The Hand of God (2 page)

During my sermon, I read some passages about lust.  One of my favorites was from Proverbs 7, regarding the adulteress and warnings against her.  I felt it was appropriate after the last night’s events.  

“With her much fair speech she caused him to yield, with the flattering of her lips, she forced him.  He goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the stocks; Till a dart strike though his liver; as a bird hasteth to the snare and knoweth not that it is for his life.”

I was going to make a point as I finished the last verse, but a baby began to cry from the back of the church.  A lump rose in my throat as I tried to refrain from calling out the parents from the pulpit.  Here I was, delivering a beautiful sermon, about to conclude with a strong point, and someone’s baby was making all that racket.  I could hardly hear myself think.  This is why we have a nursery! Parents who brought their infants into the sanctuary during a service were one of my pet peeves.  Part of me wished God would add that to his list, so I could take care of it my own special way, but I knew what wouldn’t happen.  God gave me strict guidelines for carrying out his work, and slaughtering babies for crying in church, or their clueless parents for not tending to them properly,  definitely did not fit those guidelines, no matter how annoying they were.

Once the service was concluded, everyone filed out the front door as I stood by greeting them.  The whole scene was so routine in churches across the country,  it was almost cliché.  The people liked shaking their pastor’s hand after church, no matter how fake or contrived the whole exercise may be.  As I stood by the door, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were the first to step outside.  I’d provided them with marriage counseling on several occasions. 

Mr. Johnson seemed to have a thing for wearing his wife’s underwear.  She hated it, thought it was creepy, and so she wanted a divorce.  However, she had her own compulsion: shopping.  I convinced them they were better off working on their own problems and staying together, but suggested perhaps they needed to give each other some space.  This seemed to work, since they seemed much happier these days.  There was more to being the Hand of God than meting out judgment, although serving the Lord by carrying out His justice was the part of the job I liked best.

“Hey Pastor Charlie!” A voice called from behind me.  I knew the voice instantly; before I even turned to see, I knew it was Lee Snider.  I resisted the urge to run and hide, but it would have been no use.  Lee always had a way of finding me.  Lee was a good Christian man, probably too good.  God only knew what he was hiding.  He made an effort  to track me down after every sermon
to give me his thoughts on every single point.  It would often turn into a one-sided theological discussion..  Not that I was against such things, but I could tell he just wanted to impress me with his biblical knowledge.  I think he was hoping I’d offer him a job or something.  I don’t even know what
  his regular
job was.  Not very pastorly of me, I suppose. 

“Hi Brother Lee, how are you today?”

“I’m good, Pastor.  That was quite a message today!”  He had huge smile and kept looking around.  I was several inches taller than he was, so I felt like I was talking
to kid.  “I saw a few folks shifting in their seats.  I bet you got people’s attention with that one.  Amen is all I can say!  I felt the spirit moving today!” he threw his arms in the air, almost hitting a woman who was walking up behind him.  I thought maybe I should offer him a job teaching a class.  Then he’d at least have the audience he so sorely craved.

“Thank you
Lee,” I said.  “I’m glad the Lord could speak to you today.” I attempted a smile but it felt forced and uncomfortable.   I never felt “moved” the way
regular
people always claimed to be.  I suppose that was unusual for a pastor. Many times during prayer and healing services people would fall onto the floor, crying, jumping up and down, or even writhing on the ground, as if they were having a seizure.  All claimed it was the Holy Spirit moving within or through them.  Yet, I never experienced any of those things.  To be honest, I’ve never felt anything at all when it came to spiritual experiences.  I always knew when God was talking to me by the way he communicated with me, but that was Him directly talking to me about my work. I wrote it off as God using me in other ways than the standard Christian experiences. Our work together was very private in nature, after all. Occasionally, it occurred to me that it could be something else working through me, but I preferred not to think like that. 

I happened to notice Lee was still talking, but I hadn’t been paying attention.  I just nodded and smiled as he talked about whatever it was.  Thankfully, a police car pulled up, getting everyone’s attention and finally silencing Lee. Everyone stopped and stared at the squad car parked in front of our church, and at the officer who climbed out. The officer walked toward me.  I walked down the sidewalk to meet him, not sure what this was about.  Part of me wanted to thank him for interrupting Lee. 

“Pastor Charlie Sims?” the officer asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Can you come with me, please?”

I looked around and saw that everyone’s eyes were on me.  I wasn’t sure if I was in some kind of trouble or what.  There was no way this could be about the teacher or her lover, because I was sure I’d left no trace..  Unless someone saw me take one of them?  I thought I had been much too careful for that, but there was no telling for sure.  I tried not to think about it.

“Please, Pastor Sims, we need to go now.  We haven’t got much time,” the officer said as he opened the squad car door.

Chapter 2

The officer never did tell me his name as he drove me to the south side of San Antonio.  We came to  an industrial center with several factories and warehouses.  One warehouse  was about seven stories tall; on its roofwas a man standing on the ledge, looking down.  This must be why they came and got me.  My first thought was that he had to be one of my congregation members.  I couldn’t think of any other reason the police would have driven out of town just to get me.

As I stepped out of the car, I looked around the scene.   There were fire trucks, police cars and an ambulance standing by, along with a handful of bystanders.  I looked back up at the man to see he was just standing there, staring down at the ground.  I wondered if he was contemplating what it would feel like, or if he was wondering whether it would hurt.  He was too far away for me to see his face from where I was standing.

“Any idea who he is?” I asked one of the officers.

“Says his name is David Davidson.  We had one of our negotiators up there, but he said he wanted to talk to you personally.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of this one.  David Davidson was an odd name; maybe his parents had a sense of humor.  One of the officers whose nametag said Garcia gestured to me, and I followed him into the building and onto a freight elevator.  We rode it to the top floor. The place smelled like dust and copper.  I wasn’t feeling too sure about the elevator, either.  It creaked and groaned as we rode it up.  It was hard to not question the wisdom of riding an elevator in an abandoned building. 

Once we got to the top floor, we took the stairs to the roof where we saw Davidson on the edge, waiting for us.  Garcia stopped me before we went any further.

“He said he wanted to talk to you.  Does he look familiar?  From your church or anything?”

I shook my head.  “No, I’ve never seen him before.  I have no idea what this is about.”

“Well,” Garcia said, “You’re the man for now.  Try to use some of your God skills to save his ass.”

I nodded as we both made our way toward Davidson.  As I got closer, I could see he was a short man, probably in his forties, with early stages of baldness.  He was wearing a black t-shirt and gray sweat pants.  I’ve counseled many people who were suicidal before, but never while they were about to jump off of a building.

“Hi, David.  I’m Pastor Charlie,” I said.

He turned and looked at me. 

“Yes, I know.  I’m glad you finally made it.  You’re the only one who can help me.”

“Well, what can I do for you?  I’m just a servant of God. He’s the one who can help you.”

David looked down at the ground, then back over at me. 

“God told me to find you.  He said I needed to find the Hand of God.”

Chapter 3

The police drove David and me back to the church.  Apparently the scene at the warehouse was just David’s way to get me to come out.  He’d come right down from the roof with us once I’d spoken to him.  I had a million questions of my own for him, the first of which being, how did he know I’m the Hand of God?  Unless God  talked to him directly.  I supposed that was possible.  It would have been arrogant to think I was the only person on earth He spoke to.

We got to my office and he took a seat on one of the leather chairs across from my desk.  I sat across from him, waiting for him to speak, but he just sat there.

“Okay,” I began, “So, tell me what this is about.”

He shifted in his chair and looked up at me.

“Two nights ago, I had a vision.  I know we are near the End Times.  Many things shall come to pass.”  He stood and walked over to the stained glass window, staring at it.  It was an image of God pointing at angels, as if giving them a directive. 

“God showed me many sinners, sons of perdition.  They were men of darkness.  There was one in particular.  He was here to destroy the Church.  This church,” he held out his hands and looked around.  “I didn’t want to believe it.  I even said ‘Lord!  No one can destroy Your church!  It is the Body of Christ!’  He said not to worry, that He had a humble servant that would stop this man.”  As he spoke, beads of sweat began forming on his forehead. 

I sat there taking all of this in.  I’d been in ministry for many years, and doing my special work even longer.  No one had a clue about what I did on the side.  But the Lord has never sent someone to me this way before.  He always spoke to me directly.  I wondered what was different this time.  The whole thing made me suspicious, yet David knew things no one else could have known.  In ministry, we called this “confirmation--when you receive what you believe to be the word of God, but aren’t sure, and then someone else independently gets the same message from Him.

“Then He showed me you!” David continued, “It was you!  He said you were His hand, His hand of judgment, swift and true.” He looked up and held his arms out to the sky, “Then I saw heaven open, and behold, a white horse.  And he who sat on him was called Faithful and True, and he doth judge and make war.”

That was a first.  I had never been compared or even referred to as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  I was almost flattered. 

“So why didn’t you just come here to talk to me?  Why all the theatrics on the building?”

“God wanted you to come to me.  That was His confirmation for me that I had the right person.  I saw you in my vision.  You were carrying a large sword and it was covered in blood.”

             
I was silent for a minute while I processed all this.  What he was saying would sound crazy to most people, but then, so would what I do. In the context of my own life, what he was saying made sense. 

“Okay,” I said, “So who is this man?”

“He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“Yeah, well that isn’t very helpful.  Who is he?  Who am I looking for?”

“He’s not here yet.  But he will be soon, and will be very powerful.  He will do works in Jesus’ name and people will love him.  But he’s an evil man who must be destroyed.”

“So, let me ask you.  What did God tell you about me?  Besides that image in this vision?”

“He just said you were his Hand of Judgment.”