American Exodus

By Stephen Hays

American Exodus is a race against time to transform the Body of Christ from faith-based theology alone to being founded in love. To transform from the authority of the state to follow only Christ, past thousands of years of tradition to remember the whole truth of creation, faith, holiness and the power of God to preserve nations. But if the church comes of age in a world filled with unprecedented lawlessness, the price for following Jesus might be very high. Only the Lord knows who will be for Him and who will be against Him when the time comes, but the end is coming""His patience is fulfilled. Can humanity humble itself and gain the mercy of God? Or will the end come with humans isolated and alone at the mercy of merciless powers? American Exodus is about the power of the Holy Spirit to manifest Himself in ordinary people to accomplish extraordinary things. It rises to heart and life-changing heights of the Glory of the Lamb, and it dives to the depths of tormented souls desperately trying to find refuge, sanctuary, healing, and reconciliation. It is a study on how dramatically everything can change, yet how constant the power and grace of God is for those who are willing to seek out the Holy Place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098022235

Book preview

cover.jpg

American Exodus

Stephen Hays

Copyright © 2020 by Stephen Hays

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living, dead, or will live—is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Holy Whisper

Weighty Presence

Revival

Paradise and the City of Angels

Awakening in the City of Angels

Second Eagle

Rescue

Respite at Redding

Long Road Home

Reentry

Sunday Morning Service

Third Eagle

A Time to Build

A Time to Break Down

Exodus Phase One

Building on the Aftermath

An Eagle’s View on Nature

Apostleship and Prophets

Exodus Phase Two

Testing

Secession and Prophets’ Walk

Golden Dawn

Awakening

Preface

Awise man once said that no one can tell a great story without having first been in one. This book is not written for the fainthearted or young children in flesh or spirit, but for people of faith who thirst for deeper meaning, for power and truth. It is not meant to be doctrinally accurate or to support any particular belief system. Rather it will challenge every reader as much as it entertains. Those who can face common illusions, prejudices, and concepts of truth will enjoy this work beyond measure.

The basis of American Exodus began through years of counsel with ministers and biblical study and searching. Secret desires and struggles of faith for pastors, priests, rabbis, and other ministers were the touchstones that formed the plot. Questions about life and loss, heartache, and the unparalleled joy in Christ Jesus formed the drama and intrigue. Testimonies and accounts of modern revivals that have risen to biblical proportions set the stage for the metamorphosis the story line goes through in early chapters.

Finally, searching for what a true twenty-first century apostle, prophet, teacher, or evangelist on a biblical scale created the energy through which it all folded together into a coherent whole. Searching for God’s wisdom regarding the consequences of such evidentiary figures in this modern world formed the climax. The repose, the leading character’s awakening in the final chapter, is based on real experiences that touched my life both personally and professionally in ways I still barely fathom.

Freewill is preeminent when individual choices are spread over a broad field of possibility, but when the course narrows such that human freewill is subjected to usurping and supplanting powers, then God intervenes. God calls a few surrendered and dedicated people to action, not taking no for an answer. God induces and ensnares them to His purpose in order to warn the masses of the coming usurper. Those who hear may escape, but inevitably, leaders will not let their bond servants go. So it was when Hashem induced Moses to confront Pharaoh to free the Hebrews. So it was when Jeremiah was induced to lift his voice to call the nation of Israel to repentance. So it was when Jesus came to strike a new covenant and found a church not only of faith, but also holy love.

Stephen Hays

[e-mail]

Acknowledgments

The few who believed—most notably Ruth who helped me even when it was hard—when I could not function and there was no evidence that I would ever be productive in life again.

To Celia Jean, as much a part of this story as I am. She supported the endless writing and rewriting that made the project possible. The most faithful person I have ever known.

To Dominique, also very much a part of this story. She dedicated untold hours to enriching and correcting the manuscript. She wrote and critiqued her way to the status of coauthor. Though she never wanted billing, her contribution remains notable.

To Michael, my brother, who also dedicated untold hours toward educating and clarifying many technical aspects of the story.

Prologue

May the peace of God Almighty be with you through His Son, Yeshua the Christ. My name, as the evil world assigned to me, is Nancy Fisher, but in the Body I am called wife of Peter among many other things. I have written this story so that I will remember and so the many that have ears to hear what the Holy Spirit has to say will also remember.

This is not my story. My story is not written, except upon the children of the King’s Father since my story is too amazing to believe. I am in this story, and this story is in me. We are in the King, and the King is in us.

If you want to search for me, I will not be found, though I do not hide. If you must search for me, then you must search for my master, the King. I can be found in the farthest parts of Africa and Indonesia, in ghettos, hospitals and prisons, and in many places where broken people live, but I cannot be found for the wanting. You could see me in a crowd of people and not know me. Only by the power of the Holy Spirit will you ever find me, but He who sent me can be found by anyone.

This story was a gift to me from a friend once, and I offer it as a gift to all who are willing to hear my master’s voice. My friend taught me to share my gift from God, and now I offer my friend’s gift to you. Please do not be offended by anything in his story since, if you take offense at the first, you will miss the greater blessing of the latter. Keep an open mind to truth and your heart responsive to wonders of God, and He will show you the way.

So be it. Amen.

1

Holy Whisper

Pastor James Willing completed his second Sunday sermon of the day. His congregation ushered out of the sanctuary after the altar call, he sat in his church office alone with his vestments still on, shaken by a realization. Something caught his eye that he never wanted to see.

James—a tall bright man whose head of bushy brown hair and vibrant brown eyes portrayed a more youthful appearance than his forty years. Stocky of shoulder, trim of waist, he could easily be mistaken for an athlete. The son of a preacher as was his father before him. His small-town church, nestled in a grove of blooming Wisconsin oak trees, always had the flavor of home to him, just like his father’s church a few hundred miles south. He remembered sitting in the empty church of his youth, doing homework while his father practiced sermons every afternoon until they walked home together.

His mind strayed further into childhood memories.

James walked through open fields and a few small-town blocks to the church of his youth nearly every afternoon. On bright summer days, the fields were places of endless wonder and personal miracles of his youth. It was in the fields that James was alone with his childhood God, lingering after school or dreaming whole summer days away. He remembered elaborate snow forts in winter, tall grass and flowers in summer. Whatever the season, his imaginary companion was always there welcoming him and gently beaconing him deeper into places no child had business being on his own.

James eventually drifted back from the fields, back to the world, and ended up at his father’s pristine white church—the one place familiar throughout his whole childhood. He ate a snack and studied every detail of his father’s sermon rehearsals while he studied English lessons. He learned to catch the three or four points of the outline his father was developing. He learned to see the hand gestures, facial expressions, and choreographed pacing around the stage and to identify what they meant. He learned to hear his father’s vocal inflections, making the words take on emotional form. He knew when the organist would start up mood music and when the altar call would begin.

All of this was second nature to James before he preached his first sermon. He knew that his vestments and this skill—his art—earned him the right to be a pastor. Sure, he struggled sometimes with the individual needs of his congregation, but he knew the words to say like, Have faith, it’s just a test. Once he even thought a real miracle happened during an altar call.

One of the town drunks came to a service and rushed to an altar call. The middle-aged man was dirty and disheveled as usual, but his distress made him look much more so. He came down crying and slobbering, lying flat before the little altar cross. A couple of ushers escorted him out after the service, having received prayer and a blessing from James. Word came back a few days later that the man cut his hair, was completely sober, and got a job. The whole church was buzzing the next Sunday, because the demon of alcoholism had been cast out of him.

The response to James’ altar calls doubled after that day, then tripled; dozens of people came down crying and praying. James would pray over them and dismiss the congregation. This continued for some time and seemed quite normal, until today. During the altar call for the second service, James recognized everyone who came down. He knew them by name, by their particular trouble or sin, and he knew them by their familiar repentant tears following yet another one of his anointed sermons. They were the same people, week after week. Out of a congregation of hundreds, the same couple of dozen people came to the altar and no one else.

James Willing was—for the first time in his ministerial career—shaken. How long had this been going on? Where were the rest of the people? More importantly, why was nothing changing for those people who came down? Did they all suffer the same unfaithfulness, to have to repent in tears every week? He knew there was an answer he did not want to face, that it was not them at all. They were just acting out part of a dance. These people learned the choreography that James learned from his father. The altar call was their catharsis, their identification as members of the congregation, just like the ushers, band members and choir, and the hundreds who attended every Sunday. The next question hit him hardest: How long had Jesus been missing from the church? It was only a whisper, as if he had not asked it—certainly not of his own freewill.

James did not have time to answer before his secretary announced one of his church elders: Alan Thompkins. James approved the audience, grateful for the shift of focus. Mr. Thompkins came in and seated himself at James’ invitation, a sign some lengthy discussion was in order.

Thank you, pastor, Mr. Thompkins edified, that was once again a truly anointed message you brought today. We’re so blessed to have you leading our little flock.

The words sounded practiced to James’ convicted ears. How long had he taken such words on faith? Thank you, Alan, you honor me, James responded with the usual ritual jargon, just as hollow as Alan’s edification. In his heart, he felt something twist as he realized the choreography included every response he could think of and extended to every person in the church’s inner circle.

I just dropped by to tell you that our collection was up again. We’re at 120 percent of budget for the year. Alan hesitated a moment, indicating that something of particular importance was coming. The Board noted that, in light of this surplus, you haven’t been away for ministry conferencing for some time.

It was only a few months since James and his wife took a nice vacation. They wanted some remedial training for their pastor, talked over what they wanted to hear in sermons, and found a conference to cover the desired material. James considered several of the more affluent leaders probably discussed the cost of the trip and pitched in so James would be obligated out of the church purse.

One of the brothers, Alan continued, happened across a conference in northern California, on prophecy and healing that, well, we felt you might have an interest in. You would like California this time of year, wouldn’t you? So we’d like to send you as a love offering from the congregation. He handed James a brochure. Couching his suggestion in the beauty of northern California in season was sugarcoating and felt somehow patronizing.

Thank you, I’m touched. Who found the brochure? I must thank them for their caring gesture.

Clive Ecksthad stumbled across the announcement at the same time the Board noted our surplus. We took it as a divine inspiration, don’t you agree?

That information confirmed what James had been thinking. Clive was a good man, a family physician and long-standing member of the congregation. He also had a call as a prophet, which meant he tended to impose his heavy-handed convictions on those he thought needed convicting. It long appeared to James that this gift was more power play than divine inspiration. Somehow, Clive would try to use the conference as a springboard for some agenda or condemnation to show up when James returned as though a new insight would be grounds for agreement with Clive. It happened too many times before, but the Board liked Clive, so James would have little chance of bringing his suspicions to a public test.

Thank you, Alan. This conference is scheduled for next week, James responded as he looked over the brochure. Have you considered a substitute minister for next Sunday?

Yes, sir, it is kind of short notice. I…well, with your blessing, would like to bring a word myself.

Do you have something that you feel led to bring?

Well, yes. I’ve been doing a study on Psalm 103. I believe it would bless the congregation…um…with your blessing.

Psalm 103 is an awesome work. I believe it would be an ideal opportunity for you to offer it and I look forward to attending the conference. I will leave the congregation in the capable hands of the Board of Elders. I would like to drive to the conference, though. It will take several more days away from my duties but give me a chance to do some serious praying out in God’s creation. How do you feel about that?

Alan was quiet for a moment, digesting this new information. I believe that would be an ideal opportunity for you as well. When are you thinking of leaving?

The conference begins Monday, and it’ll take me two days to drive, perhaps two more days in secluded prayer. I would like to leave this Thursday. Do you think the congregation—meaning the elders—will approve?

I feel secure speaking for the congregation in saying yes. Will you plan to have a message the following Sunday?

God willing, yes, but if something should bar my return by the following Saturday, I will contact you directly. Will that be satisfactory?

I do believe it will. I am so excited for you! It will be a blessed time of renewal as you search the heart of our Lord.

Thank you brother, the exchange was finally complete. Though it was short notice, James was grateful for the opportunity to pray through the disillusionment he just experienced. He was also very glad Mr. Thompkins did not detect the shaken feeling that was gnawing at him.

With satisfaction and the usual salutations, the elder stood and was gone. James would have some time to consider what was needed to revive his congregation and himself. As he finished a bit of paperwork before going home, the whisper tenaciously remained in the back of his mind. How long has Jesus been missing?

* * * * *

Marilyn Willing—a petite, quiet woman and classic preacher’s wife—had lunch ready for her husband as a matter of practiced routine. Sunday lunch was always light, some fruit and a sandwich or two. James often had other activities on Sunday afternoon that either kept him at the church or took him back later, but today, his afternoon was free. Marilyn and James sat and ate quietly, which was a flag for Marilyn that something was weighing heavily on James; but she would not press the matter until he was ready to speak. True to course, after his first sandwich, James broached an easier subject first.

Alan Thompkins stopped by my office after services today with a proposal from the Board. They want me to go to a conference in California next week.

Next week… Marilyn responded minimally, knowing already that this was not the subject of weight. It would come after this was agreed to.

Yes, next week, but I’m thinking of leaving early and driving there. I need some time alone to pray.

Marilyn surmised the weight must be terrible. Her husband always exchanged small talk before broaching a real subject—a trip across country was not small talk. Something was shaking him enough to drive him into seclusion, even from her. A rare weighty presence came to mind.

Some time to pray, she reflected again.

Yes…um…the conference is on prophecy and healing. It starts next Monday. The drive will take me two days, and I would like two more days to seek the Lord.

Marilyn was becoming concerned. He was asking permission, and she had never seen him come to that point in the first ten minutes of a discussion. James often took a day to go out into the country to pray. He would go into the woods and just walk for miles or climb a mountain and sit looking over the valley below. Sometimes, he would write sermons or go fishing, but never deep into prayer.

For years, she longed for him to take the time he needed to really get shut in with Jesus. Her days as a housewife were often locked away in prayer. He generally seemed to have an image of her doing incessant housework and readying meals, just in time for him to walk through the door. True, she kept the house immaculate mostly due to the scrutiny of the busybody deacons’ and elders’ wives who believed it was their business to inspect the place whenever they paid her a visit.

The truth was Marilyn sped her way through housekeeping with the efficiency of an expert maid, settling into hours of prayer, study, and reading after mere minutes with the mop and vacuum. These sessions often ended in her journals where she furiously took notes on what Jesus was into with her that day. Her notebooks were safely tucked away in a box in the back of her closet. James never saw them. No human ears heard her intercessory prayers, and Jesus blessed her with an agreement to keep it out of sight and sound. Yet, every day, at least one manifestation would come and she would return to a previous entry in a notebook to declare that prayer answered.

So you need to leave by Thursday, she confirmed as a matter of fact.

Yes, I think Thursday.

Honey would you leave tomorrow if you could? Marilyn went out on a limb. The question startled James, and he realized how desperately he wanted to hit his knees right at the lunch table and cry out to God.

Oh, Marilyn, I’m okay, he mistakenly concluded. I just want to take the time to prepare for this conference and look ahead. It’ll only be two extra days, just enough to seek the Lord regarding upcoming sermons and things. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.

James was backpedaling. His loving simple wife was often so naïve about things of the spirit, he thought. He believed she might have taken the short notice personally, that he wanted to get away from her. Like all women, her vanity would make his going away into a personal rejection if he did not handle it carefully, and that was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Being anything but naïve, Marilyn knew full well about his sexist thinking toward women. Patronizing was the best he could do when he was burdened. Marilyn’s attempt at truth backfiring, she slipped back into her perfect wife mold and shyly pecked her husband on the cheek.

Honey, I love you. I’ll miss you while you’re gone. A week apart is such a long time. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself without you here to support me.

I promise to come back as soon as I can. Maybe you could have your sister over to stay with you while I’m gone.

Oh! You’re so wise. I’ll call her up and see if she can come.

Marilyn knew that her sister could not come. With two kids and a traveling husband, she was so busy that her head fell like a stone onto the pillow at night. She might go help her sister with housework or something, but first she would find out what happened to make her husband seem like he had a millstone tied around his neck. She reckoned there was only one person that could tell her: Jesus.

* * * * *

Thursday came, and Marilyn made quite sure that James was ready to go. If he was willing, there was nothing to stop him. He never told her the real reason for the trip, but Jesus did. Now Marilyn sat at her breakfast table, mentally reviewing the last four days.

Jesus taught her years ago about the practiced facade of church and the professional image of church leaders. Her husband and the church seemed related, somehow, in her mind. She answered Him with an open invitation to use her as He desired to help effect a change in her husband’s lukewarm church and in the same lukewarm politic which crippled the authority of the vast majority of Christian leadership in America. She prayed for a revival of the nation. She asked to be used by Him to make a way for church aristocracy to be brought before the Throne of Judgment, to bring righteousness and humility before these leaders were taken for eternal judgment. She offered to lay down her own life if it would help Jesus bring the Holy Spirit into her husband’s life.

Now Jesus reminded her of those invitations. He took her into old notebooks holding such prayers written in her own hand, and she highlighted them one by one. He asked her again and again if she was still willing. He asked her if she would truly surrender her life. He asked her if she would truly surrender her husband. To each of these, she declared an unequivocal, Yes. Then Jesus, by His Holy Spirit, asked her to surrender her secrecy.

Last Sunday, I visited your husband, the Holy Spirit impressed upon her mind, with vision of a painful truth. In two weeks from that day, I want you to take the pulpit in your husband’s absence. On that day, if you do this, I will visit your church and make it Mine and I will make your husband into a new man.

A chill went through Marilyn’s skin as these words came to her in the silence of her prayer chamber. She prayed under an anointing most of her life. On a few occasions, she even felt the Holy Spirit take a tangible, yet luminal form—a weighty presence, a wisp or vapor, a shadow or reflection. On that day as though she waited and prepared for this moment all of her life, a sweet yet somehow frightening expansion gripped her consciousness. It was as if the space around her was growing or that she was shrinking. She thought at any moment, the walls would blow out or the roof would open.

Everything was normal again in a split second. Marilyn felt like she was just waking up, but she knew that she never moved from her kneeling position beside her bed. She felt warm and excited with a giddy sort of peacefulness. For a moment, she thought she made it up, but every little hair on her arms and neck was standing up, and her whole body was covered in goose pimples. It took her over an hour to come out of prayer mode that day. What day was that? Today: Thursday—that was last Monday.

She was reminiscing about that past overwhelming moment while waiting for James to come downstairs. Sometimes she could become so absorbed that she lost track of the present. Marilyn began checking her mental list: breakfast was ready, James’ suitcases were packed, and the car checked out and was full of gas. His briefcase was packed for the conference. He complained that she was packing too much for him—too many changes of clothes, too much money.

Oh, honey, she cooed back, I just want you to have everything you’ll need. You’re driving a long way, and you never know what’ll happen. Besides, as long as you’re driving, you don’t have to worry about extra. There’s lots of room in the car.

But I’ll only be gone ten days. You’re packing for forty.

Honey, if you have everything, then I won’t worry about you not having enough. Marilyn almost lost her perfect wife cast because of suppressed excitement. What little she knew about the adventure he was going on was overwhelming. Her husband had a date with destiny, an appointment with Jesus, and did not even know it was coming.

Now all James had to do was finish loading the car, have a nice breakfast, and kiss Marilyn goodbye. He finally submitted to her compulsion to overpack, but all she knew was that she did not know when she would see her husband again or what condition he would be in when she did. All she knew was that in a few minutes, she would be kissing this natural man goodbye for the last time. She wondered what was keeping him.

* * * * *

James accomplished ten days’ worth of work since Sunday. He caught up all the church’s paperwork and household requirements and then made outlines and contingency plans for the elders, his secretary, and his wife. All the bills were paid in advance, and everyone wanting a visit got attention. This was his normal ritual when he went away. He was determined never to allow anything to happen that was not foreseen and planned for so that if something were to come up, the right people could be contacted that would know just what to do. So on Thursday morning, James was exhausted.

He dragged himself out of bed and fell into the shower. A bit of cold water helped, but fatigue still dogged him. It was on mornings like this that he longed for a cup of coffee. He and Marilyn long since forsook that luxury because of the high cost and adverse effect it had on their health. Even so, the stimulant was his first answer for overcoming his fatigue. He could easily have gone back to bed since, as of this morning, he was on vacation and his time was his own. Why not start out well-rested? He almost buckled to the temptation to go back to bed when he heard Marilyn call from downstairs.

Honey, breakfast is ready!

Thank you, I’ll be right down, he replied, reminded that his time was really not his own. His wife expected him to keep his word to leave first thing that morning. Though this was a minor commitment, honor and faithfulness were principles he lived by. Jesus honored him with health and vitality. He could not let this lazy lethargy stop him from his plan.

Showered and dressed, he trudged downstairs and poured himself into a chair at the dining table. After giving thanks for the food and for his wife’s faithfulness, he ate quietly, still mostly asleep despite the shower. Food would help, but it would take a while to kick in. Marilyn was available and ate with him but understood his silence and honored it. He was just a little out of sorts, dislodged from his routine, caught in the void between his feverish pace all week and the anticipation of the trip he was about to embark on.

* * * * *

Marilyn was aware of the pace James ran, trying to prove his leadership by covering every detail he could think of—it was compressive. No wonder he was worn out! But it was no matter. He could rest once he was out of town when the few days of timelessness would begin to settle in. Her concern was far more serious. She was aware of an oppressive, dark spiritual force trying to settle on him.

Glad for the silence and James’ inattention, she prayed silently for his release. It was a tenacious spirit trying to hold him back from starting his journey, but eventually, it had to let him go. Marilyn long since learned how to pray through something like this force, to invite the power of God to the table until spiritual light forced the darkness to give way. She learned as a teenager how to press in against such a force until its hold was loosed. Sometimes it would take just a word. Sometimes it would take months of persistent prayer and regular fasting to clear the way for effective prayer; but once begun, she would never let up until victory was achieved.

In this case, it only took a few minutes before the soup of spiritual oppression dissipated, the result of unseen powers of heaven challenging a fallen angel’s claim on a human. At that point, she began to bind James to the Blood of Jesus: the lasting and ultimate protection for humans against forces of darkness.

Thank you for breakfast, honey, I’m starting to feel better, James responded through spiritual blinders. He mistakenly acknowledged physical metabolism for his renewing strength rather than what the Lord of his life just did for him.

I’m glad you’re feeling better. You’ve worked so hard these last few days. I hope you’re able to get some rest on the road and find what you’re looking for, Marilyn responded lovingly.

Are you sure you’ll be all right while I’m gone? James was not asking a question but seeking a commitment from her to be brave and faithful while her knight was on crusade.

Oh, honey, I’ll miss you, but I just know you need to do this. I’ll keep the home fires burning for you, Marilyn cooed a little more, keeping pace with the requirement behind his question.

Well then, I guess there’s nothing more to be done. He sounded almost resigned to his fate.

There is just one more thing, Marilyn interjected. Kiss me.

* * * * *

James drove into traffic, onto a highway, then onto Interstate 94 west. He drove for miles with the taste of his wife’s kiss on his lips, then for more miles with fatigue gnawing at his bones, and finally with resignation.

I give up, he thought to himself.

Since his confrontation with truth, he had not prayed for a minute. His time was consumed with taking care of business so he could make the space to pray. Now alone in his car, driving endless miles, literally nothing stood between him and God. Even so, the earthy aroma of coffee clung to his memory, filling his nostrils and wetting his tongue. He stopped.

Wisconsin passed, and at Alexandria, Minnesota, James filled the car with gas and ate a Reuben sandwich. He listened to the radio as he passed from green forests and fields into grasslands of Minnesota’s lake country. James found some new Christian radio stations, a blessing for his trip through North Dakota’s long stretches of desolate brown dryness broken only by occasional cultivated patches of green.

As the sun sank in the western sky, making it hard to see, he approached a point of decision: to get a room or drive into the night. His route took him to northern California via Montana, Idaho, and Oregon before cutting south to his destination in the mountains near Redding. He always wanted to see something of the northwestern states, so he intended to take the opportunity.

James wanted to get out of the plains and into the mountains before stopping for the night, but when he found himself driving off the road, he decided to concede his determination and stopped. Marilyn saw to it that he carried a sleeping bag which he laid out on the ground beside his car under the stars. In the open darkness of eastern Montana, the stars were brighter than he ever saw before. He could see the Milky Way so clearly, he might be able to touch it.

For a moment, he felt the heavens open to him and he prayed. Through the night, James kept waking up when a noise or a car disturbed him. Had he known his makeshift campsite would afford a great view but little opportunity for rest, he would have continued to drive.

* * * * *

James woke with a start and sat up, but everything seemed strange, detached, as if he was looking back on something. He did not know where he was, but he recognized that his car sat on the road. But he did not understand why he was sitting in the passenger seat on a dark stretch of highway.

He saw headlights crest a hill ahead of him on the road. They were approaching but driving in the same lane he was in. The headlights were swerving back and forth as they came closer. In a panic, James tried to climb into the driver’s seat but quickly realized there were no keys. Helpless to move, the lights were upon him but swerved to his left at the last minute. There was a screeching noise as tires lost traction and the car began to slide sideways. It flipped and rolled over and over as it went off the pavement.

James was frozen for a moment, stunned first by the thought of the car hitting him, then by the loud horror of twisted metal against asphalt, rock, and dirt. He slowly crawled back to the passenger side and got out. Walking toward the wreckage, James’ head cleared. The car came to rest some distance down the road and ten yards off the shoulder. The air was sickly quiet, except for moaning coming from inside the pile of metal.

He could smell gasoline as he approached, and quickly tried to find a way into the passenger compartment to help whoever was inside. Suddenly, he froze as he found the only passenger. The lump of flesh and bone sandwiched between torn seats, the dashboard and the crushed roof was impossibly trapped, but James recognized the face. It was himself! Just then, there was a loud snap, and an instant later, the gasoline vapors ignited, causing an explosion that knocked him back several feet. A fireball rose above the wreckage before burning itself out, and the car was engulfed in flames.

* * * * *

James screamed as he lurched to a seated position in his sleeping bag on the side of the road. The night air was quiet, and the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to add color to the horizon. He was dreaming. He decided to pack up and move on because he could not get the dream out of his mind and did not want to return to it.

James spent the next three days walking or driving. He ate when he felt hungry and wandered unnoticed through tourist attractions, rest stops, and small towns as though a ghost. The time he wanted for prayer never came. There always seemed to be something in the way. He was exhausted from trying to sleep on the road, and pressing into prayer never really began. He certainly found the solitude he sought, but in that solitude was a mass of confusion, distraction, and a brass ceiling that held back his prayers.

James knew about the brass ceiling. He was able to see that much of the spirit, but all his words felt like vanity echoing back to him from heaven. He tried to focus on the question that plagued him for a week now. How long has Jesus been missing from my church? But heaven was silent to his call. Whether he took a bold position, a humble position—even a desperate position—the host of heaven seemed to have their backs to him. Suddenly, it hit him—James was thinking in terms he never thought in before. He was on the outside knocking on a locked door.

Throughout his career James always felt like a privileged insider. All he needed to do was validate the expectations of those around him and he was a shoo-in. The requisites of being on the outside looking in were new to him. He did not know the rules of this test, though he preached them a thousand times. It was like riding a bicycle: people can talk all about it, but until it is actually mounted, balanced, pedaled, and steered, the would-be rider does not have a clue. Surely this was a mistake; James was a son of the King. Nothing could stand it his way. He carried keys to the Kingdom of God and could use them at any time.

James tried the keys, but they did not work. He tried to pry open the door and windows without satisfaction. He tried everything he knew to enter through the gate: praise, worship, singing, confession, repentance, humility, even giving alms to a beggar who never acknowledged him. He finally sat in his car, resigned.

James also did not know how to camp in the mountains of California. He camped in the famous redwood forest the night before he got into Redding. He thought the site he chose among the most glorious trees in America would provide him the inspiration for a breakthrough in prayer. Soon after dark, a fierce storm blew up. Wind tore apart his lean-to tent, and rain soaked everything he had out of the car. His sleeping bag would stay warm, even when wet, but it was yet another miserable night. It seemed God answered his prayer with a curse, and James felt utterly dejected.

Sunday in the mountain lodge above Redding was supposed to be a day of reunion with colleagues in his profession, but for James, it was an opportunity to check in, get a bite to eat, and go to bed. Sleep in a real bed was his only desire after trying to embrace the hardships of the road. It had been his choice to pray under the stars, but the strangeness, weather, and nature beat him.

* * * * *

The four-day conference was refreshing, not because of revival, but because of familiarity, the people, and topics of discussion. He found himself able to speak the language of prophecy and healing with the best of them. His peers held him in high regard as he held them in high regard. By the end of the conference, James was sure his sense of trouble over altar runners was blown out of proportion. Perhaps there was something he needed to deal with, but he was okay, and at that moment, his peers validated his righteousness.

James did make some subtle inquiries of his elders about his sense of Jesus’s absence but was assured repeatedly that these were normal struggles in the growth of a church. The general sense was that people who scramble to the altar at every service are crying out for a place to serve. One simply needed to get them into service so they could derive a more honorable identity from being part of the church. As for Jesus missing from the church, well, there were often long valleys where the presence of God could not be felt. During such times, it was the pastor’s responsibility to keep things going as though He were there.

We’re supposed to be Jesus to our people, one old pastor told him. That’s why they pay tithes.

If you start asking to get more of Jesus in your church, you’ll just end up with a bunch of heretics claiming to be Him knocking at your door, another venerable old leader offered.

Remember what happened to the first church at Jerusalem after Pentecost? the wisest member of the conference confided in James over dinner one night.

I remember they shared everything in common and they fed the poor, James responded.

Those facts are true, but they also went bankrupt.

* * * * *

On Friday morning after the conference, James began to drive north from Redding with new confidence and was amused when a voice seemed to whisper in his ears saying, Drive south. James did not give this whisper a second thought, disregarding it as silly. It was time for him to be getting back to Wisconsin, and south was the wrong direction. James continued north for a few miles when he heard the same whisper again saying, Drive south.

James was thinking about his altar runners and preparing to deal with them in a loving manner. The voice could only be a figment of his imagination, but in a few minutes, he heard it again. Drive south.

James did not slow down but simply said, No and turned up the radio. Just then, the commentator on a Christian radio station said something about what happens when people do not heed the voice of God, and he hit a personal note when he said, If you are driving north and God says ‘south,’ there are only two options—you can stop the car or He can.

James laughed out loud at the coincidence. He did not take it seriously, of course, until the engine of his car simply stopped running. There was no explosion or noise, the engine light just flickered on, and the drag from the transmission slowed the car to a crawl. There was just enough momentum in neutral to pull off on a side road before the car rolled to a stop. He tried to crank the engine, but it simply would not start.

This can’t be happening, James sighed as he got out of the car. He knew he could not be out of gas, because he just filled the tank. He opened the hood and surveyed the perfectly normal looking engine. He checked the distributor cap, spark plug wires, and all the things that he knew could make an engine just stop; but nothing was out of order.

Maybe its vapor locked, James said to himself, so he let it sit and went for a walk. The area was mountainous but not too steep. He walked about a mile up the side road and prayed, asking Jesus if the voice saying go south had been Him. James could not discern an answer, only the chirping of a bird. Soon he was back at the car and tried to start it again, but it still would not start.

Jesus, if You want me to go south, then I will go. Show me by letting my car work again. James tried the key, and the engine fired into operation. Dumbfounded, James immediately started arguing with himself. Jesus knew about his itinerary. There was nothing south to lead him back to Wisconsin, only to Redding and beyond. Jesus did not speak to people by stopping their cars. If Jesus wanted to tell him something, then it would be in the Bible.

In less than a minute, James convinced himself the voice was a devilish game; the commentator and engine vapor locking was coincidental. At last, he put the car into gear and maneuvered back onto the highway heading north.

Drive south, James. You promised.

I don’t believe this is Jesus and I bind you, evil spirit, from messing with my car! James shouted at the top of his lungs which startled himself. He did not make a habit of fighting demons, but then he never had one attack his car. All this had to be a fluke. He just came out of several days of heavy discussion on the supernatural, and now his mind was playing tricks on him. Mind or not, James was definitely at wits end when the car quit running again, except this time, it did not just quit. This time, he knew there was a real problem. Several cars stopped along with James because of all the smoke and oil on the road.

* * * * *

You’re damn lucky, mister, the mechanic shouted from under James’ car, that you shut off your engine right away!

I don’t remember shutting it off, James mumbled to himself. That same comment had been made three times in the last four hours. The first was by a young man who looked at the car on the side of the highway. The second was the tow truck driver who towed the car to Redding, and now the same comment from the mechanic who was trying to assess the situation. James racked his brain, trying to remember shutting off the engine, but to the best of his recollection, it quit before the smoke started. He did not tell anyone about the first time the engine stopped, the radio commentator, or the voice. A clanging shifted his attention back to the garage and the mechanic sliding out from under the car.

Here’s the problem, the mechanic said as he held up the oil pan—a perfectly round hole in it about the size of a baseball.

How could that happen? James exclaimed with an edge of disbelief.

I honestly can’t even guess, the mechanic responded, reflecting James’ tone of voice. I would’ve thought you hit something in the road, but…see here. He pointed at the bent metal around the hole. The metal is bent out, not in. Whatever caused this came from inside your engine.

But is the engine okay?

Oh yeah, that’s what I don’t understand. Except for this hole, everything is perfectly normal.

I…I don’t understand.

Me neither, mister, maybe you pissed off God or something. All I know is that you’re damn lucky you shut off your engine right away.

The comment about God sent a chill down James’ spine. He felt frustrated beyond all reason. He also felt a sense of shame but did not know where it was coming from. He was at least on the surface, willing to accept that something supernatural was going on. On deeper levels, there was a profound fight between his heart and his mind.

Mentally, James was steadfast in resisting anything that could not be backed up with empirical fact. In his heart, there was an urge for him to let go of intellectual dominion and accept that Jesus was talking to him. His heart insisted when he broke his promise, Jesus was willing to back His sovereignty with physical force, but how could that be? Jesus did not go around breaking things because of disobedience. If James actually broke a vow to Jesus, then grace would cover it—conviction, sure; delay of blessings, maybe; but not destruction.

So do you want me to replace the oil pan or keep looking?

The mechanic brought James back from his mental battle. How long will it take to get a new one?

I can probably have one here in a couple of hours. I might be able to have you back on the road this afternoon.

Okay, go ahead, I’ll check back with you in an hour or so to see when you can get a new pan.

That’s a good idea. We’re not a big town, but most things can be had.

James ate lunch and settled his debate. He concluded that some kind of aberration caused a weakness in the oil pan. It was a force of physics, not a supernatural manifestation, and would not slow him down. It set him back a few hours and cost him a few dollars, but with the new oil pan, he would be back on the road in a little while. He convinced himself that everything would be fine. When James returned to the garage, the mechanic reported that he had to order an oil pan from Sacramento. Never would have guessed that, the mechanic muttered.

How long will that take? James felt irritated that his resolution just collapsed.

Overnight. Could have your car ready by noon tomorrow. That all right?

Thanks for your effort. I’m sure you’ll take care of it as soon as possible. If that’s tomorrow, then so be it.

James did not have a choice, and both of them knew it. It was nice the mechanic offered him a choice, even when there was none. James was trapped in Redding for the night and would have to make the best of it. He left the garage, shaken again. If the delay was just a fluke, then the new oil pan would be installed and he would be on his way, but it was not working out that way. A thought ran through his mind. I am not the I would be.

2

Weighty Presence

James always tried to see the best in every situation but was stuck on this one. The best of staying in Redding escaped him. He was beginning to believe Jesus turned him around despite himself. This in itself was a nasty turn for the professional preacher James, because he believed freewill was the preeminent gift God gave all people. James presented this over the years among the laws of liberty. Jesus freed humanity from all sin and bondage. All we had to do was confess Jesus to receive the gift of salvation, not only from hell, but from all bondage and slavery as well.

Over the years, James met many people who believed differently. He knew ministers who preached repentance from sin and others who insisted that the Laws of Moses like the Ten Commandments or tithing are fundamental to what Jesus expects of His people. Some turn-of-the-century preachers taught that holiness was required in our minds and actions. He concluded all of these teachings put conditions on salvation that he could not accept.

He firmly believed salvation was a free and unconditional gift and, once confessed, all responsibility belonged to Jesus, that He would never let a person fall away. He believed salvation was the whole generic message of the Gospel and anything more was distraction or a return to bondage, like the Israelites wanting to go back to Egypt.

James was walking toward a nearby hotel, intending to get a room for the night. While these thoughts kept him occupied, he did not notice his surroundings. When he did become aware, he found he had passed the hotel by several blocks. Frustrated, he turned around to walk back but stopped in his tracks.

Turn right, a voice whispered in his ear.

James jumped and spun around to see the source of the voice and found no one near him. His mind insisted the whisper was audible, not a thought; it could not have been a thought. Panic rose with an urge, and James wanted to scream and run. Closely on the tail of panic came a weight too heavy to bear. It felt as if the world settled on his shoulders, and James crumbled to the ground under it. His mind swam as he lay face down on the sidewalk—water felt thick, sticky, and deep around him. He gasped for air and found it, yet he felt like he was sinking into a deep pool. Quicksand came to mind, and he began to panic again, yet his eyes told him there was no water and no weighty object pressing him to the pavement.

I don’t understand! he cried out with another gasp of air. Suddenly, the weight was gone and James stayed on the sidewalk, sweating profusely, exhausted. He rolled over on his back and looked at the sky. The panic slowly faded, but self-consciousness began to rise. Someone might think he was drunk, passed out on the sidewalk. Police would come and take him to jail.

No, the voice whispered in his ear.

Who are you? James was crying. His world was being torn down around him, a tormentor taking control. How could this be? He had all the liberty of salvation, and no evil could take him.

The voice answered, Why do you ask who I Am?

James’ quick mind was at a loss. It was normal to know…something. What was it he wanted to know? Where was he? Why was this happening? How could he escape its grip? In one day, his life was being broken up and torn down. What had he done to invite such torment?

You aren’t being broken up, but you will be broken. You aren’t being torn down, but you will be sifted like wheat and touched as I touched Jacob when he wrestled with Me for his nature, for the sake of My kingdom. The voice was