|
Maxim
May 2007
Feature
BORN AGAINST
Meet the Antichrist.
By Andrew Vontz
I.
MIAMI
Shrink-wrapped in a short red dress that emphasizes her substantial bosom, Axel Poessy, 26, fits right in with all of the catalog models and other eye candy drifting around on South Beach’s Washington Ave. the day before Valentine’s day. Tapping a stiletto heel like a woodpecker’s beak as she stands in front of the Luis Segatto tattoo shop, her long black hair swishes across her back while she furiously texts in between fielding media requests on her permanently ringing cell phone. It’s a big moment for Poessy and 19 of her closest friends who have gathered to get inked with ‘666’ tats to honor their symbolic husband, Dr. Jose Luis de Jesus Miranda, a Puerto Rican preacher with a love of the good life and a taste for the trappings of wealth who leads the Growing in Grace (GIG) Ministry.
In the Bible’s book of Revelation (13: 16-18), 666 is called the mark of the beast and a sign of Armageddon. But Ms. Poessy and the rest of Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s followers regard the number as a joyful, loving affirmation of the arrival of God on earth—in the form of Dr. de Jesus Miranda.
After 33 years of preaching in which Dr. de Jesus Miranda, 61, proclaimed himself to be the reincarnation of both the Apostle Paul and Jesus Christ himself, he announced he was the Antichrist. During his televised message on January 28th, Dr. de Jesus Miranda revealed the mark of the beast, '666,' tattooed on one forearm and SSS—short for Saved, Always Saved in Spanish—on the other. A former heroin addict, Dr. de Jesus Miranda has five children from his first marriage, which ended in divorce, and four children with his current wife. When he’s not traveling or preaching, he enjoys kicking back with a dram of Dewar’s at the private wet bar in his back office at GIG headquarters.
In Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s belief system, angels are real, Jesus of Nazareth was a rich man who had children with his wife Mary Magdalene, faith equals wealth, sin doesn’t exist, the children of church members are the ‘Super Race,’ everyone in his flock is his symbolic wife, and some time in the near future his followers will become immortal superhumans who will take over the world and rule for eternity. “Everybody who accepts the message will get better in every sense—less emotion, more knowledge, more self control, more success, more prosperity, a better sex life,” says Dr. de Jesus Miranda. Sounds a lot more fun than fire, brimstone and eternal damnation, doesn’t it? Dr. de Jesus Miranda claims all of his teachings are backed up by Galatians, a book of the Bible written by the apostle Paul that Dr. de Jesus Miranda refers to as the Gospel of Paul.
“You have this idea of 666 and the Antichrist as an evil man who is deceptive. But it’s actually the opposite. It just sounds crazy when you first hear it,” says Ivan Lopez, a GIG theologian and musician who has sung backup for Mark Anthony.
Indeed, it does sound ridiculous. But is it? According to Newsweek, 40% of Americans believe the world will end in a battle between Jesus and the Antichrist at Armageddon. The National Association of Evangelicals, a mainstream Christian group that’s cheerleading for the Rapture, has more than 30 million members. The Left Behind book series, a dramatization of Armageddon, has sold more than 60 million copies. Y2K came and went with scores of apocalyptic prophets claiming to be the man who would dynamite the here-now directly into the here-after and new age seekers following gurus like the DMT-loving Daniel Pinchbeck have bookmarked 2012 as the end of time.
So is Dr. de Jesus Miranda any different than the rest of the Tom’s, Dick’s, and David Koresh’s who have sprung up in recent decades proclaiming they are God only to deliver their followers to fiery, violent deaths? Why are his followers so certain they’ve got the right man? And if god walked the earth today, would he still be wearing ratty robes and riding a donkey—or would he have an iced-out Rolex on his wrist and a 7 Series BMW in his garage?
II.
As evening falls, an assault team of camera crews and reporters from half a dozen stations including the ABC news primetime gang, turn the tiny one-room, three-chair tattoo shop into a full blown media orgy as Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s followers try to squeeze maximum exposure out of their act of devotion. The GIG church has bishops in 16 countries who tend to the herd, but Dr. de Jesus Miranda alone is permitted to preach. He spends his weekends trotting the globe to deliver his message at seminars and revivals. Every Wednesday evening his followers head to one of 335 ‘education centers’ in America and around the world to watch a video message from Dr. de Jesus Miranda transmitted over the internet and beamed around the globe from a satellite uplink the church owns in Columbia. Additionally, the church releases tunes on its own record label from a broad range of Latino artists that are dedicated to the Antichrist and his message as well as DVD’s and recordings of the Antichrist’s teachings.
Like Amway, Dr. de Jesus Miranda claims to cut out the middle man and deliver the goods directly to consumers. He has been compared to cult leaders like Jim Jones. But as Ms. Poessy points out, Jones only had a few thousand followers. In 2006 alone, GIG claims Dr. de Jesus Miranda's televised message reached 400 million people in 103 countries. But the church doesn’t keep track of its membership and lacks hard data to back up any of their viewership claims since many followers watch via the internet at creciendoengracia.com. GIG reps say the Miami branch of the church, its world headquarters, grossed about $2 million in 2006. But GIG doesn’t track the financial activities of other GIG churches, so it’s impossible to calculate the true financial scope of this movement, either.
The Miami church plays an important role in Dr. de Jesus Miranda's plan to kickstart the Rapture. Always leading the way in new initiatives to promote Dr. de Jesus Miranda, the Miami congregation drew attention to his teachings in the past by holding a series of anti-religion marches where they picketed outside of mainstream churches and smashed statues of religious icons. Tomorrow, on Valentine’s day, the faithful will gather at the Miami headquarters to showcase their fresh tats and watch in person as the Antichrist give his global broadcast. The fervent belief that Dr. de Jesus Miranda is God on earth has compelled Poessy and other members of the flock to get the same 666 tattoo that he has. But why do they believe?
“If you really give it a chance and listen, then it will do you good,” says Lopez, the musician and GIG theologian. “One of the things he teaches is that if it’s not written in the Bible in the gospel of Paul, then you can leave because it’s false. Nobody’s obligated to believe.”
“I used to be with Mormons, Catholics, Protestants. I heard his voice and since 1992 I was his. Everything he says is in the Bible,” says Alvaro Albarracin as he waits to get his 666 tattoo. People have faith or they don’t. For whatever reason—perhaps the promise of riches and eternal life on earth—Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s interpretation of the Bible resonates with his flock. They’re willing to do anything to spread the word.
“No publicity is bad publicity. I prefer Coors over Kool-Aid,” says Albarracin, his bone white teeth glinting under the lights inside the shop as he laughs. Albarracin holds the title of ‘entrepreneur of entrepreneurs’ in Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s GIG ministry. Church members aren’t required to pay the church for anything, but it’s suggested that they tithe, or give away a certain portion of their income to the church every year.
Albarracin is a self-made internet millionaire and leading church donor who has given millions to support Dr. de Jesus Miranda and his mission. With slicked-back jet black hair, diamond-encrusted rings, a Rolex on his wrist, and a chic designer dress shirt worn with the collar open just so, Albarracin radiates confidence. He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would pull on a pair of purple Nike’s, castrate himself and wait patiently for a comet to give him a free ride to heaven.
A bandage covers the top of Jacob Aviles’ right wrist where hours earlier he got his 666 tattoo. Wearing a t-shirt with the GIG seal on the front and ‘Religion’ crossed out inside of a red circle on the back, Aviles muscles into the media scrum with a Canon XL2 video camera in his hand to capture the action for GIG’s Telegracia cable network with an assist from Juan Cestro, 19, and his twin Carols Cestro, both freshly tattooed with the mark of the beast in the same spot on their wrists. All three work to help produce video content for the GIG website and broadcasts. Carlos hopes to one day direct mainstream movies. “Steven Spielberg would look good with a 666 tattoo. Everyone will get one eventually.” Together, the three cover the media covering them and shoot footage of the other followers, predominantly Latino and ranging in age from babies to senior citizens. By tomorrow night when Dr. de Jesus Miranda gives his next broadcast, they’ll have the footage edited into a news clip that will be dropped into the program.
Now it’s Poessy’s turn to get marked. Stepping through a plume of Nag Champa incense, she eases into a chair opposite Jessica Segatto, a Latina jawdropper who wears A/X denim like a second skin. An iced-out cross dangles in the canyon between Segatto’s breasts, an abstract portrait of a nun hangs to her left and there’s another painting of Christ in a crown of thorns at the back of the shop. “Usually I do flowers and butterflies, those kinds of things,” says Segatto. Tugging on a pair of pink latex gloves, Segatto fires up the tattoo gun and gets to work as Poessy smiles maniacally and mugs for the cameras crowded around her.
“Right now there are angels watching this take place and they wish they could do it too but we are the lucky ones. And you are lucky,” she says pointing to Segatto who has started to ink in the 666 design on top of Poessy’s foot, “because you were chosen to be the one to do this. This will be remembered as a historic moment.” Actually, the church group tried to get their tats done at Miami Ink, but the bad boys of skin art rejected the Antichrist’s followers outright. Poessy’s father is the church’s bishop of Canada. She works in public relations and has a line of beauty products that will soon offer wares dedicated to the Antichrist. “I’ve had business turned down because of my involvement in the church,” she says. “But the more I have to suffer the more I will benefit from him.” While the cameras roll, Poessy continues to field calls on her cell phone while intermittently making proclamations of faith. “Angels are watching me right now but I feel no pain. It probably would hurt but it doesn’t because I am doing it for my father,” she says.
Everything everyone in GIG does is to spread the word about their father, or ‘dad’ as they affectionately call him—when they’re not calling him their husband. Unlike most religious organizations, GIG doesn’t feed the hungry, take care of the sick or provide any social services for its followers. “Other churches fund these services and in a way they’re telling people they’ll never prosper and that we should have mercy on you. That’s against what we believe,” says Joann De Jesus Miranda, one of the Antichrist’s children from his first marriage who had ‘666’ tattooed on her shoulder. Dr. de Jesus Miranda has since remarried. Joann and his son Kiké are his only children who work for the church. “It goes against what we preach and believe which is that we are prosperous and healed because if I believe it, it will come to pass. We believe God has given us inner strength and people need to activate that.” The ministry’s sole mission is to raise money to buy more air time and equipment to spread the word about Dr. de Jesus Miranda.
His ultimate goal: establish the government of god on earth and rule the world.
III.
Standing in the entrance hall of the Miami church, a low slung converted warehouse in Doral about 30 minutes from South Beach, the Antichrist fires off a peculiar salute in the middle of a circle of TV news crews. Like Dane Cook, the Antichrist realizes the branding power of a signature hand sign. Cook has the SuFi. The Antichrist’s trademark move is a salute with the first two fingers of the right hand held up to the right temple. It’s supposed to indicate the power of the rational mind to create spiritual transformation.
A TV mounted on the wall plays a live feed of the Antichrist’s programming on Telegracia. A portrait of Dr. de Jesus Miranda in a business suit smiling and making the salute hangs just under the TV. It must be casual business casual Wednesday because today Dr. de Jesus Miranda has opted for black slacks with a matching black vest with SSS over one breast and 666 over the other. The sleeves on his white dress shirt are rolled up to reveal the 666 tattoo on his right forearm and the SSS tattoo on his left just above the diamond-encrusted rings on his puffy fingers and the glimmering Cartier Pasha watch wrapped around his wrist.
Dr. de Jesus Miranda fires up a Parliament as soon as he’s away from the cameras in one of the church’s private offices. A Latino man the size of a linebacker with a shaved head and a secret service type ear piece snatches away Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s cigarette when a prying video camera tries to capture the man who calls himself God on earth puffing away then stands guard in the door silently. He’s part of the security detail that accompanies Dr. de Jesus Miranda everywhere he goes. Today there are three guards on duty covering Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s every move inside the world headquarters of his own church. Dr. de Jesus Miranda claims the guards are simply a safety measure to keep his adoring followers from swarming him when he appears in public, but not everyone lovingly embraces his message. “In El Salvador they sent death threats by email and phone. In Brazil about three years ago, my security found a group of people carrying guns at a seminar. They caught them in the bathroom,” he says in a sing song, lazy drawl, his eyes glued to a Telegracia broadcast playing on a TV mounted to the wall. “People think I’m the beast, the false prophet, but everything I do has a biblical meaning. Paul said he chose the vile to confuse the wise. If people leave tradition aside and look for the real meaning in the Bible, it’s simple.”
But Dr. de Jesus Miranda also claims that angels visited him in 1973 and told him that he was the reincarnation of Paul. His interpretation of Paul’s writing led him to the conclusion that he was the reincarnation of Jesus of Nazareth. Then, on January 28th, he revealed that he was actually the antichrist and much hubbub ensued. In Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s interpretation, though, the word ‘antichrist’ simply differentiates him from Jesus of Nazareth, who Dr. de Jesus Miranda claims as an actual relative. “I’m from the bloodline of Jesus of Nazareth, a direct descendent,” he says as he twists a sparkling ring. “I’m the second coming. He chose me to represent his kingdom.”
But if he’s really God on earth, why did he wait until he was 61 to start saving the world? “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it before now,” he says with a shrug. “My life has prepared me for this moment.” And what of his penchant for fine cars and even finer jewelry? “Jesus wasn’t poor. He provided for 12 families, the families of all of his apostles. When he needed money, he said, hey Peter, go catch some fish and Peter did it.”
That evening, Albarracin warms up the crowd at the weekly taping of Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s message with a little fishing. The room, a plain auditorium with a stage at the front and a bandstand off to the side, can accommodate 486, but there are only about 150 people in the crowd. While Albarracin asks followers around the world to keep sending money, Dr. de Jesus Miranda stands patiently in the hallway with the Super Race, a youth group of about a dozen children who were born into the church.
“The super race is a kid’s group with 400 groups worldwide. We teach kids what the apostle says using texts from his speeches,” explains the group’s leader, Alberto Monnar, who gives his age as “14 and a half.” Styled out in a pinstriped charcoal 3-piece suit, Monnar is a huge Kenny G fan. In addition to leading the Super Race and trying to build his friend list on MySpace in his spare time, he plays sax in the house band for Dr. de Jesus Miranda’s broadcasts and he needs to be on stage to wail shortly. As Albarracin introduces a video montage of the big day out at the tattoo parlor and praises the TV news crews inside church, Monnar double checks each Super Race kid to make sure they’re properly executing the salute for the news crews that record their every fidget and nose pick.
Dr. de Jesus Miranda gets his cue and marches in with the saluting Super Race—all 15 of them—and the crowd salutes back and becomes hysterical. Onstage, the Antichrist praises the tattoo effort and the media who covered it then begins to discuss the church’s need for more donations so it can buy a $1.3 million parcel of land in Colombia for its central church there. “I want our leader for the church in Colombia to run for President. We have enough followers there that if we put someone up for office they’ll automatically win. Once we change Colombia the rest of the countries will fall like dominoes so the son of man will rule all nations.”
He isn’t joking about wanting to rule the world.
|
