Part of Chapter Nine

“Jessica . . . Jessica . . . I can help Mr. Smith.” A man stepped from his office. “My name is Dean Jordan. It is always a pleasure to serve our ministry friends and partners. Any friend of Dr. Mike Murdock is a friend of ours. Come on in to my office. We’ll streamline this whole enrollment thing to make it as painless as possible.”
“That is very generous of you, Mr. Jordan.” I took a seat in a chair by his desk.
“So tell me Trey, how is Dr. Murdock?”
“He’s fine.” I smiled. “And, Dean Jordan, I am sure he would be pleased to know that you asked. Now, I am here to set up the housing situation for both Jason and myself. And, as far as the payment arrangements, I—”
“Whoa . . . Whoa . . . Mr. Smith, I don’t need to go through the details of the payment arrangements. There have already been a number of internal discussions in anticipation of this particular enrollment. It is my understanding that those matters have already been handled. So tell me Mr. Smith, what do you hope to gain from our institution?”
“Well Dean Jordan, I want to be part of your radio and television broadcasting department.”
“You want to be on television one day, do you, Mr. Smith?”
“I want to be a journalist, maybe a Christian writer. Dean Jordan, I want to explore the truth about ancient cultures, Biblical texts, and the early timeperiods in human history that they portray,” I replied.
“The truth, Mr. Smith?” He nodded with a smile. “You are in the right place for that. Additionally, while you’re here, you might want to gear those writing skills towards fundraising. The Bible is not all about history and our understanding. Often we find even higher callings. As I’m sure you’re well aware Trey, all noble pursuits need money.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Also, I would suggest that you take some classes that would be good for missionary work as a back-up.”
“I appreciate that Dean. I will certainly take all your advice under the highest of consideration.”
“This is what I am going to do,” he continued. “Typically, Christ for the Nations pairs up six guys to a room. But, as a special case for Jason Murdock and the respect we share for his father, I am going to put you two in a private room. Additionally, you should never feel hesitant to come to me directly with any questions or concerns you have.”
“Dean Jordan,” I spoke.
“Yes,” he answered.
“It is my understanding that the boys’ dorms are a renovated Marriott Hotel. Is that correct?”
Yes, indeed. That is correct.”
“Well, I don’t mean to push. But would it be fair to say that Christ for the Nations has an interest in Dr. Mike Murdock knowing that the school has afforded both Jason and myself the highest-quality living environment?” “Of course,” he agreed, “most definitely.”
“Well, I only have one more question.” I leaned forward. “Dean Jordan, does your renovated Marriott Hotel still have Presidential Suites?”
A couple of hours later, I stood next to my best friend, Jason Murdock, on one of the top-level balconies of the most prestigious Christian school in the United States, Christ for the Nations. The window to our room overlooked
the brilliant lights of the entire Dallas skyline. I popped the cork on a bottle of Martini and Rossi and poured the bubbly liquid to the rim of two glasses.
“This is really happening Jason.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you Trey.” He took a sip. “When you put your mind to something, you actually make it work. The whole world is smoke and mirrors; but when you say it—whether it is bad or good—you actually seem to make it happen. Now let me ask you something. Did you did bring any paintball guns?”
“Yeah, I . . . uh . . . I put them in the closet. Why?”
“Oh, I just wanted to look at one.” He went inside.
“Did you find them?” I called out loud enough for him to hear.
“Yeah, I got one!” he shouted back. “Give me a minute. I want to try something.”
He came walking out with a fully-loaded paintball gun in his hand and a burned glass pipe dangling from his lips. Rolling the glass bowl back and forth with a lighter underneath, he inhaled a stream of smoke.
“Is that meth, you moron? This is our first night here and you’re already smoking crystal meth in our dorm room!”
“Yep. It’s meth,” he answered while holding the smoke into his lungs. “And if that bothers you, then you better shut your eyes, because you are about to be really offended.”
He pointed the barrel of the paintball gun towards the cars on the freeway numerous stories below our balcony.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! It was rapid-fire, as fast as he could pull the trigger and contain the smug look on his face.
“You dumbass!” I grabbed him by the throat and thrust him backwards. As I forced him into the room he continued to pull the trigger. Paint pellets splattered the ceiling and the walls as I pinned him to the bed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I raged. “I just fought to get us into the premier Christian school in the country and the first thing you do is get high on narcotics and start tragedy at vehicles from the balcony?”
“What is your problem?” He smacked my arm from his throat. “I am just trying to have a good time for once. Just like you. I have been through hell for the last little while. I thought this might be a good chance to let off some steam.”
“A good chance to get us kicked out is what it is Jason. Where is your head at? This is a chance for something real. I am not digging my way out of one pit just to crawl back into another one. This is a start to a new life for me. Not just some new situation I can screw off on a lifelong mission to burn as many bridges as I can.”
“Look Trey.” He sat up and straightened his shirt. “I know you are on this whole ‘find God’ trip. But that is not what this place is about. This place isn’t about finding God. This place isn’t about becoming holy.” He waved his arm to the room around us. “This is the place where they separate the wolves from the sheep. And if you keep trying to be a sheep while going to wolf-training school, then not only are you about to get sheared, but you’re in for the biggest mental ass-whupping of your life. You are welcome to do that to yourself, but don’t you dare try and pull me into the bowels of this twisted hell with you.”
“Trey, I take that back. Maybe you were meant to come to this place. You came here in search of the very God you grew up hearing about from your mother, your father, your grandfather, your great-grandmother. Well, congratulations. You’ve arrived at the ivory tower, the pinnacle, the holiest of holies. You have just arrived at the very place where you will find out the most frightening and liberating truth. There is no God.”
“Oh yeah Jason?” I calmed down and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “And how exactly do you figure that?”
“Because Trey—” His eyes became intense. “If there really was a God, then He would never allow my father, Mike Murdock, or any of these other lying, cheating, stealing TV f*cks to exist. Tomorrow, you’ll meet my dad. By the end of the month, you’ll have rubbed shoulders with every coked-up whoremonger in Christian television. Once you’ve gotten a little more of a taste of this world, then you come back to me with your whole book full of newly-found, holier-than-thou morals and self-righteous bullshit. Until then Trey, do me one favor—just hand me my meth pipe.”

Part of Chapter Ten
“O Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” Dr. Mike Murdock cried aloud, his black beard and hair helmet gleaming, to a cast of thousands in a large church in downtown Dallas. You could see the sparkle of gold from his diamond rings and the reflection of light from his Rolex watch even at the back of the room.
“Oh friends! Oh my dear, dear friends! Can you feel the Spirit of God moving in this auditorium tonight? Can you feel it? Can you feel it? Can you feel it?” He got so excited that he had to wipe the running streams of mascara from his brow. “Wisdom is the key. Wisdom is the ultimate thing. The Creator of the heavens and the earth is calling you tonight. Can you hear Him friends? I say again—can you hear Him friends? Tonight you stand on the very tip, the verge, the edge of something new. I tell you friends, that every demon in hell is fighting your mind right now. They are fighting you because you are about to step out in an act of faith. Are you going to live in fear? Or are you going to live in faith? Are you going to succumb to the same fear that has bound you for your whole life? God is asking you to take action tonight. When Elijah came to the widow woman it cost her something. It cost her stepping out in faith, and the reward was great. In Malachi 3:6 we read, ‘. . . bring ye all the tithes into the store-house that there may be food in my house.’ It goes on to say: ‘Test Me in this.’ Do you hear that friends? This is God speaking. He says: ‘Test Me in this! Test Me in this! Test Me in this!’ Am I beginning to shake it into your heads ladies and gentleman? ‘Test Me in this and see if I will not pour out so much blessing that you will not have room to receive it.’ The Lord God is declaring that you ‘Test Him’ tonight. Test Him to see if He will not fulfill His own promise to bring so much increase into your storehouse that you will not have room to receive it.”
He leaned forward and brought his voice to a whisper in the microphone for emphasis. “But there is a condition, isn’t there?” Mike held one pudgy finger before his own face. “You must first bring your tithes into God’s storehouse.”
“I feel the Spirit moving friends!” His body began to dramatically shake as a music team started to play behind him.
“This is my favorite part,” Jason leaned in to whisper. “It’s like sadistic clockwork. No matter how many times I see this shit, I still can’t believe the gag works. I call it, the filtration trick. He’s ultimately going to hit everyone in the room up for fifty-eight bucks. But first, he has got to milk the crowd for anyone that has more than that. The beauty is—he actually gets every sucker in the auditorium to pick themselves as the unlucky losers of the night. It really is a show worth watching at least once.”
Murdock paced the stage as the music intensified.
“Oh, Holy Spirit . . . Holy Spirit . . . Holy Spirit . . .” He raised his hands in the air. “I can feel that miracles are about to happen. Assuredly, the presence of God is in this place. He is working friends. Oh yes, He is working. The Spirit is stirring. The Spirit is flowing. God Himself is about to move on some hearts. I can feel Him. I want everyone in this room to open themselves up to very will of God Himself tonight. Do not be resistant. When God starts talking about a seed, He is merely preparing you for a harvest. I need for you to listen to me friends. The voice of God is flowing so crystal clear that I can understand every word. He is speaking to you sitting out there in those chairs even as I stand on this stage. These may be some of the most crucial moments of your lives friends. Let me tell you what God is saying.”
Mike walked to the edge of the softly-lit platform. He gazed across the crowd. Then he began.
“There are three of you in this place that are meant to give five thousand dollars tonight.” His voice became deathly serious. “More than that, there are seventeen people in this auditorium who God is calling to give one thousand dollars tonight. And . . .” With tears developing in his eyes he momentarily babbled in a foreign tongue as if inspired by something magical from above. “There are twenty-two of you that God is calling to give a mere five hundred dollars tonight. I don’t want to see one person leave that back door without taking part in what God is doing right here in this place. Don’t fight the Spirit, friend. Don’t fight it! Don’t fight it! Don’t fight it! You, the very one who is saying, ‘It’s not me Mike. I don’t have the money to give.’ I tell you that it is exactly you friend.” He pointed at the audience with an aggressive and sweeping move of the hand. “There are many of you in this room who are struggling with a financial issue in your life. Right now it looks like a mountain. Right now it looks like a hurdle you can’t jump. Maybe it is a mortgage payment that is past due. Maybe it is the cost of a child who is on drugs. Maybe it is some kind of legal problem you can’t pay. Maybe it is a medical issue that is trampling your life. Friend, God doesn’t care what it is. The only answer to your financial problem is to put your trust in God tonight, to plant a seed. Following the will of God will never make sense to your carnal mind. To get the hundredfold, to get the financial blessing, to get the prosperity of the Heavenly Father poured out on top of you to such a degree you cannot comprehend it, you must do something you have never done before. Let me say that again friends: to get something you have never had before, you must do something you have never done before. That little bit of money you are trying to hold on to—I want you to let it go tonight. Do you hear me? I want you to let it go.
“Push fear from your system friend. Don’t let that few thousand dollars, that couple of hundred bills, that little bit of green paper, be the stronghold that separates you from God here in this room tonight. While you struggle in your chair, saying ‘Mike, I don’t have it give,’ I tell you friend, that it is not me you are struggling with. No. You are struggling and resisting the very will of God Himself.
“Stop fighting! Stop resisting! Stop shaking your fist in God’s face! Now, I want to see you getting out your checkbooks all across this auditorium . . .”
“Wow,” I gasped with a look of shock on my face. “I knew he was big into money collection, but I had no idea it was on this kind of scale. Jason, I have got to hand it to him. I think your dad has got this collecting-money-for-God thing down to an art. So how much do you think he’s taking in out of all this? Forty . . . fifty thousand?”
“What—are you kidding?” He shook his head. “It’s going to keep going until he has collected every last red cent. And, as I said, after he gets done shaking out the high dollars, he’ll get everyone else to ‘plant a seed’ and become a partner for fifty-eight bucks. Then, the service will be over. For my father, this is barely even a test run. He has taken in more than a million dollars in a single church service before.”
Looking around the room, I could see an ocean of open checkbooks being filled out.
“Keep writing your checks,” Mike called out as he paced the stage. “God is moving. Keep writing your checks.”
“I don’t think I can listen to too much more of this,” I whispered. “Your father’s voice is starting to make my head hurt. And my butt already aches from the hour I’ve been in this chair.”
“I know. I know. It’s kind of eerie,” Jason leaned over to comment. “But, once you take the idea of God, the cesspool of spiritual hype, all the sticky little emotions, and the mental manipulation out of the equation, what you’re left with is a beautifully-oiled money-making machine. And—if you think this is soul-less—wait until see an episode of his Wisdom Keys TV show. The wisdom in every teaching is simple: God wants you to prove your faith by giving your money to Mike Murdock. It may be ugly, but even I’ve got to respect the talent.”
I was standing with Jason in the dim light of a parking garage by the backstage, rock-star exit to the auditorium. Mike came briskly out of the building accompanied by a slender, long-legged, large-breasted twentysomething- year-old girl and two of his security ushers.
“How is the dorm at Christ for the Nations?” He paused to address Jason and myself just before getting into his limo.
“It’s great. It’s really great.” We both nodded.
“Jason, I think you are finally on the right track son.” He spoke in a cold, calculated tone without emotion. “You boys ought to stop by the Hacienda some night. I’d like to find out exactly what direction the Lord is leading you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got a private prayer meeting to attend.”
He gave his trademark Mike Murdock semi-serious smirk before crawling into the back seat with the gorgeous girl in her twenties.