Fire Of Heaven 03 - Fire of Heaven

by Bill Myers

  All of his life he’d been taught that holiness was a good thing to pursue, a worthwhile … pastime. But it was nothing as important as life and death. After all, if we sinned, there was always Christ’s sacrifice on the cross to pay for it. And if we wanted to indulge a little longer or deeper in those sins it may not be for the best, but it was okay. Christ’s grace was endless; there was no ceiling to the debt we could run up on His credit card of forgiveness.

  But now … as Brandon studied the Scriptures, he was beginning to see a much different God, with a much higher purpose. He turned back and reread 1 Peter:

  But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: “Be holy, because I am holy.”

  Brandon was beginning to understand that holiness wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t even a goal. It was a command. A command just as important as not killing, not stealing, not committing adultery.

  He flipped over to Galatians 5:19 – 21. He’d read it several days earlier — a virtual shopping list of immoralities.

  The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like.

  Of course he wasn’t guilty of all of these, at least not on the outside. But, like the church of Thyatira, how many of these immoralities did he secretly tolerate on the inside? And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the final verse. The kicker:

  I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.

  “Will not inherit the kingdom of God.” Did God honestly expect him to live a life that pure and holy? Yes, he knew holiness was something God preferred, and he always figured if he succeeded, great, but if not, no sweat. After all, he no longer lived under the law, but grace.

  Yet these verses seemed to take the matter far more seriously. He felt compelled to flip over to the book of Romans.

  Don’t you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey — whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you wholeheartedly obeyed the form of teaching to which you were entrusted. You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.

  Was it possible? All of his life Brandon had been taught that he had been set free from the penalty of sin. But now he was seeing something deeper. According to these verses and others like them he was not only free from sin’s punishment … he was free from its power.

  He turned to 1 John.

  No one who is born of God will continue to sin, because God’s seed remains in him; he cannot go on sinning, because he has been born of God. This is how we know who the children of God are and who the children of the devil are: Anyone who does not do what is right is not a child of God.

  It had always been there, in the Scriptures and somewhere in the back of his head, but it had never taken hold. He had never known the importance, no, the requirement God made regarding holiness. Did others? Did the church? Had she preached it here in Thyatira? Did she preach it today? Or, in her zeal to save people, had she forgotten the second half of the gospel — the fact that God not only freed us from the penalty of sin … but that he freed us from the power of sin. A power we could choose to embrace — or ignore. But one that if ignored would bring a devastating penalty.

  I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.

  The concept was astonishing.

  “Brandon?”

  He looked up. It was Tanya.

  “I think you need to see this.” She tried to avoid his eyes, but it was too late. He already knew something was wrong.

  “What’s the matter?”

  The men in the coffee shop had started to murmur. This was a place for them to gather; no women were allowed.

  “What is it?” Brandon repeated.

  Tanya turned and left the shop without a word. Brandon quickly gathered his papers, stuffed the New Testament into his back pocket, and followed. His heart was already beginning to pound as he stepped outside and into the night.

  “You scum …” Katherine searched for a more degrading term, but she was shaking so badly she could barely speak. “You despicable monster.”

  “Good evening, Katherine.” Lucas turned to squint at the clock across his living room. “Or should I say good morning.” Even as he stood in his disheveled state of mussed hair and swollen eyes he looked gorgeous. “To what do I owe this honor — and how, might I ask, did you get past the electronic security?”

  “I know a little about computers, remember.”

  “Ah, of course.” He finished tying the belt to his robe while heading past the leather sofa to the bar at the end of the room. “May I get you something to drink?”

  It was then she noticed Sarah’s open satchel and scattered briefs on the coffee table … and her shoes beside the sofa. “Dr. Martus is here?”

  Lucas glanced up. “Hmm? Oh, yes. I am afraid your friend had a bit too much to drink at dinner, and she is now sleeping it off.”

  Katherine threw an involuntary glance to the bedroom with its door half ajar. “She had dinner here? With you?”

  He was searching through the bottles in the cabinet. “Does that surprise you?”

  “I just thought she was smarter than that.”

  “Yes, well, when you and Eric failed to show, our evening became a bit more — how shall I say — intimate.”

  “When Eric and I failed to show?”

  “Yes, we waited, had a few drinks, but you never —”

  “We were never invited.”

  “Ah, an unfortunate oversight by my staff. I shall have to speak to Deena. Here we go.” He pulled out a bottle from the back. “Scotch is still your preferred drink, is it not?”

  It was now or never. Katherine played her card. “I know about Scorpion, Lucas.”

  He glanced up. “I’m sorry?”

  “I know the Cartel … I know that you created the virus.”

  He paused just a fraction of a second, then reached for two glasses. “Created … the virus?”

  She remained silent. She’d thrown him off balance, and now he was stalling to recover.

  He opened the bottle and began to pour. “I have been accused of many things, Katherine, but I must admit this one really surprises —”

  “I saw the files, Lucas.” She stepped further into the room. “Cairo, Mecca, New York, Tel Aviv — the first four cities to break out with the plague. I don’t know how you created it, but I know you transported and air-dropped the Scorpion virus over each of those four cities. I know that you purposely started the epidemic.”

  He hesitated. By now her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. She watched his every move, waiting to see what he would do, what he would say. After an eternity, he turned and crossed toward her, drinks in hand.

  “You’re right, of course.” He arrived and held out a glass. She only stared at him, her rage building. When it was obvious she wouldn’t take it, he carefully set the glass on the coffee table, beside Sarah’s papers, and eased himself into the leather sofa. “Please.” He motioned for her to sit opposite him.

  She remained standing.

  He became very quiet, staring down at his glass a long moment. Katherine shifted and waited. Finally, he spoke, but he did not look up. “It was a very difficult step to take.” His voice was soft and thick with emotion. “And, although the Cartel fully endorsed the action, I am the one who must take the ultimate responsibility.”

  Katherine watched, refusing to be taken in. Still, she had to ask, “Why?”

  He looked up. “The Arabs, the Jews, you know they will never get along. We all know this. The rest of the world, we may agree to live in peace, but not these two cousins. And that is what they are … cousins. Did
you know that both come from the line of Abraham? The Jews from Isaac, Sarah’s son — the Arabs from Ishmael, her handmaiden’s child?”

  She said nothing.

  He continued. “That is why it wasn’t hard to design a virus to attack only their gene pool.”

  She repeated the question. “Why?”

  “It seemed so unfair, for the entire world’s peace to be held hostage by nothing more than a … family squabble.”

  “So you decided to wipe them both out.”

  “No, no. Is that what you think?” He looked up at her, his eyes full of hurt, even betrayal. But it didn’t work. Not this time. Katherine would not be drawn in. “No, that’s not it at all,” he said. “You must understand, the only way to bring these two parties together, to force them to cooperate, was to somehow provide them with — how shall I put it — an incentive.”

  Katherine frowned, not understanding.

  He continued. “The Jews, the Arabs, they are dying off by the thousands.”

  “Try millions.”

  Lucas shrugged. “Yes, you are right. And here we are, an organization dedicated to world peace that is suddenly holding the only cure.”

  Katherine’s jaw went slack. “You’re … blackmailing them? If they don’t cooperate, you’re going to withhold the vaccine?”

  “Blackmail is a very ugly word. As I said, our purpose is only to provide an incentive.”

  “They’ll never go for it. The people will never —”

  “The people will never know. But their leaders already do. And by all appearances they are already coming around.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “We are talking life and death here.”

  “You’re talking genocide.”

  “That would be their decision, not mine.”

  Katherine reached out to the sofa to steady herself as Lucas continued.

  “In less than a week, every major country will have given the Cartel the authority we need to enforce world peace. That’s when I will officially be taking office and when we’ll have the groundbreaking for the new temple. Think of it. For the first time in five thousand years, the Jew and Arab will exist side by side in peace. Not that there won’t be tensions. But, as I have said, we do hold the incentive.”

  Katherine’s voice was dry and raspy. “That’s … monstrous.”

  “It is the only way.”

  “The only way? Innocent Jews and Arabs are being destroyed all around the world, and you say it’s the only way?”

  Lucas leaned back and sighed wearily. “It is an unfortunate by-product, yes.”

  “By-product?” She was practically shouting. “By-product?”

  He said nothing.

  Unable to contain her anger, Katherine was ready to explode. She had to do something. Anything. She spun around and started toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going. We have to get out of here.”

  “Katherine, if you’re thinking about disclosing this information to the general public, I assure you, it will not be —”

  She spun back at him. “I’m not disclosing anything. I’m getting out of here. You’re sick, Lucas. Deranged! All of you! And we’re not going to be a part of your sickness any longer!”

  “So you’re taking Eric and leaving?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Despite the authorities.”

  “We’ll take our chances.”

  “And if Eric chooses to stay?”

  “I’m his mother; he’ll leave if I tell him to leave.”

  “I’m afraid that may be wishful thinking.”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “What?”

  “Eric is more connected to us than you would like to believe. He is more connected to me. I’ve made sure of it.”

  When her voice finally came it was husky and full of venom. “You scheming, manipulative —”

  “Katherine, please, let us forego name-calling, shall we?”

  She turned on her heels and stormed back to the door. There was nothing left to be said. Now there was only action. She’d get them out of there. She had to. And if Eric put up a fuss … well, she was still his mother, wasn’t she? She could still make him obey, couldn’t she?

  “Katherine …”

  But even as she flew out the door, slamming it behind her, doubts began to rise. Lucas had sounded so confident, and he was always so thorough. What other tricks did he have?

  Brandon raced outside, past the children kicking the deflated soccer ball, barely noticing the old men sitting at the tables, puffing on their giant hookahs.

  Something inside of him was beginning to know. Once again his spirit was quickening. Once again the world surrounding him grew less and less real as the understanding became more and more vivid. The truths of the letter to Thyatira hadn’t been completely revealed, not yet. There was something else.

  He pulled up alongside Tanya. Her heels clicked against the tile sidewalk, drawing the attention of every male whose vision was not completely impaired. “Is it Salman?” he asked.

  She looked straight ahead. “I told Jerry not to tape it, as a courtesy to you. But sometimes his ambition gets out of hand.” She said nothing more, her face flashing from light to shadow as they walked under the bare bulbs strung from the fronts of shops to the mulberry trees lining the street.

  The hotel was a dive at best. A handful of apartments in one of the five-story buildings that surrounded the square. They’d barely arrived outside the structure when Brandon heard the music and looked up. Three stories above, on his balcony, a young couple was locked in a passionate embrace. And by the noise coming from inside he suspected they weren’t his only company.

  He entered the lobby with Tanya and started up the concrete steps. Brandon didn’t need the Spirit of God to fill in the details. Salman was on the road, Salman finally had a place to stay, Salman was unwinding and letting off a little steam with some newfound friends. No big deal. But other impressions rushed in. Salman drunk, Salman carousing, Salman having sex. The thoughts were unsettling, and he knew he’d have to speak to him. Still, it certainly wasn’t his style to judge or condemn —

  “Nevertheless, I have this against you: You tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess. By her teaching she misleads my servants into sexual immorality …”

  The words surprised him. Surely God wasn’t talking about Salman. The guy was a baby Christian, nominal at best. Brandon’s job wasn’t to judge. He was to be loving and kind. Salman would eventually come into deeper maturity and —

  “I have given her time to repent of her immorality, but she is unwilling.”

  He grabbed the iron railing as they moved up the stairs. Lord, that’s too harsh.

  There was no response.

  He’s a good friend. It’s not my job to judge.

  “You tolerate …”

  He’s a good man. Look at all he’s done.

  “He is unwilling.”

  Only for now. He will be later. We just have to give him more —

  “I have given him time to repent, but he is unwilling.”

  It’s just … sex. It’s part of today’s culture. Everybody is —

  “You tolerate …”

  That’s so … judgmental. It’s so …

  “You tolerate …”

  Brandon was growing more desperate. Please … I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him. Look at all he’s done for me, all he’s given up.

  “You tolerate …”

  But You say we’re supposed to love, we’re supposed to be merciful and forgiving.

  “I have given him time to repent, but he is unwilling.”

  They were on the second story now. He gripped the railing tighter, fighting back the anguish. I can’t. I can’t do that.

  “I have this against you.”

  Please … what about Your love? But even as the words came, Brandon knew their answer. He’d already s
een God’s love back in the hospital, back in the square with the rabid dog. The love that surpassed human sentimentality, a love that destroyed anything that threatened His beloved. In desperation, Brandon turned back to the other argument, the one minimizing Salman’s sin. It’s just … sex.

  “And eating the fruit of the tree was merely eating the fruit of the tree.”

  The insight was so powerful that it nearly slowed him to a stop. It was true. Rebellion was rebellion. It made no difference what shape, what form. It made no difference how large or small, how injurious or benign. Rebellion was rebellion.

  They arrived at the third-story landing and crossed to the apartment. The music throbbed as Tanya stepped aside to let him open the door. He leaned against the handle, steeling himself. This was hard. Next to saying good-bye to Sarah and losing the clinic, this was the toughest.

  Taking one last breath, he turned the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped into the party. There weren’t a lot of people. About a dozen. Some talked, others danced to the clanging rhythms and mournful wails of contemporary Turkish music.

  He called out to the nearest couple. “Where’s Salman?”

  “Ne?” the young man shouted.

  “Salman, where is Salman?”

  His partner, a bottle blonde, motioned toward the bedroom.

  Brandon looked over at the closed door. Heaviness grew in his chest as if a huge stone had been placed on it. He started through the crowd and had barely crossed halfway when the door opened and Salman appeared, tucking in his shirt. The girl with him was sixteen, seventeen at most. She reminded Brandon of the girl at the mall. The one so hungry for love and attention.

  Salman looked up and for a moment appeared startled to see him. “Mr. Brandon!” He recovered and sauntered toward him. Disguising his uneasiness with a grin, he arrived and slapped Brandon on the back. “Welcome!”

  Brandon swallowed hard, took another breath, and then quietly gave the order. “Leave.”