The Hand of God

by Miller, Tim

  “Brandon, sir” the boy said into the microphone.

  “Well hello Brandon,” The Bishop put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “And can you tell us why you’re in that chair?”

  “I was hit by a car when I was riding my bike.”

  “How long ago was that, son?”

  “When I was ten.” The boy’s voice cracked as he remembered the accident that put him into that chair. The crowd let out a collective “Awww.”

  “Tell me Brandon, would you like to ride your bike again?”

  “Yes,” the boy said as he nodded. Tears were running down his cheeks as a woman next to him squeezed his hand. She was most likely his mother, she was crying as well.

  “Well, then Brandon, in the name of Jesus Christ, get up out of that chair and walk!” He took Brandon by the hand, with his mother holding the other, and guided him to his feet. Brandon was a bit wobbly at first, but in a moment got his balance and took a step, then another. He walked slowly in front of the stage, then he started running up and down the aisles as the crowd roared and rose to its feet.

  “Praise the Lord! God is good!” the Bishop shouted. “Amen! Go home and ride your bike my son! Amen!”

  While I was impressed, I’d seen many so-called healers do similar things. They would usually plant someone in the audience in a wheelchair and heal them of whatever. It was never an injury people could see. It always involved someone in a wheelchair, or with cancer or something easy to fake that didn’t provide visual evidence. In a lot of ways, healings were a joke in many Christian circles.

  When I looked back to the stage, the Bishop’s goons were helping a woman onto the stage. She was on crutches and only had one leg.

  “Can you tell me your name my dear?” he asked.

  “My name is Katie,” she said. She appeared to be in her twenties, had blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  “What happened to your leg Katie?”

  “I was in a bad car accident a couple years ago. My car went off the road and rolled several times. My leg was pinned. They got me out alive, but couldn’t save my leg.”

  “That must have been horrible my dear. Yet there was a reason you lost your leg. So you could be used for God’s glory here today.”

  She had on shorts and a sandal on her one foot. The Bishop knelt down and put his hand on her stump. The crowd grew silent as he prayed. He sat the microphone down and muttered something we could barely make out. It sounded almost as if he was chanting. After a minute or so, Katie made a noise as if she were in pain.

  The Bishop kept his hand on her stump and slowly flesh began to appear. The stump slowly grew longer and longer. The crowd sat in stunned silence as the flesh took shape and formed into a knee, and then an ankle, and finally a foot appeared. Katie wiggled the toes of the new foot as she put her crutches down. She began to walk on both legs as her face lit up in disbelief. She would look down at her feet, then back up toward the crowd. Her mouth stood open, speechless.

  “It’s a miracle!” The Bishop shouted as he threw his arms into the air. As if waiting on his cue, the crowd erupted with a standing ovation. Katie hugged the Bishop as music began to play and the crowd began singing, dancing and clapping. I figured I had seen enough. With everyone standing, it was a good time to slip out. I had spoken too soon about fake healings. The Bishop had now raised two people I knew were dead, and grew back a woman’s leg in front of thousands of people. I needed to get backstage to find out exactly what this guy was.

  Chapter 16

  It wasn’t hard getting into the backstage area. Security had lightened up with all the commotion on stage. The Bishop’s goons were helping him out on stage and the ushers were keeping the aisles clear as people moved about. I walked toward the back and then re-entered along the side aisle on the far side of the stage and ducked underneath one of the curtains. There wasn’t much backstage itself, just mostly wires and stacked equipment. I was worried that I’d run into security but no one was around.

  There was a large RV parked behind the tent. I walked through the rear exit which took me the rest of the way outside. Next to the RV was the Bishop’s black Lincoln. Several semi-trucks that read I Am the Way Ministries were lined up near the RV. That must be how he hauled all the tents and equipment around. I figured the Bishop lived in the RV. It made me wonder where he kept it parked most of the time.

  His ministry had to generate a lot of money to afford all of that stuff. There was several hundred thousand’s worth of vehicles and equipment out there. There had to be something going on besides online donations. I walked over to the RV and tried the door. It was locked, as I figured. I took out my Leatherman multi-tool; it came in handy on occasions like this. Using some of the attachments, I was able to pick the lock until the door popped open. Lock picking is another unusual skill for a preacher, but I wasn’t an ordinary preacher.

  Once inside, I flipped my cell open so I could use it as a light. It wasn’t the best, but wouldn’t draw as much attention as a flashlight would. I looked around the inside of the RV, walking toward the back. There was a large bed with a desk next to it and a couch across from it. I looked through the desk drawers, cabinets and anything else I could find. There was nothing obvious, just pens, empty notepads and some magazines. The Bishop was a ghost, or phantom. He came out of nowhere and suddenly was everywhere. Something didn’t sit right about that with me.

  “You’re not going to find anything here,” a voice said from behind me. I spun around and took a defensive position. It was David Davidson.

  “Geez man! You scared the crap out of me!” I said. “Who the hell are you and how did you know I was here?”

  “I’ve been watching you since we last met, Charlie. Despite my giving you advanced warning, the Bishop has been one step ahead of you all along.”

  “So I’ve noticed. You still haven’t answered my question.”

  Davidson leaned against the counter but kept his gaze on me.

  “Who I am is of little importance to you.”

  “I guess that’s a matter of opinion. If you’re gonna be following me around and popping up in weird places, then I would say it’s of major importance to me. You pop up randomly, give me some cryptic information and then disappear. What is of bigger importance to you is, do you know who I am and what I’m capable of?”

  “Perhaps. But you won’t kill me. I don’t fit your profile. Besides, you need me.”

  “For what? Can you tell me anything about the Bishop?”

  “For now, you don’t need to know any more. I can tell you something about you though.”

  “What is it I need to know about me?” I was sick of his talking in circles already.

  “Like, where you came from. Your ancestors, I bet your parents never told you much, did they?”

  “No. What would they tell me?”

  “For one, they weren’t really your parents.”

  “And how would you know that? And if they’re not, then who is?”

  “It’s my job to know things. The key to taking down the Bishop is finding out who you really are.”

  “Just how do I go about doing that?”

  “You’re a man of God. Read Genesis, Chapter Six. It will explain a lot.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Before he could answer there were voices outside the RV. Through the curtain on the door, I saw some shadows of men. Great. When I turned back around Davidson was gone. One of the men entered the RV. It was Jeremiah, the tall goon. He came toward me, his face twisted in an ugly scowl.

  “Well, I guess you couldn’t take a hint, could you, pastor?” He said.

  “I uh, guess not. I must have gotten lost. I’ll be going now.” I started to walk past him but he grabbed my arm.

  “Not so fast.”

  I wanted to lay into him but I didn’t know how many more were outside. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver, pointing
it at me.

  “Wow,” I said. “A ministry with armed guards, so much for turning the other cheek.”

  “Can’t be too careful these days. No telling what kind of dangerous folks might be about. Now get on your knees and put your hands on your head.”

  I didn’t know how far he would take this so I did what he said. There was no way out. We were squeezed into the tight space of the RV and there were men outside the only exit. I had nowhere to go. He walked up to me slowly as I kept my eyes fixed on him. With a quick motion, he struck me on the side of the head with the butt of the gun. I kept my eyes on him as he faded out of focus, then everything went black.

  Part II: The Fallen

  Jude

  6And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.

  Chapter 17

  When I woke up, I was sure I was actually awake. I was a teenager again, eighteen years old this time. Church had just gotten finished and I was going through the sanctuary picking up the hymnals from each of the pews. This was the best way my father and I felt I could contribute and learn how a church worked from the inside. I did a variety of things to help out the pastors. It was a humility lesson. As badly as I wanted to do things like study the Bible and teach and preach, I had to start at the bottom, cleaning and running errands.

  I took a stack into the back office when Pastor McElroy stopped me. He had been our pastor since I was little. In his fifties now, he still had a full head of brown hair and a bright smile with perfect teeth. I always got the feeling like he’d wanted to run a big church or be on TV, but here he was, stuck in our little church.

  “Hi Charlie,” he said. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

  ‘Sure,” I said. He didn’t usually talk to me after services. So I was curious what this was about.

  “Your father has told me how much you want to work in ministry.”

  “That’s true,” I nodded. “I want to do God’s work, to be His disciple.”

  “That’s great son. God uses us all in many ways. You have some great gifts yourself.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “But as a pastor, you have to speak in front of people. You visit them when they are sick, give them comfort, hope. You sing with them, pray with them.” He looked me in the eyes, obviously looking for some kind of reaction. He was going to get no such thing. Emotional reactions were not something I did.

  “Charlie, you barely say two words to anyone. You’ve attended this church since you were a baby, yet no one here knows anything about you.”

  “Does that mean God can’t use me?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. I’m just saying there might be some things for you to work on. We all have our own calling, or special gift. Some of us don’t know what it is until later in life. God doesn’t need just pastors, you know.”

  I already had a good idea what my calling was- protection. God needed strong shepherds to protect his flock. The sheep needed protection from the wolves, and there were plenty of wolves out there. Most people were oblivious to the danger that awaited them, whether it was physical or spiritual danger. People just didn’t pay attention, or didn’t care. I learned from my encounter with the dog that had killed my brother, I was stronger than most wolves.

  “I understand sir,” I said. “I already have an idea of some of my gifts, but I hope to learn more.”

  He smiled. “That’s great, son. Let’s get this stuff put away and we can grab some lunch.”

  I nodded as he walked out to his car. I loaded more stacks of hymnals into the office. The office where the hymnals were kept was where the church secretary and assistant pastor worked. The pastor’s office opened from inside there. I noticed his office door was open so I peeked inside. I had never been in there before so my curiosity was getting the best of me. There was a computer on his desk, note pads, pens; typical office fare. On the bookshelf next to his desk was a small TV with a VCR resting on top. I figured that was for watching tapes of his sermons to critique himself.

  I walked behind the desk and looked at the setup. There was a stack of tapes next to the TV. I looked them over. Each had a label with a date. I knew the church would send out videos of the sermons to people in nursing homes and hospitals so they could still watch the services. I put one in and watched a few minutes. It was the service from a couple weeks before.

  I stopped the tape and popped it out, putting it back in its place. As I turned I saw his desk drawer was open just a crack. There was a lock on the front, but he must have been in there recently. I pulled it open and saw some papers, rubber bands, and a stress ball. I pushed it all aside and found another set of tapes. These had no labels on them. My stomach had a sickening feeling all of a sudden. I wasn’t sure why. I hadn’t found anything, but something was telling me I was about to see something awful. Placing the tape into the VCR, I took a deep breath and hit play.

  The tape was in black and white and a bit grainy. There was a door, and something off to the right that I couldn’t make out. It was as if the camera was on the ground or set very low. The door opened and a woman walked in. The door wasn’t a regular door, there was no knob. It had a hook on the inside of it, like what you’d see in a bathroom stall. A bathroom stall?

  I couldn’t make out the woman’s face, but I could see she was wearing a dress or skirt. She was standing right above the camera and pulled her panties down, exposing everything to the camera view. This was the women’s bathroom at the church.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Pastor McElroy shouted from the door way. I turned and looked at him.

  “I think I should be asking you that question.”

  “Charlie, you don’t know what you saw there. You might think you know, but you have no idea. You’re just a kid anyway.” He was trying to play me off, make me seem like I was the crazy one for seeing what I had just seen.

  “Pastor, you said we all have gifts right?”

  “Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?” his eyes shifted back and forth, I could tell he was nervous. His little hobby had just been exposed. I’m sure he was wondering if I would tell someone in the church, or the police. I could see his wheels turning, trying to think of damage control. All I could think about was the women he victimized without them even knowing. My own mother used that bathroom. It made me sick to think of him sitting in here getting his rocks off while watching my mother on the toilet.

  “How would you like to see my gift?” I said. “God has called me to protect his children from lions looking to devour them, from wolves in sheep’s clothing.” That was a quote by the Apostle Paul in the New Testament.

  “Lions? What are you talking about Charlie?”

  “These women trusted you, they look up to you. And you go and spy on them for your own perverted means?”

  “Charlie, it’s not like that. Let’s go get something to eat and we can talk about this.” He started moving toward me. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”

  I took a step toward him. He was much larger than me, but I wasn’t scared. My heard should have been racing, but it wasn’t. A wave of calm swept over me, as if God himself was guiding me.

  “Charlie, I’m going to ask you nicely to hand me those tapes. We can pretend this conversation never happened.”

  “God knows what happened, Pastor. And I know what happened.” Looking down at his desk I saw a letter opener. It was long, shiny, and sharp.

  “Look you self-righteous little shit! What are you going to do with them? You think anyone will believe you? You’re a snot nosed, weird little kid. I’ve been a respected pastor here for years. Who do you think people will believe? You can’t see me in those videos. They don’t prove anything!” He quickly ran around the desk and lunged at me, trying to grab the tape. I easily stepped out of the way. Despite his size, he was clumsy and off balance. I grabbed the letter opener and thrust it into his right eye with one quick motion.<
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  I could feel his eyeball pop as the blade went in. He screamed and tumbled to the ground as blood and fluid sprayed from his eye socket. I stood over him holding the bloody letter opener.

  “And Jesus said,” I began, “if your right eye offends you, pluck it out.”

  “Charlie! No! Please!” he screamed, but I was done with him, and so was God.

  “Oh, be careful little eyes what you see,” I sang, “Oh, be careful little eyes what you see. Because your father up above is looking down in love, oh, be careful little eyes what you see.”

  His cries turned to whimpers as I straddled him and held the letter opener over his left eye. Pastor McElroy liked to watch, but he wasn’t going to be watching anything ever again.

  Chapter 18

  When I actually woke up, my head was pounding. The right side of my face was throbbing, probably due to the blow I took. I tried to move but was unable to. My hands were tied behind my back and there was duct tape around my chest, legs, and mouth. The room was lit by a single light bulb dangling just overhead. My vision was still a little blurry but I could see one of the Bishop’s goons standing nearby. It looked like Jesus the shorter of them. He was glaring at me as if he wanted to gut me. I wasn’t sure why, but he and Jeremiah were some angry fellows. So much for turning the other cheek.

  I tried to make mental note of my surroundings but there wasn’t much to go by. The door swung open from behind Jesus. He stepped out of the way and the Bishop walked in. He wasn’t smiling like usual. Pulling up a chair, he sat across from me, leaned in and ripped the tape off my mouth. I was glad that I didn’t grow that beard I had been contemplating or it would have really hurt. I only managed a soft yelp as the tape tore free of my skin.