Is Your Pastor or Priest a Man of Action? Check Out Pastor Stephen Grant in, for example, WINE INTO WATER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL, MURDERER'S ROW: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL and THE RIVER: A PASTOR STEPHEN GRANT NOVEL by Ray Keating

Pastor Stephen Grant?

Stephen Grant is the pastor at St. Mary’s Lutheran Church on eastern Long Island. Grant is one of the more unique second-career clergy around, as he once worked for the CIA. Besides theology, his interests include archery, golf, writing, classic films, the beach, poker, baseball, and history. Grant also knows his wines, champagnes and brews. Oh yes, he generally dislikes politicians, and happens to be an expert marksman with a handgun and a rifle, while being pretty handy with a combat knife as well.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Excerpt from Warrior Monk: A Pastor Stephen Grant Novel - Chapter 4


“A mighty fortress is our God, A trusty shield and weapon…”


      Linda got out of the car and walked over to the driver’s side window of a silver Mercedes.  Her hand was firmly on the Beretta in her pocket.

“He helps us free from ev’ry need That hath us now o’er taken…”


      The window was down.  “Can I help you?” Hans Gunderson asked. He was listening to the radio and getting a little paperwork done while Flo was practicing with the choir.
    “I’m here for you, your wife and your pastor,” Linda responded without any detectable emotion in her voice.
    “What?”  Hans looked at the woman standing by his car.  “Oh, jeez, you’re that activist-professor lady.  What’s going on now?”

“The old evil foe Now means deadly woe…”


     “I’m here to make sure you pay for your sins.”  Linda pulled the gun out of her pocket, held it up with both hands about three feet from Hans’ head.  His mouth dropped open.  Linda pulled the trigger.  Hans Gunderson’s blood splattered the gray leather seats.

“Deep guile and great might Are his dread arms in fight…”


       Linda headed into St. Mary’s seeking other prey.

“On earth is not his equal…”


      In the office, for a nanosecond, Grant was immobilized by disbelief.  Hans shot. As the woman walked toward the front doors of St. Mary’s, old instincts began taking over. Grant slipped firmly into action.

“With might of ours can naught be done, Soon were our loss effected…”


       He leaped from the chair, grabbed the keys off the corner of his desk, and moved quickly to open the coffee table/gun cabinet.  Paranoia, my ass. He picked up the Glock and loaded a magazine holding 10 rounds, sticking a second mag in his pocket. 

“But for us fights the valiant One, Whom God Himself elected…”


    Barbara happened to move into the office doorway, asking, “Pastor, did you hear something out…?”  She froze seeing her pastor approaching with a gun in his hand.

“Ask ye, Who is this? Jesus Christ it is…”


       Grant grabbed Barbara Tunney’s arm, and told her in a low, commanding tone, “Call 911, and tell them we have a shooting in progress.”
        Tunney stuttered, “A…a…what…?”
      Grant had no time to walk his secretary through this crisis.  “Barbara, do it now!  Call 911, and then go out the back door and away from here.”

“Of Sabaoth Lord, And there’s none other God…”


       While Tunney stumbled to her office phone, Pastor Stephen Grant stayed low and moved quickly down the hallway holding the pistol out front.  He uttered a quick, simple prayer: “Jesus, give me clarity and strength.” 
  Part of his mind returned to a distant, yet still familiar place, but with even greater earnestness.  For the coming seconds, he would be more hunter than pastor.

“He holds the field forever…”


Read the rest of this gripping fiction!




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