Preacher Stalls the Second Coming: An Evan Wycliff Mystery (Evan Wycliff Mysteries Book 4) by Gerald Everett Jones

Author:Gerald Everett Jones [Jones, Gerald Everett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LaPuerta Books and Media
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

The message was simple, repeated with myriad variations and counterpoints. I flashed on the memory of my grade-school teacher demanding I write some punitive phrase a thousand times.

I saw no organist or choirmaster. Instead, from my vantage point I could see an enormous digital control board in the wings. And seated there wearing a headset and orchestrating it all was the tech wiz proprietor of FonesFixtFast, Kenny.

The singing reached crescendo and concluded with an Amen, repeated for emphasis.

The enormous cross was suspended directly above the choir, the singers standing on risers. Then the group parted in the middle, moving to either side, as if to make way in the center.

Just then, the cross burst into flames!

The flames jetted out, the effect explosive and brief, then quickly extinguished. The lingering image of a smoking cross and the strong scent of burnt cedar were as chilling as the fire had been searing — I could feel the heat on my face.

Before the aftereffect had subsided, at the foot of the cross and from beneath the stage floor, Pastor Obadiah was raised up in a silky robe of midnight blue and gold, speckled with sequins that reflected the intense spotlight like a field of stars. He stood with outstretched arms bestowing his blessing on the multitude.

The worshippers had been obviously disciplined. There was no shouting, no applause. Some couldn’t help emitting amazed moans and ahs.

Obadiah stepped forward and began to speak in low, resonant tones. His amplified voice, no doubt accentuated with reverb by the tech at the board, echoed through the hall from an array of giant loudspeakers.

Whether by then I was in a trance or simply bewildered, I couldn’t report his message verbatim, but I was surprised by its conventionality. He repeated the end-times prophesies from the Book of Revelation, emphasizing that the Savior’s appearance and deliverance could happen at any time. Tomorrow, tonight, in the next breath.

What I didn’t hear — and perhaps omitted for my benefit — was any instruction as to what these worshippers were expected to do at the farm. There was no railing against the evils of medication. No admonitions about fasting or starvation. No orders to work or even to pray.

Moreover, there was nothing in Obadiah’s preaching that could be considered political or disruptive. There were no calls to action.

Fasting wasn’t mentioned. Healing was to be the order of the day.

At the conclusion of his sermon, Obadiah folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head. That was the cue for the choir to stand and sing “Shall We Gather at the River?” I knew that one. But in Trusdale’s plan, the river was Styx, not Jordan.

The congregants were not invited to sing. They were enthralled. To me, their passivity was remarkable.

Throughout the song, Pastor Obadiah remained standing center-stage, head bowed. On the last chorus, from the wings came Anna, now dressed in a blue robe identical to Ida’s, struggling to stand tall and pushing a wheelchair, in which Winona sat, clothed all in white.

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