and had a double-sided blade.  It was something a knight would have used in battle. 

Behind the dog was another creature, this one much larger.  The thing stood at least ten feet tall.  A large set of wings appeared from behind it. They were leathery white and stretched out twenty feet or more.  The entire thing was surrounded by bright light.  There was a sword in its hand, too, much larger than mine.  The sword was almost as long as I was tall.  I knew the creature had to be an angel.  It nodded to me as the dog circled. 

The dog stopped circling and faced me.  It bore its bloody teeth in a wicked snarl and stared me down.. I gripped the sword and held it up, making eye contact with the dog as I did so.  Before I knew what to do, it jumped at me.

I shot awake in my bed, covered in sweat.  I looked around my room making sure I was my usual self again.  My phone said it was two in the morning when I checked it.  I’d been asleep for several hours, but not sure I could sleep again after that dream.  My brother Tommy had really been killed by a neighbor’s Rottweiler.  I was only twelve at the time, but it was still fresh in my mind. 

The neighbors kept the dog tied up outside all day and night.  One day after school it had gotten loose.  I think it finally got tired of being ignored and just chewed its way through the rope.  Tommy was only nine and was outside playing at the time.  When he saw the dog, he started to run which only triggered the thing to attack.  It caught up to him easily and pounced on him, going right for his throat.  He was dead before he knew what hit him. 

It was state law at the time to put down any dog that seriously harmed or killed a person.  The local police couldn’t find the dog, however.  It ran off into a field near our house, probably heading into the woods nearby.  Police searched for it, but not very hard.  My parents didn’t give the dog another thought.  The pastor met up with them at the hospital where Tommy was pronounced dead. 

I couldn’t leave it at that, though.  That thing had just killed my brother in cold blood. Yes, it was just an animal and didn’t know better, but I didn’t care.  I knew the Bible, and the Bible called for an eye for an eye.  I hadn’t gone to the hospital with my parents.  They were too deeply in shock to make me go along.  Instead, I grabbed a butcher knife from our kitchen and headed out toward the woods.  It was getting dark by the time I reached them.  They were quiet and peaceful, but I knew something deadly was creeping around out there. 

Slowly, I moved between the trees, keeping my eyes and ears open.  My footsteps breaking sticks were the only sounds at all.  I jumped at the fluttering of wings above me.  I must have scared some birds.  The woods were a place I didn’t venture to very often, so I was worried about getting lost if I went on for too long.  But my fears were unfounded.  After twenty minutes of searching, I heard it. 

The dog growled at me from behind some trees maybe thirty feet away.  I slowly moved toward it.  I wasn’t going to run like Tommy did.  Running meant death, and there had been enough of that today.  After I’d gone about ten feet, it stepped out from behind the tree, moving toward me.  It was like a Wild West showdown, except it was just teeth, claws and a knife.  I gripped the knife tightly with my fingers as I got closer and closer.  I would take a step, then the dog, then me. 

Finally the dog just started running toward me.  He must have thought I’d be an easy kill like my brother had been.  He lunged at me, knocking me off my feet.  The thing must have weighed a hundred pounds. At twelve years old, I wasn’t much more than that myself.  Its teeth were near my face, its hot breath that smelled like blood and flesh burning my nostrils.  I tried to push its nose away from me but it snapped at my hand.  I got it away just in time, as it made its move toward my neck.  I shifted and it sank its teeth into my shoulder.  Crying out in pain, I started to pull away as it dug them in deeper.   That only hurt worse, so I started to beat it on the side of the head with my free hand. My. My knife hand was pinned underneath me.

That didn’t have any effect whatsoever.  Pain shot up my shoulder, through my neck and down my arm.  I tried to wiggle the knife free in that hand, but it hurt too much.  Moving only made the dog’s grip tighten further.  I pushed my shoulder toward it, moving into the bite.  This caused it to let go to readjust its grip.  That gave me the opening I needed to pull my free.  My arm was sore and throbbing with pain, but before the dog could bite down again, I thrust the knife into its abdomen.  It let out a howl as the knife went in.  Blood shot out, spraying my already blood-soaked hand. 

It turned toward my face, blood and saliva running off its teeth and mouth.  The dog snarled and growled.  I knew it was about to go for my face or neck and this time it wouldn’t miss.  I rotated the knife in its stomach, twisting and turning it every which way.  It moved its head back a few inches, preparing to strike.  I pulled the knife free from its stomach.  The dog snapped toward my face, about to tear my throat out for sure.  Before it connected, I thrust the knife through its neck and pulled it free.  Hot blood sprayed my face as the dog yelped and slumped onto its side.