Time Has Come
Peter J. Gustin
Published by Peter J. Gustin
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2006
Learn more about this author at www.petegustin.com
Chapter 1
By the end of the twentieth century, the prophesy of Jesus Christ’s return to earth was all but common knowledge. People knew that it was going to happen but they just didn’t know when. The year I came into being on this Earth was1977 on a date that should have been marked on every calendar in the world as my birth, but for some reason, remained as just another Christmas day. Being born on December the twenty-fifth was intended to keep at least that much the same for the sake for continuity. The problem was, that was the only thing that would be the same. The only thing. This time around no one brought frankincense, no one broughtmyrrh, and certainly no one brought any gold; although in this modern world that would have been very much appreciated. Worse than that was the fact that this time around, my mother’s husband was convinced that she had been unfaithful to him. Knowing that he would not understand, nor would he believe the truth, she tried desperately to make him believe the only lie that seemed even remotely possible. She tried telling him that the baby was his. Having been sterile from birth, and having been told so countless times by any number of fertility doctors, Joe didn’t believe it. Not even for one minute. On the eve before he left, my mother thought for one fleeting moment that she should tell him where my seed had really come from. Then, she reconsidered, thinking that a husband might, just might, return to an unfaithful wife, but he’d never come back to a crazy one. For some reason or another, I was thinking about all of this as I was sitting inside the state penitentiary looking through a very depressing set of steel bars. The florescent lights were humming in an otherwise silent space where all I could do now, was wait.
Chapter 2
“Yeah, right”, was the response I would expect to have gotten from anyone on this planet if I had just walked up to them and told them that I was the Son of God returned to Earth. Before arriving here I’m not quite sure what I had expected. I guess I figured that I would have been heralded into being, flocked to, leaned on, listened to and learned from. This however was not the case. It was only my mother and I who knew my true identity, my true purpose and my real reason for being here. True, the fact that no one else knew these things was going to make it all that much more difficult my goals, but I figured that was supposed to be the point this time.
Being just sage and wise wasn’t going to convince anyone of anything. This planet was full of wise and learned people. At first, I thought that pulling off a miracle or two probably wouldn’t have hurt, but I soon realized that if men like David Copperfield could make the entire Statue of Liberty disappear, then any miracle I performed would surely be seen as some sort of parlor trick.
For quite a few years in my youth, I had dedicated a great deal of time to committing the Holy Bible to memory. That way, if someone ever asked me to quote from it in order to prove myself, I’d be more than up to the task. The ironic thing of course was that not a single thing in it seemed even remotely familiar to me. Great story though
I soon realized that quoting scripture was not going to prove who I was to anyone. Nor was doing good deeds, telling great tales or just being selfless and kind. The only thing these people would ever believe is what they saw with their very own eyes. I had been explaining this very same thing to Father Nathaniel Montgomery while we sat together in his office at St. Eulalia’s church just before I wrapped my hands around his throat and began to squeeze.
As soon as the life drained from his limbs, Father Montgomery’s body began collapsing to the floor. I held him up as best I could, then gently guided him onto the plush oriental rug that crooked just in front of his giant mahogany desk. Why the clergy had to surround themselves with such impressive things, I could never quite figure out, but for now it mattered very little as I put my thumbs to his eyelids and began pushing them back. His eyes had not yet rolled back into his head which, for my current purpose, was absolutely perfect. I knelt there, my legs straddling his waist, looking deep into his vacant brown eyes. Before too long, I closed his eyelids, leaned down to kiss him gently on the forehead, then, with more purpose than I’ve ever summoned before, I slapped him across the face and stood up still straddling his body.
“Did you see it?”, I asked him as his eyelids fluttered open to reveal two teary and bloodshot eyes. “Did you see me?”.
For a few brief moments the Father did not speak, but as I leaned down towards him again, I heard the word I knew that I would.
“Yes”.
And there it was, the beginning.
Twenty-eight years earlier my mother had named me Jesus Christ, but I never did feel quite up to the name. For all this time, I had insisted that people call me James. It was a more common name with much simpler expectations. Now though, for the very first time in my entire life, as I stood there looking into the Father’s eyes, he looking back into mine, I actually began to feel like I might be able to live up to that name.
Chapter 3
As we sat together in our oversized and slightly worn brown leather chairs, Father Montgomery began to softly paw at his right check; the one I had slapped a few just minutes earlier. I smiled as he recounted to me all of the things I knew that he would. He told me that he had seen the Kingdom of Heaven. He said he had felt the love of God. He also said that now more than ever, he knew that his own life had meaning and purpose. Then he said to me
“…and you. I saw you too. You are divine. I understand now.”
It was the first time that someone on this earth besides my mother had seen me as I truly am. The gift of these visions I had bestowed on the Father was coming back to me in spades. The feeling I was getting from being “seen” for the very first time was almost indescribable.
As a wave of contentment began to wash over me, I sat back in my chair and studied the egg and dart crown molding along the ceiling.
“Will you tell your congregation of this?” I asked.
Not hearing a response immediately, I returned my gaze from the molding to the face of Father Montgomery. His eyes were still bloodshot, but to me, they looked like the eyes of a child; wide and wondrous.
“This is something they really need to see for themselves” he replied.
It was not the answer I had been hoping to hear, but it was the answer I somehow knew he would give. Seeing is believing, at least for these people and in this time.
Father Montgomery reached for his Bexley PCA pen that lay flat on his desk atop a small block of black marble indented ever so slightly on the top. The pen was a beautiful reddish black wood grain rimmed with gold and monogrammed with his initials. This particular pen was created in very limited edition and was only sold at an obscenely high price to raise money for some charity or another. How Father Montgomery had come into possession of this collectable pen, he never did say. He was however quite proud of the treasure.
He held it in his right hand as he reached into one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a leather bound booklet that he usually used to make notes in for his sermons. First putting pen to paper, he then looked up at me for an instant to say, “I’d like to write down what I just experienced…so I don’t forget”.
Nodding, I sat back in my chair once again thinking of the future. What would I do next? Who else could I show this miracle to? Once the congregation of Father Montgomery’s church believed, then what? I felt within me a confidence that I had never felt before. The way that the Father now looked at me, the way that he now felt about me, maybe that in itself would give me the power I needed to show this world what they needed to see.
Chapter 4
“Do you trust me?”, I asked Sarah as I looked into her green eyes and reached for her right hand with both of mine.
“Of course I do”, was her reply.
Sarah was the woman who had introduced me to Father Montgomery just three years ago. I was now twenty eight and she was twenty five. She was a very beautiful woman despite the fact that she looked much older than her years should have allowed for. This was probably due to the fact that she had spent a good deal of time living on the streets. She had married very young. Too young. Too young to be with such terrible man. Some men take trophy wives to show off and flaunt to the world. Other men take pet wives that they treat as dogs. They belittle them, break their wonderful spirits and train them to obey or suffer the consequences. Sarah had been a pet for nearly five years before deciding that having nothing at all was better than what she had with Mark; her bastard of a husband.
She had spent months going in and out of different shelters, surviving on state charity and doing her absolute best to stay out of trouble. At age twenty-four, her striking visage had been framed by long reddish brown hair that shone in the sun and looked to be softer than the petals of a lily. At twenty-four and a half, after just six months of living on the streets, her hair had turned black and gone lifeless. Once long and beautiful it now only reached just past her ears and hung off her scalp like spider webs long abandoned by their weavers. She had cut her hair with a razor blade one night after yet another man had offered to “take care of her”.
Often times in the shelters, she would encounter different men who, although appearing to be in rather similar circumstances to her own, had tried their best to convince her that she’d be better off with them than alone. She’d heard that whole wrap before though. It was a very similar thing that Mark had told her just before they got married, and just before the beatings started.
How to make them stop? How to make them leave her alone? She was no Sampson, but without her hair, at least some of her allure was gone. Alone at last, she could finally focus on herself. With time to reflect and time to introspect, she went from receiving soup and meals at the shelters, to handing them out in just six short weeks. It was there where I had met her.
“Good” I said in response to Sarah’s affirmation of her trust for me. “Then I need to show you something.”
I brought her hand to my face and kissed the top of it, then softly laid her hand back onto her lap. Then, I reached for her face with both of my hands, first touching it with just my fingertips, then pressing both palms to her cheeks and holding her there as a sculptor might hold a soft clay vase just before lowering it to the kiln. I leaned in close to her and whispered,
“I am going to show you God. I am going to show you who I really am.”
Quickly, I then slid my fingers down her soft, cool cheeks and onto her neck where I began to squeeze. She struggled at first, reaching for my wrists, but I held both my hands and my gaze firm, focusing on her ever-widening green eyes and telling her once again to “trust me”.
She let go of my wrists as I laid her down onto the thick carpet that we had been seated on. I was glad the carpet was so soft. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her, and the softness of the rug made her landing on the floor that much easier. I put her head down on the rug, still looking into her eyes and said “I am going to show you heaven and it will be beautiful”,
After just another moment, her body went limp and I released my grip on her throat. I stood up for an instant then knelt back down, putting my thumbs to her eyelids just as I had done with Father Montgomery earlier that day. I opened her eyes and saw within them the innocence that must have left her the day she had met Mark. I let her lay there for just a few more moments before leaning in to give her a kiss on the forehead. Then, I let her eyes close and slapped her back to Earth with a swift yet careful left palm to the cheek.
“Did you see God? Did you see me?”, I asked still kneeling over her.
“Yes. I did”, she whispered.
Chapter 5
It was rather unfortunate that the only way I could show people these visions was through such violence. I remember thinking this very thing the moment I begun to wrap my hands around Father Montgomery’s neck just yesterday. I knew that things would be so much easier if I could just take people to what I wanted to show them, instead of having to send them there on this potentially very dangerous journey.
“It was beautiful”, Sarah croaked as she struggled to regain her natural voice. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You never would have believed me” I said
“True…I guess”, she replied as she sat up fully and ran her fingers through what used to be her long locks of hair. “So why now? Why did you show me this now?”
“Because I could, I guess. Because it’s time”.
“Time?”, she asked.
“It’s time to show the world that I have come and time to spread the truth. The Divine Word has been jumbled and lost for far too long and now’s the perfect time to set it straight.”
At this, Sarah looked puzzled. I’m not quite sure whether it was my words that confused her, or whether it was the situation as a whole that was perplexing. Either way, she looked bewildered to say the least.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do it”, I said, anticipating her next question. “I just know that it’s why I’m here and it must be done”.
We sat close to each other on the rug of her living room for the next few hours as I tried my best to explain things to her. I did so not just for her benefit, but for mine as well. Talking things out was even helping me to understand them a little bit better.
“This world has become lost”, I told her. “Egocentric, self-centered, self absorbed, self-righteous and forgetful.”
“Forgetful?”, she asked.
“People have forgotten that there is more to this world than just themselves”.
“Tell me about it”, she said with a look of knowing all too well what I meant.
“It’s time to remind everyone that they are not alone.”
As the evening went on, Sarah asked less questions and just let me talk. Only just past midnight did she ask one question that, when it came to her mind, seemed to leave her both pale and cold.
“No. I’m not here for the rapture”, I replied to the question she had not yet asked with a broad smile on my face. “All those stories that have been told over the past two millennia about Jesus coming back and raising up the good as the wicked burn behind are just that, stories. I’m not here for any divine rapture. I’m just here to put things right.”
As we talked, I felt more and more of the confidence that I had begun to feel in Father Montgomery’s office. Having someone actually listen to me, believe me and trust in every word that I spoke was an amazing feeling.
We talked all night long and with each passing minute, Sarah’s faith in me seemed to grow as did my own confidence in myself. For twenty-eight years, I walked this earth not sure if my purpose would ever be fulfilled, but now, these last twenty-four hours seemed to be casting all that doubt away. For all the time that I had known Sarah, her eyes had revealed to me nothing but doubt. She doubted herself, she doubted the world and doubted the possibility of anything better for herself within it. Now though, for the very first time, I saw a flicker of hope within her eyes. I couldn’t wait to help that flicker grow to a fire.
I realized of course that I wasn’t going to be able to walk the Earth, half strangling to death every person I encountered in order to show them the splendors of heaven and teach them the lessons I knew they needed to learn. That’s why the Father, Sarah and myself developed a slightly different plan. Over the next few months we started holding small meeting groups at the Father’s Church. These groups usually consisted of anywhere between seven to thirteen people, all of whom were interested in “learning more about what religion had to offer them”. Once again the irony of the Father’s tagline for these meetings did not elude me. People came to learn more about religion, but what they ended up learning was so much more than what religion alone could possibly have offered them.
“In all of my fifty two years, thirty six of them in the service of the Lord, I have never learned so much as I did in one single day from this man”, is often how Father Montgomery would open up the meetings to the small yet interested flock of attendees.
The first time we would meet with a group, Father Montgomery would do most of the talking, only working me into the discussion every now and then. As time went on though, and as people returned for their second, third and fourth meetings, the Father would slowly but surely begin to step aside and let me do more of the talking. Eventually, by the fourth or fifty meeting, Father Montgomery would end up taking a seat at the front of the room next to Sarah, who attended ever single meeting, while I lead the group.
Seeing is believing, and both Sarah and the Father had seen the truth. It was through their infectious enthusiasm for my teachings and their complete conviction in my words that the groups would listen so intently. The congregation trusted Father Montgomery and listened intently when he had something important to say. For them, just seeing how excited he was about me, excited them as well. His trust became theirs and the same was true for his faith in me and my message.
For months, I spoke at these meetings, periodically combining two or three smaller groups into one larger one. By the time the group sizes were reaching forty to fifty people each, I decided it was time to show them a little bit more.
“Is there anyone here that would like to see in one instant, and with complete clarity, what it is I have been telling you about for these past few months?”, I asked after a long moment of silence during a meeting in early December 2005.
All looked interested, yet none raised their hand. I think that maybe they were expecting me to break out a slide projector, show them a movie or something like that. I needed to be a bit more specific.
“I need one volunteer. Someone who trusts me completely”, I said.
Both Sarah and the Father knew what was coming next. They rose from their seated positions at the front of the room to stand by me side.
“This will be the most amazing experience of your life”, the Father declared to the crowd.
“Come”, I said to a man seated in the second row who was trying desperately to catch my eye.
His name was Adam Leture. A man in his early forties, I knew of him only from what Father Montgomery had told me before. He came from a modest home but had done very well for himself starting up his own political consulting firm. He had joined the church six years earlier while looking for comfort after losing his wife to breast cancer.
“Come Adam,” I said taking a few steps in his direction. “Come.”
He rose from his seat, surveyed the room, then recaptured my eye as he made his way towards me.
“I am going to show you the Kingdom of Heaven. Do not be afraid”, I said quietly to him as he stood nervously between myself, the Father and Sarah. “Relax and have faith”.
What followed next was a very similar set of actions that had taken place between myself and the Father, then myself and Sarah those many months ago. At first, the crowd looked more confused than scared; maybe even more interested than shocked. This was good. A loud murmur however did arise as I put my hands firmly around Adam’s throat. At this, the Father asked in a very quiet but firm tone of voice that the group be silent. He told them to trust me.
As soon as I brought Adam back, I lowered my head to his and asked softly, “Did you see it? Did you see me?”
“Yes.” he replied. “Yes I did.”
At this, I decided to leave the room and told the Father, Sarah and Adam to relay to the group what they had all seen during their individual experiences. I know not exactly what they said after I left the room, but I do know that the next time we met, the group was larger and even more eager to learn than ever before.
I repeated this process three more times over the next ten days, allowing almost two hundred people to witness the whole ordeal. After Adam came Lindsay Lerner, then Marcus Dumont and Peter Gillum. I had been planning to do it for a seventh time until one day someone from the press decided to show up at the Father’s house on Sunday February the fifth, 2006.
Chapter 6
Father Nathaniel Montgomery lived in a rather large Victorian style home that was located on the grounds of his church. The three-floor home had been donated to St. Eulalia’s by a very wealthy couple some twenty years ago. Upon retirement, the couple had decided to relocate from the often-cold climate of the northeast to a more temperate part of the United States. Instead of selling their home though, they had it disassembled, removed from it’s lot and transported to the grounds of St. Eulalia’s Church. Before that time Father Montgomery had been making due with a very modest living space located on the top floor of St. Eulalia’s. His living quarters within the church had once served as a storage area, but upon Father Montgomery’s commission to the church had been converted into a studio style apartment. His bedroom was also his living room, as it was it his dining room as well. The kitchen and bathroom were located to either side of this multi-purposed main room and could best be described as postage stamp in size. The space was tight, to say the least, but it didn’t really matter much. Back then, Father Montgomery had lived quite modestly, keeping only the very barest of essentials in his possession.
Now, having much more space to live in, the Father had offered me a room on the top floor of his house and told me to “make it your own”, although I believe what he really wanted to say was, “try not to mess it up too much.” The Father was a very particular man who liked everything in his home and in his church to be just so. Things always had to look presentable, or better yet, impressive if at all possible. I was in the midst of tidying up my room and thinking about this evening’s upcoming meeting when the Father knocked on my old oak door.
“There’s someone here to see you” he said while letting himself into the room.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Someone who claims to be very interested in you.”
Offering only that as a response, I guessed that the Father had some sort of surprise waiting for me downstairs. Wanting not to spoil it for him, I asked no further questions and made ready to greet the guest downstairs. Slipping on a pair of shoes and buttoning up my shirt, I left behind my newly neatened bedroom and began walking with the Father down the old, creaky, wooden stairs. With just half a flight of stairs to go until we reached the foyer, Father Montgomery told me that the man waiting to greet me was a member of the press. Seeing a slight expression of shock or maybe just dismay take over my face, the Father told me not to worry. He then said, “this could be very good for us.”
Having very little time to contemplate his words, I found myself standing in the foyer before I could even formulate a response. There, I saw a man sitting just below an oil painting that Father Montgomery had hung on the wall in such a place that it was the first thing you saw when you entered the house. It was a painting of him up on the pulpit done in an older style such that it matched quite nicely with the architecture and style of the Victorian house. Still puzzling over why Father Montgomery thought it might “be good for us” to meet with a member of the press, I reached out my hand to greet the visitor.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the man said in a quirky high-pitched voice while returning a firm handshake. “My name is Jack Whittamore. I’m a reporter with the Town Crier.”
I knew that the press was going to come knocking eventually. Keeping anything secret or even quiet in this day and age was virtually impossible. Knowing the eventuality of their arrival, I had reconciled myself with their involvement and had even thought that maybe I could somehow use it to my advantage some day. I had thought it possible that the press could eventually be a good tool that I could use to help spread my message. It would have to be the right person, the right outlet and at the right time though, and I could tell right away that Mr. Jack Whittamore was offering none of these.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about these so-called enlightening stranglings you’ve been performing” Whittamore said.
“Enlightening stranglings?” I asked while turning my queried gaze to Father Montgomery.
“The whole town’s been talking about it” the reporter replied. “I’d love to hear your side of the story though.”
The good news about what Mr. Whittamore had just said was that the whole town was talking about my meetings. That meant that my message was really starting to spread. The bad news was, that Mr. Whittamore was asking for “my side of the story.” That was never a good sign.
“What exactly would you like to know?” I asked, although to be honest, I had already made up my mind to avoid answering directly as many of his questions as possible. I was just curious to see where he wanted to go with this.
“Well I think I know everything I need to know about the meetings at the church-”
“But you’ve never been to one,” I said interrupting the man.
“Yeah but I think a great way to finish up my story would be to actually experience one of these stranglings for myself. It doesn’t hurt does it? Do I need to do anything to prepare for it?”
The reporter had completely ignored my previous comment and was now beginning to take off his coat, as if to make himself comfortable for a strangling.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that for you Mr. Whittamore” I said interrupting his current chatter.
“Why not?” was the reply shot back in my direction. Not just from the reporter, but from Father Montgomery as well.
Surprised, I replied to them both by saying simply “That’s just not how it’s done.”
Bidding the man a good day I made my way back over to the large oak staircase and started the ascent to my room. From one flight up I could hear Father Montgomery apologizing to the reporter and offering to answer any questions that he might have himself. Again, the man reiterated,
“I think I’ve got all I need for the story. I was just hoping to polish it off by being able to recount one of those strangle-thingies.”
Father Montgomery apologized once again for not being able to be of more help, then walked the man out.
“I’m confused,” Father Montgomery said to me minutes later as he pushed his way into my room.
“No you’re not. You’re just hasty” was my reply. “I understand your desire to share what you’ve learned with the world, but you know just as well as I do that we can’t do it like that.”
“Well-” the Father responded looking as if he were searching for a rebottle.
“I’m sure you understand that, Father” I said cutting him off before he could reply. “Jack Whittamore was not looking for the truth or for God. He was just looking for a story.”
“You’re right” the Father. “I’m sorry.”
Looking into his eyes for the brief moment before he lowered them to the ground, I could tell that he really was sorry. I understood completely his desire for haste and forgave it without another thought.
“It’s quite all right” I said.
“You’re still coming over to the church at eight though, right?” the Father asked in reference to a meeting we were going to hold in less than an hour.
“Of course” I replied with a smile to let him know that I absolutely was not upset with him.
“Great. I’ll see you soon then.” He replied.
As the Father stepped back out of my room I asked him to close the door behind him. I always prepared better for meetings with a little bit of privacy, and if possible, maybe even some silence.
Chapter 7
CHOKED UP ABOUT RELIGION
That was the headline in the Town Crier the very next morning. The article filled up a little less than half of page seven in the forty-two page single fold newspaper.
“He completely missed the point!” Father Montgomery exclaimed as he dropped the paper onto the kitchen counter.
“Did you think he was actually going to get it?” I asked.
“Well, no, but I didn’t expect this.”
I took the paper from the counter and read about a “priest and his intriguing friend that were…teaching religion by half-killing parishioners and then bringing them back to life.” The article had a quote in it from Adam Leture, the first man I had shown the visions to after the Father and Sarah. His quote read:
“It was absolutely the most amazing experience of my life. He opened my mind and my heart to God and it really changed me.”
Immediately after the quote, the reporter noted that Mr. Leture admitted that his windpipe had been temporarily collapsed during the incident. He went on to say that it did indeed cause “some discomfort for a day or two.”
“He doesn’t even talk about the discussions.” Father Montgomery interrupted as I was still reading. “It’s like people are lining up just to get strangled by some Looney Toon and that’s all it is!”
“Thanks” I said sarcastically.
“No,” the Father replied. “I’m not saying that’s what we’re doing. I’m saying that how he portrayed it as.”
“I know”, I said in reply. “I’m just kidding with you.”
Continuing on toward the end of the article, I found another passage that read:
“For your chance to see God, make sure your life insurance forms are all filled out and ask for Father Nathaniel Montgomery and his friend James over at St. Eulalia’s Church. No tokens or tickets required.”
“You see that!” Father Montgomery exclaimed as he saw me finishing the article. “He compares us to an amusement park ride!”
Just then, the doorbell rang and the front door to the house opened up. It had to be Sarah. She always announced her arrival by sounding the pleasant chimes of the doorbell, then just letting herself in. Moments later she came through the doorway of the kitchen and was greeted by the Father waving the paper in her face.
“Have you seen this?” he said sill in an uproar. “He completely missed the point!”
“No kidding” Sarah replied. “What are we going to do about this?” she asked turning a concerned look in my direction.
“We’re going to keep doing what we’ve been doing.” I calmly replied. “Although I expect we might have a little more company doing it now.”
“Well we can’t continue with the….uh….the st-” Father Montgomery stopped short of saying the words “stranglings”. He’d never used that word before, but Mr. Whittamore’s article had apparently put it in his head. I saw the word start to form but he quickly changed it to “things.”
“We can’t keep doing those things any more” he said.
“We don’t have to do that right now. That’s not all this is about you know” I said. “You know that Father.”
“I know, I know” he said. “I’m just so upset. How could someone try to bastardize what we’re doing here like this?”
“I expected this to happen and I’m sure on some level you did too, Father. Listen,” I said. “Our next meeting is Wednesday night, two days from now. I’d like to suggest that we open up the main hall of the church for this one.”
In the past, we’d only been using the smaller annex rooms of the church for our meetings. They were a bit more comfortable, a lot more intimate and certainly less intimidating. With the interest that Mr. Whittamore’s article was sure to drum up, I figured that the main hall would be a more functional area to address the larger crowd I was now anticipating. I suggested the idea thinking that the Father would have to check with the local Archdiocese first. I wasn’t sure if he had the authority to hand over his dues to just anyone, but apparently, he did; or at least he thought he did.
“O-kay” he replied without even taking a moment to think about it.
“Great” I said, relieved that the matter had been resolved so quickly and easily. “Why don’t you contact someone from each of the groups we’ve been meeting with and tell them all that their night has been moved to Wednesday. Tell them we’d appreciate it if they could spread the word too. Let’s try and get as many of our regulars there on Wednesday night as possible. I’d love to have their support.”
Father Montgomery nodded as Sarah pulled up a chair at the small kitchen table right next to me.
“You too Sarah” I said. “Why don’t you help the Father make some calls. Make sure to contact Adam Leture and the other three I’ve shown the visions to as well. I’d really like to have them all there as well.”
Having sat down for only a second, Sarah popped right back up as if a spring were on her chair. She gave me a tight-lipped attempt at a smile then left the room saying not a word but looking quite determined.
Apparently, Sarah had read Mr. Whittamore’s article just before coming over to the Father’s house. She wanted desperately to do something in response to it. I could sense as much and knew that telling her to make the phone calls would give her purpose, and at the very least, made her feel like she was doing something constructive. It also gave me some time to think.
The moment I saw Jack Whittamore sitting in the foyer, I knew right then and there that things were about to change. At present, I had six people who knew with absolute certainty who I was and why I had come to Earth. The Father, Sarah, Adam Leture along with Lindsay Lerner, Marcus Dumont and Peter Gillum had absolute faith in me. The sheer energy that these people brought to their respective meetings, along with their newfound and steadfast belief in what it is I was teaching them, was a huge aid in helping me to spread the word. The change that each and every one of them had experienced after I showed them the visions was not just within, but it was outwardly visible as well. It was infectious. It was impossible for someone to sit in a room with any one of them and not feel the light that was now emanated from within them. Perhaps getting them all together in one big room would make the meeting on Wednesday night all that much more possible.
Chapter 8
As Sarah approached the Father’s study, she could hear him wrapping up a phone call.
“Wait for me” she called out as she quickened her pace then entered the room. “Don’t start without me.”
“I didn’t.” Father Montgomery replied with a somewhat sullen and rather distant tone. “That was Daniel Edenborough of Edenborough Price.”
“Ok,” Sarah replied a bit confused.
“Edenborough and Price is the PR firm that represents the Archdiocese. The Cardinal is …” he paused for a moment while he searched for the appropriate word. “…upset about the article in the paper.”
“Why?” Sarah asked.
“Apparently he’s upset about it for quite a few reasons” the Father replied “The least of which is not the fact that this whole thing came as a bit of a surprise to him.”
“You never told him about James?” Sarah asked.
“No” the Father replied shaking his and looking down at his desk. “I was afraid he wouldn’t’ approve.”
“You didn’t think he’d understand how amazing this is?” Sarah asked. “Wouldn’t he realize how lucky we are to have met James? How lucky we are to have him right here, right now?”
“I dunno” the Father said shaking his head again. “Maybe if I’d been able to present it in a proper light. Maybe if he’d been able to meet James for himself before this article came out. Maybe then he would have understood. All the Cardinal knows now though is that an article has come out in the local paper making one of his churches look pretty bad. He’s none too thrilled that I’ve been letting someone, in Mr. Whittamore’s words, strangle people, in his church.
“But-” Sarah began to say but was interrupted by the phone ringing.
Father Montgomery put up a finger as if to say “hold on”, then reached for the old rotary phone. “Hello. Yes. Yes. Of course. We’d be honored. I look forward to it. I know.” Father Montgomery hung up the phone and turned back to Sarah.
“What is it?” she exclaimed growing tired of not knowing what was going on.
“Mr. Edenborough said he’d like to visit us on Wednesday…as would the Cardinal.”
“Do they want to see James speak?” Sarah asked with a renewed sense of excitement in her voice.
“Not exactly” the Father replied.
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“Well, like I said before, the Cardinal isn’t exactly thrilled with this whole situation right now.”
“Well after he sees James speak I’m sure he’ll understand” Sarah said quite confidently.
“Well that’s the thing” the Father replied. “He’s not coming here to see James speak. He’s not coming to the church at all. He’s coming here, to the house, to have a word with me.”
“A word?” Sarah said, mocking the Father’s reply. “This is ridiculous. I’m telling James.”
Frustrated at the situation and intent on bringing James up to speed on it, Sarah turned and started to make her way back to the kitchen.
“Wait!” the Father called out as he attempted to chase after her. “I can deal with this, Sarah. Wait!”
Sarah was already half way to the kitchen before the Father could even get out from behind his desk. His efforts were being thwarted first by his large leather swivel chair that rarely if ever allowed him to rise from it on the first try, and then by his giant cherry wood desk that took up so much of the room that he had to squeeze past it to get out.
“Wait!” he called out one last time but it was already too late.
By the time Father Montgomery made it to the kitchen, having lost even more time trying to readjust his belt buckle that had gotten caught on the desk and been twisted all off kilter, Sarah was already finishing up her rant about, “…that ridiculous Cardinal and that corporate jerk Mr. Edenburgle.”
“First of all, his name is Edenborough. Daniel Edenborough” the Father interjected as he finished returning his belt buckle to a full frontal position. “And the Cardinal is not ridiculous.”
“I know, I know but this whole thing is crazy though.” Sarah said. “The Cardinal should feel privileged to even have the opportunity to hear James speak, but instead, what does he wanna do? He wants to prevent him from speaking. What kind of sense does that make?”
“First of all,” the Father said. “The Cardinal shouldn’t have to feel privileged to do anything.”
This was apparently the Father’s way of saying that it was he who reported to the Cardinal, and not the other way around. “and second of all, the Cardinal can actually do anything he wants with this church. It is his, after all.”
Now that the prospect of actually coming face to face with the man was at hand, Father Montgomery seemed to be far more deferential to the Cardinal than he had been previously. His earlier disregard for the Cardinal and his authority was evident in many respects, not the least of which was his failure to consult with him on whether or not James should be allowed to speak in the main hall at St. Eulalia’s on Wednesday night. Father Montgomery was now thinking that he may have made a rather large mistake in this regard.
“My apologies to the Cardinal” Sarah said in a tone that made it difficult to determine whether she was being sincere or sarcastic. “but what are we going to do now?”
James, having just been brought up to speed on everything by Sarah while the Father was fumbling with his belt, chair and desk, did his best to formulate a response.
“I’m sure there’s no reason to panic” he said. “I’d be willing to bet that the only reason the Cardinal wants to prevent me from speaking is because he doesn’t understand exactly what’s going on. He has, after all,” James continued to say while turning his glance to the Father “been kept quite in the dark about all of this. The whole thing must seem, at the very least, rather bizarre right now. I’m sure that once I have a chance to speak with the man though, that I’ll be able to iron everything out.”
James sat back in his kitchen chair confident that he’d put Sarah and the Father’s minds at ease, for now at least. “Now please,” he continued to say. “Can the two of you go and make those calls I asked you to make. It’s very important to me.”
“But what if Wednesday night doesn't happen?” Sarah asked with a look of genuine concern on her face.
“Have faith” James said as a little smile crept across his face.
Both Sarah and the Father joined him in the grin. They did have faith. A lot of it. Both were relieved quite a bit to hear him speak so confidently about his prospects in the future meeting with the Cardinal. Neither however, were completely convinced. Trepidation would still linger within both of them until such a time that the matter was completely resolved. Until then, all they could do was what James asked. Taking their leave, both Sarah and the Father returned to his study to make the calls James had asked them to make.
Alone in the kitchen, James was now left to wonder whether or not he’d be able to keep his promise of convincing the Cardinal to let him speak. While in the presence of those who had faith in him, James was supremely confident, but in the face of doubters, things became far more difficult. The Cardinal would be arriving at the Father’s house with more than just doubt in his heart, James feared he would also be bringing with him fear and anger. These were two emotions that would be difficult to conquer. Worried, but not daunted by the prospects of the task at hand, James sat back in his chair and began to think.
Chapter 9
It was now Wednesday February the eighth. Many in our community looked at today as just another cold Wednesday where windshields had to be scraped and jackets had to be buttoned up nice and tight. I however looked at this day as another rung in a ladder that I absolutely had to climb. When the doorbell chimed a few minutes just past nine, I was already in the foyer looking my best and appearing to be far calmer than I actually was.
Father Montgomery opened the door to an entourage of men in suits; most of whom looked to be nothing but business. First through the door was a man who I later determined was Daniel Edenborough. Behind him came his business partner Walter Price and behind him were two more men who towered over everyone else. The two giants were apparently security for the Cardinal. They walked through the door, right past me and immediately started poking around the different rooms of the house, not saying a word to either the Father or myself. Next through the door, initially being hidden behind the large security men, was a professional looking yet rather attractive woman who looked to be maybe in her mid-thirties. She was holding an enormous brown briefcase that looked far too large for a woman of her size to be carrying. She wrestled it through the doorway and made room for our final guest, Cardinal John Bilio.
“Your Lordship” Father Montgomery said greeting the Cardinal into his home. “We are so pleased to receive you.”
“The only reason I’m even making this trip is because Mr. Edenborough believes that we can salvage this situation with some positive spin.” The Cardinal replied as coldly as he possibly could have. “If it were not for his council, I would have simply demanded that you stop this nonsense and that would have been the end. Understand?”
The Cardinal spoke forcibly. He looked to be not much older than Father Montgomery although his hair was completely grey. His appointment to the College of Cardinals had come only quite recently, yet many in the church believed it was an appointment long overdue. Cardinal Bilio had known from a very early age exactly what it was he wanted to do with the rest of his life. While other children drew pictures of firemen and sports stars on career day, little John Bilio was sketching out a figure all in black with a little white square on the collar. He felt, what they refer to in the profession as “the calling”, at a very young age. His reputation in the church was that of an extremely learned man, but one who was often difficult to work for. He was, by all accounts, the worst kind of micro-manager, which may have been the reason as to why he insisted on attending this meeting in person today.
“Where can we sit?” Mr. Edenborough asked from the position he had taken up at the corner of the foyer.
“Follow me.” Father Montgomery replied as he walked out of the foyer and in the direction of an adjacent sitting room. The two large security men reappeared in the foyer as if out of thin air and were first to follow the Father into the large room. Next were the PR men, one of whom grabbed the briefcase from the over-burdened woman, and finally, came Cardinal Bilio. He walked right past me, not even acknowledging me one bit as he entered the room. I hadn’t taken but two steps to follow him when the Mr. Edenborough looked back in my direction and spoke with authority,
“Not you.”
From some twenty feet away I could see the shock on Father Montgomery’s face as one of the security men was coming back in my direction. He put one of his large meaty hands on my shoulder and asked, “Do you have any breakfast food in the house? I’m starved.”
With only the slightest bit of force, he directed me away from the sitting room and back out into the foyer.
“Michelle, why don’t you come with us and get some food too” he said looking back in the direction of the woman who seemed now to have grown a full two inches after having been relieved of the heavy briefcase.
Before I even had time to protest, the man was walking me back to the kitchen, which he had apparently already scouted out while doing his initial walk-through of the house. Michelle followed behind us still saying not a word.
“Got any coffee?” the man asked pulling a chair out from the table. “Have a seat I’ll pour it myself.” He said this while reaching for the pot that was already on the counter.
The seat he pulled out was apparently for me. As to why he asked if we had any coffee when he clearly knew full well that we did, I have no idea.
“You can have a seat too, Michelle” he said looking at the woman. “You want some coffee too?” he asked while pulling a chair out for her.
“No thanks. I’m good” she replied.
The woman sat down next to me as the man poured himself a cup of the two hour old coffee, and then, strangely enough, walked back out of the room the way we had just come in.
“What’s going on here?” I asked the woman whose name was apparently Michelle.
“Why don’t you tell me” She replied.
Her eyes seemed to search me as if she were trying to formulate an answer to her question without my even having to hear it.
“You’ve made quite an impression on the community” she continued to say. “Why is it that you think people are listening to you and not just calling the men in white coats to come take you away?”
It would appear that my initial assessment of Michelle had been a bit off. At first, when she had walked through the door, burdened by the briefcase and saying not a word, I took her for the Cardinal’s assistant. The way the security guard bossed her around, told her where to go and where to sit, made me think she would be of little consequence to the days proceedings. However, in hearing her ask just those two little questions, I was beginning to think that maybe she had been brought here just to talk to me.
“Why would you say such a thing?” I asked her.
She did not reply. In fact, she didn’t answer many of my questions at all. Instead, she grilled me for the next ten minutes or so, only pausing once when the doorbell chimed and the front door opened. She waited for a moment to see if anyone would be coming into the kitchen, and when they did not, the grilling continued.
“Maybe where you come from, religion is a joke, a toy, or something to be played with, but I can assure you it is no such thing to me. Cardinal Bilio, the Archdiocese and myself in particular take a great deal of offense to you and what you’ve been doing here” she said in the most accusatory tone of voice I believe she could muster.
Just then, there was a long pause during which time she once again looked as if she were trying to divine an answer from my body language. She studied me quite intently but never directly made eye contact with me for more than a fraction of a second at a time.
“I understand your fears,” I said to her, reaching a hand out to put it on her shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed as she leapt back in her chair knocking it against the stove and making a horrible racket. “Don’t you dare put your hands on me! I don’t buy into your bullshit for one second and if you even think about wrapping your horrible hands around my neck, I’ll have every lawyer in this town on you faster than you can say heaven help me!”
This was slightly unexpected.
Michelle stood at the table steaming for just another moment or so until she turned to the door and walked, or rather, stormed out.
“Excuse me!” I heard her say as she turned the corner.
I looked to the doorway to see who it was she was talking to, and then saw Sarah enter into the room.
“Looks like your meeting went just as well as ours” she said having apparently just come from the sitting room. I gathered that it must have been her that had rung the bell during my grill session with Michelle.
“The Cardinal didn’t scream or anything like that lady just did, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to let you speak tonight. He would however like to offer you some help.”
“Help?” I asked.
“He thinks you need help, and by help, I think he means the kind that unstable people need. He and the PR guys think it would look good for the church if they could help you.”
Sarah said most of this while retrieving the chair that Michelle had just tossed to the floor. I think she was embarrassed, or maybe ashamed to have to say it to my face. I smiled though, and then began to chuckle a little bit.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked. “The Cardinal thinks you’re a crazy man, and you’re laughing? Maybe he’s right.”
As my chuckle turned into an outright laugh, Sarah grew more and more indignant and confused by my response.
“I haven’t even spoken to the man yet” I said composing myself as best I could. “All he knows about me is what he’s been told. Let me speak with him.”
“I don’t think he-” Sarah started to protest but I stood from my chair and looked straight into her eyes. I was about to say something reassuring again but found that I did not need to. The look I gave her said it all.
Have faith.
I walked out of the kitchen and made my way to the sitting room where I could see that Michelle had taken a seat directly next to the Cardinal.
“Thank you for your offer, Cardinal” I said as I approached the room.
All looked in my direction, apparently quite surprised to see me standing there.
“Your offer for help,” I said again. “thank you.”
As I entered the room, both security guards began walking towards me thereby putting themselves between me and the Cardinal.
“The Cardinal does not wish to speak with you” one said.
“I would love to speak with him though” I replied. “Your Lordship, a moment of your time is all I request” I said trying to peer between the two men in order to catch the Cardinal’s eye.
One of the two men took a step towards me as the other looked back to see if the Cardinal had any instructions for him. Their movements caused for one brief moment a gap to appear between them, just large enough for me to see the Cardinal through.
“Please” I said to Cardinal Bilio looking him right in the eye. “Just a moment is all I request”
“Fine, fine” he replied. “But just for a moment.”
I stepped further into the room and pulled up a chair close to the Cardinal. Quickly surveying the room, I could tell that Michelle was still angry, the Father was concerned, the PR men were confused and the security men were more nervous than ever.
“Alone?” I said to the Cardinal in a soft and gentle tone of voice.
“Well…” he thought for a moment. “Alone” he said finally.
Then, waving for everyone in the room to leave, he continued. “Leave us. But don’t go too far.”
The prior expressions of everyone in the room seemed to intensify as the Cardinal made his decision. Michelle especially seemed like she was about ready to burst.
“We’ll be right here if you need us your Eminence” one of the security guards called back as he set himself up in the threshold to the room.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.”, the Cardinal replied.
As soon as everyone finished clearing out, and I was finally alone with the Cardinal, I began to speak.
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