Jesus in Jeans

By Bill Bidiaque

Meet Jay Elion; rebel born of a virgin. He rides a Ducati Diavel AMG and his twelve-man crew rides in a Mercedes Benz sprinter.

Hes lived through a train wreck, four assassination attempts and hes defied every known natural law.

Its very likely you have met him and not known it because he looks ordinary even though he could graze Everest to the ground if it stood in his way.

Hes on a mission and it begins in YIsra.

Follow him @MeetJayElion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490866567

Bill Bidiaque

Bill Bidiaque is a writer and a filmmaker with a passion to grow a relevant generation. He lives in Nigeria with his family.

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JESUS IN JEANS

BILL BIDIAQUE

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Copyright © 2015 Bill Bidiaque.

Photo by Kelly Green Onyeogi

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6657-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6658-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-6656-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015900697

WestBow Press rev. date: 7/21/2015

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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PROLOGUE

In the beginning there was Elion. Elion created everything and the first man, Ad’ahm.

Ad’ahm had the pristine nature and authority over earth. He was loved by Elion and they had an enviable relationship until Ad’ahm was deceived by Luciff. Ad’ahm disobeyed Elion’s command, lost his pristine nature, received the depraved nature and sold his authority to Luciff for the bite of a fruit. Thus, the loving relationship between Elion and Ad’ahm was severed.

Yet, Elion would not give up on love. He still loved Ad’ahm and his descendants, and He swore to win back their hearts, restore their pristine nature, and buy back their authority over earth from Luciff. The only way that would happen was if a descendant of Ad’ahm offered himself to be crucified. This descendant had to be born without the depraved nature and had to live for over thirty years without disobeying Elion. However, there was a snag, the depraved nature was hereditary. Ad’ahm had passed it on to his descendants.

Yet, Elion had a plan to procreate a Messiah who would be born without the depraved nature. The question was: ‘When?’

***

For centuries, Y’Isra awaited the promised Messiah. When he finally came, Y’Israns didn’t recognize him because there was nothing otherworldly about him other than his ‘dark magic’.

A non-conformist, he was. A rebel, he was. Pure, he was. His teachings were unconventional. He was sent to save the world but his mission was to start in Y’Isra.

He was sent to Y’Isra not because Y’Isra was a perfect nation, but because a covenant had been struck between Elion and Braham - the ancestral father of the nation and a descendant of Ad’ahm. The covenant was to restore the pristine nature to humanity through Braham’s descendant.

Braham walked with Elion in an age when no other human would and Elion blessed him with Sacchs. Sacchs also walked with Elion and bore Yisau and Yakub.

Yakub served Elion faithfully and Elion renamed him ‘Y’Isra’ and blessed him with twelve sons; - Reubin, Cimon, Levay, Juhda, Gerdd, Assa, Izzacha, Nephtah, Danny, Zeb, Joe and Benjay. Joe was Y’Isra’s favourite son.

In a season of worldwide famine, Y’Isra moved to Gyptia, a nation that was economically prepared for the famine. Y’Isra and his descendant found favour before the Monarchs of Gyptia and were given lush lands as their possession.

Seventy years after the demise of Y’Isra, his descendants, now known as Y’Israns, grew strong as a nation and Gyptians became threatened by their numbers and so forced them to become slaves.

Y’Israns suffered in slavery until a prophet rose from among them and led them out of captivity. His name was Mosse. Mosse wrote the Mosaic Constitution as dictated by Elion and it served as the law for Y’Israns. Then he formed the Syndicate of Religious Lawyers (SRL) to serve as protectors of the Constitution. He constantly reminded Y’Israns of Elion’s promise to send the world’s Messiah through their nation.

Led by Mosse, the Y’Israns came out of slavery and settled in the luxuriant lands of Cahna. They divided the lands into thirteen regions; the first eleven regions named after eleven sons of Y’Isra and the last two named after the two sons of Joe; Ephra, and Mannas.

After Mosse’s death, Elion anointed a Prime Minister over Y’Isra, Dave. Dave’s lineage was to rule Y’Isra until the Messiah came. Dave’s son, Salmon, built The Sanctum as Elion’s place of worship and appointed the SRL to oversee its affairs.

Several Prime Ministers after Salmon led Y’Isra to defile the Mosaic Constitution, and Elion, in His wrath, unleashed Babylon on Y’Isra. Babylon oppressed Y’Isra and took them captive for decades until the Moranê attacked Babylon and freed Y’Isra.

The Moranê Empire ruled a third of the world by making the monarchs of their captured territories share rule with their Military generals. The empire did this in Y’Isra. However, Y’Isra had a peculiar case of authority sharing; power was shared between Prime Ministers and the SRL. So the Moranê Empire gave the Prime Minister thirty percent rule, the SRL twenty percent rule, and retained fifty percent rule for the Moranê Military head of state.

To make ruling easy, the Moranê Empire divided Y’Isra into seven states; Tribute State, South-Circle State, North-Circle State, Ramasia State, Ten Cities State, Ester State, and Burden State.

Tribute State served as the seat of power for the Moranê Military head of state and North-Circle State for the Y’Isran Prime Minister. The SRL ruled from the different places of worship around Y’Isra but had central command in Salem City, the capital city of Tribute State, where The Sanctum was located.

It was rumoured that the Messiah would be born in the Prime Minister’s palace, in North-Circle State and would roam the nation before ascending power in Tribute State. Yet, he was born in Little Town in Tribute State and was raised in the Scared City of Zarethan. Up until his death, only a few knew him as the Messiah.

This is an account of how he became the Messiah.

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Y’Isra

1

The Sanctum, Sanctum Boulevard, Salem City, Tribute State.

3:45 p.m. Friday, January 20

A gold Salem City cab turned from the service lane into a curb entrance and joined the queue of vehicles. Guards from Sanctum-Sec, the private security outfit managed by The Sanctum authorities, checked the cars before waving them into the 4, 000 square meter parking lot with triple floors.

I hate these security checks, the Salemite cab driver swore under his breath, his teeth stained red with the beetroot he was chewing, his patience wearing thin.

No matter how much inconvenience the law brings, you should do what is right. Jay Elion answered. Jay was a thirty-three-year-old crusader from Little Town. He looked out from the front passenger’s seat at the neon advert board positioned between two ornamental palms on the sidewalk. Different ads for the forthcoming Redemption Carnival covered the board.

The authorities of The Sanctum are just plain stupid, everyone knows that, the cab driver said, slowly easing the Camry forward as a car was cleared up ahead.

You shouldn’t speak evil of your leaders. Jay said, still looking out at the neon board. He could tell from the driver’s demeanor that he too, like most Salemites, had grown tired of the Syndicate of Religious Lawyers’ (SRL) hypocritical rule over the people of Y’Isra.

What? Who in Salem doesn’t know that this whole SRL rule is a big scam? The cab driver shook his head and eased the Camry forward again. They were two cars away from the security check.

Jay noticed a Redemption Carnival pamphlet on the dashboard. It was dusty, courtesy of the desert winds blowing across Salem at this time of the year. Everything about Y’Isra was weird. In January when most nations this end of earth experienced blizzards, Y’Isra boiled under hot solar rays.

Y’Isra looked more like a forgotten case than a nation apparently chosen by the Elion that Y’Israns worshipped.

Jay picked up the pamphlet and flipped through the program for the seven-day carnival. It began with a solemn day of cleansing at The Sanctum, followed by five days of colorful displays by the different states at the National Stadium, and ended with a day of sanctified offerings at The Sanctum. At the back of the pamphlet a huge text ad in block letters claimed: ONLY SANCTUM-BRANDED ITEMS ARE SANCTIFIED. The event was three months away, but the SRL usually launched the fair months away, so their greed could be met.

What is happening isn’t the issue. Your response is what matters. Jay said to the cab driver, his eyes resting on the Heckler & Koch submachine MP5 borne by the guard that walked past the Camry to the car behind them.

Mmph. The cab driver rolled his eyes. Lecture me, rabbi. He flashed his ID at a burly guard, who examined Jay from the driver’s window and then glanced at the backpack on the back seat of the sedan.

What’s in the pack? The guard asked.

Jay reached over from the front seat and tugged the zip open. The guard looked away from the pile of clothes to Jay’s face.

What’s your business here?

Sanctum cleaning.

The guard nodded to the cab driver and signaled to the guard at the entrance to allow them through. Jay zipped up his bag as the guard raised the arm gate of the parking lot.

I didn’t know you worked with Sanctum Polish, the cab driver said apologetically as he pulled into a parking space, all the while avoiding Jay’s piercing gaze. I didn’t mean what I said about the SRL earlier.

Sure you did. Jay chuckled. He reached over and grabbed his backpack. And I wasn’t talking about that kind of cleaning. He gave the cab driver a fifty fahr note and stepped out of the car, use the change to get Livvy a new pair of socks.

Strange fella. The cab driver stared at the note in his hand. He looked up at the meter. The meter read fifteen fahrs but this nice Y’Isran had paid him a whooping fifty! And how did he know that his eight-year-old Livvy needed a new pair of socks? How did he even know who Livvy was?

Did I even talk about my family? He wondered out loud.

***

After the guards at the entrance scanned him, Jay crossed the walkway between the parking lot and The Sanctum courtyard. He hurried through the maze of stalls that littered the concrete courtyard floors. This was very wrong. The Mosaic Constitution clearly stated that no one was to sell anything within the premises of The Sanctum. Yet the SRL, in their bid to exploit Y’Israns, rented out spaces to merchants and dealerships of all sorts to pawn Sanctum-branded items.

Jay passed a guard carrying another submachine gun by the third pillar on the east wing of the 60 ft. high outer court. Just then, he overheard Moss Shaul’s voice on the public address ensemble that was fitted into the gold walls of The Sanctum edifice.

You can get your best deals for sanctum-branded flat-screen TV’s at Champs Limited. That’s Champs Limited, stall 15, row H, The Sanctum east wing.

Moss’ voice hadn’t changed since Jay last heard it. That was thirty months ago, after Jay’s graduation from the Institute of Religious Law. Moss sounded as if he was under pressure; his voice was cracking.

Jay hurried past the ten golden pillars at the south end of The Sanctum. Sanctum-Sec guards were everywhere. With hundreds of people hurrying about the courtyard, anyone could slip into The Sanctum courts, contaminating the edifice that had just been purified in readiness for National Worship Day.

The Sanctum had three courts. The outer court, which was about 150 ft. long and 68 ft. wide, occupied the greater portion of the 172 ft. long building. Inside, the outer court had three rows of sculpted benches with backrests made from Tiben wood. Masiero Anima chandeliers, containing tungsten filaments and miniature angels, hung above the aisles. Horizontal sheets of unbreakable glass (SR 5096 reinforced with palladium,) separated the outer court from the inner court, restricting public access.

The 86 ft. high inner court could only be accessed by members of the SRL via fingerprint readers. It was divided into SRL Court and Elion’s Throne. The SRL Court was arranged like a circular lounge. It featured comfy settees with auto-slide writing panels, activated by the weight of an occupant. It was separated from Elion’s Throne by an opaque glass that opened only to the supreme lord of the SRL.

The opaque glass opened to reveal an atrium flooded with purifying light that numbs the senses and frees the spirit of anyone who steps inside. The atrium detoxified the supreme lord’s conscience before he gained access to Elion’s presence.

The only thing inside Elion’s Throne was a golden throne that glowed fiercely with glory that could kill anyone other than the supreme lord of the SRL. Even the supreme lord had to shut his eyes the entire time he communed with Elion. No eye could behold such glory. Y’Israns believed that only the supreme lord could gain access to Elion, so he was held in high regard.

***

While Jay hurried to the media unit located at the west wing of The Sanctum, two diesel forklifts moved crates from a Mack Titan parked at the end of a service tunnel under The Sanctum. The tunnel ran about half a mile from The Sanctum’s underground storage to Interstate 9. Very few Y’Israns knew that such a tunnel existed. The forklifts moved the crates to a conveyor belt a few meters from the entrance of the underground storage.

Lee Wolpe supervised the goons handling the forklifts. He observed every crate glide up the steel conveyor belts before it landed on a platform where two other goons dressed in military pants stamped the crates. Then all the crates were taken to the underground storage.

Lee Wolpe lowered the Beretta premium shotgun resting on his shoulder and trotted down the steel platform to the brightly lit office that had a sign with the words Sanctum Supplie printed on the door. The letter s was missing.

He peered inside at the two goons, who were dressed in the same military fatigues, packing dusty electronics into their Sanctum-stamped cases.

How long? Lee questioned the first goon with a huge knife scar on his left cheek.

Twenty minutes.

Make that ten. Two stalls are out of supplies already.

Lee eyed the stack of repackaged electronic goods which were earlier retrieved from The Sanctum. He never understood why the SRL resold the items that Y’Israns offered at the Redemption Carnival every year. There had to be some other shady way to make quick bucks. He couldn’t complain, because the dubious activities of the SRL put the bread on his table.

Sure boss. The second goon replied without taking his eyes off the twenty-one inch Sony Flatron he was repackaging.

Lee walked back to the landing in front of the Mack Titan and leaned on the railing, pondering if there was any hope of walking away from all of this. Since Supreme Lord Anastasi had found him on the streets of Salem, he’d grown into a massive crime machine, rising to the rank of overseer of the Nas Syndicate. The pay was good but his conscience had long been sold; using The Sanctum facade for criminal activities was sickening.

He would pay anything except his life to get out of this. But to whom?

***

Jay stepped into the media department, which was surprisingly empty. He walked briskly into the broadcast room, with rows of shelves bearing CDs and log files, to see his old pal. Moss Shaul wore a cream and green stripped Salem Riders baseball hat and a sweat-soaked shirt that hugged his corpulent frame. He was pacing the worn grey rug.

Thank Elion, Jay… Moss exhaled in relief, grabbing Jay’s shoulders and embracing him My bowels could have let down here if you hadn’t showed up.

You look like you’ve been under the Sahara sun for the last hour. Jay chuckled.

It’s Mali’s diner and their cursed beans soup. Moss replied, scurrying out of the broadcast room. Jay’s vision rested on the black baseball bat leaning on the perforated speaker case. The baseball bat was part of Moss’ collectors’ items.

What? Your wife doesn’t cook anymore? Jay asked, but Moss was already out the door and headed for the row of conveniences downstairs.

Salem Riders batting tonight? Jay hollered.

Yeah, baby! Moss screamed from the stairwell.

Moss hadn’t changed one bit. He still loved Salem Riders, and he still loved beans.

***

Fifteen minutes later, as Moss finished his business, he heard the PA system crackle and a voice that sounded like Jay’s spoke calmly and boldly:

Listen up! All you hawkers in the house of Elion, you have five minutes to vacate your stalls or face the wrath of Elion’s chosen. Jay’s voice came again and again, repeating the message over and over like a recorded loop.

Moss couldn’t believe it. Jay was threatening the Pre-Redemption Carnival Fair. As he stood in the stuffy toilet, claws of fear gripped his heart and he felt pangs of betrayal sink into his skin. Why would Jay do this to him? Sanctum announcement was a family heirloom and Jay had just taken away the only thing that kept his head up among Salemites.

He pulled up his trousers quickly without bothering to wipe, hightailed out of the conveniences without flushing, and bounded up the flight of stairs three at a time. He rushed to the media department but found the broadcast room locked securely.

He turned round as a ruckus broke out downstairs. People were screaming and he could make out the sound of shattering glass.

Oh-no, was all he could mutter.

Then the recording coming from the PA system changed.

My Sanctum is for worship, but you have all turned it into a shopping mall and a crime cartel.

What could he do? The power source for everything was housed underground in The Sanctum power grid on the east wing.

Moss dashed downstairs at a speed that was alarming for a forty-two-year old his size. When he reached the landing, he bumped into Sanctum-Sec guards, who in their rush to ascend the stairs, did not recognize him. The last guard brushed Moss’ arm with the butt of his Beretta submachine. The impact caused Moss to stagger and he slammed his forehead on the metal door pane.

He winced in pain but couldn’t wait to nurse the rising lump. The pain was nothing compared to the disgrace the SRL would subject him to if he didn’t find Jay and stop this insanity.

When Moss arrived at the east wing, his heart skipped two beats at the sight before him.

Jay, eyes blazing like a midday sun, swung a black bat at the mobile stalls on B wing with the strength of ten horses. Moss gasped. The bat was part of his collectors’ items - it cost eight hundred fahrs. What demon had possessed this young man with whom he had shared coffee with, on nights too many to count, at Jake’s Diner? This wasn’t Jay; this was a demon in human flesh.

Moss opened his mouth to scream but a 2 ft. aluminum frame, sailing from a stall that Jay had just shattered with the bat, landed on his flabby chest with a heavy thud and he winded out, falling to the floor.

In the blur that followed, Moss took in the chaos around him. Scared merchants leapt over his thick frame, while others tripped. The more he struggled to get up, the more he fell. So he just stayed down, covering his head. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Sanctum-sec guards sprint toward Jay but the oncoming human traffic defeated their intent. Meanwhile Jay kept swinging as the recording looped.

My Sanctum is for worship! Jay yelled but you have turned it into a shopping mall and a crime cartel!

Jay had leveled three rows of stalls and was advancing upwards, swinging the bat with crazy swooshes and slamming anything that stood in his way. A whirlwind rose, picking up papers and electronic gadgets, and scattering fahr notes as Jay gutted the bureaux de change.

Sanctum-Sec guards couldn’t fire at him for fear of hurting innocent merchants and buyers gathered in the courtyard. More importantly, some of them were scared because Jay had transformed into an Elion-like being. His muscles bulged, he glided across the concrete floors instead of walked, his skin glowed and his long hair swayed behind him being lifted like the wind. Every strike he delivered created a force field that rocked everything in its path up to twenty meters away. The force field caused more damage than the swinging bat.

Moss shut his eyes as the waves from the force field tossed him toward a pillar. He collided with the struggling frame of a guard running past the pillar. They both crumbled to the floor and lay there, dazed. Moss shut his eyes, praying this nightmare would end.

Sirens wailed in the distance and an Y’Isra News Network chopper hovered above The Sanctum.

2

Syndicate Lounge, SRL Quarters, Salem City, Tribute State.

4:35 p.m. Friday, January 20

I still do not think the recycling of Sanctum-branded items is fair to Y’Israns. Bahat Calphas said calmly. He sipped wine from a glass while leaning on the bar and nursing the bullet scar on his right ear with his right hand. He glared at Schultz Beinhart who was rubbing his chipped chin. Beinhart never supported the SRL’s coffers financially and Calphas hated his guts for that. Calphas hated the guts of every single member of the SRL, or the Syndicate, as members referred to it.

Thirty-two members of the SRL were seated around the lounge, planning the Pre-Redemption Carnival party. They were all dressed in expensive suits and blazers. Seeing them, one would assume suit and blazer-wearing was the constitutional criterion for serving Elion.

Ever since Lew Anastasi, the former supreme lord of the SRL, had sworn Calphas into office as the supreme lord, Calphas had come to realize the inconsistencies between what a supreme lord was meant to do and what he actually did.

Before being sworn in, he disagreed with some of the negatively skewed acts of the Syndicate, but he couldn’t do anything because he was just an ordinary member. He had hoped that he would be able to effect certain changes when he became supreme lord. But that was yet to be seen.

Lew Anastasi, now a patron member of the Syndicate, stared, with deceptive eyes, at Calphas, his son-in-law. Would you rather we spent more Sanctum funds branding new items bought with hard fahrs that could be spent on other beneficial projects? He couldn’t believe this boy had the guts to even think of abolishing statutes he had set up. He was not even dead yet. Elion knows, if Calphas wasn’t a relative, he would have issued Calphas’ death warrant that same moment.

Despite the fact that he owed his career to Calphas, who vindicated him during an investigation into a Sanctum accident seven years ago, he hated the boy’s naiveté and his knack for adherence to the Mosaic Constitution. The only reason he endured this prude was because Calphas was married to his only child, Rhoda, whom he loved with his own life – more than he did his wife!

All I am saying, sirs, is that what we are doing is called extortion. Calphas scanned the entire lounge, lit only by setting sunrays filtering in through the glass panel that ran the entire width of the condo. He hoped his sarcasm would drive the message home. And according to the Mosaic Constitution, he continued, we should all be jailed for five years.

When no one spoke, he added Well, maybe three years for you guys for abetting, but I certainly would get five for sanctioning these acts.

You keep mentioning the Mosaic Constitution, Beinhart responded, sitting up in the couch closest to Calphas. Where was the constitution when you were relieved of your duties in Westward? Beinhart was incensed by Calphas’ threat. He could never accept the fact that Calphas, who was the youngest member, was their supreme lord.

By law Anastasi should have been succeeded by a son after he turned sixty. But Anastasi had only fathered a daughter who couldn’t be a Religious Lawyer because according to the constitution women were not permitted to join the SRL. So, his son-in-law had to be sworn in.

Granted, the SRL saved my hide unconstitutionally, Calphas retorted, but should that be my excuse for further abusing authority?

Some things in the Law can be altered for the greater good of the people, Anastasi answered bitterly, his patience running lean.

Absolutely, dad. Calphas smirked at his father-in-law, savoring the knowledge that Anastasi had just bought the bait he sold. "Some laws like the sanctified offering on the last day of the Redemption Carnival"

Gasps were heard from the SRL members seated around the lounge with the exception of Lev Nixonemus, who wore a grin in appreciation of the young boy’s wit.

You dare ask us to abolish an eight-hundred-year-old tradition because you think it’s interfering with -- Beinhart’s yelling was short-lived; a phone buzzed and he turned his head toward the direction of the sound while trying to contain his disgust. All phones were supposed to be turned off during SRL meetings.

Anastasi raised his phone apologetically. He read the message that had come in and exhaled in frustration, rubbing his forehead. Then he signaled for a Sanctum-Sec guard standing by the doors to turn on the television. He needed a smoke.

The guard turned the television on and YNN was featuring a live broadcast of the devastation at The Sanctum. All stalls surrounding The Sanctum had been leveled. Pieces of glass and bent aluminum rods littered the entire place. Smoke rose from several spots and although Y’Isra Police had cordoned off the entire area, bystanders numbering thousands had gathered.

A female reporter was describing what had happened at the scene but no one in the lounge could hear a thing she said because each man was in shock.

3

Boa & Zee Fishing Corp. HQ, Capper City Terminal, Capper City, South-Circle State.

5:30 p.m. Friday, January 20

Pete Zimmerman, the joint heir to Y’Isra’s largest fishing organization, bolted out of the elevator on the last floor of the Boa & Zee Fishing Corp HQ into the lobby. He was donning an Y’Isra Anti-narcotic Movement (YAM) branded t-shirt with the graphic inscription: Drug Lords aren’t the most high. He smiled at Mandy, the buxom company secretary who was about closing for the day, and blew her a kiss.

You are dead, she quipped as she tossed the last file into a drawer in her crafted desk.

Better dead than miss the meeting. Pete whispered back as he slipped into the boardroom opposite Mandy’s desk.

He was late for a meeting with Tehiya Frozen Foods. Drew, his younger brother, had called an hour earlier to tell him the meeting had begun. Johnnie and Jamie Boadel were seated on the mahogany desk, opposite Drew and Wright Zimmerman - Pete’s father. Next to the Boadel brothers sat Tonye Arieh and Hagee King, board members on Boa & Zee Fishing Corp. The Boadels’ father had been Wright’s first partner when Boa & Zee Fishing Corp. was launched.

Wright Zimmerman looked at his thirty-two-year old son, who never acted his age, with contempt. Showing up for