333: The Joseph Crèche

By James R. Pickens

Glancing backward, two fiery eyes pierced the man!  Then the roaring voice, “You are now in the hands of God!” Screaming, the shaking man yelled . . .

"Get away from me! Leave me alone! I don't believe in fairy tales! You're driving me crazy! Leave me alone!"

Agents of Intrigue! Secret

• Language: English
• Publisher: Expressive Publishing
• Release date: Nov 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732949713

James R. Pickens

Dr. James R. Pickens has a varied background as a stock broker, financial advisor, group vice president of a regional bank, a stewardship representative for an international religious denomination, and the president of a seminary. With more than 45 years in ministry, he serves as co-founder and president of House Of Faith, Inc. and sits on the board of directors of Hope Youth Ranch that provides schooling for children with autism and other educational challenges through Hope Ranch Learning Academy. He and his wife live in the Tampa Bay area of Florida.

Book preview

THE AWAKENING

Nightmare! Kicking off his blankets, the man set up abruptly. The night terrors were confusing. What was it about? He tried to remember. All he could recall was a view of someone standing over an odd looking saw, a chisel, and several other woodworking tools. The man was bearded, robed, but indistinct.

Oh, well, just another dream. Seems like I can’t get a decent night’s rest anymore.

Settling down, he took his pillow—fluffed it afresh—and looked at the red letters of the clock. It was 3:33—the middle of the night. Again? Hmmm, he sighed.

Quickly falling back to sleep, he began to toss and turn. His eyelids rapidly twitched—a sure sign of more dreaming.

Next thing he knew, a loud alarm demanded his attention. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! On and on it went.

Finally, with his eyes remaining closed, he stabbed into the darkness trying to find the switch that would silence the early morning denizen. How he hated that thing—that infernal noisemaker!

But he knew he had committed himself to start each new day with a period of meditation and study of the sacred texts. It was part of his daily regimen—one he knew he could not ignore.

As if protesting his awakening, the healthy 60 year-old moved his legs slowly toward the right edge of the bed, sneaked them out from under the soft warm covers, and pushed his feet to the floor. With the back of his legs, he pushed against the side of the bed while raising the torso of his body with his hands. Soon he was on his feet directing them to slowly transport him to the bathroom. Oh, how he hated getting up!

Breathing in, he detected the early morning aroma of fresh coffee—his favorite Hawaiian blend he had programmed the coffee maker to brew at 7 o’clock. He looked forward to the two cups every morning.

Two cups, part of his life for more than 35 years. Elisabeth, his late wife, started him on that habit. It still remained with him even though Elisabeth had returned to her heavenly home some three years ago.

He made his way to the kitchen and moved toward the mug tree. Taking one of his favorite oversized mugs, he reached to Sir Kaffe and poured cup one. Flavoring the sweet smelling brew with a spoon of sugar and a dash of cream, he headed for the dinette where an open Bible awaited him.

I don’t remember leaving my Bible open, he said aloud. That’s puzzling.

He planted himself in the heavily padded chair and placed his mug of coffee to his right. He reached toward the Bible and pulled it to him.

Bowing his head, he began to pray, "Father, good morning. Thank you for another day. And thank you for loving me, protecting me throughout the night hours, and providing for me. I dedicate this day to you.

"Help me to take advantage of every opportunity you provide to tell others that Jesus loves them—that He died for them—and that He has provided forgiveness of their sin and an abundant life of spiritual, physical and material blessing—for all eternity.

And, Holy Spirit, good morning to you! Guide me into the Scriptures this morning. Enlighten my ability to understand what the Word of God wants me to read and study today. I ask all this in the name of Jesus, the Anointed Christ. Amen.

He looked down at his Bible. It was open to the Old Testament book of Jeremiah. The first verse to catch his attention was, Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know. He read it again and then skimmed it once again. Then he noticed the numbering of the verse: 33:3.

Something about that number drew his attention. Yet, he was unable to connect it with anything. He thought about it for a few seconds and then turned to the Gospel of St. John. He was re-reading the book, he supposed, for at least the 40th time. Turning to Chapter 17, he began with verse 9, reading aloud the actual words of Jesus, I pray for them. I am not praying for the world, but for those you have given me, for they are yours.

His eyes moved farther down the text and he began to read, Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name—the name you gave me—so they may be one as we are one. My prayer is not that you take them out of the world, but that you protect them from the evil one.

Let me go back to the beginning of this chapter. At the same time, his fingers turned back the page.

Focusing his eyes on the chapter heading, he noticed it said, Jesus Prays for Himself.Then he turned the page and saw two more sub-headings: Jesus Prays for His Disciples and Jesus Prays for All Believers.

Speaking aloud, he said, There’s something about this chapter I’m supposed to grasp this morning. Holy Spirit, guide me to understanding the Word.

He read all 26 verses aloud. Then he waited in silence allowing time for the Holy Spirit to communicate with him. After a while, he just said, Thank you, Lord and lifted himself out of the chair. Suddenly, an inner impression came to him that he couldn’t define. But he knew he was to read John 17 again the next morning.

It was now 7:15 and the rays of the bright morning sun were sneaking through the verticals. It was time to scramble an egg or two, pour cup two, and have a glass of his favorite Florida orange juice—pulp and all. Hoping that none of his neighbors were about, he opened the front door of his home and ventured forth to get the morning paper.

Between bites of scrambled eggs and sips of orange juice, he leafed through the paper. He noticed the typical stories of disaster, death and doom. Several times he stopped to pray for the persons mentioned in the stories. That’s all he could do.

As he read on, something else caught his eye as he was skimming the Good Life Section: a short item about a supposed carving created centuries ago by Joseph, the carpenter—the earthly stepfather of Jesus Christ.

The gist of the story was that several groups of people were searching for it—if such a carving ever existed. It went on to mention Rome, Jerusalem, Istanbul, Lyons, and Baghdad in its text.

He skimmed a short article about a new Bible museum opening in Washington, DC. Turning the page, he glanced at an article in the sports section about the latest National Champion NASCAR driver who would be racing his last full NASCAR schedule. Completing the article, he folded the paper, and finished off cup two.

With a quick glance at his watch, he noted it was time to shave, shower and dress for work. He always planned to be in the office by nine—a habit he felt his parishioners deserved and appreciated.

Most of all, Pastor Z wanted to be the good and loving undershepherd, the type of pastor mentioned in the sacred texts God would find pleasing.

Just as Pastor Z jumped into the hot shower, his telephone rang. It rang a long time. In fact, Z began to count the rings,4,5, 6, 7 . . . Still, he continued to bathe as he was sure the caller would leave a message.

Drying himself, he went into the bedroom, picked up his phone and looked at the caller ID. Unknown. Eyes drawn to the unusual number, he noticed 00-1-727-733-6663. Recognizing the 00 as identifying Greece, he considered one of his cousins in Athens might have called. Checking for messages, no voice mails. Puzzled a bit, Z decided if it were a family relative, there would be a call back. Hmmmm? Greece’s exit code - 00? Wonder who?

JOHN E. ZACARIAS BIOGRAPHY

John E. Zacarias was affectionately called Pastor Z by his congregants and friends. He traced his ancestry back to the Mediterranean area. He attended a religious college in Valley Forge after graduating from high school in Pennsylvania. It was in college that he felt God was directing him to enter the ministry.

After completing a degree in Theology, he enrolled in the Theological Seminary for Evangelical Studies. Since the completion of his doctorate, some 30 years ago, he had served in pastoral ministry.

He and his late wife were privileged to found a church in Johnstown, Pennsylvania and to pastor in Groton, Connecticut, Atlanta, Georgia, Bedford, Texas, La Jolla, California and, for the last seven years, in Dunedin, Florida—three years without Elisabeth.

Now in his early sixties, he looked forward to pastoring for another 12 years. He hoped to spend those years as Senior Pastor of the Open Door Christian Fellowship.

MARINA

She heard the faint footsteps coming down the hall. Supposing it was her associate, she rose from the table and moved stealthily toward the door. Trained to always be on guard, she stood to one side of the door and waited. The footsteps came closer and closer—stopped for an instant—then moved on down the hall.

Her name was Marina Chekov. A woman in her early 30s, Marina, also known as Marnie Crist, was born and reared in the Minsk area of Belarus. Nikita Chekov, her father, had been killed in Afghanistan. Her mother was an English teacher—a would-be actress with the stage name, Angelika. The teacher had traveled widely on behalf of the various secret agencies of the Commonwealth of Independent States (the former Soviet Union).

Like her mother, Marina was well respected in her clandestine circles. She was, in the opinion of many, an extremely attractive person. Yet, she wasn’t so beautiful that people would remember her for her outward appearance—a trait found detrimental to someone in her line of work.

She spoke impeccable American English, knew the habits of Americans and proved herself to her superiors time and time again. Her tactics instructors at the Kiev Higher Military Command School had recommended her as one of the elite ever to complete their course.

She returned to the small scarred table where she had been sitting, and picked up the chilled bottle of juice and began nursing it as before. Walking over to the window, she took a cursory view of the streets eight stories below. She glanced to the right and then to the left and surveyed the buildings nearest her. All seemed normal, she thought as she lifted the window. Oh, for a cool Aegean breeze.

Hotel Luxe, a seedy place near the timeless marketplace Agora, was earthed in old Athens. Known for its prostitutes and the availability of drugs, Luxe was a common hangout for the men and women of the many navies that steamed into the Aegean port.

Athenian authorities knew the Hotel Luxe! They were familiar with all the happenings there. A source of hard currencies, they chose to ignore the goings-on and only involved themselves if serious crimes occurred. After all, their economy needed the influx of dollars, pounds, and euros.

Marina had flown into Athens from Crete three days previously. The call had come from Cyprus and instructed her to take the last plane of the day from the island to Athens. Tickets had been reserved for her, her normal fee and expenses would be deposited into her offshore account, and her stay in Athens had been prearranged.

She was instructed to take a room at the Luxe as nobody would notice another attractive woman visiting there. Her caller ordered her to stay near the hotel and not to venture out except for meals. Somebody would contact her within the week. Though