by Miller, Tim
I figured that was part of the act. Cause a big stir, and then hide out for a bit causing even more of a stir over the mysterious bishop. By Sunday, my own church was buzzing with excitement over the Bishop and his bag of tricks. The first person in the door that morning wasted no time asking my thoughts. It was Lee, of course.
“Hey Pastor Charlie! Did you see the Bishop this week? Did you see what he did?”
“Good morning Lee. I sure did.” I tried to smile.
“It was so amazing. I felt the Lord moving. He healed me too!”
“He did?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t up on stage or anything, but where I was sitting.” He turned and lowered the collar on the back of his shirt. “I had a cyst on the back of my neck, a big one. After the revival, it was gone! God healed me!”
“Well, Amen, Lee, that’s great to hear.” I said. Lee always had to include himself in whatever was going on at church. Otherwise, it would have meant that the Lord passed him by for some reason, and he couldn’t accept that.
“So what did you think of the Bishop? Is he for real? You think he’s of God or Satan?” One thing in the Christian community, at least for Protestants was to always investigate any supposed prophets or miracle workers. Some guy shows up healing people and doing miracles, people think he’s either a man of God, a false prophet sent by Satan, or a fraud. They usually turned out to be frauds. I did my best to give the politically correct answer.
“Well Lee, I’m not sure myself. I’ve been praying about it and staying in the Word to see what the Lord reveals to me.”
“Great idea Pastor Charlie! You’re such wise man of God!”
“Thank you Lee, talk to you again soon.”
Almost all of my interactions that morning were like that. I was exhausted by the time the tenth person came through asking the same questions and telling the same stories. Like a good pastor I kept smiling and shaking hands. Thankfully the whole thing only lasted about an hour, and then I got to preach. At least when I preach, I get thirty full minutes to talk and not be interrupted or have to listen to anyone. My sermon that week was on miracles, for obvious reasons. The sermon went on without incident. I was able to do my post sermon greetings and head out after everyone had left.
I walked out to my Tahoe, the only car left in the parking lot, and saw a piece of paper under the windshield wiper. I pulled it out and read it.
BISHOP HOOVER
OF
I AM THE WAY MINISTRIES
LIVE AT THE AT&T CENTER
WEDNESDAY JUNE 25TH AT 7:00PM
WITNESS GOD’S MIRACLES LIVE!
The Bishop was growing. In just one week he went from filling a tent to booking the AT&T center. He was up to something big; I just wasn’t sure what it was. In all the information I’d read about his ministry, he’d always been low profile and kept things low key. He never engaged with the media or booked large venues. So, I had to find out what had changed. Maybe he’s the anti-Christ getting ready to take over the world. I’m not sure why he’d start in San Antonio though. I could see in D.C. or Israel maybe. I wondered if they would let me in if I tried to attend. I had a feeling I’d hear from him before then.
I climbed into my Tahoe and headed home. It was a nice Sunday afternoon, hot as usual. I planned on sitting in the air conditioning and eating some tacos. When I reached my apartment, I right away saw that plan was shot to hell. Sitting in my living room was a short, stocky bald man. He looked up at me with his bruised and bloodied face. He looked as if he’d just been in a war. His clothes were torn, his left eye swollen shut and the right side of his face looked as if it had been burned. His left ear was missing as well.
“Can you help me Pastor?” The man said. It took me a minute, but I finally recognized his voice as someone I was familiar with: Jesus, the shorter of the Bishop’s goons..
Chapter 21
I had no idea why Jesus was standing in front of me. Perhaps the Christian thing to do would have been to give him some food, nurse his wounds and find out why he was in my apartment. However, I was no normal Christian; I was the Hand of God, descendant of the fallen Angel of Death. So instead, I punched him in the nose as hard as I could. He was caught completely off guard and flew backward, slamming the back of his head on my coffee table. I’m not sure what kind of response he was expecting. Perhaps after taking me hostage and smacking me around he was expecting a foot massage.
I threw him over my shoulder and carried him out to my Tahoe. The little guy weighed a ton, but I got him into the back without slipping any vertebrae. It was time for an overdue visit to the chapel. Jesus would make a suitable guest, and I could hopefully find some information about the Bishop. David Davidson, or whoever he was, said I may have some kind of supernatural powers. Maybe Jesus could help me figure out what my powers were and how to use them.
I managed to get Jesus stripped and tied to the cross in the chapel before he woke up. There has to be something sacrilegious about torturing a guy named Jesus on a cross, but there we were. I broke open an ammonia capsule and shoved it up his nose. He grunted and twitched as his eyes fluttered open. His eyes widened when he saw me and he looked around.
“What’s going on? Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re in my chapel, Jesus. And you’re going to tell me everything you know about the Bishop. But first off, why were you in my apartment?”
“The Bishop. I failed him. He doesn’t tolerate failure.”
“Failed? How?”
“He sent me to visit other church leaders about joining his ministry. One of the bigger churches in San Antonio wouldn’t even see me. I bullied my way in to talk to the church leadership, and they called the cops. I took off before they got there, but the Bishop wasn’t happy.”
“I can see his unhappiness all over your face. So why did you come see me?”
“I know you see through him. Everyone thinks he’s some kind of super prophet, but you’re right-he’s not what people think. .I know you want to stop him.” He struggled against the ropes, unable to budge.
“Well, aren’t you just a little saint? What is the Bishop’s plan? What is he exactly?”
“I don’t know. I know he wants other churches to get in line with him. He has some big, global plan. He says it’s everyone’s last chance to get right with God. But I don’t know what he is. He’s powerful, incredibly powerful.” He spat out a mouthful of blood.
“So what was your role in all of this?”
“He got me out of jail back east. Told the judge he’d keep me out of trouble, so they released me to him. But he just gives me jobs to do and I do them. What are you going to do to me?”
“Now that’s a stupid question, Jesus. You’re tied to a cross. What, what do you think I’m going to do to you?”
Tears welled up in his eyes as he began to sob.
“Oh no, please. I didn’t have a choice! The Bishop would have killed me if I didn’t follow him. I came to you for help!”
“Oh, but I am helping you Jesus, I’m setting you free. Plus it has come to my attention that I myself may have some kind of power, not unlike the Bishop’s. I thought you would be useful in helping me explore this.”
He shook his head frantically.
“No! No! No! No! No! I saw the kinds of things he could do. Please don’t!”
“Well Jesus, how many people begged you for mercy as you had them tied to a chair? I would guess quite a few. Yet, that didn’t stop you now, did it?”
“The Bishop told me you were a murderer!”
“And you were in jail for what? Jaywalking?”
“Please don’t do this!”?” Tears poured down his face as he went into all-out blubber mode.
“Oh, stop that. You’re a grown man. Let’s get started.”
I had no idea where to begin. How does one figure out what his super power is? My ancestor was an angel of death. So, did he have a weapon of some sort? A scythe? A sword? A chainsaw? I obviously inherited the urge and the ability to kill.
“Let me go! Please don’t do this! I can help you!”
“Stop that! You’re, you’re breaking my concentration.”
“I can help you stop the Bishop.”
“Yean, I can tell by the beating you took, you got him right where you want him.” I searched Jesus’ eyes to see if he might be telling the truth. I doubted it. He was in all out beg-for-your-life mode and would say anything at this point. I’d seen it countless times. It, it was always the same, and not terribly productive. Then I remembered the thing the Bishop did to that preacher in San Antonio. So I figured I’d give it a try. I put my hand over Jesus’ face and pressed tightly. Nothing happened.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Just bear with me. I’m trying to find a new way to kill you.”
“You are insane!”
“Not as much as the Bishop, apparently.”
He grunted something I couldn’t understand. I stood a few feet away and shot my palms out toward him, fingers pointed outward. Still nothing. I wish Dave/Ezrael had been more specific.
I decided to stick to a power I was more familiar with. Walking to my work bench, I grabbed the bone saw. There was an idea swirling around my head. I wasn’t sure where it came from, but there it was so I had to give it a whirl. I fired up the saw and watched Jesus’ eyes widen as soon as he realized his fate.
“Oh my God! No! Please!” He began saying something in Spanish. I knew enough of the language to know he was praying.
I began cutting around the edge of his forehead, slowly working the saw around his crown. His screams filled the air as blood sprayed the cross along with my face and coveralls. The smell of smoldering flesh and bone filled the air, along with Jesus’ continued screams. He really shrieked like a little girl, it was quite unsettling. I always hoped if I ever met my end in this fashion, that I’d be able to retain a bit more of my dignity.
After several minutes, I had worked the saw all the way around his skull. Blood was oozing from the incision, but he was still alive. I didn’t want to kill him just yet. His screams had turned to loud sobs and he was gasping for breath.
“Please! You don’t have to do this! Just stop, please!”
I examined the cut, indulging myself to admire it for a moment. I didn’t have any medical training, but I have to say, I was impressed with myself. Carefully, I reached up and slowly pulled the top of his skull off. I had to twist a little, but it came off with a neat popping sound due to the suction. Jesus’ brain was fully exposed as I sat the skull cap onto my work bench.
“What the hell? What the hell?” Jesus screamed at the sight of the top of his own head on my table.
“Just shut up already. Have some self-respect, man.”
I took off my rubber gloves and touched the top of his brain. It was soft, but firm. It was fascinating. Part of me regretted not playing more with my victims all along. I held up both my hands and thrust them into his brain. Jesus began screaming again as he felt the pressure of my fingers inside his head. As I dug my fingers in, a wave of emotion hit me. First pain, then images, dozens of images; memories, suffering, other people’s suffering. I saw the Bishop, the pastor at the San Antonio church, I saw a woman with a small boy waving goodbye, there were so many. I couldn’t keep up with them after a few seconds. These were all Jesus’ memories pouring into me. I was gaining his memories and his knowledge. Everything he had ever seen, I now knew.
After what seemed like forever, I pulled my hands out and stepped away. Jesus hung limp from the cross. I had invaded him in the most personal way possible. That was apparently my “super” ability. I literally stole this thoughts right out of his head. Granted it was rather gruesome, but effective. I now knew he was telling the truth as far as what he knew about the Bishop. So he wasn’t too much help there.
I reached out and touched him. I didn’t know how, but my fingers sank into his chest, touching his heart. Jesus jumped back to life as if someone just startled him. I jumped back at least three feet when he moved. He let out a gasp, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.
“No! Let me die! Please! Oh God! It hurts! Oh my God! Kill me! Please kill me!” he screamed.
I slid my hand back into his chest, this time his heart was beating. I squeezed it firmly until he let out a final gasp and collapsed dead again. I pulled my hand out and stepped away from his body. What had I just done?
Chapter 22
I couldn’t get over the bizarre turn of events. Having just cut a man’s skull apart and doing some sort of reading on his brains was new territory even for me. The most disturbing part was what happened at the end. I somehow brought him back to life, but in severe pain. It was as if he was completely insane upon reanimation. Kind of like I had some perverted way of resurrecting the dead. In a twisted sort of way, it was rather cool.
I suppose I was some sort of necromancer. Necromancy was the manipulation or communication with the dead. Such things were strictly prohibited in the Bible. It was considered witchcraft or sorcery, either way it was of the devil. Then again, the Bishop was raising the dead. Although his wasn’t the aberration mine were. I don’t imagine the arena full of people would be cheering at my version of resurrection.
Once I finished with Jesus, I disposed of him in my usual way and went along with my post killing ritual. Even though I was supposedly not of God, I figured I would still praise him. He at least gave me some cool powers, even if he hadn’t intended to. Now that I knew my abilities, it would make things much more interesting. I finished cleaning up at the chapel and poured Jesus down the drain. After that was complete I headed off to the church.
Thankfully it was early evening and starting to cool down. I loved the weather in South Texas, but sometimes it was too hot to bear. Years ago I did a sermon on Hell. I told the congregation to imagine standing on a hot sidewalk in South Texas while barefoot. People have been known to literally burn the flesh off their feet from doing that. Imagine that kind of heat, times a thousand, that’s how I pictured Hell. Except in Hell you don’t burn up or die, the pain just goes on and on. Though after what I had just put Jesus through, I was starting to get some other ideas on Hell.
As I pulled up to the church, I saw Lee sitting outside. He was on the front steps crying. No one else was around, not even another car in the parking lot. I had never seen Lee cry before so I figured something must really be wrong.
“Lee?” I said as I approached him. “You okay?”
“Hey, Pastor Charlie, no. It’s not okay. My mother died this morning.” He stopped to wipe his eyes. “She’d been sick for a while from cancer. For the last few months, she’d been doing better. But last few days she suddenly got real bad. Early this morning she died in her sleep.”
“Lee, I’m so sorry.” I sat next to him, placing my hand on his shoulder.
“Do you think the Bishop can bring her back? I wanted her to go to one of his revivals to get healed, but she said it was nonsense. He can do miracles, I’ve seen it. Can he bring her back Pastor Charlie?”
If I’d had a heart it would have been breaking at that moment. I could see the pain in his eyes. I’ve lost family members before, but it never affected me the way it did most people.
“Wow Lee. I don’t know. I’ve never seen him raise the dead before. I’ve heard he’s done it, but never have been there when it happened.”
“I know he can. He’s healed people with missing limbs and everything. I bet he can! Can you ask him?” His eyes lit up as he looked at me.
“I don’t talk to him much Lee. Especially now with all the attention he’s gotten. He’s hard to reach.”
“Well I’m going to talk to the funeral home and have them bring her to his next service at the AT&T Center on Sunday. What a sight that will be! Mom won’t know what to think when she wakes up! I’ll have my mother back!” He jumped up and shook my hand. “Thank you Pastor Charlie! Thank you so much!” He practically skipped back to his car and drove off. I’m not sure what I had done
exactly. I was still in shock that he was going to cart his mom’s dead carcass all the way to up to San Antonio in front of all those people.
I remembered what Jesus had told me about trying to get other pastors to join up with the Bishop. I’m not sure what that was all about. I figured I would swing by some other churches to see if they’ve heard anything. I should have asked Jesus which ones were already on board, but then again, if it was in Jesus’ mind then it would come to me. One church that came to mind was Frontage Road Baptist Church, one of the larger ones in San Antonio, but they had refused Jesus’ offer. Go figure it would be the Baptists who weren’t interested in the Bishop. Frontage had around 10,000 members. They weren’t far behind John Hagee’s big church, also in San Antonio.
When I arrived, it was late but there were cars parked outside. I told the custodian who I was and he let me in. He walked me up to the main office where Pastor Carl Humphries was working. I knocked on the door which was part way open. It swung open the rest of the way and Pastor Humphries was there just inside.
“Hello, can I help you?” He asked as he extended his hand. Humprhies had the classic televangelist look, thick dark hair, perfect teeth and a suit that probably cost more than I made in a month. I shook his hand.
“Hi, I’m Pastor Charlie Sims. You don’t know me, but I wanted to talk to you about Bishop Hoover.”
He rolled his eyes and turned to his desk.
“Oh yes, the Bishop. Go ahead and have a seat.” I took a seat in thick, oak chair with leather trim. The whole office was done in oak, lined with bookshelves and a Mac sitting on his desk.
“I hear he sent you a visitor recently.” I said.
“Yes he did. It felt more like a shakedown. The little thug came in here saying it was in our best interest to align ourselves with his ministry.” He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t care what kind of parlor tricks or illusions he can pull. We follow only Jesus Christ, not some charlatan.”