My mind wanders to a faraway place as the speaker on stage spins fanciful stories of miracles performed and prophecies fulfilled. “He’s a modern-day prophet,” said my best friend, Dave, who convinced me to come to this revival crusade tonight at the civic auditorium downtown. “Kind of like a magician, but way better, because he’s the real deal. Let’s go early to get front-row seats so we won’t miss anything.”
I don’t go to church often, and I’m not a believer like Dave, and I didn’t really want to go. I’m not even sure if I believe in prophets, but Dave’s really into this stuff, and he was so excited about it that I agreed to come. He assured me it would be more of a concert than a religious service, and it would be a lot of fun. “The worship band is one of the best out there,” Dave proclaimed, “and they even won a Grammy this year.”
We arrived at 6 pm, an hour before starting time, and found front-row seats. The band was great, but after nearly a two-hour high-energy set they’re done, and the speaker up there now — well, not so great. Maybe Kelvin Steel is a prophet or whatever, but so far he’s mostly full of hot air. I try to stay focused, but I’m drifting away…
The palm trees sway in the breeze at Waikiki as my surfboard slices the waves, spraying a silver curtain of water in my wake. Sunbathers on the beach clap and cheer; I smile and wave to my fans as I ride the flattening wave towards the sandy shore. Mixed with the cheers, a voice calls out my name, far away, but strangely close, getting louder as I near the end of my ride. A familiar voice that I know well. My heart sinks to my stomach. No, not now.
I’m jolted by a hard nudge to my ribs. The Hawaiian paradise fades from view as my mind snaps to attention, and I remember where I am. I’m sitting in the front row of the packed auditorium, listening to the speaker on stage drone on.
Another nudge, harder this time. Ow! It’s Dave, probably my soon-to-be ex-best-friend, sitting next to me poking me. “Bro, that’s you,” he says excitedly, “he’s calling you up.”
“What?” I stammer. “Who?”
“You.” He points to the stage, and I follow his finger to see the speaker peering down at me, beckoning with his finger. Kelvin Steel chuckles. “Well, well, there you are, young man. I thought you were asleep for a minute there. Welcome back.” The crowd titters with expectation. “Come on up here, son, I have a prophetic word from God for you.”
A prophetic word from God? For me? A warm flush spreads across my cheeks and my heart thumps wildly in my chest. Man, no way I’m doing this. I don’t want to get up in front of this crowd. I knew I shouldn’t have come here tonight.
I look back at Dave and shake my head. Dave raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Come on bro,” he prods, “don’t quench the spirit. He’s going to prophesy over you.” People seated behind me murmur words of encouragement, and I feel pats on my shoulders and back. I expel my pent-up breath and rise from my seat. Why not? It won’t be that bad, will it?
I make my way up the steps to the platform towards Steel, guided by one of the stage crew. The keyboardist plays soothing music in the background, and the atmosphere buzzes with anticipation.
He gives me a firm handshake as I stand before him. “Are you ready to receive God’s word into your life tonight?” I don’t think “no” is the right answer, so I say “yes.”
He turns his head to the audience below the stage and calls out, “Does someone have a bible here? A paper bible. Not your phone, but a print bible with pages?”
“I’ve got one,” replies a woman a couple of rows from the front. “Bring it on up,” he says. She walks to the platform, holding a big, black, leather-bound bible in her hands. It looks expensive.
“Turn to the book of Ezekiel for me, chapter 3,” he instructs her. “You’re not going to believe what the Lord just told me to do.” She flips quickly through the pages and stops when she finds it.
“That’s it,” he says. “Please read it for me, from verse one to verse three.”
The woman began reading:
“He said to me: ‘Son of man, eat what you find here. Eat this scroll, then go and speak to the house of Israel.’ So I opened my mouth, and he fed me the scroll. ‘Son of man,’ he said to me, ‘eat and fill your stomach with this scroll I am giving you.’ So I ate it, and it was as sweet as honey in my mouth.”
He reaches over to the Bible and tears out the page she had just read, her eyes wide with surprise. “It’s okay,” he smirks, “I’ll buy you a new one.” He turns around to face me with the page in hand.
“Young man, do you have faith in what I, the prophet of God, am going to tell you to do?”
“Uh…yeah, I guess so.”
“You can’t guess,” he replies. “You must have faith”
Okay, wrong answer. “Yes sir, I have faith.”
He holds the page up a few inches from my face. “If you have faith to believe it, and if you trust the word of God, you must eat it, just like the prophet Ezekiel did. Get it into your soul; let it become a part of you.
Do you have faith?” I nod my head weakly.
“Come on son, you can do better than that. Do you have faith? Do you believe it?” I nod my head more strongly this time.
“Speak it out this time. Do you receive it?” “Yes,” I say, “I receive it.”
“Good. Now eat it!” he thunders. “The power of God is going to come inside you!” I recoil, startled by his sudden outburst, and I step back.
Oh my god, he’s not really asking me to do this, is he? I can’t do this. It’s humiliating. Disgusting. The crowd below claps and cheers, and voices ring out, “Eat it!” and “Trust God!” and “Hallelujah!”
Prophet Steel steps forward to close the distance between us, his eyes intense, boring holes into mine. He holds the page towards me again. “Eat it!” he commands, louder than before. “Eat it and let it come alive in you and fill you with God’s blessing!”
He’s as serious as a heart attack, and I think I may have one right here on stage, as my heart races like an Indy car full speed around the track. I’m on the spot, what can I do? I take a calming breath, then another, scrunch my face, and take the page covered in black print from his hand.
“Come on son, receive the word of the Lord.”
I put it in my mouth and chew. It’s as dry as chalk, and I try not to gag. The keyboard behind me swells in intensity, joined by the rest of the praise band. People across the auditorium cheer, clap, and lift their hands in the air. Some are speaking unknown languages that sound like gibberish, but I think it’s what they call speaking in tongues. Bedlam erupts everywhere. This is nuts.
“Swallow it!” shouts the preacher, his voice rising in fervor with the music.
He thrusts his index finger toward my chest. “Like the prophet Ezekiel, eat God’s word and see that it is as sweet as honey. The power of God is coming into you!”
The masticated page sticks in my mouth like paste, and I struggle to swallow it down. It’s not as sweet as honey; it’s bitter and metallic and I think I might just choke to death. If I do, I wonder if the prophet can raise the dead too.
I gesture to my lips and mouth “water.”
“Get him some water,” he calls out to the crowd. Someone tosses a bottle to me, and I half-empty it as I force the glop down my throat.
Kelvin places a hand on my forehead and begins speaking an unknown language himself; it’s weird, and doesn’t sound like any kind of language I’ve ever heard before. It must be speaking in tongues, and it kind of scares me.
He reverts to English and prays, “Father, mark him for the rest of his life, for wisdom…coming over your whole body right now.” He presses my forehead backward firmly, with force, as if he’s trying to push me down. I’ve seen preachers do this to people before on T.V., where they fall backwards onto the floor — they call it being “slain in the spirit.”
I hold firm and resist the pressure on my head. He removes his hand and steps a few feet away from me, and blows on me, with a loud whoosh (maybe his last attempt to get me to fall?) and he cries out, “Receive the word right now, son, a life-changing anointing is happening to you.”
Why did he single me out for this? I don’t know this guy, and he doesn’t know me. Is this real? Is he hearing from God? I don’t even know if I believe in things like that. It seems like spiritual voodoo to me. I keep my eyes closed, willing this to end so I can slink back to my seat and disappear from everyone’s eyes.
He reasserts his hand on my forehead. “Hear the prophetic word of the Lord: ‘You will have houses before other people have them. You will have successful businesses before others have them. You will have large bank accounts, overflowing with God’s boundless blessing before others have them.’”
There’s the prophecy. Houses, businesses, and overflowing bank accounts. I do really like the sound of overflowing bank accounts. I nod and say, “Yes, I receive it.” I’ll say anything to get off this platform.
As I stand there, under the bright stage lights, the eyes of a thousand people watching, whooping, praying, and speaking in tongues, I realize it’s a show, and right now, I’m the main feature. I’m the star of the moment, but it’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me.
He’s speaking tongues again, so close to me that specks of spittle hit my face, and I smell his garlicky breath. Spaghetti? Lasagna? Definitely something Italian. He sure could use a mint freshener.
He exerts more pressure with his hand, bending my neck back until I lose my balance and fall backwards. Someone behind me catches me before I hit the floor and lays me down gently. I feel weak and overcome with the emotion of the moment. I think I’ve just been slain in the spirit.
I lie on the floor as people step around me and line up a few feet away to receive prayer and prophetic words from the prophet, and I think of what just happened. Called up on stage. Forced to eat a printed bible page that tasted nothing like honey. Covered with ink that might be poisonous, and I might get a disease and die somewhere down the road.
I mull whether to get up or stay on the floor. I’m a little embarrassed to get up too soon, because they might think I’m faking it, or I’m not that spiritual or something. Well, I’m not, but I’ll stay a little longer to make it look good. It’s the first time for me, and I don’t really know how this works.
A lightbulb switches on in my brain, filling me with warmth like the rays of the sun, and suddenly, just like that, I know exactly how it’s going to work for me.
Prophet Kelvin Steel has no idea how soon his prophecy will come to pass. Because first thing tomorrow morning, I’m calling my dad’s college roommate, Bellin Melvi, the best personal injury attorney around. I’m going to sue him for humiliating me and making me look like a fool in front of all these people. For a million dollars. Maybe ten million. Maybe a hundred million dollars, who knows.
The prophet continues to pray, and prophesy, and slay people in the spirit, and they fall like dominoes around me as I bask in the glow of my epiphany. I look up at the ceiling high above and whisper, “Thank you God, or Universe, or whoever you are. I’m ready to receive that large bank account overflowing with God’s boundless blessing. Amen.”
