The Hand of God

by Miller, Tim

  “You are?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. There’s something I need to tell you. We wanted to tell you when you were old enough. After today, I think you are ready.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “When you were a baby, you had gotten very sick for a few days. It started out as just a cough, but it got really bad. One night we decided to take you to the hospital. On the way there, you’d stopped breathing. Your mother was in a complete panic. It was an awful night, cold and rainy. I knew we weren’t going to make it on time. The hospital was still almost ten minutes away.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The only thing I could do. I pulled over, put my hands on you and prayed. I begged God to save you. I told him if He saved your life that we would dedicate you to Him. We’d prepare you for a life doing His work. After I prayed, you began crying. The sickness was gone completely.”

  I wasn’t even sure what to say. How does a twelve-year-old respond to being told his life is dedicated to a higher purpose?

  “Tonight was proof that God is working in your life. You’re a warrior son.”

  “I am?”

  “Just look at yourself. Of course you are. Tonight with that vicious dog? It was like a modern David and Goliath. That dog should have torn you apart. Yet you found a way to kill it. Now no one will ever be hurt by that thing again.”

  He had a point. It was all quite overwhelming. Dedicated to God, David and Goliath? It was a lot for a kid, but I tried not to get a big head.

  Several years later when I was in high school, I was coming back from Bible study when my car got a flat tire in downtown San Antonio. It was late at night and I was under an overpass. I got out and started to change it when I heard a woman scream.

  I ran toward the scream. It was around the corner from the overpass. When I got there, a man was standing outside of a parked car. He had a woman by the hair and was pulling her out through the driver’s side window. I ran over to try and stop him.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Get away from her!”

  The man turned. He was wearing a dark jacket and had a diamond stud earring.

  “This ain’t none of your business man. Now get the fuck outta here!”

  He went back to pulling on the woman’s hair as if I was just an annoyance. The woman kept screaming as he yanked her further out of the window. By then she was almost halfway out. At a loss for what to do, I ran up and punched him in the stomach. It didn’t have much effect, but he let go of the woman and turned to me.

  “Shit, kid, now you just fucked up. I’m gonna beat your ass now.”

  “No you’re not.” I said. I was horrified at first. My hands were shaking as sweat started down my forehead. The man came toward me and took a swing. His fist connected with my forehead, knocking me backward. I fell flat on the ground as he stood over me.

  “Get up bitch! What you gonna do?” He kicked me in the side before I could move. While the punch and kick hurt, I was more stunned than in actual pain. I climbed to my knees and made it back to my feet. He stood waiting for me to regain my composure. I could tell he wanted to fight. The women had driven off by this time. Hopefully to get help, but I wasn’t counting on it.

  The man swung at me again; this; this time I was ready, and moved out of the way. I hadn’t had any real training in fighting skills. He swung again and I side stepped this one. But he connected on the next blow, right to the side of my face. I kept to my feet this time though. I had no doubt that this was a fight to the death. Just like the dog when I was twelve, here at the age of seventeen, I was in another fight for my life.

  The man swung again, this time, I ducked and swung back, hitting him in the stomach, then followed with a quick upper cut that caught his chin. He was too big and I knew I couldn’t beat him head-to-head in his kind of fight. He laughed as the blows connected.

  “Oh there you go, little girl. Now you got some fight in you.” He swung again, hitting me right in the nose. I felt something pop as blood sprayed everywhere. Pain shot through my whole body and things got fuzzy. He hit me in the face again, and again, and again. I went to my knees, dazed. He was going to kill me.

  “C’mon bitch! I thought you was gonna fight?” He grabbed the back of my head and slammed me face first into the street. He did it repeatedly. I couldn’t believe I was still conscious. Then something came over me, something hard to explain. The pain went away, the fear went away, and it was just me and this man. I flopped to the ground and lie there motionless. The man kicked me a few more times and then knelt down next to me. He was about to finish me off.

  “You see what happens when you get into other people’s business? You cost me a piece of ass tonight. So you gonna die.” He placed his hand on the back of my head again. This time I grabbed him and struck him in the face with the palm of my hand. I could see the shock on his face that I was even moving. The blow itself wasn’t that strong. The shock went away after a few seconds and I could tell he was about to really go nuts.

  I jumped to my feet and punched him in the face several times. None of them were very hard, but enough to distract him. He lunged at me and I stepped out of the way and jumped onto his back. I locked my arm around his neck in a choke hold as I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on for dear life. He ran and thrashed about as I sank my grip in tighter and tighter. After a couple of minutes, he slowed down, barely getting his arms over his head. Then he went to his knees. I stayed on my feet but kept the choke hold in place. His body began to sag and finally went totally limp. I continued to hold on for another minute to make sure he was gone.

  I let go of his lifeless body and looked down at him. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel, but I didn’t feel anything other than relief. It was still dark and I was amazed no one had even driven by. From there, I wasn’t sure what to do. So I ran back to my car and drove home. As I drove home it began to rain. I realized years later that the rain would have washed away any DNA or evidence I may have left behind. It was God protecting his warrior.

  That was my first human kill. Not nearly as neat and tidy as my work now, but you have to start somewhere.

  I was about to reach Nancy Martinez’s house when I saw it; the Bishop’s car sitting across the street from her place. I kept driving and looped around the block. This was going to mess up my plans, big time. That guy was everywhere.

  Chapter 13

  Not sure what else to do, I sat a block down from Nancy’s house and kept an eye out. It was the middle of the day, but I was used to keeping a low profile during the day. The Tahoe had tinted windows so that helped a lot. The worse thing was nosy neighbors coming up asking what you were doing. It would be even worse if they were to call the cops to check me out, so I turned the Tahoe off and moved to the backseat where I couldn’t be seen. It was really too hot to be sitting in a parked car, but this was the kind of sacrifice that came with the territory. After a few minutes, the Bishop came walking out with Nancy Martinez behind him. In Nancy’s arms was a baby, the same one I had seen her kill. They all got into his Lincoln and drove off. This day was quickly becoming unproductive. Instead of doing more following, I decided to head back to the church. I figured I needed to check in and see if anything new was going on.

  When I got back to the church, Jeff Garza, my assistant pastor, was standing outside. He also ran the youth group and was in charge of the worship band. I sometimes wondered if the church really needed me. The kids loved Jeff since he was practically still a kid himself. He was twenty-five, yet looked sixteen. Even with his shirt and tie on, he looked like a kid who raided his dad’s wardrobe. He was talking to some ladies from the congregation out front when I pulled up.

  “Charlie! Did you hear?” He yelled as he ran up to me.

  “Hear what?”

  “The Bishop! He can raise the dead!”

  Oh, here we go.

  “Yes I know. I met him.”

  “You met him? Are you serious?” Jeff’s eyes lit up, and the women starte
d bombarding me with questions. I wasn’t even sure who these ladies were. I had just seen them around the church a few times. Regardless, I had too much on my mind to hold a press conference about the Bishop.

  “Yes, we had lunch yesterday. Everything happened yesterday anyway. I figured everyone heard about it by now. Or is there something else going on?”

  “Well, Vanessa here said he is gonna have a meeting tomorrow night. Everyone is invited. It’s gonna be like a healing service. Kind of like an old fashioned tent revival!” Jeff answered. “That’s just what this community needs! The Spirit will be at work tomorrow!” The kid’s voice was actually cracked as he spoke, as if he’d just hit puberty. I gathered that Vanessa was the short blonde standing next to him. I’d only seen her around once or twice. I would have normally found the whole thing funny, except that I realized how it all made sense--the Bishop was building a following. He would come in, perform a few miracles, get people worked up with some big revivals and before you know it, the Bishop’s like the pied piper, leading everyone out of their churches and into his. And, along with them, the money and manpower that kept the individual churches in business.

  I needed to find out what his plan was. What. What did he want? No doubt, I’d learn a few things at the revival. That gave me some time to sort things out. I was still fuming about him getting to Nancy Martinez first. Could God be speaking to him too? If so, that would be a pretty sick joke. Questions began to fill my mind. It would be nice if I could speak to David Davidson again, but that didn’t seem likely.

  I could try to find Davidson, but he was like a ghost. Our last encounter was only because he chose to seek me out. He left no contact information and had no identifying characteristics or information I could use to track him down, other than his weird name. That wouldn’t get me very far on Google. My followers might suggest I pray for guidance in this situation. But, prayer for me was a funny thing. Of course I publically prayed as would be expected of a pastor. But privately, for myself, I didn’t pray the same way others did. I didn’t sit and ask God for things. I figured He knew everything I needed. The Bible says ask and you shall receive, but I wasn’t like everyone else. I was the Hand of God. He would keep me steady and provide for my needs.

  I went into my office and opened my laptop. Using Google and Yahoo, I did a few people searches looking for David Davidson. Oddly enough it was a fairly common name. The San Antonio area has around 2 million people so that makes finding anyone even harder. I closed the laptop and rubbed my eyes. The last few days had been crazy and it was giving me a headache. I would have to wait until the revival tomorrow night to get some real answers.

  Chapter 14

  When Wednesday night rolled around, the whole town was buzzing with excitement. People were curious about the Bishop and rumors were flying. Some thought he was a prophet; others were skeptical and thought he was out for money. I was sure it was neither, but hoped to find out. I went ahead and canceled our Wednesday night services since half the town would be at the revival. The other half didn’t bother with Wednesday night church anyway.

  The revival was held at a large field just outside of town. There was already a line of cars backed up for at least half a mile. After sitting in traffic another half hour, I finally got to park in the field. The tent was huge, and looked similar to a circus big top. I wasn’t even sure where you’d find a tent that size. As I approached the line of people standing outside, several recognized me and came over to greet me.

  “Hey, Pastor Charlie!” It was Lee. Of course he was there.. I just wasn’t in the mood to hear him theorize about the Bishop. I was going to hear it, though.

  “Hi Lee. How’s it going?”

  “Great! I’m ready for the Lord to do some amazing things tonight!”

  “Me too, Lee,” I looked around trying to take in the setup. There were men in suits at the entrance seating people. I saw one of the Bishop’s goons near the front. I entertained the thought of going up to the Bishop and saying hello just to see if I could get a feel for what the goons were up to. I already knew whatever it was, it was no good.. Though I already knew it was no good. Either way, I decided against the straightforward approach. Nothing good would come of that.

  “Excuse me, Lee,” I said before he could get started rambling too much. “I need to check on something.” I left him hanging mid-sentence and began to work my way through the crowd. It was a humid evening, and way too hot to be wearing a suit. There were several large fans placed throughout the tent. There were also coolers filled with ice and bottled water. At least the Bishop didn’t want anyone keeling over from heat stroke during the service.

  I worked my way toward the front of the stage. The short goon was there talking to someone. Before I could reach him a woman stepped in front of me.

  “Hello sir, could you take a seat please?” She looked to be in her thirties with red hair and was wearing a blue, flowery summer dress.

  “Sure. I just needed to ask that man a question real quick.”

  “I’m sorry. No one is allowed near the stage. I will tell him you’d like to speak with him, though.”

  “It’s very important. I know he works for the Bishop. I just need to—“

  “Is there a problem here?” The short goon said. I hadn’t seen him walk up behind her.

  “This man says he needs to speak with you,” she,” she said.

  The goon was Latino. He. He was stockier close up and had a perpetual scowl. His name tag read Jesus. Under different circumstances I would have found that funny.

  “My name is Pastor Charlie Sims. I’m a friend of the Bishop’s. I was wondering if I could speak to him for a moment.” I began to walk toward the stage as I spoke.

  “I’m sorry. He’s preparing for tonight’s service.” Jesus firmly pressed his hand against my chest.

  “I just want to say hello.. I won’t keep him long.” I said.

  “I said, he’s busy,” he stepped toward me. “He is not taking visitors right now.” The tall goon walked over when he saw the commotion. His name tag said Jeremiah. They had the whole biblical name thing down, that’s for sure. Jeremiah was white, and had a scar on the left side of his face. This made me wonder if one or both of these guys were ex-cons.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Jeremiah asked.

  I gave up, not wanting to make a scene.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was just going to my seat. Thank you.”

  I could feel their eyes on me as I turned and walked away. People were now filling their seats. I found a spot in one of the middle rows near some older couple and a young family. Within twenty minutes or so the place had filled up. There were people standing up along the back of the tent and in the aisles. Ushers were pushing people in wheelchairs to a roped off section in the front. There were plenty of people there I didn’t’ recognize. This told me people from the city and maybe even further away came out for the show.

  Finally the lights went out and everything went dark. After a couple minutes, people began muttering among themselves wondering what was going on. It remained dark for almost ten minutes, pitch black. I figured this was part of the Bishop’s theatrics. I knew I was right when music began to play. It started out quietly at first and then got louder. I recognized the music; it was Ecstasy of Gold, from an old western. The music had an epic sound to it; fitting for the Bishop.

  The crowd got quiet as a light came on behind the stage, then smoke appeared. As the music got louder and worked to its buildup, a silhouette of a man appeared, rising from the stage. People began to cheer. The man held his arms out to his sides. The cheering got louder as the music reached its climax. The crowd rose to its feet and the man thrust his arms into the air. The music stopped and the stage lights came on, illuminating the Bishop.

  He was wearing a white suit this time along with a headset that included a microphone. He smiled at the crowd, which was still cheering.

  “Thank you my brothers and sisters! Thank you! Amen! God bless
every single one of you for coming out tonight! God is going to do amazing things here! Prepare to be blessed beyond measure!” He jumped as he said the last line and the crowd roared. It was show time.

  Chapter 15

  The service-or show was more like it- was nothing short of spectacular. The Bishop jumped around on stage as he preached his message of hope, faith and healing. I wasn’t sure how the old guy had so much energy, but there he was. You’d have thought he was a rock star.

  “My brothers and sisters, God is doing amazing things in town! In the past week alone, two people have come back from the dead!” People cheered while shouting “Amen,” “Hallelujah,” and other shouts of praise. This was one thing that always scared me about being in ministry. Religion, more than anything, was susceptible to a mob mentality. In most cases it was downright scary.

  It would start with someone seeing or hearing about some miracle, and the next thing you know it has spread like wildfire. People would start going crazy over whatever it was and the stuff just kept feeding and growing. In almost every case, the minister or prophet turns out to be a fake, or else people would just get bored and move on to the next big thing. Either way, in my own preaching I always tried to avoid sensationalism. A few years ago in Lakeland, Florida there was a big deal about some prophet down there who was doing healings, resurrections and everything else. Half the churches in the country thought it was real, the other half thought he was a fake, and there were some scattered few thinking he was a false prophet sent by Satan. Well, he got busted having some kind of affair with his secretary, and the whole thing fizzled out. The Bishop had a different feel to him though. I was sure he wasn’t a fake. I just didn’t know what he was. `

  “Who here is in need of healing tonight?” he asked the crowd. They all cheered again as he walked toward the wheelchair section. He climbed down from the stage to a little boy sitting in the front row. The boy was seated in a wheelchair and wearing a Houston baseball cap. A man came up and handed the Bishop a microphone. He knelt down and asked the boy his name.