When we get back to Bethany House, we find that “Talks-a-ton” moved the lecture time for my advanced class and it will start soon. Luckily, I prepared several lectures in advance. My old colleague looks neither surprised nor angry; she just walks off the screen without a word. She’s getting paid for doing no work and, technically “her” lecture is now the most highly watched in school history. The counter showing the number of people watching starts to climb.
“I was thinking about the ground we covered in my last lecture; so for fun today I’ve brought some short videos for you to watch. These clips are almost two-hundred years old. One was done in the year 2019 and the other in 2025 and they show what I call a ‘video preacher.’ Video preachers were men and women who would do religious programs for people to watch at home instead of physically attending a church. Let’s take a look.”
The students laugh a little at the quality of the ancient video. It begins with a man wearing a suit and tie, standing on a stage, holding a metal stick in a hand having a large gold ring on each finger.
“I like the tie.”
The video automatically pauses when I interrupt and the students laugh.
“This was long before coms were created. The metal stick is called a microphone. He speaks into it to amplify his voice. One thing that’s truly amazing is how high he’s gotten his hair to stand up. This was long before the day of carbon fiber hair implants so they used to spray some sort of washable plastic into their hair to get it up that high.”
The video continues and the man speaks or, more accurately, yells into his microphone:
“There’s so much unhappiness in the world. People rush around in their daily lives trying to do all the things they need to do in order to live; but does that make them happy?” the preacher asks.
“No!” the preacher and the audience shout together.
“People make lots of money. Does that make them happy?”
“No!”
“Of course those things don’t make people happy. It’s helping and giving that makes us truly happy.”
His voice was loud from the start, but has been building to a fever pitch.
“And there is no ministry in the world that gives of itself more than this one. You, my beloved, are the finest examples of Christians I could ask for, and it’s a daily honor to wake up and minister to you. I truly mean that.”
There are shouts of “amen” and “halleluiah” from the audience.
“But there’s so much more to do in the world.”
Now his voice drops low and sad.
“God almighty gave us free will, and men all over the world use that free will in the service of Satan.”
The crowd boos and hisses. A large woman seated behind the preacher faints and falls out of her chair.
“Somebody please help that sister up.”
He says it on cue, without turning to look at her, and continues his roll before the audience can come off its high.
“You heard me right: Satan has an army, and that’s why we must stand up and count ourselves among the army of God - and I for one am ready to march into that battle with my sword held high.”
He’s returned to his fever pitch and the audience screams with joy.
“I would gladly march into that battle alone. You know I would. You know I would cross swords with the devil himself - just he and I locked in mortal combat if the Lord told me to do it. But that’s not what the Lord wants, is it?”
The crowd screams “No” and another woman faints.
“Of course it isn’t. The Lord wants you behind me, because He knows together we are stronger and that only together can we defeat the enemy. So who’s behind me?”
The crowd roars.
“I said, who is behind me?”
More roars.
The preacher falls to his knees. There are tears rolling down his cheeks on cue.
“Oh, I just knew it. I knew I was among the chosen.”
He’s switched to a cross between blubbering and wailing.
“I’m so tired, but you lift me up. You give me the strength to keep on fighting.”
He begins to rise up, like he’s gaining strength from the audience.
“I’d do it alone. You know I would - with your strength behind me; but it takes more than one small man like me. It takes resources. Would you ask me to face the devil himself without a sword?”
His pitch is rising again and the audience yells “No.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Beloved, if we are going to take the battle to Satan, we need our swords, and our swords are food and blankets to feed and cover the children. We need to show Satan that no matter what he and his evil men do, we will stand and protect the children. Can I have an Amen?”
The crowd shouts ‘Amen.’
“There are saints passing among you right now. Show your glory to the saints and give generously to help me stand up to Satan and his tricks.”
I pause the video.
“What are your observations?”
I choose Diane in Idaho.
“Dr. Talkington compared religion to drug addiction. The crowd does seem to act like addicts.”
“Excellent observation. You found one point where Dr. Talkington and I agree. What else?”
I choose Manuel in Cordova, Spain.
“He acted like a street performer who was doing it for money rather than the joy of the performance.”
“Another excellent observation. I did some research on this man and it turns out he had a personal net worth of over seventeen million dollars, and the non-profit corporation behind his ministry controlled over one-hundred million. That’s a lot of money these days, but in 2019 it was a staggering amount of money.”
“Here’s the point I was trying to make. This man throws about words like ‘God,’ ‘Lord’ and ‘saints,’ but at any time did he preach from the Word of God? Did any of you hear him even once teach anything from the Bible?”
“I’m going to play a short video of the same man in 2025 that I think will further illustrate the point.”
The same preacher comes onto the screen. His hair is even higher, despite the fact there’s now less of it. The clip is of the end of the service.
“We have fought long and hard, beloved. We have poked our fingers into Satan’s eyes everywhere and every time the Lord has asked, and He is pleased with us. As we leave here today in fellowship, I want to remind you all that as God’s warriors, you all deserve happiness. Go home today and find something that makes you happy and do it. God created you; God loves you; and God wants you to be happy. Making yourself happy makes Him happy. For God, it’s about you.”
The video ends.
“The late 1900’s through the mid 2030’s in America were marked by this sort of twisting of the message of the Bible. If you remember nothing else about this lecture, remember this: It’s not about you. It’s never been about you. It’s always been about God.”
****
The next day Martha invites me to travel with her to Capon Springs and I accept. It’s a hot day, so I’m glad to have a swim in the cold spring-fed pool. Martha dives in wearing a bikini and I find myself awash with thoughts that are far from pure.
Guard your thoughts, Cephas. Jesus said a man who makes love to a woman in his mind is an adulterer in his heart.
It’s a good thing the water is so cold. I force myself to look only at her face. I remember the staring contest I had with Jocie and how the strength of my will had barely won out over the allure of her body. In a way, that battle was easier than this one. When I met her, Jocie was a creature of pure lust and was easy for me to resist. Although I’m no longer sure of how she feels about me, it’s clear that I still have feelings for Martha, or at least the memory of who I thought Martha was.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks as she swims up next to me.
“I was thinking about Bill and Wendy,” I lie.
Martha floats on her back. I close my eyes so I won’t get caught staring at her, but not before the image is imprinted on my brain.
She’s the opposite of Jocie. Jocie inspired lust for the sake of gaining control. Martha has no clue about the internal battle she’s making me fight.
“Martha? When you were preparing to infiltrate my class, did you read any personality profiles on me?”
“They were pretty thin. Four had information from before your parents were killed that told us you were very smart, but after that there were just some scrubbed school records.”
“Scrubbed?”
“Every year said the same thing, word-for-word even though they were supposedly written by different teachers. It said: ‘An exceptionally gifted student whose talents should someday be employed by the Cult Hunter Corps for the benefit of mankind.’ It was a touch obvious, if you ask me.”
“That’s all you had to go on? Government fiction?”
“We knew you were the code breaker, but of course there were no public records from your time with the Corps. I guess that’s why we were wrong about all the reports of you torturing captured Christians to break our codes.”
“That’s still just background information. I’m talking about actual profiles that talked about me. What sort of person I am on the inside. How I think. What makes me happy or sad.”
Martha pauses for a long while.
“There was nothing like that in the profile, but if you had asked me I would have said you didn’t feel happy or sad. It was like you felt nothing at all. I remember watching a surveillance video we took of you walking to class. You’d go out of your way to frighten people off. You could part a crowded street, without saying a word.”
“I called it wearing my cult hunter mask. At the time, I thought it was the perfect way to live my life. Then I met you and, for the first time, I wanted someone to really know me. So I took a chance and I took off the mask for you.”
“So looking back, you wish you’d shut me out and kept on living that life?”
“Not for a second. Even if it was all an act on your part, I’m glad you found your way through to me. In a way, it prepared me for meeting Jesus - because He doesn’t see masks. He sees right through to who we really are. I’m glad I’m done with all that, because just being myself has helped the team here get past its notions about me. My only regret is…”
“What?” she asks.
“Forget it.”
“Is that the mask going back on?”
“Okay. When I took you to my attic and showed you the Bibles, I put my life into your hands. I fully exposed myself to you, but you didn’t do the same. You could have told me right there that you’re a Christian. It seems like your mask has never come off, and it hurts that seeing the real me isn’t good enough for you to reciprocate.”
She furrows her eyebrows and takes her time responding.
“I understand it’s difficult that you’re locked out of the control room and aren’t allowed to access computers; but we have to protect ourselves.”
“I’m not talking about Four’s secrets. I’m talking about you. Can’t you see that you’ve just taken off your ‘student’ mask and put on a ‘team leader’ mask? You haven’t let anyone in Bethany House know the real you, and some of us really want to.”
Some of us more than others.
“Do you realize you’ve never even told me your real name? The Bureau told me you stole the identity of a girl named Martha McLeod, who died as a baby.”
She chuckles.
“Martha McLeod is my real name. My death in infancy was faked so I could be raised off the grid. Stealing someone else’s identity is difficult. Faking a death and stealing your own identity is relatively easy.”
“That shows some long-term planning on your parent’s part.”
Martha stops floating and swims up close to me. Perhaps a little too close.
“If you want to call it a mask, that’s fine; but know that it’s hard for kids who grow up off grid to learn to trust and open up to anyone. We hide our faces from cameras; we watch the sky for drones; and we learn to disappear whenever a stranger knocks on the door. I remember once I was stuck at Aunt Kimberley’s house for hours when this drug salesman just wouldn’t take no for an answer and-”
The look on my face ends the story, when she realizes she’s slipped.
“Aunt Kimberley? My Aunt Kimberley? You know my family?”
“I know your aunt and uncle and all of your cousins very well. We all grew up in the same small town. Your Aunt Kimberly and my Mom are best friends. That’s why I call her Aunt Kimberley.”
That’s why Bill and Wendy could speak freely in front of Martha. She already knew the story of my parents’ murder.
“You’ve known this all along? When were you planning to tell me?”
“It was for your protection - and theirs. The Bureau knows about them and, if you try to contact them, you’ll all be in danger. They’re safer this way.”
“I don’t care that you’re the team leader. You have no right to make these decisions for them - or for me. All these years of seeing me in the news as I helped the Bureau hunt Christians, they must have thought I was a monster. You once said you’d had a mental shift about me. Why would you rob them of the chance to meet me and do the same?”
“Because they told me to. They already love you, Cephas. They’ve watched you over the years and have always loved you - and prayed for you - but they’ll contact you when they’re ready.”
I jump out of the pool.
“My whole life has become a puzzle where everyone else can see the pieces, except me. If I’ve learned anything from Bill and Wendy, it’s that I’ll never find what they have until I find someone who’s willing to take off her mask too. Right now, I don’t want to see what’s hiding behind yours. I may find that I wasn’t the true monster after all.”
****
For the rest of the day, I hide on a back porch and watch hummingbirds as they come to the flowers and feeders less than a meter from my chair. Other guests stop by, but none attempt to start a conversation. Like me, they want to be alone with their thoughts. I’m sure most of them wear a com twenty-four hours per day when they’re in the real world and are simply enjoying the temporary silence. I don’t know if they’re using the opportunity to draw closer to God, but I wish I was. Instead, I’m mired in trying to sort out how I feel about Martha, Four, and the elders.
“Mind if I sit?”
I look up to see that Brill has found me. I shrug; so he sits in a rocking chair beside me. The hummingbirds chirp at the intrusion, but soon go back to their business.
“If you’re refusing to speak with anyone who knew the truth about your family and failed to mention it, then I could talk to the birds instead,” he says.
“Go ahead. I’d like to hear whatever wisdom you share with birds. They probably know more about my life than I do, too.”
We sit in silence until a bird hovers at the flowers right in front of us.
“That’s a beautiful flower, isn’t it little bird?” Brill says. “You ever wonder who put it there for you, or do you just accept that it was part of His plan?”
I snort and the bird backs away for a moment; then zips back to the same flower.
“It’s not quite perfect though, is it?” Brill asks the bird. “One petal is out of shape and the beetles have been chewing at some of the leaves - and yet - He still put it there just for you to find today. Why didn’t He make it perfect for you, little bird?”
“What the bird should ask is if the flower is really pink.” I say. “Or is it hiding its true colors underneath? Or maybe it’s just pretending to have nectar - when it’s actually filled with something bitter.”
“Are we still talking about these flowers, Cephas? It sounds like you’re talking about the flower that ran up to Eagle Rock and has been sitting there, crying for hours.”
My eyes twitch in the direction of Eagle Rock.
“We must still be talking about these flowers. Martha doesn’t cry. Martha doesn’t do anything that might be seen as weakness.”
“Weakness? You think crying is a weakness? Jesus Himself cried when He walked the earth.”
“Sure, but when Jesus cried it was out of-”
A smile spreads across Brill’s face, when I stop myself mid-sentence.
“That’s right, son. Sometimes people cry out of love. I think you’ll find people do a lot of unexpected things out of love.”