14.

Sarah

Saturday, March 16 - 10:30a.m.

The next morning, Mike was reading the newspaper when he came across a small follow-up article by Jennifer Farrell. The title was “Missing Messiah Found”:

The Sun has learned the identity of the man in the photograph from last Wednesday’s article, Miracle in Bellagio: Local rocker Mike (Mikael) Steven Tomson. Although Tomson insists he is just an ordinary guy and declined interviews, more mysterious healings have been reported since the article was published. Lucy Wingo, a visitor from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin was diagnosed as cured of advanced rheumatory arthritis after a brief encounter with Tomson. Tomson himself recently made a three-day recovery from a compound ankle fracture that, in the words of Doctor Gerald Elders was “nothing short of miraculous.” Mr. Tomson’s band, The Original Artists, can be heard Wednesdays and Saturdays from 8 to 11p.m. until April 6^th at the Plaza hotel, downtown.

A little publicity never hurt anyone, Mike thought. At least she held to her word and kept most of what happened off the record. Maybe this is our chance to make it big. He spent the rest of the day researching the life of Christ, the Dead Sea Scrolls and related texts, and kept writing in his journal.

Father Lowry read that newspaper article too, but his opinion was the opposite of Mike’s. A little publicity could do a lot of damage, he thought.

Saturday, March 16 - 7:45p.m.

The sidewalk preacher Jeremy Jenkins didn’t like Las Vegas. It was a place of sin. They called it “Sin City.” He would have loved to live in some quiet little churchgoing town in the middle of the Bible belt, but he knew he was put on Earth to do the Lord’s work. He was put here to wage war on Satan, and this city of sin was the front line of the combat zone so there was no better place to fight. He was put here to spread the Good News about Jesus Christ, and if he didn’t fight for Christ, he was no better than one of Satan’s minions.

Jenkins didn’t like rock music either. He didn’t merely dislike it, he knew it was the work of the devil. Satan created it as the perfect medium for corrupting God’s children. It conveyed power–false power–when the only real power was God. Rock music made you feel good about yourself, when in fact you were a miserable sinner. Rock stars were drug addicts and fornicators. Their mission statement was ‘sex, drugs and rock and roll.’ Their goal was Satan’s goal: To make people comfortable with sin and to forget about God completely. So it was with much reluctance that he drove down to the Plaza hotel. He was going to watch the man he saw in the Las Vegas Sun that morning, the same man who argued with him on the street near MGM, the same man who looked just like Jesus, but was really one of those rock and roll fornicators.

If Satan was going to create a false prophet to lead God’s people into sin, doesn’t it make sense that he would make him look just like Jesus to gain their trust? Doesn’t it make sense that he’d make him a rock star so people would follow him around and make him an idol? It even made sense that Satan would endow the guy with special powers, maybe even healing powers, so that people would trust him and make him out to be a prophet of God rather than a minion of Satan. He might even plant false memories to make the fool believe he was Christ. Heal their bodies, steal their souls. Gain their trust, destroy their faith. The blind leading the blind. It all made perfect sense. And so with much reluctance, he made his way to the Plaza to see the false prophet and study the enemy.

Saturday, March 16 - 7:59p.m.

Mike got to the Plaza hotel late as usual. The band was pissed. “Jeezus, Mike, you’ve got to stop cutting it this close. We were beginning to wonder what we would do if you didn’t show.” Jimmy glared at him with arms folded.

“Cut the crap. Let’s just play,” Karl said. His bass guitar was already strapped on.

The tension level of the band was way up. Mike wondered if they didn’t agree about the publicity of Jennifer’s newspaper article.

The announcer walked out to the center-stage microphone. He looked out at the audience then backstage where the band was gathering their instruments. When he got a thumbs up from Mike, he said, “Ladies and Gentlemen: Please welcome The Original Artists.”

The audience seemed louder than usual, Mike thought as he took the stage. Then he saw why: The casino was crowded with hundreds, maybe more than a thousand people, trying to get a glimpse of his band, The Original Artists. The band was amazed too. This was more people than they had ever played to before.

The noise of the crowd rose as the band plugged their instruments into the amps. Mike scanned the audience with his Charlie Manson eyes. A hand waving in the air drew his attention and he noticed it was Jennifer, so he smiled at her and nodded. He knew that the band was getting more attention because of her newspaper articles, and he liked that. He thought, she must take her job very seriously. I wonder if I’m just another follow-up story to her. Then again, maybe she likes me. Can she be here to see me?

He also noticed some of the people in the audience had bandages and casts. Oh my God, they must want me to heal them, he thought. Are they here for the Original Artists or me? Or just for themselves?

Jeremy Jenkins waded his way through the crowd until he could see the band plugging into their amps on stage. As he watched, he recited scripture to himself like a mantra to calm himself. The Second Letter of Peter, 2:2. ‘And you likewise will have false teachers among you. They will import disastrous heresies, disowning the very Master who brought them, and bringing swift disaster on their own heads. They will gain many adherents to their dissolute practices.’ Matthew 7:15. ‘Beware of false prophets, men who come to you dressed up as sheep while underneath they are savage wolves. You will recognize them by the fruits they bear.’ Matthew 24:5. ‘For many will come claiming my name and saying ‘I am the Messiah’; and many will be misled by them.’ ‘If anyone says to you, “Look, here is the Messiah,” or, “There he is,” do not believe it. Imposters will come claiming to be messiahs or prophets, and they will produce great signs and wonders to mislead even God’s chosen, if such a thing were possible . . . Like lightning from the east, flashing as far as the west, will be the coming of the Son of Man.’

Next to Jenkins was a small girl in a wheelchair and her mother. The girl was very thin, her skin pale white and her head bald. When Mike appeared on stage, she pointed from her wheelchair and said, “Look, momma, there he is.”

The words, there he is, echoed in Jenkins’ mind. Do not believe it!

Before the band started playing their first song, the mother yelled up at Mike, “Please, Mr. Tomson, can you help my little girl?”

Mike looked down at the little girl and felt a little sick. Her frail body was shriveled and wasted. He thought he was going to throw up. He turned his head and looked away, then he looked back. A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes. He realized that the feeling of sickness was not in disgust but in empathy; her pain momentarily became his pain. I wonder if the same works in reverse. I wonder if I could make my strength hers. He smiled at the little girl while he gathered his wits. Now I’ve got a job to do. Focus, man. Think positively. I’ll show you power, little girl.

Karl’s bass guitar sprang to life and the noise of the distortion rolled off the stage like a thunder clap. Ted’s drums started beating and Jimmy’s guitar started screaming. The girl in the wheelchair perked up, amazed that her mother would allow her to stay up past her bedtime to watch a rock band. Mike grabbed the microphone and started bellowing out the first set. He looked around and picked Jennifer Farrell out of the audience. She’s gonna love this first song, he thought.

I’m hot-blooded, check it and see.

I’ve got a fever of a hundred and three.

Come on, baby, do you do more than dance?

I’m hot-blooded, I’m hot-blooded.

Mike’s eyes danced with Jennifer as he sang.

She liked the way he smiled as he swayed, and how his eyes always landed back on her. It turned her on.

Jeremy Jenkins was appalled at the noise coming from the stage. His ears were burning and his head was pounding. He wondered, how can people stand it? He made his way back through the crowd until he was a safe distance from that brutal noise. He was standing away from the crowd, surrounded by slot machines and hopeless, lost sinners, and he stewed. He never took his eyes off of Mike.

Saturday, March 16 - 9:00p.m.

With a final blast from the guitars and cheers from the audience, the band closed their first set and took a break. They shuffled offstage, and the crowd waited patiently for their return.

After a few minutes, Jennifer Farrell went backstage. All of the band members were drinking beer and talking, except for Mike, who was sitting in a chair off to one side, lost in thought, holding a glass of water. She confronted him. “I’ve been talking to some of the people in the crowd, Mike. They expect you to do a healing.”

“I’m not a healer. I’m a singer.” He took a sip of water to soothe his voice. The doctor had told him to be careful not to become dehydrated again.

“Most of these people are here because they read my newspaper article about you. If you did a healing, it would be good publicity.” He frowned at her, but she said, “Come on, after what I’ve seen you do, what’s a little healing?”

He turned his eyes up and looked at her dubiously. Was she testing him again, or was she sincere? He couldn’t tell.

She looked at him, disappointed. “At least give them a message of hope.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said. He stood up, turned to the band and said, “Gentlemen? Are you ready to rock?” The band said, “Let’s do it,” and headed back to the stage for their second set.

Saturday, March 16 - 11:00p.m.

At the end of their last song, the distorted sound of the bass guitar faded into the cheers of the crowd. Mike said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming. We are the Original Artists.” Then he remembered Jennifer’s suggestion to give the crowd a message. He said, “And remember: Love is all that matters, for God is love.”

As Mike turned to leave the stage, the girl’s mother yelled at him, “Please, Mr. Tomson. She’s gonna die. Please?” Half of the people in the crowd left but many stayed to see if Mike would do a healing. Jennifer watched with anticipation. So did Jenkins.

Mike got down from the stage and looked at the mother and then at the girl. He was covered in sweat, and felt both exhausted and exhilarated. “What do you expect me to do?” he asked the mother.

“Heal my little girl. Make her well. She’s sick. She’s got leukemia. The doctors can’t do any more. They say she’s gonna die. Please . . . ”

Poor thing, he thought. After reading Jennifer's articles and the experience with his own leg, he knew he could do this . . . He didn't know how he had healed the others. He sure hadn't been trying to perform miracles, they had just happened when he had touched them. Maybe if I give her a hug she’ll be healed. It will pacify the mom and my healing will be hidden from the audience. Mike knelt down so he could look at the child eye to eye. The girl said, “Are you really Jesus? Mom said that you were.”

Jennifer, who had wormed her way to the front of the stage to catch all the action, was taking notes on a small pad of paper she carried. “No. No, I’m not Jesus. I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band.” He always loved that Moody Blues quote but he knew the girl was too young to make the connection. He shot Jennifer a quick look to reiterate his point to her, then he turned back to the girl. “My name is Mike. What’s your name?”

“Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah.” He shook her hand. “Sarah, can I tell you a secret?”

“Okay.”

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Sarah, I love you.” Then he held her at arm’s length and looked deeply into her eyes until he knew the words had sunk in. She saw the love in his eyes. She knew it was the truth. He whispered again. “God loves you too.” He paused. “Your mom loves you too. In fact, everyone loves you. Do you understand?” She nodded yes. Everyone at the scene was whispering, wondering what he was saying to the girl.

Then, in a louder voice, he said, “Sarah, can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“I’m really tired from the show. Can you give me a big hug?” He opened his arms to her. The girl got out of her wheelchair and stood up and fell into Mike’s arms. He hugged the girl as tightly as he could, as he spoke to her mother over the girl’s head. “I can’t heal your girl.” The woman’s face sank. “Only God can do that. God’s will be done.” He closed his eyes for a minute and paused. He knew that God was love, and any healing could only be facilitated by the understanding of love he had made in the little girl’s heart. Then he let go of the girl and opened his eyes. Looking at her again, he said, “You take special care of your mother, Sarah, okay?”

“Okay.”

Once again, he whispered into her left ear, “She doesn’t know she is loved. You’ve got to make her understand that, okay?”

Sarah knew what Mike meant. Her mother hadn’t been the same since her daddy left. With Mike’s words, she understood her mom’s fear, loneliness and emptiness. She vowed to give her mother the love she needed. Life would be different.

She looked up at her mom, then back to Mike. She nodded and said, “Thank you.”

He got up, jumped back onto the stage, and walked off as the crowd started talking.

The girl wobbled for a minute then collapsed into her mother’s arms. The girl was burning hot. Her mother knew from the smell and the sweat-drenched T-shirt that Mike had been hot from his exertion on stage, but this was hotter than normal. This felt hotter than a fever, maybe even hotter than a Las Vegas dashboard in July. She set the girl back into the wheelchair and rushed her out to her car, and from there she drove to the hospital.

When they arrived at the hospital, the girl still felt hotter than burning coals but to everyone’s surprise, her internal body temperature was a perfect 98.6 degrees. Her blood pressure was normal. At the mother’s insistence, they did another blood test and found that her blood was free of the leukemia.

When her mom heard the news, she fell to her knees and grabbed Sarah and held her as tight as she could.

Sarah said, “It’s okay, mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. I love you too.”

Jennifer Farrell had followed the mother’s car to the hospital, then took statements from the mother and doctor. Sarah, however, would not tell her Mike’s secret.

Jeremy Jenkins could see how people were starting to believe in Mike. The Bible foretold of false Prophets and Messiahs, and he had surely just seen one in action. Maybe it was even the Anti-Christ himself. If this wicked rock star didn’t back down, he thought, he might have to take matters into his own hands. He might have to do God’s work. He might have to help rid the world of this evil. He hoped that wasn’t his mission here on Earth, but if he didn’t do the Lord’s work, who would? Surely not the thousands of people who walked ignorantly past him as he preached at his station near MGM, beneath the sign that said, “Sinners Repent.” He wondered if he was the only one who could see this evil in the world and recognize it for what it was. As he stood in the shadows of the Plaza parking lot, he whispered to himself, “Lord, let this cup pass me by,” and then he left that place of sin.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

Someone asked him, “What is sin?”

He said, “Sin is trying to escape the life-lessons you are supposed to learn on this Earth. Life-lessons cannot be escaped or bartered. Learn the life-lessons and problems solve themselves and the ride is less bumpy.” But they did not understand, and they asked, “What lessons?” He said, “There is only one lesson. To love. All other lessons are variants.”