Authors: Wid Bastian
Vargas wasn’t buying the argument. “Panos, that just makes no sense, brother. Forgive me for sounding so harsh, I’m saying everything out of love, but don’t you care about your own life? After all, it’s you Satan wants most to kill.”
Peter recalled the words of St. James, “For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.” Peter was certain that his brothers meant well, but he also knew that even the best of motives can be used for evil if what is trying to be accomplished is contrary to God’s divine plan.
“Brothers and Gail, I know that all of you trust me and believe me when I say I am asking nothing of you other than that which God has ordained. We must always be obedient to Him or our efforts are in vain.”
Silence followed. Peter had played the trump card and the debate was over. While only Rico Vargas had any previous military experience to draw from, all of the disciples viewed themselves as soldiers in the army of God. A good soldier obeys his orders, perhaps especially so when his personal desires conflict with them.
Gail McCorkle had her own orders. She’d had them for some time. Lately she had been obsessively diligent in asking the Lord to forgive her of her sins, sometimes asking for this two or three times a day. The Spirit was quickening Gail, prompting her to get ready to keep the promise she made to Gabriel. When the time came she did not want to die without being in right standing with God.
“Those sons of b******,” the President cursed. “Those miserable, no-good, lying sons of b******.”
“Mr. President,” Peter chided.
“I’m sorry, Peter, forgive my language,” the President apologized. “I do not yet have your ability to deal with the pathetic rotten scum of this earth kindly.”
Early in the afternoon of the twenty-first of June, a skillfully planned political campaign was launched whose goal was to discredit the President and Peter Carson. The smoke screen was being deployed. Peter and the President were discussing what, if anything, they should do about it.
Through various means such as television ads and radio spots, public statements and appearances, and the selected lobbying of influential people, the argument was methodically advanced that the President of the United States was “emotionally unstable,” “experiencing delusions,” and was “out of touch with reality.” These were not opinions, but rather “facts unfortunately substantiated by impartial experts.” The President had become “a danger to himself and to the country.”
The enemies of God labeled Peter “the American Rasputin.” He was the cause of the President’s psychological breakdown and apparent “inability to effectively lead the nation during a time of crisis.” They attributed to Peter Svengali-like powers of mind control and illusion, and suggested that the restriction was just such an event on a massive scale. Senior U.S. Senators from both parties went on record saying they “feared that Mr. Carson has completed a bloodless coup d’etat and taken defacto control of the Executive branch of the United States government.”
The Reverend Tommy Peterson led an impressive, in worldly terms, cast of clergy and theologians from many denominations who vehemently argued that Peter Carson, the disciples, and the restriction were not “products of the mind and love of our Creator” but rather “false prophets with evil delusions seeking to lead us to our collective doom.” They offered nothing specific to substantiate these allegations other than their own self-proclaimed status as religious authorities and “dedicated, lifelong servants of God.”
Fear is evil’s most effective weapon.
Addressing a filled-to-capacity crowd at a football stadium in Oklahoma, the Reverend Peterson boomed, “Who is Peter Carson? He is a man who claims to be God’s apostle, someone who can heal the sick and even raise the dead. But, brothers and sisters, do not be fooled! In reality he is a con man, a person of such low moral character that he stole from his best friends. Carson is a manipulative liar who is playing out the ultimate scam. I believe without a doubt he is the most dangerous and ungodly man alive.”
Other clergy denounced the inclusion of Buddhists, Muslims, and other non-Christians among the select. A group of Anglican Bishops issued a terse statement asking the question, “Why would Christ not seek His own? A large percentage of these so called ‘select’ are brand new to the Christian faith. By no means are the ‘select’ from among our own congregations in any way outstanding in character or reputation.”
While as yet there was no official word from the Vatican, several small groups of Catholic Bishops joined together to denounce the “heresy being proclaimed in the name of our blessed Lord.”
The central theme of all of these religious objectors was the same; Peter Carson was not who he professed to be, but rather he was a twisted, evil man or mutant intent on destroying America first, then the rest of the world.
On the political front, former high officials from previous administrations and current cabinet members and department heads being quoted as “anonymous sources” said that the President of the United States intends to “unilaterally disarm, or reduce our nation’s ability to defend itself to a dangerously low level within a matter of hours or days.” The President’s vision, an unexplained and mysterious event, was used as exhibit A in his public lynching.
“The damn fool means to blow up the world,” a former Defense Secretary opined. “He must, because if America drops its shield of armor, every two bit dictator and nutjob, and maybe more than a few of our so called friends, will seek to do us in.”
Who stepped up to defend the President? Not many. The “rulers of this age” were overwhelmingly against him. A rational evaluation of the situation could only yield one conclusion; the President’s sanity had been compromised. He was no longer fit to perform his Constitutional duties. Either this thesis was true or the finest psychiatrists in the world, virtually every influential current and former member of the American government and the vast majority of the established religious hierarchy were in error.
During this chaos, the select continued steadfast in their efforts, gathering people together to proclaim the truth, to defend Peter, and to perform miracles. They were noticed. Millions of spiritually destitute people, sick at heart from years of accepting the unsatisfying lies and false promises of happiness and glory spoon fed to them from those who advance the living of a selfish, hedonistic life, found peace and comfort through these impromptu ministries.
But millions more saw the select and their activities as a pernicious effort to eat away at their values system. To discredit vain materialism, to challenge blind ambition untempered by true mercy, to zealously proclaim a duty for every man to be his brother’s keeper was not only taking a good idea too far, it was heresy. The select were blaspheming their god, who these ignorant and unfortunate souls thought was capitalism, social order, individual responsibility, stability, and progress; but who in reality was a fallen angel, a liar, a thief, and a murderer, and most of all, an eternal hater of humanity.
“Do you ever wonder, Peter, if the people who you are trying to save are really worth saving?” The President was dismayed by the depth and intensity of the hatred allied against him.
“Sir, I know how difficult this must be for you,” Peter empathized, “but, if it’s any comfort, not so long ago I was more confused than any of our critics. Don’t forget that what these servants of hell are saying about me used to be true. If Christ can save me, turn me away from sin and toward the Light, I’m convinced, sir, He can do it for anybody.”
“Lord, give me your faith, Peter!” the President shouted. “I’ve been in this world for too long, I’m afraid. There is no part of me any longer that even approaches innocence. Believe for me, will you, Peter? Reassure me that we are not wasting our lives and our time.”
“Long ago, Mr. President, another ruler of men asked God the very same question you are. His name was David. What a marvelous and faithful King he was, sir, yet David fought his demons and had his doubts.”
“One day he prayed, sir, ‘Vindicate me, O Lord my God, according to Your righteousness; and let them not rejoice over me. Let them not say in their hearts, “Ah, so we would have it!” Let them not say “We have swallowed him up.”
“That’s it, Peter. You’ve nailed it. I do feel swallowed up by these damn fools,” the President said.
“Let them be ashamed and brought to mutual confusion who rejoice at my hurt; Let them be clothed with shame and dishonor who exalt themselves against me.”
“Amen, Peter,” the President agreed. “What happened to David? I mean, I remember some of his story, but not all of it.”
“God never left him, sir. Whether it was the lion or the bear or Goliath or King Saul or even his own children, no one could defeat him. His progeny includes Christ Himself. Despite all his doubts and faults, the Lord loved King David and prospered him in all of his ways.”
“But I’m not David, Peter. America is not Israel. I fear our circumstances differ greatly from those facing the ancient Jews.”
“Hebrews chapter thirteen, verse eight, sir.”
The President grabbed his Bible and quickly looked up the quote. He then returned his full attention to Peter.
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever,” Peter recited. “No sir, you are not David and I am not St. Paul, but we serve the same God as they did. If we remain obedient, evil can never prevail against us. Remember, Mr. President, “the righteous cry out, and the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles.”
For Peter it was like looking into a mirror and seeing himself forty years hence. His blonde hair was streaked with grey and thinner on his uncle. His athletic, wiry frame was also recognizable, softened but not destroyed by age. Father Gregory’s sharp, nearly perfect nose, his high cheekbones, and most of all, his penetrating blue eyes were striking features shared by both men.
“Panos! Praise the Lord for His mercy, son!” the old priest yelled. The excited Greek held nothing back. From the second he arrived at the White House and first saw him, Father Gregory showered affection on his nephew, inundating Peter with enthusiastic hugs and kisses.
For Gregory Kallistos, a lifetime’s worth of patient and faithful waiting had finally been rewarded. Decades of separation and anxiety had come to an end.
Peter was profoundly drawn to his uncle, as if just by being near him he became more complete. He fell in love with the man instantly and knew that he could trust him. Everything about Father Gregory was soothing and reassuring to Peter. A sense of peace radiated from him, and peace was the blessing Peter needed now in most abundance.
The Kallistos family connected Peter to a legacy, to a tradition of men and women who have faithfully served the Lord since the church began. To Peter and the disciples so much of their experience seemed brand new, as if they had been cast into the world by God to do what no one had done before. Like everything else, this state of mind was by divine design, but so now was the context Father Gregory would provide.
“Panos, do we have place here son where, how you say, we can be alone short time?”
“Of course, Father, follow me,” Peter instructed.
Gregory Kallistos brought with him from Greece one small suitcase and a leather satchel. The tote was plain and brown and quite typical, but the satchel was unique. Peter noticed that it was shaped much like an old western saddlebag. It had two separate pouches tied together with long straps. Every inch of the bag’s ancient leather was covered with etchings, representations of men and women dressed in unfamiliar clothing.
The old priest picked up the satchel and took it along with him as he and Peter walked down the hall and found an empty office.
“If I embarrass you in front of friends, Panos, please forgive me, my son,” Father Kallistos apologized. “My demonstration is, how you say, perhaps too much.”
“No, Father. Please. I’m delighted that you’re here.” Peter found himself on the verge of tears. “You have touched my heart, Father, reached into my soul. But I suspect you knew I would react this way in your presence.”
“My boy, you are so much like Nicholas when you speak,” Father Gregory said as he opened one of the pouches. “Your words, your, how in English, voice manner is all Nicki. I loved your papa very much, Panos, he and I were close, more close than just brothers.”
The priest handed Peter a small and very old photo album which contained twenty or so black and white snapshots.
“God save me! That’s my father, isn’t it!” Peter felt like a child on Christmas morning. “And that must be you, Father Gregory, standing behind him. Where was this picture taken?”
“In village north part of Greece, Panos. We was so young then, Nicki and I. Your father was, I search for phrase, most handsome man. Women always after Nicki, but he never know any of them other than your mother. He love Neitha since they were small children together in village. No doubt they would marry, all people knew this.”
Peter took his time and absorbed the photographs, reveling in every detail. He saw that his mother was indeed a most beautiful woman, strikingly so, in fact. He wished Julie and Kevin were with him to share in his happiness.
Father Gregory was bringing Peter’s parents back to life for him. The last two photos in the album were of Nicholas, Neitha, and a baby.
“That’s you, Panos,” the old priest explained. “This picture taken maybe day or two before the murders. Seems like, how you say, last yesterday my son.”