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The Final Prophet: Book One of the Messiah Chronicles

The Final Prophet: Book One of the Messiah Chronicles

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Published by Ted Nottingham
Part-way through the next century, in an age of global unification, a man appears out of nowhere with extraordinary powers and a radical wisdom that electrifies some and horrifies others. An old professor first discovers the prophecy of his coming. He is the herald of the age of transition -- the great Tribulation foretold in all cultures for centuries. He must speak to the world before it plunges into chaos. But great forces are against him, especially those of the religious world. His message is universal and critical for the evolution of humanity.
Part-way through the next century, in an age of global unification, a man appears out of nowhere with extraordinary powers and a radical wisdom that electrifies some and horrifies others. An old professor first discovers the prophecy of his coming. He is the herald of the age of transition -- the great Tribulation foretold in all cultures for centuries. He must speak to the world before it plunges into chaos. But great forces are against him, especially those of the religious world. His message is universal and critical for the evolution of humanity.

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Publish date: May 1997
Added to Scribd: Mar 22, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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08/21/2013

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THE FINAL PROPHET
 Book One of the Messiah ChroniclesThis book is only available through Amazon.com
by Theodore J. Nottingham
 Excerpt 
CHAPTER TWO
Somewhere in the Southwest - October 2012
It had all started on a frost-bitten night in the middle of nowhere, some three and ahalf years before. A light was on in the library of the old gothic seminary building.It was nearly two o'clock in the morning. Hardly another light could be seen for ahundred miles in the barren plains of Oklahoma. The library was on the top floor of the cathedral-like building and overlooked the small town of Enid like amisplaced monument from another age. Perched above the roof, surrounded bygargoyles and statues of forgotten saints, was a narrow tower.It was from here that the solitary light shimmered in the icy darkness. Inside thetower were kept old books that no one had studied for half a century or more.Decaying covers lined the walls like abandoned sacorphegi guardingunimaginable treasures. The wisdom of mystics and scholars across two milleniawas gathered there, mute legacies crying out from their hopeless confinement. Neither professors nor students came to visit these orphans of the most illuminedminds of the past. Dismissed as irrelevant and even ignorant, these books from theloftiest souls of the race were rejected in favor of the latest academic best-seller gracing the book review pages of important journals and assuring tenure and payraises for their authors.One man still visited the tower and its disdained treasures. An old professor, soonto reach his eightieth birthday and kept on the faculty out of charity and becausehis services were so inexpensive, spent his evenings here. Dr. Anton W.Hogrogian, once beloved by generations of students, was now long past his primeas a scholar. He had published several books in his time, but had committed moretime to teaching than to advancing his fame among his peers. During his forty-five years at the seminary, he had outlived the entire faculty several times, hadwatched his wife slowly die of cancer, and was now utterly alone in the world. Noone took him seriously anymore, not even freshman students who considered theslow talking, slumped over old man little more than an easy course to get through.The latest president had tried several times to force him into retirement, butalways found himself unable to pronounce the words when gazing into thoselarge, dark and melancholic eyes that saw through to the core of his soul.1
 
Dr. Hogrogian was considered an eccentric and patronizingly called a "mystic,"without any understanding of what the word meant. But the few who came toknow him were clear that he was indeed a mystic, one whose powers of mind blended with keen intuition and certain innate psychic capabilities. The aged professor was, however, a striking example of humility, the kind that can only beforged in a lifetime of inner spiritual effort. He never put forth his unusual talentsand brilliant learning unless they could benefit another person, and even then itwas with an unassuming aura that often veiled his profound contributions. Despitea serious heart condition and a laundry list of physical ailments, the professor wasin the tower again on this night. Sitting at the small wooden table in the corner of a room jammed with books, he was leaning over yellow, water-stained pagesattempting to decipher the fading print.Something was different on this cold winter night. Never before had the professor remained in the tower at such a late hour. Never before had his shriveled skeletonof a body been wracked with an intensity that bordered on frenzy. Before him laywritings dating back to the first century A.D. The words were in Hebrew. Dr.Hogrogian slowly, relentlessly moved his finger across the page from right to left.In an excited whisper, he translated the ancient words to himself."
 And there shall be two.
.."The trembling finger stopped and remained on the end of the sentence, shakinglike a reed in a howling wind. The aged professor turned to his battered briefcasethat sat open on the desk next to him. With his other hand, he rummaged throughthe mess of papers and books and pulled out a shiny, brand new paperback whichseemed oddly out of place in this mortuary of whithered works. He fumbledthrough it, searching for a passage he had marked in ink the day before. The topof his balding head turned a scarlet red. His worn and wrinkled face suddenly began to beam with a youthful energy, a momentary Indian summer peeringthrough the late autumn of his life. The book was the latest publication on thefindings of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Lost for centuries and accidently found in cavesnear the sight of the mysterious Essene sect, these treasures were only now being published for the general public.He read from a chapter on one of the most intriguing scrolls to be pieced together,the "Manual of Discipline." It contained both the way of life and the teachings othe esoteric community at Qumran in the heart of the Judean desert, not far fromthe wilderness where John the Baptist had called his people to spiritual renewal."Another Messiah..." the old man murmured in awe. "There is to be another Messiah for our time..."He threw the book down and pulled from his pocket the morning edition of thelocal paper. Spreading the newspaper out before him, he turned to the back pageof the second section. His finger once again undertook its scanning efforts, this2

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