Eli
Authors: Bill Myers
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Books by Bill Myers
Fire of Heaven
Threshold
Eli
Blood Hounds Inc.
(children's mystery series)
Faith Encounter
(teen devotional)
The Dark Side of the Supernatural
Novellas
Then Comes Marriage
(with Angela Hunt)
When the Last Leaf Falls
Click on the title below to read an excerpt
from another book by Bill Myers.
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A
N O V E L
BILL MYERS
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Eli
Adobe Glassbook Format
Copyright © 2000 by Bill Myers
Requests for information should be addressed to: Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available for the print edition of this title.
ISBN 0-310-24414-5
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the
Holy Bible: New
International Version
®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680
Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
Interior design by Melissa Elenbaas
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For Eve Roberts,
who helped me understand the power of drama Eli-ebookcontent 5/24/01 11:10 AM Page 6
C o n t e n t s
Book One in the Fire of Heaven Trilogy
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P r e f a c e
THIS IS FICTION, NOTHING MORE. IT’S MERELY AN ATTEMPT TO EXAMine some issues and to get us thinking about others. It is certainly no substitute for the real thing. Those familiar with my fiction know that I believe storytelling’s greatest strength lies in its ability to stir up our thoughts. By putting the gospel in a contemporary setting, I’ve moved Christ out of my comfort zone and put him back in my face where he can test me, challenge me, and encourage me. By stripping away the historical and cultural trappings that I hide behind to insulate myself from his truths, I allow him to become more of the radical life-changer he was the first time I encountered him.
Unfortunately, the attempt also brings with it some failures. First, by removing the rich Jewish heritage of the gospel, I’ve deprived the story of much of its depth. There were times, for instance, when I wanted to elaborate on the hundreds of Old Testament prophecies and symbolism that speak of Christ, but this novel was not the forum for that.
Still, that failure and others only underline the fact that this is merely an appetizer. For those who haven’t yet enjoyed the feast, don’t waste time here—go to the real banquet. Read the book that most of antiquity and today’s scholars still insist is the greatest piece of writing in human history. If it’s been a while since you cracked open a Bible, or if you’ve never really explored it, start off with the gospel of John. In one sense, it’s the easiest, in another, the most profound.
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And since I’m in a confessional mood, there’s another shortcoming you need to be aware of as you read this novel.
To accurately portray a world in which Christ has not yet come would be to create a society so dark and ugly that it’s doubtful any of us would recognize it, let alone relate to it.
To do so would have again defeated my purposes. So, I didn’t.
If you’re interested in the impact Jesus Christ has had upon our society, Kennedy and Newcombe’s book,
What If Jesus
Had Never Been Born,
gives interesting insights on how different our society would be today if Jesus had not come.
A final note. Scripture makes it clear that the Christ would come as a man born of woman only once. It states that his second coming will not be like his first. The first was the meek servant who washed our feet and died for our failures.
According to Scripture, the second time he comes it will be as a conquering King. In fact, Jesus himself warned that if someone born into our world today claimed to be the Christ (even with accompanying miracles) he would be a counterfeit, the antichrist prophesied long ago. According to Jesus Christ, when he appears the next time it will be from the heavens, accompanied by the glory of God.
Now, to the thanks. Grateful appreciation goes to Debbie Setters, my research assistant Doug McIntosh, my agent Greg Johnson, Dave Lambert, Lori VandenBosch, Joel Carlson, Tony Myles, Tina Schuman, Sue Brower, Sherry Guzy, Nancy Rue, Lissa Halls Johnson, Nancy Hargiss-Tatlock, Lynn Marzulli, Vincent Crunk, Craig and Sue Cameron, Dr. Di, and Janey DeMeo. A special thanks also to my children Nicole and Mackenzie who would indulge me in playing the “What If Jesus Were Here Today” game (a sneaky way for their dad to get ideas). And finally and always to my friend and partner in life, Brenda.
Bill Myers
www.billmyers.com
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“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that you might have life, and have it to the full.”
Jesus Christ
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P A R T O N E
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C H A P T E R
O N E
MONDAY WAS AN INCONVENIENT TIME TO DIE. COME TO THINK OF IT, Tuesday through Sunday weren’t all that agreeable either.
Conrad Davis had too many important things to do. Too many fires to put out. Too many producers to plead with, cajole, and, if necessary, circumvent.
Not interesting? Too cerebral
? What were they talking about? Did they honestly think TV audiences were that stupid?
“Give us another multibirth story,” they’d said. “Those McCaughey septuplets, don’t they have a birthday coming up? Or how about another psychic piece—some mother visited by her dead daughter; those always work.”
“Guys . . .” Conrad glanced around the table in the smoke-filled war room. He could already feel the back of his neck beginning to tighten. “We’re talking about a major scientific breakthrough here.”
But the other producers of the prime time news magazine,
Up Front,
continued without hearing. “Or how ’bout another cripple story,” suggested Peggy Martin, one of the few females on staff. “Some guy in a wheelchair climbing Mount Everest or something.”
3
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“Guys . . .”
“We did that last November.”
“Guys!”
“Listen, Connie.” It was Phil Harrison, the show’s exec.
He took a drag off his cigarette and motioned to the monitor where they’d just viewed a rough cut of Conrad’s segment.
“All we’re saying is that this piece is too cerebral. I mean,
‘Parallel Universes’? Come on, who cares?”
Leo Singer, a rival producer, snickered. “Next time he’ll be doing a piece on quantum physics.”
The rest of the room chuckled. It was supposed to be good-natured, but Conrad knew that nothing in this dog-eat-dog world of TV journalism was good-natured. One or two missteps, like producing a worthless segment that no one cared about, could spell disaster—especially with five thousand kids half his age waiting in the wings for his job.
“Is that what you would have said about the Wright Brothers at Kitty Hawk?” Conrad argued. “Or the moon landing, or the invention of the light bulb—that it’s too cerebral? What we’re talking about is the existence of other realities right here beside our own, worlds identical to ours but with minor, or sometimes major, differences.”
“Worlds we can’t even see,” another producer pointed out.
“How convenient,” Singer sighed.
Peggy Martin added, “And worlds that have no effect upon the lives of our viewers.”
Conrad glanced at the faces around the table. He was going down for the count, and his colleagues, better known as competitors, were doing their best to keep him there. But he’d been in this position a hundred times before, refusing to dish out pabulum for the masses, insisting upon truth and relevancy. That’s how he’d earned the two Emmys and those countless other awards.
“Connie.” It was Harrison again. “This professor that you interviewed . . . what’s his name?”
“Endo.”
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“All this Professor Endo has is theory, right?”
“Plus support from top world physicists,” Conrad corrected, “not to mention some staggering mathematical formulas.”
“Oh, mathematics, that’ll kick up the ratings,” Singer scoffed. Others around the table agreed. The tension from Conrad’s neck crept into the base of his skull.
Harrison continued. “If there was something tangible, something you could show on tape, then you’d have a story.
But this . . .” Harrison shook his head and dropped his cigarette into the half-empty can of Diet Coke. It hissed quietly as he turned to the next producer. “Wolff, how’s that toxic-waste segment coming?”
The meeting had been less than two hours ago, and Conrad was already back on the 101 heading north out of Los Angeles. Professor Endo lived an hour outside the city in the town of Camarillo. If they wanted something tangible, he’d get something tangible. Not because this story was a great passion of his, but because he needed it. Despite his twenty-five years in news, despite past accolades, a setback like this could seriously cripple a career. That’s how the business was. There was no resting on your laurels. You were only as good as your last segment. And if your last segment was a failure . . .
