End Times

With great power comes great responsibility. 

It was Marcus Brown’s favorite. He’d never told anyone, of course; being a pastor, your most treasured quote was supposed to be from the Bible, and he told people it was; different verses from Revelation, usually, or if people were starting to catch on he’d switch to John or 1st Peter.

Marcus Brown was a gray-haired white man with a blonde-haired white wife who ran one of the biggest megachurches in the country. Before the notorious coronavirus pandemic, the huge main auditorium seated thousands of churchgoers, their eyes drawn to stagelights shining upon the pulpit where Marcus inevitably stood, a sweaty hand resting on the pages of his highlighted Bible. 

2020 had changed all that. Church must be participated in virtually, or not at all. Marcus hated the lockdowns, and after a year of struggling through livestreaming services with his wife from their mansion, he demanded that church reopen to at least half capacity. In 2021, it did so, despite the quite obvious fact that not a single person in that entire congregation had any intention of getting vaccinated. 

Including Marcus. And he was seventy-five.

2022. Most citizens in the general population had received the vaccine. The obvious outliers were much of the country’s religious, sharing, on Facebook, their very reliable stories of sterilization and microchips and autism all from, of course, the COVID-19 vaccine. 

2022, and by some miracle from God or otherwise, Marcus’ megachurch was back at it in full capacity. Funnily enough, the new livestreams of in-church services were also drawing old viewers from home, and even new viewers from around the globe—Marcus’ numbers were skyrocketing. And he loved it. 

2022, and Marcus was becoming richer. He was formulating a plan. 

2023, and the plan was finished. 

With great power comes great responsibility.

“Ready?” Marcus’ blonde-haired wife straightened his tie and brushed nonexistent dust off the shoulders of his stiff royal blue suit. “You’re gonna do great, sweetie. Good luck!”

Marcus, holding his Bible, peered onto the stage. The last of the worship team’s members was exiting through the other side. Marcus took a deep breath and stepped out. 

Immediately, rounds of applause. 

Marcus smiled and strolled to the pulpit. He set his Bible down and opened it near the end, then took a quick swig from the fresh Fiji water bottle that was inevitably in the pulpit. He cleared his throat, conscious of the beige-colored microphone wire arching around his right cheek, and began. 

“Brothers and sisters.” He spread his hands out wide, greeting the audience. “For many years now I have had the extreme honor and great privilege of serving in the position of Lead Senior Pastor at this fine establishment. I have experienced joys and pains, love and heartbreak, and you all know that when one of you suffers, I bear that hardship myself. I am acquainted with at least several of you personally, and to our online audience”—here Marcus looked directly into the camera on the floor broadcasting his sermon—“know that, although your chosen method of attending church may seem lazy or cowardly to some, that we here in this assembly truly do appreciate your overwhelming awareness of the pandemic still going on right now. Although I know you will all agree, brothers and sisters, when I say the true pandemic is one of fear.”

Hundreds of heads nodded and murmured in agreement. 

“So, brothers and sisters, before we begin today’s sermon, I have an announcement for you all. No, I’m not stepping down,” Marcus said hastily, followed by his own awkward, hacking laugh, “but even if I were it would make no difference. You see, church—we are in the end times. Now.”

Thousands of people stirred. Hundreds began to exclaim, directing their talk both at Marcus and at God and the rest at who-knows-who. Marcus cleared his throat in a hope to quiet the congregation. Somehow, it mostly worked. 

Marcus began making uninterpretable gestures with his wrinkled, hairy hands. “Brothers and sisters, look around you. What do you see? Everyone has become faceless behind the guard of a mask; people are rioting in the streets, breaking windows of storefronts and trying to evoke chaos on our law enforcements; and even the very world itself is burning down, forests and towns alike going underneath the devil’s fiery flame. What could this not be, other than the very end of our days?”

Marcus took a brief pause to choke down some more Fiji water. He didn’t replace the bottle’s cap before continuing. 

“Look in the Good Book, brother and sisters. What do you see? Does it not sound like a description of our very world right now? Love of self is becoming increasingly important, and people are becoming increasingly selfish. You see it as well as I that sexual immorality is becoming normalized.” Maria glanced to the side for a few seconds, a look of fabricated sadness in his eyes. “Everywhere you turn, the world is full of evils. And in fact, brothers and sisters, in fact—”

Marcus took a deep breath and once more faced the audience. “The Lord has come to me in a dream. He has told me when the Rapture is to happen. When the end of the world will commence. And it is this week.”

An explosion of noise louder than anything Marcus’ beige microphone could transmit erupted from all over the church. The balcony, the front row—everywhere people were arguing, babbling, a few were even sobbing and pulling out their phones.

Thankfully, the sound crew took care of everything. From the tech booth came the screeching sound of feedback, and it took only a few seconds for even the most heated to quiet down. 

“Brothers and sisters.” Marcus sighed heavily, as if what he was saying pained him deeply. “It will be on Friday. This Friday. This Friday will be the end of the world.”

He paused, expecting people to start shouting at him again, but amazingly, everyone was silent.

“There is much to do, brothers and sisters, to ensure your salvation. Contact your loved ones, of course, and do all you can to bring them to the Lord. But as for all of you--” Marcus once again spread his arms out towards them. “We must prepare.”

Is this actually going to work? I have an enormous influence, yes, and I’m the world’s most well-known pastor since Billy Graham. But will they believe me?

“The things of this world will fall away, brothers and sisters. Money, fortune, fame--none of it will any longer matter. The best thing we can do, right now, is to put our resources towards helping those who need it. So, brothers and sisters, can you see what must be done?”

Again, the congregation stirred.

“You must give up your money. Keep what you need for the following week, of course; but the rest of it you’ll never need or even be able to use.”

Marcus cleared his throat. The huge projector behind him displayed a slide, mostly blue, with a dizzying QR code and a link to his website. “Brothers and sisters, I urge you, donate to the Marcus Brown Foundation. Being a man of the Lord, I know what is his will, and what he would have me do with any money we intake. Your hard-earned dollars will go to the best use that they’re able to, under me care, and we must act in speed now that the end times are upon us.”

Marcus sighed--he seemed to be fond of doing that--and gazed out at his audience. “Brothers and sisters, I implore you to visit my website and contribute all that you can--the end of the world is nipping at our very heels, and we must do everything in our power to--to--” Marcus cleared his throat. “To help those who need it most. Thank you for your time.” Marcus hurriedly closed his Bible and speedwalked behind the stage.

With great power comes great responsibility.

The money came flowing in. From everywhere. From Australia, to Canada, to Thailand, to the States, to places in Africa Marcus was shocked were fully-fledged countries, previously having been under the impression that Africa itself was a country and not an entire continent--more and more money streamed into Marcus’ hands. At first he had been surprised that people were so willing to believe him, but as time went on, Marcus told himself he understood. The world was gullible, and hysterical, and weak, and they needed someone they could trust. Marcus, naturally, was that someone.

By Wednesday, the total amount of money in the Marcus Brown Foundation’s bank account was over four and a half hundred million. And every second, by dozens and by thousands, it grew.

Marcus and his wife stayed up that night, staring at a bright computer screen at 11:59 p.m. Before the clock hit midnight, their numbers reached seven hundred million, eight hundred and twenty-three thousand, five hundred and forty-nine.

Marcus and his wife sighed. He shut off their computer and took a final look around the near-empty halls of their mansion. He smiled.

“Well, my dear, are you ready to go into hiding?”

With great power comes great responsibility.

His wife nodded.

And that’s what they did.