The Gospels of Edward

By Stephen Oram

Some of the deadliest weather phenomena ever recorded due to human-induced climate change plague earth. Diseases once thought to be eradicated suddenly resurface. Greed causes economic pillars to crumble, resulting in global unemployment. Disobedience to God's gospels obliterates wholesome values. Religious zealots around the world are proclaiming the end is near. They predict that Jesus Christ's second coming is imminent. With one evil exception, no one knows that Jesus has been among them again for forty years. Julius Coventon, a black pastor in a small northern California city struggles with his failing ministry. He contemplates leaving the church as his faith in God is fading. To offset his misery, he takes up with a sexy jazz singer, Susan "Quicky" Pearl. All the while, and at his request, he does not know that he is the son of God. Satan, however, senses Jesus's presence. He locks on to that unmistakable beacon of holiness. As the evil one plots Jesus's demise, an elegant couple helps to restore the pastor's faith. God becomes annoyed with the blatant misrepresentation of his word as well as unhappy with the abandonment of his teachings. God summons his son home, while he considers cleansing the earth. Julius learns the whole truth. Father and son debate the outcome of humanity. Julius wins one last attempt at leading the people back to God. Julius is warned by the holy father that this time if he should meet the same fate as before, he will not be resurrected. When Julius returns to earth, he and the evil one wage a spiritual tug of war with the people of earth. The final showdown on a freeway shoulder may spell doom for the earth, as well as Jesus...again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098012755

Book preview

Introduction

Scores of derelict satellites with deteriorating orbits threaten the blue-white planet. Varying in sizes and shapes, these metal zombies are symbols of not only the achievements of, but also the penchant for environmental abuse by humanity as well. On this celestial body, due to human-induced climate changes, unusual and severe weather phenomena torment its inhabitants. Climate changes and resulting effects force core and their ancillary businesses to shut down. Mass unemployment ensues. Tent cities spring up in every city and town on earth. The resulting poverty results in the displacement of God and the gospel with disobedience, greed, and treachery. The few that are trying to hold onto the gospel whisper that the existing circumstances are warnings of Armageddon. The fatalistic religious zealots scream that the Second Coming of Christ our Lord is imminent.

1

Impeccably dressed. The Wall Street executive nears Our Lady Divine Cathedral. The man, on his lunch hour, walks slowly on this sweltering August afternoon in New York City. Pausing at the entrance, his hive problem, when entering any house of worship, flares. The pain becomes more intense as witnessed by his ever-worsening facial disfigurement. The holiness of the building mars his human form. Trying to conceal the steady body deterioration, he stumbles into the church then drags himself withering in pain to a confessional booth. As he passes them, one by one, a water pitcher on a nearby table rattles. A crack appears in one of the giant stained-glass windows. The church cat cries out then disappears under a pew. Gasping for breath, the minion throws himself down on the booth’s small seat. After a moment to rest, he slides the wooden portal door open. Still gasping, he speaks in a choppy jittery fashion, Master, your plan…is working…greed…corruption…murder by these idiot humans…contributing to air pollution toxic dumping. Their total disregard for…planet is resulting…global warming. The warmth is causing…weather conditions that…destroy homes and businesses. With no jobs…these pawns become destitute and lawless. Excellent recruits for our dark side. You were right to dangle our greatest ally, the dollar to divide.

Master, from your influence, there is a crisis of inequality…the rich few horde and disguise their funds…while the poor, many are forced to surrender their last penny…the superrich are feasting on disproportionate tax breaks that feed the wealthy…but starve the struggling…and listen, Master…even your antithesis…the human theologians…dupe their followers…with ridiculous and exorbitant requests for their hard-earned money. You know, Master, everything is falling into place…you’ve even fueled the hate between the races.

From the portal came an interrupting hushed voice, Silence!

What? Master, what’s wrong? Don’t you want to know about all the corruption and violence? These people are even ignoring their God…

The booth began to get cold and dark. A deep, menacing voice that included a snakelike hiss emanated from the other side of the booth. The voice cut across the minion’s ramblings.

I said silence… My forty-year suspicion has been confirmed…I knew it! Their savior is not coming…he’s been here all along!

Master, you don’t mean…

Yes! Now stop your babbling…leave that pathetic human body as I leave this one. We must destroy this ultimate threat…before he…oh, never mind, just follow me!

The last drops of warmed grand marnier were slowly swallowed. Susan Quicky Pearl, a sultry singer, whispers the last few notes of a jazz ballad. Struggling to his feet, the tall figure throws crumpled one-dollar bills on his booze-puddled table. The bald black man then staggers toward the flaming red exit sign over the front door. Incognito, he does not speak to anyone as he dons his oversized baseball cap and glasses. Stud’s Eastbay Lounge in neon lights flicker on and off over Julius Coventon as he walks out through the western-style swinging doors. Staggering toward the parking lot with a menthol cigarette and match at the ready, he becomes confused and puts the match in his mouth instead of the cigarette. Trying to correct the situation only frustrates him. He throws both the match and the bent cigarette to the damp ground in disgust.

Through a raindrop-covered window of the lounge, evil watches Julius walk to his car. The master and his minion had found their prey. Disguised as regular-looking patrons, they had watched Julius all evening in the bar. Both delighted in their targets obvious deep emotional pain. Avoiding contact, they always retreated into the shadows of the bar when anyone came near. One of them in particular makes it a point to hide his disfigured right hand.

They both disappear from the bar then reappear at an intercept spot on Julius’s freeway route home.

When Julius arrives at his twenty-year-old Volkswagen Beetle, he only had to bang on the handle to open the door. Trying to board the vehicle, he drops his keys. When he bends down to get his keys, his fake glasses fell. In boiling anger that yields to defeatism, he mumbles, Nice going, doofus, one drink and you act like a world-class idiot. I’m hopeless. Ahhh, so what I can’t drink, I don’t seem to be able to do anything right anyway!

Before he could sit in the worn, black, vinyl driver’s seat, he had to push the bucket style all the way back to allow for his tall frame. Unfortunately, whenever he got up, the broken seat would spring back all the way forward. The forty-year-old sat for a moment as his disappointing life so far flashed before him. His earliest recollections commence with his Caucasian adopted parents’ large house. He knows nothing about his first years on this earth. Preteen and teen years, he recalls, were average. He remembers excelling in music and athletics while in school. Other than that, the only other good memory is of the calling. Since then, he had been nothing but a failure. This reality sank him deeper in mental anguish. He started his car and it began to sputter and backfire, just like his life so far.

It had not taken the man with the mark long to detect Julius. All he had to do was feel for righteousness and love throughout mankind. He was jealous to sense that these humans had more love in their hearts for God than they let on. It angered him that most people want to do the right thing in their lives. Where the rest of the humanities’ goodness light aura resembled flickering small lights on a dark background, Julius was like a big bright white light in a black room. The same evening of the confessional encounter in New York, evil followed Julius’s light signature to a bar in Oakland, California. This latent beacon of salvation for mankind had to be eliminated.

Julius clumsily shifted the car to drive, stripping gears in the process. The relaxing effects of that one drink forced him to nod briefly as he headed out the parking lot. If he had looked in his rearview mirror, he would have seen Quicky motioning him to come back. Meanwhile two men, one with a mark on his right hand, laid in wait.

Leaving Oakland heading south on the 580 Freeway, Julius Coventon succumbs to fatigue. Dozing, his hands fall from the steering wheel. Oblivious to an upcoming hairpin turn, his car swerves and accelerates straight off the paved freeway. Crashing through the metal guardrail, glass, metal, dirt, rock, oil, fire, and gas explode in all directions. Julius is thrown forward then backward violently. He is knocked unconscious, with a bruise mushrooming on his forehead. Airborne and falling from its heavier rear, the car flips over, plunging ever faster to a rocky watery death. Julius is thrown forward again and lands on the car horn, which screams out in a heart-wrenching plea.

From below, the howling freight train sounding wind suddenly rushes up from the jagged cove. No one sees the powerful wind slow Julius’s car to a gradual stop in midair. Slowly, and as if resting on a pillow, the yellow Bug, with popping metal sounds, is lifted up and back on the freeway shoulder. Simultaneously, an unseen or heard, billion-trillion-watt lightning bolt hits where the evil ones hide in shadows. The marked man withers then screams in pain inaudible to mankind. Struggling to one knee, the evil one glances at the heavens above in disgust. With the aid of his lackey, they both fade into the blackness of the night.

Julius wakes to find his car running and radio blasting. He remembers nothing. Getting out of his car, he walks over to the gaping hole in the nearby gray metal guard rail. Looking down, he sees water crest then lap against the indented beach below, But no accident of any kind. Inspecting his car, he sees no damage. He checks himself and other than an itch on the middle of his forehead, he feels no pain. At this time of morning, there are no witnesses. Bewildered, tired, and dismissive, he reboards his Beetle and drives on. He exits in San Leandro on Fairmont Street. At Fairmont and East Fourteenth Streets, he heads to Bancroft Avenue. He drives down several streets to his block. After parking his car, he stumbles into his small apartment.

Saturday brings the same depressing routine. He gets up, takes a cold shower, eats donated noodles, and avoids his past due labeled mail. Julius taps his nose as he spots an official-looking letter. It’s from the Alameda County Church Executive Board. It read in essence, Your services are no longer desired—action pending. Retreating to his room, he gets ready for another night at Stud’s.

The last Sunday in August finds Julius inspecting himself for morning services. Adjusting his clothing, he mentally anticipates the huge congregational applause as he is introduced. The previous night’s hangover slept off, he cannot wait for the ego, spiritual, and emotional boost he will receive from the audience.