The Reverend Solomon T. Brady returned home from the convocation with mixed feelings. He had, however, not come away dissatisfied. He'd brought with him an intriguing idea that just might assist him in his struggle to shore up flagging contributions.
The concept was originated by a fellow evangelical out of Raleigh, North Carolina, during a seminar entitled “The Impact of New Religious Dogma on Congregational Unity.” This gentleman, a radio talk show minister, had found success in dealing with the turbulent events of the moment by using the situation to continually challenge and stimulate his flock. Rather than fighting the growing distraction of the popular Messiah, he exploited it.
Via call-ins, the minister would solicit different perspectives about the prophetess and her message from his listeners. Taking no sides, he'd comment on the viewpoints and add a sense of moderation and authority to the topics discussed. The resourceful preacher found that his callers were also willing to contribute funds for the opportunity to vent their spiritual spleens, everyone seeming to have a strong opinion to share about the prophetess. Although this format was a radical departure from the standard evangelical approach, it nevertheless helped to keep the coffers full. It was a strategy the Reverend Brady thought he'd try.
This idea of a Messiah Hotline was itself worth the cost of the convention. Not that Brady hadn't found the rest of the sessions interesting, if worrisome. After learning so much more about this Jeza person, he was nagged by suspicions that she just might be genuine.
There were some persuasive points expressed: Jeza
However, at the end of the convocation, no consensus could be reached regarding the true nature of this unusual young woman. Brady consistently sided against a Mormon-sponsored proclamation to declare Jeza a true Anointed One. As did the majority of attendees. It was as if by voting against her, Brady might somehow help make Jeza go away. Or at least lessen her impact on him and his ministry.
The only thing the attendees could agree upon was to hold a second convocation to continue their work, four weeks hence, same place.
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WNN regional headquarters, Cairo, Egypt 9:00 A.M., Monday, February 7, 2000
Feldman received an urgent call at his desk and flew out the door, stopping only long enough to snatch Hunter from his office. “Jeza!” he shouted to everyone within earshot. “She's about ten minutes away from here at the Eastside Christian Mission, preaching. Come on!”
Arriving in record time, Feldman and Hunter were flagged over by the meritorious female staffer who had called in the sighting.
“She's been in there about twenty minutes!” the beaming woman exclaimed, pointing through a tall wrought iron gate behind her. “And, uh, we owe this kid over here one thousand dollars for contacting me.” Next to the staffer, a young boy of about ten grinned and held out a grimy hand.
“Okay,” Feldman agreed, looking over at the high wall and stone buildings that bordered the mission grounds. “Hang on to him and we'll settle up afterward. Where is she?”
“In the courtyard inside, in front of that old stone church.” The woman pointed in the general direction.
“Fine,” Feldman said. “But this time, we're going to be clever about things. I don't want to frighten her off. Only Hunter and I are going in. I want the rest of the crew positioned at every gateway and door. When she does bolt, I want to find out where she goes-and how she manages to escape so easily.”
Selecting a light, inconspicuous camera and cordless microphone, the two reporters pulled the Rover next to the wall and used its roof for a step-stool. Hunter reclined on top of the wall with his camera while Feldman dropped down stealthily inside.
Jeza was speaking to a group of about fifty people in a small courtyard. Stealing his way casually through the crowd, Feldman donned his sunglasses and pulled his ball cap lower to make himself less recognizable. Finally insinuating himself between a burly man and a large woman in a dirty apron, he found himself not five feet away from the elusive young prophetess.
A nun was asking the Messiah, “Do you claim to be the Daughter of God and the Sister of Jesus?”
Jeza answered, “Jesus is my Brother and God is my Father.”
“Do you only hear God, or do you see Him, too?” another nun asked.
“Mostly, God speaks to me. But when I meditate, and when I pray, I see Him.”
“What does He look like?” the same nun asked, following up her first question.
“He is all beauty and goodness and fills up my spirit with gladness,” the Messiah said.
Feldman stole a look back at Hunter and pointed to his ear. Hunter signaled thumbs-up that the audio was coming in loud and clear.
“Are you the Messiah of the Apocalypse?” a woman asked nervously, cradling a sleeping child in her arms. “And is the end of the world coming soon?”
“I am the Messiah of the New Light,” Jeza responded, “and an end is coming!”
“Armageddon or the Rapture?” the increasingly alarmed woman wanted to know.
“First there was the Old Testament,” Jeza told her, “wherein man was taught to claim an eye for an eye and to see God in fear. Then there came the New Testament, wherein man was taught to turn the other cheek and to see God in love. Now there is a Newer Testament. A testament wherein man shall raise himself up to see God in a New Light.”
A quiet buzz of alarm spread through the crowd. “The Rapture! The Rapture!” they concluded.
Although he knew it would be risky, Feldman could no longer resist. He cleared his throat. “And how shall we raise ourselves up?” he asked her.
Jeza turned slowly and laid her invasive, indigo eyes on the reporter. Despite his being prepared for it, once again it was like a vacuum sucking the consciousness from him. He grabbed the shoulder of the burly man next to him, who, although annoyed, nevertheless tolerated the impertinence. Feldman steadied himself and quickly shook the giddiness. The sunglasses had been no help.
Jeza still hadn't responded. She knit her brow, studying Feldman, as the crowd turned to see the cause of the interruption. Feldman, fully recovered now, swore to himself, thinking he'd spoiled the session. But finally Jeza's brow smoothed.
“Describe for me your God,” she said.
Feldman was taken aback and searched through his mind for his early catechism training. “Uh, God is all knowing. He is, uh-He is all powerful, all good. Right?”
“Then go, and be likewise,” she directed.
“But how, Jeza? How do I become like God?”
“By all means,” she replied. “If you strive to be all knowing, all powerful and all good, you can violate no law of God in your pursuit.”
Feldman realized she was starting to back away, going into her disappearing act again, and he sought for a way to stall her. “Yes, I think I understand, but can you be more specific?”
He appeared to be too late. She was off now, moving toward the front gate. But she slowed, stopped, turned to him and leveled that piercing gaze once more. “You investigate, but you do not learn. You ask, but you do not hear. You knock, and when the door is opened, you turn away. Blessed are they who are given no answers, yet find understanding.”
It was not said with malice, but it still stung.
“Please,” he pleaded, “there's so much more I want to know!”
“The time is not yet come,” she answered, and was off again, the audience following after her. Feldman
