by Wid Bastian
Without exception, what all of the select did have in common was a knowledge, a complete and total surety, that they were chosen by God to undertake some as yet unknown mission. Each of them also knew that His purpose for their lives would be announced by the passage Alex quoted in the spots from the book of Isaiah, only they did not know this until they actually heard the verse being read. This was the trigger that set their new lives in motion.
Spread out across the earth in every country willing, but also anxious, souls who had been in a quandary for weeks or months, somehow positive that they were being sent a message from Above, but not at all sure what it meant and even less sure what to do about it, all of a sudden experienced clarity.
Within a few hours the word was being disseminated planet wide. Husbands told their wives, parents told their children, complete strangers recognized that “certain look” and stopped each other on the street and shared Isaiah’s words.
The selects’ reaction upon hearing the good news was always the same, “Thank you, God.” They were both relieved and energized.
Those in North America and Europe had access to the “Miracles” program through satellite or cable television. Quickly and quite illegally, thousands of computer savvy select made plans to pirate the network signal through a variety of means and feed the broadcast on to the web. By the early evening of June the nineteenth, an internet search using the keywords “Parkersboro” or “Isaiah” resulted in hundreds of hits on websites set up to carry “Miracles” as a live web cast.
Neither Alex nor Peter had planned any of this, but both knew that God intended His message to be heard by all. As word reached them that thousands, or perhaps hundreds of thousands, or even millions of souls were somehow already primed to receive His word, they were greatly encouraged, but not very surprised.
“What exactly did they say?” Gail asked, as she continued to pack up the personal belongings in her office.
“If I can remember, Miss McCorkle, it was, ‘What the hell is going on down there?’ or something close to that,” Larry answered.
“Did you tell them who you were?”
“Yes ma’am,” Larry said. “The lady from Washington wanted to know my name and employee I.D. number. She got real upset when I said I only had a BOP inmate number. I think they’re coming down here, Miss McCorkle, a whole bunch of them.”
“Let them, Larry. Peter says we don’t have to worry about the Feds or anyone else being able to stop the broadcast. Afterwards, well, it just doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“No ma’am, I don’t think it does.”
By the early evening of the nineteenth, preparations were nearly complete. For the first time in weeks, Parkersboro was actually secure, albeit not in a manner prescribed by the authorities.
Malik’s trusted group of young black Christian soldiers formed a human perimeter around the camp. Armed only with two way radios and cell phones, it was their job to turn away any uninvited guests using the power of persuasion only, not violence. Anyone approaching Parkersboro through the woods would be very intimidated when they reached this wall of large athletic men. Peter assured Malik that their presence alone would be enough to stave off any trouble or intruders, at least until it no longer mattered.
General Vargas and Agent Austin were in charge of gathering intelligence outside of Parkersboro and implementing any necessary delaying tactics. Inmates were posted in Georgetown at key intersections and around the public safety building. Local law enforcement channels were monitored. When the police came, as they surely would, this basic but effective system would give them at least some advance warning of their approach.
There is only one way in and out of Parkersboro: a five hundred yard long, two lane access road that branches off of South Carolina route sixteen and ends at the camp. On each side of this road are thick stands of trees that extend for a mile or more in each direction. General Vargas was quick to point out the potential effectiveness of a substantial barrier placed on the road fifty yards down from its intersection with the highway.
At eight p.m. sharp, this barrier went up, or rather went over. Three yellow school buses appropriated for the Lord’s use from the local district transportation yard were tipped on to their sides creating a serious roadblock. Strategically placed cans of gasoline among the toppled buses threatened to turn the steel obstruction into a flaming one on command. Once lit, it would take a large force of men and machines considerable time to remove the obstacle and penetrate the camp.
Nature was cooperating too, as the night was both temperate and dry. A hint of a new moon peeked above the horizon after sunset. The air was tranquil and kept fresh by a light breeze.
As the time for the broadcast neared, a harried Alex Anderson was put even more under the gun. His crew of twenty had to do the work of forty. Production was being done on-site, and largely on the fly. He had thirty minutes of tape to fold into his live narration and the final segment. He was revising his script continuously, deleting this, adding that. Through it all, the fact that his journalistic career, and perhaps even his freedom or his life, would soon be over weighed heavily upon his mind.
Unlike Gail McCorkle, Alex did not have the option of turning off his phone and ignoring the outside world. Executives at the network were livid, they felt Alex had blindsided and personally betrayed them. In the late afternoon, the decision was made to kill the show, but then the cooler head of the Vice President in Charge of Programming, Dave Martz, stepped in and pointed out that the huge number of comments and complaints received by the network in response to the promotional spots indicated an enormous potential audience. Despite the risks, quite considerable all the network execs agreed, of running a program so openly controversial, Martz overrode the decision to cancel and actually increased the promotion for the show.
Alex knew where he stood. Martz pulled no punches when they briefly spoke around five p.m. Alex had “deliberately deceived” the network by using his stature to slide in the promos, and therefore, by extension, the broadcast, because he “knew damned well” that the “inflammatory nature of the content” would create a firestorm of debate. Martz made it clear that he intended to impale Alex on this two-edged sword; the network would blame Alex if “Miracles” was a catastrophe, and would take all of the credit if it were a hit.
“Either way,” Martz told Alex, “you’ve ruined your reputation. I hope it was worth it.” After Martz said this he hung up, not waiting for a reply.
Of course, it was beyond “worth it.” Alex knew it was foolish to compare the loss of his career to the honor and privilege of delivering God’s message to the world. Still, it was torturous for Alex Anderson to turn his back on his former life so abruptly and completely. He had worked very hard to become a preeminent journalist. Discarding a lifetime’s worth of success in one night taught him the meaning of Christ’s admonition that, “If anyone desires to come after Me let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.”
As for Martz, he continued to feel the heat right up until airtime. Around eight forty-five p.m. an Assistant Attorney General from the Justice Department in Washington called him and threatened to prosecute the network if it aired the broadcast for “unauthorized use of a government facility,” and “conspiracy to aid and abet a prison escape,” and “anything else I can think of walking into the Grand Jury room.” Martz countered by saying the network was a buyer of the program only, not the producer or the owner.
“Anderson Media Inc. is whom you should be bullying,” he told the arrogant government lawyer. Martz came up through the ranks as a news reporter before he made it to the executive suite, so while he was angry as hell at Alex Anderson for manipulating him, never would he be a willing participant to any prior governmental restraint of a television broadcast. That such an affront to the Constitution was used as a threat only intensified Martz’s determination to see the matter through, and further confirmed his gut instincts that Alex hadn’t lost his mind, and therefore whatev
er he was planning had to be incredible.
As would later be much discussed, a series of unfortunate and unlikely coincidences from noon onward on the nineteenth delayed Federal police intervention. Everything from stalled vehicles to missing approvals, lost paperwork, misdirected communications; a virtual cornucopia of bureaucratic bungling got in the way. For whatever reasons, the rather straightforward task of sending in fifty or so heavily armed United States Marshals to restore order to a minimum security federal prison camp quickly became a debacle. In hindsight, no one could really say for sure just how it was possible that with nine hours advance notice, the most powerful government on earth was unable to secure a tiny piece of real estate in South Carolina.
“Good evening. My name is Alex Anderson. Tonight, those of us here at the Parkersboro Federal Prison Camp and all of you in the viewing audience shall witness history. For His reasons, and in His time, the Lord God through His son Jesus Christ has chosen this day to once again declare Himself to the world, to give hope to all of His creation.”
“Since when is Anderson a Jesus freak?” Martz asked, as he monitored the broadcast from the network’s main New York studios.
“Don’t know, boss,” a tech replied, “but if what his people are telling me is on the level, he might not be exaggerating.”
“It was here, just over my right shoulder in fact, in a prison library less than one year ago, that a former stockbroker and convicted white collar felon, Mr. Peter Carson, was given a vision and called by Christ to lead a small group of disciples on a holy crusade. Through them, God has a message to deliver to each of us individually and to humanity as a whole. The men you will meet tonight have been chosen by the Lord to help us reach for the Light.”
“What do you think, Peter?” Gail asked, looking over his shoulder at the video monitor. “Is Alex doing what you expected him to?”
“Everything is going according to plan,” Peter answered. “The Spirit is strong here, Gail! Can you feel it? There is a Divine Energy all around us.”
“I am not merely reporting on these events, I am a part of them. Jesus Christ has given me the great honor of being His spokesman, of sharing with you what I and many others have seen and heard. A prophet of the Lord has once again come among us, and like Moses before him, he will use His mighty power to perform signs and wonders in the sight of all men.”
“What was that? I didn’t catch that,” the President said, as he reached for the remote control to turn up the television in the oval office.
“I think, sir,” the aide replied, “that this Carson fellow is going to walk on some water.”
The President and his two most senior advisors chuckled at the aide’s quip. They were meeting tonight to discuss an energy bill that was stalled in the Senate. Someone in the group suggested that they “check out this wild program Alex Anderson was doing” as they ate a late dinner in between strategy sessions.
“That’s your cue, Mr. Carson,” the stage hand said. “Just walk on over and stand by Alex as we rehearsed.”
Peter took a deep breath. His time had finally arrived. As soon as he stepped out in front of the cameras he knew that his fate was sealed. He rejoiced in the blessing of offering himself up as a sacrifice for Christ.
For a second, Peter glanced over his shoulder at the now dark prison library. A year ago his life had no meaning, he was broken and alone, a piece of garbage discarded by society with no hope. Then for some reason, the Power, the Force that created and sustains the universe, chose him to witness to the world. So much had happened since then. It was an impossible imagining that had become reality.
Peter felt the Holy Spirit move in him, quickening his mind and his physical senses. Like the original twelve of the Gospels, Peter Carson was now never alone; the Uncreated Energy that was God had become an inseparable part of his soul.
In a way difficult to precisely describe, Peter began to shine. Not like Gabriel did in his glorified state, but rather like a finely polished diamond reflecting sunlight. He was changed, not into a different person, but rather he became a more perfect version of himself.
Alex immediately noticed this transformation and was awed. As Peter walked toward him, he had trouble maintaining his composure, so overpowering was Peter’s aura.
“Brothers and sisters,” as Peter began to speak, many watching from in front of the porch fell to their knees in prayer, “my friends and I are here tonight for only one purpose, to witness to the world the power of the Living God, and through that witness to offer hope for the future, for without the Lord we shall have no future.”
“What is it about this guy?” the President asked, in between bites of his sandwich and gulps of soda. “Is the TV on the fritz? He looks too bright or something.”
The President’s advisors and their aides agreed with grunts and nods. As political experts, the image on the screen had them transfixed, they sensed the ability of Peter Carson to grab and hold an audience. They were drawn to the Power like moths to a flame.
“Last July,” Peter said, gesturing toward the library, “God blessed me with a vision. He made it clear that He has provided everything we need to prosper. Given His benevolence, the fact that millions suffer daily for lack of food, shelter, or medicine is inexcusable. That we continue to use violence and hatred as means of controlling ourselves is inexcusable. That most of us are only concerned with satisfying our own selfish passions and have no mercy for others is inexcusable. And, most of all, that after two thousand years few choose to truly embrace the Son of the Living God, to make him their Lord and Master, is inexcusable.
“But while this is true, it is also true that God loves us, all of us. He desires that we should succeed, that we should become the glorious images of Christ that he intended us to be. For this purpose, to help men see the Light, my brothers and I were called.”
“I ask everyone who can hear and see me now to stop whatever it is that you are doing, take a minute and ask God to enlighten and strengthen you. Your prayers should be simple and short. If it helps, I’ll get you started.”
“Alright. Close your eyes and repeat after me: Lord have mercy on me a sinner. Help me to hear Your word and respond to Your call. Amen.”
Martz looked over at his studio crew. More than half had bowed heads and closed eyes. “That’s amazing,” he mumbled, wondering if his small sample was indicative of a larger trend.
In the oval office the tone remained casual, but the pull from the television set was undeniable.
No one in the room was interested any longer in energy legislation or the remnants of dinner. The only thing that broke their attentive mood was a commercial.
“That’s just not right,” the aide said.
“What?” another one asked.
“Selling soap during this program. Seems almost blasphemous.”
“That’s America for ya. God bless Madison Avenue.”
For the select, the vast majority of whom had managed through one means or another to tune into the broadcast, events were falling into place with unconscious expectations. The Divine seeds planted in them were germinating, breaking through the soil that had been their previous lives and reaching toward the Son.
Blessed to attend the broadcast at Parkersboro were around a hundred inmates and two hundred or so additional guests, some of whom were from the national and international media, others were people who had been healed or otherwise touched at Parkersboro during the past few weeks, and a few more were invited by God directly as part of His plan.
One of these invited guests was the powerful Roman Catholic Bishop of Boston, Cardinal Reardon. High officials from several mainline Protestant churches were also present, along with four Buddhist monks from Los Angeles, an Islamic Imam from Detroit, a conservative Jewish Rabbi from New York, and a Hindu Fakir from New Delhi.
Since the next twenty minutes of the program were tape with Alex doing voice-over narrations, Peter wasn’t needed on the set, so he took this time to greet his religio
usly prominent guests.
“Mr. Carson, it’s my pleasure to meet you sir,” Cardinal Reardon said, extending his hand in friendship. “You are even more charismatic in the flesh than you were in my dreams.”
“Cardinal?” Peter asked, looking for clarification.
“After talking with your Mr. Cohen and Mr. Graham, it appears that I had the same dream as they and many others did; the one where the seven of you are standing on a platform and are receiving the Holy Spirit.”
“So you’re here then because you’ve been called?”
“I’m here, Mr. Kallistos, to see my dream become a reality, to be a witness. I take it that you and the brothers will be praying in a circle right over there in a few minutes, or am I wrong?”
“Yes, your Excellency. You are not wrong.”
“Praise God. These other gentlemen here with me have also shared this same dream.”
Peter shook each man’s hand in turn, humbly thanking them for honoring him by their presence.
“Mr. Carson,” one of the Buddhist monks asked, in a pronounced Vietnamese accent, “I wonder, why did your God invite us? We are not Christians. This puzzles us, but we are most honored to be here with you and share in this experience.”
“Unity, my brother,” Peter answered. “God’s flame, His eternal essence, burns in many spiritual men of various faiths. Your Buddha saw the Light through a tinted glass. God wishes to reveal Himself now to you directly, to add another spiritual layer to your knowledge, to make perfect your good works.”
The monks said nothing as they slowly bowed. They believed Peter Carson was a Buddha, an “Enlightened One,” and for now Peter would not dispel that or any other faith specific label given him by humble, God-seeking men. The Lord taught Peter to respect the spiritual traditions of others, and not to blindly discard all non-Christian theology as pagan or idolatrous. While, as Christ said, “salvation is of the Jews” because He came to the world through David’s seed, God had not ignored the rest of non-Judeo-Christian humanity either before Jesus’ birth and passion or since.