"Well, General," drawled the rancher from Wichita Falls, "I'm not going to stake out any opposition, but I would like it to go on the record that in my experience, there ain't no pasture big enough to hold two bulls."
CHAPTER 12
Jessie Woolsey had been a Miracle Governor for five years, although she had not been an active churchgoer when her husband died. She wasn't sure she had ever had a religious experience. The one experience that definitely left her with strong feelings was paying the taxes on Warren's estate. Shocked at how much the government took, she began to study the various ways that it intruded upon her life and was appalled. With nothing other than a few charities to occupy her time when she wasn't visiting her children, she turned to television, searching for a solution to the government's interference in her life. Instead she found the televangelists. She discovered that they not only had religious programming, but also news programs, variety shows and talk shows, all with religious undertones, each one taking the conservative view of politics.
When she realized that one of the major spokesmen for the religious right emanated from Fort Worth, she studied the local television guide and arranged her days around programming coming from The City of Miracles. Shortly thereafter, she attended Sunday morning services. When she gave the first of several one million-dollar donations to The City, she had a reserved front row seat. When her donations hit five million, the board invited her to fill a vacancy at the table of Miracle Governors. Soon, The City was her major charity, and next to her family, it became the most important part of her life
She had remained silent during the long debate about which preacher to choose. A strong, intelligent woman, she was somewhat in awe of the minds that shared the Board Room with her. Her practice was to comment occasionally; however, at most of the board meetings, she tried to listen, absorb what others said and vote her conscience. This day was no different. As she listened to the advocates for each of the ministers, she was swayed to their respective points of view. When the meeting ended, though, she agreed with the president who had made many decisions that were bigger and more important than this.
At the conclusion of the meeting, the general called a press conference to announce their decision. The board members shook hands, wished each other well until the next month and departed. Jessie took the opportunity to excuse herself, claiming that she had to powder her nose, and returned to the nineteenth floor to await the sunset and contemplate the day's events.
***
Early in her service on the board Jessie had discovered how spectacular the sunsets could be from the Miracle City Board Room. She was so smitten by them that she would often drive her Jaguar out to The City at sundown. Using her pass key for the private elevator, she sat alone on the nineteenth floor, watching the changing panorama of the setting sun as God covered the western sky with reds, pinks and oranges that could never have been matched from an artist's palette. Usually she did so as she sipped on her bourbon and branch water, the bourbon coming from a small flask she carried in her purse.
With her drink in hand, she watched the sun disappear as it painted the clouds with pink and yellow stripes. When the fiery glow dropped below the horizon, Jessie was startled to see an apparition reflected in the glass, standing beside her. She had heard no door open or footsteps, but standing there was the figure of a man, medium height, wearing all white. Not being one to believe in ghosts and certainly not one to fear them, she turned to see a man, dressed in a white linen shirt, open at the top, white pants and white running shoes. She recognized him immediately. Dark glasses covered his eyes. His face looked like the one in his pictures that were prominently displayed throughout The City, although in the pictures his hair was wavy and dark. Now, while still thick, it was entirely white. His body was that of a boy, small arms and legs, thirty-inch waist and a chest not much bigger.
"Good evening, Mrs. Woolsey," Reverend Luther said. "Ever since I was a boy growing up here in Fort Worth, I always thought that God favored Texans with the most marvelous of sunsets. I used to watch them from my front porch on Cloverdale as a kid, and after this tower was complete, I spent many an evening in a chair just like that one you're sitting in, thinking about His majesty and wondering what He had in store for me. Mind if I join you?"
Rarely at a loss for words, Jessie didn't respond. What do you say to a man whom you have never met, who had been dead, for all practical purposes, for twelve years? After too long of a pause, she gathered herself together. "Why no, Reverend. Please pull up a chair."
"Ma'am, my friends call me T. J. If it's okay, please call me that and I'll call you Jessie, if it suits you."
"By all means, T. J." She looked around for a place to hide her drink. No one ever caught on to her sunset toddy and she certainly didn't want The Chosen to be offended.
"You don't have to be embarrassed about your drink, Jessie. Bourbon and branch water is a great Texas tradition. I drank an entire lifetime's measure of whiskey before I was thirty-five, far in excess on too many occasions. After I was born-again and became a follower of the Lord, while I stayed away from booze in public, I certainly didn't mind a drink in the privacy of my quarters. I'm not one of those people who thought that Jesus and the disciples drank grape juice when the Bible called it wine. It's been twelve years since I've had a taste of spirits. If you have any left in that flask in your purse, I'd be obliged if you would let me share a little with you."
Regaining her senses, she realized that this was just a man beside her. Besides, twelve years is a long time between drinks. "Please, T. J., get yourself a glass and some ice. Be my guest."
T. J. excused himself to the table where an ice bucket, glasses and assorted beverages remained from the meeting. As he settled into a chair beside Jessie, she handed him her flask and watched as he poured Jack Daniels over ice.
"To your health, Mrs. Woolsey," T. J. toasted as he raised his glass.
"No, Reverend, to yours and to your miraculous recovery."
T. J. sipped at the bourbon and smiled as the liquid burned its way into his stomach. "Whooee, I'd forgotten that taste. Brings back memories, most of them bad, along with a few good ones."
"T. J., are you sure your doctor would approve of this?"
"Well, ma'am, I guess what he don't know won't hurt him. After what I've been through, I expect that one little ol' drink isn't going to send me back into a coma."
"Can I ask you about that?"
"You certainly can ask, and I'll tell you all I know about those years. It's not much. I have recollections of doctors and nurses, therapy, people around, a lot of people. I can't tell you if what I remember is real or just dreams. I don't recall anything about getting stabbed. I remember everything about growing up on Cloverdale. You know where that is, don't you, Jessie? It's on the poor side of Camp Bowie Boulevard, actually just a few blocks from your mansion in Rivercrest. Do you like serving on my board, Jessie?"
A little surprised that he knew anything about her, she challenged him. "How is it you know anything about me? We certainly didn't know each other years ago and I've only been on the board for five years."
"Jessie, I make it a point to know about everyone who is important in my life, and I guarantee you, I have studied the backgrounds of every one of my board members. You wouldn't know this. Before your husband Warren died and before my long sleep, I tried to recruit him for my board. He declined, saying he was too busy. He did donate ten thousand dollars, which meant a lot to me in those early days. So, what did you think about today's meeting? I kinda liked it when old Josh made that statement about no pasture being big enough for two bulls."
Jessie was stunned. "Reverend Luther, I was told that these board meetings were absolutely private and nothing ever left this room. Just how is it you know what Josh had to say?"
"Why, Jessie, nothing left the room. If you must know, I designed this building. I did it so that nothing that goes on here gets past me. Let's just say that some walls really do have ears."
Jessie was offended by the eavesdropping. She sat in silence as the sun's reflection danced from cloud to cloud. Finally, T. J. figured he had to explain and continued, "Look, Jessie, everything here is mine. I conceived it. I built it. I put together this board because I needed to give legitimacy to my cause. Many years ago, when they decided the board had the right to have occasional meetings without me at the head of the table, I made damn sure that I knew what was going on. I do the Lord's work, Jessie, and I'm not going to let any man or board get in my way."
Silence prevailed. Jessie was still upset with T. J. Her thoughts drifted off as the last rays of the sun reflected from a sky that was dotted with stars. "So, Reverend, what do you think about the decision to go with two ministers as soon as you're able to resume preaching?"
"Frankly, Jessie, to paraphrase a famous old Texan, it's worse than a warm bucket of spit."
"I remember those famous words of our country's former Vice President from Uvalde, T. J. The question is whether you are going to accept it?"
"And the answer, Mrs. Woolsey," T. J.'s voice rising, "is not only 'no' but 'Hell No!' I didn't build this ministry to share it with anyone. I am The Chosen and only I speak for the Lord. Just you wait and see. It won't be long before there's only one bull in this pasture and it won't be the one named Jimmy."
CHAPTER 13
The Chosen returned to the pulpit two weeks after the board meeting, dressed in a white satin robe adorned with a gold collar and gold trim at the bellowing sleeves. A gold sash bound his waist. Dark sunglasses covered eyes that resembled a road map of West Texas. If truth be known, T. J. was disappointed that lightning didn't crash, that clouds didn't part and a voice didn't announce, "This is My son, My faithful servant, with whom I am greatly pleased. Rejoice in his return!"
His followers overflowed the sanctuary, requiring another several thousand people to watch on giant television screens located in the parking lot. A worldwide television audience joined them. The press occupied the first ten rows. After a fifteen minute standing ovation, T. J. acknowledged the praise of the General, who introduced him. T. J. embraced the General and then shook the hand of Reverend Witherspoon. T. J.'s approach to the two men with whom he shared the stage was not missed by the media. He waited for the applause to fade before he began.
His preaching was that of a first year divinity student. Like a baseball player who was going to bat for the first time in spring training, T. J. was rusty and it showed. He started by thanking his doctors and those who had been faithfully awaiting his return. As he warmed up, the audience could almost see the rust fall away as he found his groove.
"Most of all I want to thank my Heavenly Father. I was born-again and received the miracle of restored sight in the Tarrant County jail, just a few miles from here. Before that time I had lived a life of shame, committing sins far worse than any of you could possibly imagine. That my Father could forgive me of those sins and put me on the path of righteousness should be a clear sign that He is a compassionate and often forgiving God. When I was born again, I was given ten years to carry out my Father's mission. I carried His word to small towns in Texas and ultimately to the capitals of the world."
A voice from the back of the auditorium shouted, "You the one, preacher! You're the messenger from God!"
T. J. acknowledged the comment with a wave of his hand and continued. "He gave me the vision to understand what was wrong in our society and a plan to correct those wrongs, not just from the pulpit but also through the power of political change. We called mayors, governors, senators, and, yes, even presidents, to join us on The Right Side. Many of them answered that call as we worked to restore family values, eliminate the epidemic of pornography from our society, maintain our constitutional right to bear arms, and, most of all, stop killing the pre-born through legalized abortions. We saw progress on all fronts when God called me back to his side where I spent the past twelve years.
"A few months ago my Father resurrected me, and once more, I have been born-again. I must admit I was confused at first. I didn't know what God expected of me. Eventually, I became aware of my surroundings and gained an understanding of what has happened in the world while I slept. It is not a better place. All of the challenges that faced me twelve years ago are still here. As I have watched television, not just the news stations, but the so-called sitcoms and other programming, I am shocked at the immorality of our society. We have no leadership at the statehouse or the White House. Someone must step forward to restore our society to what our forefathers intended. I now know that is my Father's will. I will preach my message from this pulpit, and I will do all I can to make sure that our national leaders are on The Right Side of our moral issues. I cannot tell you how long I will be on earth this time. That is known only to my Father. Whether it is days or weeks or years is for Him to decide. While I am here, I will work every hour of every day to carry out His will.
"Let us pray. My Father, and the Father of all in this audience, I thank You for resurrecting me at this most important time in the course of history. Give me the strength to carry out Your Commandments, the voice to make Your message heard, and the power to bring about Your changes, not just in this country but throughout the world. Amen."
The commentators on the evening news marveled at the performance from one who was so near death only months before. They picked up on his theme of the message of The Right Side being foremost in his sermon. And, of course, they commented about his description of "his resurrection," "his Father," and his days being numbered with the exact number being known only by his Father. As one commentator put it, "Is this guy a savior or a charlatan?" In the months that followed, many voices would raise similar questions, but only one would have the final answer.
CHAPTER 14
Over the next three months, things could not have gone more smoothly. If The Chosen took the Sunday morning service, then Reverend Witherspoon preached in the evening. The next Sunday they reversed their roles. T. J. deferred to Jimmy on the Wednesday night healing service, announcing that he had to wait for his healing to be complete before he could heal others. The board asked Jimmy to permit T. J. to return to his penthouse and Jimmy graciously agreed to move into a townhouse while crews turned a part of the eighth floor of the Miracle Tower into suitable living quarters. The board met monthly and marveled at how wonderfully things were going, and more importantly, how revenue had increased by fifty percent since the return of The Chosen. At the end of each meeting they shook hands and patted each other on the back in praise of their decision, concluding that it must have been divinely inspired. Only Mrs. Warren Woolsey had any reservations, and she kept them to herself, never mentioning T. J.'s comment about "one bull."
T. J. was pleased to return to his penthouse in the Miracle Tower. One evening after the servants had been dismissed and the sun had disappeared over the horizon, he bathed and surveyed what he saw in the mirror. He refused to admit to the sin of vanity, at least not in public, yet as he studied himself in the mirror, he liked what he saw. For a man in his fifties, he was well preserved, with only a few lines around his mouth and eyes. True, he needed to add a few pounds and some muscle, but the reflection was that of a vigorous middle-aged man, the white hair being the only real indication of his age. He toyed with the idea of darkening it, then had second thoughts. The white hair gave him credibility and a presence that he found appealing.
As soon as he was able, T. J. took to wandering the complex, particularly in the evening after the gates were closed. He found that his master plan, conceived many years before, had not only been implemented, but had been expanded. On the way out one night, he stopped his elevator on the third floor where The City's accounting offices were occupied twenty-four hours a day. Getting some help to log onto a computer, he found his way to the list of Miracle City contributors where they were registered according to the size of their contribution, largest ones first. T. J. studied the computer, trying to match faces with names, knowing that it wouldn't be lo
ng before he was making a personal appeal to his biggest donors. After scrolling through the million dollar givers, he soon found the $500,000 contributors. One caught his eye and he turned to the accountant at the next desk.
"Bruce, there's a donor here who says that his $500,000 donation is a tribute to his lawyer, J. Robert Tisdale, who he calls the best plaintiff lawyer in the country. He's tithing ten percent of a judgment that this Tisdale fellow got for him. I assume that means that he collected five million. You ever heard of a lawyer named Tisdale?"
"Reverend, if he's the one I'm thinking about, he's from East Texas…Palestine, I think. I don't know about him being the best in the country, but he's supposed to be damn good."
"Interesting," T. J. mused as he shut off the computer. "I'll try to remember his name in the event I need me a good lawyer sometime."
If there was a single advancement that he did not anticipate, it was the age of computers. He thought he understood computers and their potential before his near-death experience. Now, what they could do was beyond his imagination.
As the weeks went on, he spent more and more time in the recording studio, the building that housed all of the computers, video equipment, mixers, and other paraphernalia that gave him a worldwide ministry. He found it remarkable that the technicians could dub over his mistakes on Sunday morning and make it appear that he never missed a beat or stumbled over a word. If this was The Miracle City, then the studio performed the magic. He spent evenings observing the technicians and editors preparing video and audiotapes of sermons, lectures, classroom presentations and appeals for money in forty-two languages. As he did so, a plan evolved.
Talking to one of the young technicians, he broached the subject, "Tell me, Jerry, can you dub one person's voice over another's so that it sounds realistic?"
"Sure thing, Rev. That's not a problem."
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