“I know this was in my body, but still you raise a valid point.”
“Not a vision, not teleportation, how ’bout a demonic implant was shot into your brain and altered your reality?”
“I’m not exactly in the joking mood. This was strange.”
“But we’ve been in the business of strange for the past year. Think of some of the things that have happened at Well Spring over the past six or seven months. This kind of stuff shouldn’t surprise us. We should be more surprised when it isn’t happening. I’d shake it off. Let it go.”
“Good, good. That’s why I needed to chat. To gain a modicum of perspective.” The red hickory trees on the edge of campus loomed in front of him. Somehow it seemed getting underneath them would provide a sense of protection and comfort.
“Glad to assist.”
Marcus slowed his pace as he stepped into the intermittent shadows of the trees. “And you? Anything unusual?”
The music grew louder again. “I need to get back to the sound check.”
“I have a feeling there are abnormalities you’ve experienced lately as well.”
Brandon paused. “It’s true. I’ve got my own version of
Strange Tales
going on these days.”
“Would you care to enlighten me?”
“Yeah, soon, but I think I’m going to wait till we all get to hang on Sunday night. I have a feeling by that time I’ll be able to tell not only the beginning and middle of this story but the end as well.”
C
ARSON
T
ANNER SAT IN HIS BROADCAST STUDIO EARLY ON
Friday afternoon cradling a scalding cup of black coffee and pulled up the web page for Warriors Riding training at Well Spring Ranch. There was nothing to it. Just a splash page with a picture of a large cabin and white-chalk mountains behind it that shot into a deep blue sky. The only other thing on the page was a contact e-mail.
If Reece and his pals were trying to grow their ministry, this site couldn’t be very inspiring to potential trainees to think about signing up. But that was the problem. From what Carson had been able to research after hearing about the ministry from one of his watchdogs, even with almost nonexistent promotion the ministry was growing exponentially. The only time the general public could catch wind of it was at Brandon Scott’s concerts. The musician asked people if they wanted to go deeper—told the audience a little about the training—and invited anyone interested to go to the site and e-mail for more information.
That was it and yet little Warriors Riding weekends had popped up all over the country like dandelions gone viral. Men and women who had gone through the training were doing their own retreats from San Diego to New York to Chicago to right here in his hometown of LA—spreading the heresy like rabbits in heat. In
ten
months!
He’d learned about what the Warriors Riding taught from tracking down a few of their more enthusiastic trainees, and it scared
Carson. Made him angry. Reece and his pals were a serious threat to Christianity that had to be stopped. And now, they had a target on their backs. He would find a way to get it lined up in his sights.
Carson grimaced and checked Internet stats for himself and his show. Another 2,300 Facebook likes since yesterday. Excellent. Next he checked his blog subscribers, then the number of new fans who had signed up to receive his e-mail newsletter. Just over five hundred during the past three days. Outstanding. The Warriors Riding might be racing to the forefront of Christian culture like an Olympic sprinter going for gold, but the influence of what Carson and his team were doing to bring truth to God’s people continued to grow faster than bamboo. The Lord was moving and he would keep following as hard and fast as he could.
He sipped his coffee, letting the blistering liquid burn his lips. Just like God was using Carson's ministry to burn away the heretical elements of Christendom. A rap on the door frame of the studio startled him.
“Hey, a minute and a half till you go on.” Sooz Latora, his executive producer, stood in the doorway, her brown hair pulled back hard from her sharp-angled face.
“This show would crash without you.”
Sooz smiled.
“What about me?” Carson’s IT guy poked his head through the door and pushed up his glasses.
“Absolutely.” Carson pointed at the two of them. “Have either of you or Grey found anything yet on these so-called Warriors we can use? Or found any of their trainees who didn’t have a fun camping experience at the retreat?”
“Not yet, but it’s only been four days. Why don’t you just go on air and talk about it? Tell people what they’re doing. Or try to get this Reece Roth on the show.”
“I don’t think we’re being led to just talk about it. I want to expose it. And having Reece on the show wouldn’t do us much good. No one knows him. There wouldn’t be any ripple effect. But if we
can take Brandon Scott down, word of mouth about the Warriors Riding will spread like wildfire. Any update on reaching him?”
“I’ve tried his manager, Kevin Kaison, multiple times already. E-mail and voice mail but no response yet.”
“Keep trying. And go after Brandon directly. E-mail him. Call him. And dig harder for people who have gone through this warriors training. Find them. Interview them. Draw them out. There have to be some who didn’t get sucked into their lies. It can’t be that hard. Find ones who are ticked off, ones we can—”
“I know how to do my job, Carson.” She frowned playfully at him.
“You’re right.” He held his hands up. “My apologies. There is no one better at this. You’re phenomenal. But I know God is saying move fast on this one.” He slid his headphones over his thick blond hair and scooted over to the microphone. “Forgive?”
She smiled, winked, and pointed at the on-air sign above his head. “You’re on in thirty seconds.”
Carson winked back, then turned to his mic. Sooz was an exceptional producer and exceptional woman. Kind. Smart. Spiritually attuned. A blessing to have her.
A few seconds later his show’s pulsing musical intro blasted through his headphones, followed by the recorded voice-over that always pumped him full of adrenaline.
“You want the truth? Can you handle the truth? You can? Then you’re in the right spot and you won’t want to move a millimeter for the next three hours. Welcome to
The Carson Tanner Show
, where we expose the lies trying to seep into your brain from every direction. We’ll inspire, educate, and make sure the truth will propagate! We might even make you mad. But we promise we’ll never bore you, ’cause the excitement meter is always pegging on eleven. Now here’s your host, best-selling author, internationally known speaker, and voice to almost fifteen million daily listeners—Carson Tanner!”
He waited for the music to fade, then clicked on his mic.
“Without you, my dear listeners, I’d be nothing. Without God I’d be nothing. Without his grace and mercy I’d be tossed in oil and boiled up like a French fry. But with his power we’re moving mountains. We’re demolishing lies like they’re sand castles on the beach. And we are the tide. Relentless and strong. Because of him. Only because of him.”
Carson glanced through the glass in front of him and winked again at Sooz. She smiled back and flashed a thumbs-up. It would be a good show. Just like every day.
“Today we’re talking United States insanity, folks. Yep, the states are falling like dominoes, my beloved ladies and gentlemen. And that’s not a good thing. I’m talking about reefer, Mary Jane, pot, weed, the Jolly Green . . . and the dominoes are the states that are legalizing this drug. Are you kidding me? Will we soon be able to walk into the grocery store and grab a little ganja along with our milk and eggs? What is this country coming to?
“Am I wrong? Talk to me. The lines are open. I don’t want to hear from people who agree. I want to talk to those who think I need to open my brain wider. C’mon, tell me where I’m all soaking wet. We’re going to a quick commercial break that gives you time to be quick with your fingers. Back in sixty.”
By the time the break was over the phone lines were lit up like the running lights on an airstrip.
Carson glanced at his computer screen, then flipped his finger toward Sooz. “We’re talking with Kelsey in Virginia. Kelsey, you’re on.”
“I think every state should legalize it. Why not? It’s not even as bad as alcohol and some studies show it’s better. Plus, where does it say in the Bible it’s wrong? I understand where it’s wrong if the government we’re under says it’s wrong, but now that it’s legal, at least in some states, is it still wrong?”
“So you’re thinking in the states where it’s now legal we ought to do a little prayer, a little study of the Word, and a little lighting up together?”
The caller laughed. “No, I’m not saying I think Christians should necessarily be smoking dope—”
“Hang on, Kelsey. ‘Necessarily’? So you think it’s okay?”
“If it becomes legal, isn’t it their choice?”
“Have you ever tried dope, Kelsey?”
“Personally, no. But I don’t see what the big deal is if other people want to—even other Christians. How is it any worse than having a glass or two of wine? I’m simply saying people are going to do it regardless, so why not get some tax money that can offset some of our country’s massive debt?”
Carson tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Here’s the problem: When you’re drinking alcohol, it’s not breaking federal law. Right now, if you smoke pot you’re breaking federal law. I don’t care what the states say. And there’s a difference between someone hooked on alcohol and someone hooked on pot or cocaine or meth. The latter group is breaking the law, the former is not.” Carson leaned in closer to his mic. “In other words, the fact it’s lawbreaking to do drugs prevents some people from taking that step. We make smoking pot legal, it gives an excuse for a certain segment of our population to step over the line who never would have done so before. And like you just said, Kelsey, that includes Christians.
“There are some Christians who drink. They have a glass of wine and feel a little warm and a little buzzed. Today isn’t a day to debate whether that’s right or wrong. But I think we can all agree that sometimes, some Christians who drink, drink too much. Right?” Carson adjusted his headphones. “And if pot is legal, then you’re going to have Christians taking a little hit of pot to feel a little buzz and get a little relaxed. And then they do a little too much weed. And then they get addicted. And that’s a major problem. I’d tell you where that path could lead, but you already know, don’t you? Hell. Thanks for the call, Kelsey.”
Carson scrolled down his computer screen and looked at the names of the callers on hold. Sooz always typed in quick notes next
to their names. Where they were from, age range, and what they wanted to talk about. There. This guy would lob him a serve he could return to all his listeners at a hundred miles per hour.
“Allen, you’re on
The Carson Tanner Show
.”
“I don’t think it’s the pot smoking or drinking you’re really worried about.”
“Really. Why do you say that? Talk to me, Allen.”
“I think you’re worried about Christians always pushing the edge of what’s permissible rather than pushing the edge of what’s holy. They’re getting as close as possible to the edge of the cliff rather than sticking to the middle of the road.”
“Bingo.” Carson raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “Sooz, do you mind getting Allen’s address and sending him a free copy of my latest book?”
Carson jabbed his fingers toward the ceiling like they were guns. “You’ve nailed it, Allen. He’s right, folks. He’s sooooo right.” Carson closed his eyes, took in a sharp breath, and let it out slowly. “We’re to be lights, people! Different. We’re to stand apart. Stand out based on the way we behave. Not push the boundaries of sin. The choices we make to stay unstained from the world will infect the world for righteousness! If, if,
if
we choose right. We need to live redemptive lives.”
Carson picked up a laminated sheet of paper and wiggled it. “If you don’t have our Redemptive Reminders list, what are you waiting for? It’ll set you free. You don’t know about the list? My bad if you don’t. I’ll tell you how to get it in a minute.
“It’s real simple, folks. You want to be holy? You want to shine? Then think of the movies you’re going to. Really? You’d be proud to take Jesus to those movies? Some of the books you’re reading? Really? You’d read those out loud with Jesus sitting next to you?”
Carson’s head bobbed back and forth as a surge of adrenaline kicked in. This was truth. This was what they needed to hear. “These so-called Christian men who get out on the golf course and stick a big skunk-smelling cigar in their mouths? Hello? That’s Jesus? Show me the scripture to back that one up. Ya see, following
Jesus isn’t just about the warm and fuzzies. It’s about taking a stand on behaviors and attitudes. My actions. Your actions. My choices. Your choices.
“You’re not in church every Sunday, and I mean
every
Sunday? Why not? They don’t have churches where you went on vacation? You need to have your backside inside those four walls every week. When the Word says don’t forsake the assembly of the brothers, it means don’t forsake it. Not some of the time. All of the time. Don’t sit on the beach on Sunday. Get to church. It’s the thing you should be looking forward to most on vacation. A chance to fellowship with new brothers and sisters. The chance to hear a different pastor. Hot or cold, not lukewarm. It’s time to get serious, folks.
“You’re cussin’ from time to time—I know some of you are—and you’re calling yourself a Christian? Explain that one to me. How can scum-infested water and clear water flow from the same fountain? It can’t.”
Carson raised his fists toward the ceiling and pumped his arms. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m trying to get you to repent. I want to get you through the narrow gate without scraping the skin off your shoulders as you go through.
“Jesus is coming back for what? A blemished bride? No, my faithful, he’s returning for an
un
blemished bride. Unblemished!” Carson slumped back in his chair and went silent for ten seconds. Dead air. Radio 101 said never let there be dead air. But it was right. Let the message sink in. Let God’s truth seep deep into their minds.