Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Welcome back, my beloved sinners and skeptics.
You’re listening to Unholy Orders, the podcast where we shine a divine light on shady shit, one charlatan at a time.
I’m your host, Julian Reed, and today’s episode is brought to you by my mounting credit card debt, one too many iced Americanos, and a marketing firm that apparently believes blasphemy is good PR. So, you know, thanks, Claudia.
Let’s talk about miracles.
The latest in this long, greasy line of holy hucksters? A man named Jude Brooks.
That’s right, Jude. Like the apostle and the saint. Also like the Beatles song. Jude is a faith healer. He lays hands on people and prays. People fall over, and allegedly, get healed. Not medically. Not with actual science. No, no. With vibes and charisma and... probably a fog machine.
Now, let me be clear: I don’t do this show because I hate faith.
I do this show because I hate exploitation.
Because I’ve seen people drain their savings accounts chasing hope, they’ll never receive.
I’ve watched grieving families hand over cash in exchange for snake oil miracles.
That’s not faith. That’s emotional extortion dressed up in polyester robes and $300 shoes.
Which brings us back to Jude.
This guy has gone viral. I’m talking over 2.
7 million views on TikTok for one video alone, and that’s just the one with the crying woman and the shaky camerawork that makes it look like found footage from The Blair Witch Project: Church Edition.
In the video, Jude touches this woman’s forehead and within seconds, she claims the pain is gone.
Crying, she begins to walk, and the crowd explodes.
And Jude? He looks like he’s on a holy runway, strutting straight into the Kingdom of God with a fan blowing his shirt open just enough to count abs.
And yeah, he’s hot. I saw the linen pants too. I’m gay, not dead.
But here’s what bothers me, aside from the fact that he looks like a very kissable cult leader. There’s no follow-up. No medical records or independent verification. No receipts. Just testimonies and a lot of breathless Instagram stories that all sound suspiciously rehearsed.
So I’m going to Riverbend, Virginia. Yes, that’s an actual place. Yes, it sounds like a town from a CW drama where someone gets murdered every Tuesday. It’s small, quiet, and it has exactly one Starbucks and way too many church marquees with phrases like “Let Go and Let God.”
Apparently, Jude runs a ministry center there.
Not a church exactly, but a “healing space.” Which already sounds like Gwyneth Paltrow and a mega-church had a baby and named it The Sanctuary.
There are weekly services. Prayer circles.
Layings-on of hands. And, most interestingly, no obvious paper trail.
No 501(c)(3). No board of directors, and no actual record of where the money’s going.
Which, to me, smells like holy-grade bullshit.
So, here’s the plan. I’m packing up my field mic, a notebook, and my healthy skepticism, and heading to Riverbend. I want to see this man in action. Get in the room. Feel the energy. Find the cracks. Find the lies. Or hey, if I’m wrong? If he’s the real deal? I’ll say so.
But I doubt I’m wrong.
I’ve spent years dissecting these kinds of performances, and I know the beats. I know when someone’s using belief as a marketing tool, and Jude Brooks plays that part too well. He’s magnetic. He’s beautiful. And he’s probably lying through his very straight, very white teeth.
So buckle up, listeners. This season, we’re starting off with mystery, miracles, and a man who makes Jesus cosplay look downright pornographic. I’ll be updating you from Riverbend, as I chase down the story and, hopefully, the receipts.
And Jude, if you’re listening? I’m coming for you.