Judas Church

Judas Church

Judas Church A Novella

DANIEL WHYTE III with DANIEL D.P. WHYTE IV

JudasChurch

by Daniel Whyte III with Daniel D.P. Whyte IV Cover Design by Atinad Designs. Š Copyright 2017 TORCH LEGACY PUBLICATIONS: ATLANTA, GEORGIA; DALLAS, TEXAS; BROOKLYN, NEW YORK All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recordingorotherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except for brief quotations included in a review of the book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

EPISODE 1

7

Chapter 1 The day I almost died was the day I found new life.

I woke up in the hospital room, bewildered as to why I was there. The room was dark. A curtain was drawn partially on the side in front of my bed and I couldn’t see the door. How did I get here?

Staring up into the darkness, I suddenly became aware of pain in my body — a low, throbbing pain in my head. I shut my eyes again and tried to concentrate. The last thing I remembered was driving very fast along the winding road to a friend’s house. It was raining, but I knew the road so well — I’d driven it many times — that I didn’t bother to slow down. I was on my way to celebrate college graduation with some friends.

I tried to think harder, but I didn’t remember anything after that.

Hours later, when I reawakened, daylight was shining into the room from behind the thin beige 9

curtains that covered the large window to my right. My head still hurt, and, for the first time, I felt the bandage on it. I could hear the beeping sounds of hospital machinery and the sounds of feet and wheels in the hall just outside my room. There was a covered dish on the small table to my right, but I wasn’t hungry, so I let it be.

I wished someone would come tell me what was wrong with me.

As if on cue, the door opened and rapid footsteps approached my bedside. A hand appeared and yanked back the curtain around my bed.

“Dude, what happened to you?” Leon said looking down at me, the long, lightning-bolt shaped scar on the left side of his face stood out stark brown against his tanned skin.

“I’m hoping you can tell me,” I said. “The last thing I remember was driving. And aren’t you supposed to be in Indonesia right now?”

“Our flight got canceled. We had to reschedule for later today.” Leon waved his hand dismissively. “Which is good, because you were in a car accident.”

“Oh, man,” I said. “My car.” I had a black, custommade Spyder Porsche.

“It’s a total loss,” Leon said. “It’s a miracle you got out alive.”

My heart sank. I loved that car.

“Besides, you have bigger problems to worry about than a car,” Leon said his tone growing more serious.

My brow furrowed. “Like a concussion?” I said.

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“No. Another vehicle was involved in the accident.

The two adults are alive and they’re gonna be okay. But, their little girl…” Leon shook his head. “She’s in a coma… they say she suffered severe trauma.”

“Oh, man…” I shook my head. “I hope she doesn’t die.”

“I gotta ask you something else, Jaidon,” Leon said.

“What?”

“If you had died last night, what would have happened to you?”

I shrugged. “I’d just be dead, I guess.” I was still thinking about the little girl in a coma.

“That’s not what I mean,” Leon said. “What would have happened to you? Where would you have gone?”

I could see where he was going with this. All through my graduate years of study at the University of Maryland he kept trying to talk to me about spiritual stuff. I knew all that he was about to say now: I’m a sinner destined for eternal punishment and separation from God. But, God loves me and he sent his son, Jesus Christ, to save me. If I wanted to be cleansed of my sin and be sure that I would go to Heaven when I died, I had to believe in Jesus Christ for salvation.

“You nearly died, man,” Leon said. “You could be dead right now.” He snapped his finger. “Gone. Out of here.

What then? Something happens after that — Heaven, Hell.

You don’t just cease to exist.”

I was quiet for a moment before answering. “I see what you mean.”

11

Chapter 2 Right there in that hospital room, Leon led me in what he called “the sinner’s prayer.” It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I wasn’t sure if I felt any different or anything, but I didn’t say anything to Leon about that.

I was still thinking about the girl in a coma.

Leon left as the nurse came in to check my vitals.

She told me I needed to eat to regain my strength. So, I ate the lukewarm breakfast of lumpy eggs, hard grits, bacon, and orange juice while watching the local TV news.

I was scooping up the last of the grits when I saw my black Spyder Porsche appear on the screen. Leon was right: it was a mangled mess. But I didn’t care about it anymore. My eyes were on the silver minivan the front of which had been crushed; the hood was bent up and the windshield was shattered. I was amazed that anyone 13

had come out alive.

“Last night a horrific accident took place just outside Baltimore,” the reporter was saying. “Four people were involved, one of them a child who is in a coma at Sinai Hospital. The three adults — the driver of the Porsche and the mother and father of the child who were in the minivan — are also hospitalized. They are expected to survive.”

I prayed my first serious prayer just then. “God,” I said. “Please help that little girl survive. Let her come out of that coma. I’ll do anything you want me to do if you let her live.” I said “Amen” afterward because I’d heard Leon do that more than once. I didn’t know what “Amen” meant.

Just as I finished the breakfast, the hospital room door swung open and a police officer came in. My throat tightened.

The officer’s stomach bulged so much that it looked like the buttons on his shirt would burst off any moment.

He was followed by a tall man in a suit with a clipboard.

“Jaidon York?” the tall man asked looking at his clipboard.

I nodded.

He flashed a badge. “I’m Investigator Thomas Lourdes with the Baltimore Police Department.” He glanced at the TV screen. “I assume you know why we’re here.”

I nodded again.

He sat down in the chair with a sigh as the policeman 14

stood quietly behind him. “Mr. York, you want to tell me what happened last night?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll tell you what I remember.”

Mr. Lourdes nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Yesterday, I graduated with my Masters in Business Administration from the University of Maryland,” I said.

“After the ceremony, I was headed up to a friend’s house up north of here. We were going to have a little celebration — pizza, ice cream — you know.”

“Had you been up there before?” asked Mr. Lourdes.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Several times. So, I was driving. I was about halfway there. I don’t remember anything else.

I woke up here.”

The investigator nodded. “Had you been drinking before you began driving?”

“No, sir. I don’t drink.”

“Were you sleep deprived?”

I shrugged. That’s relative, I thought. “Not anymore than any other graduate student,” I said. “But I had gotten up earlier than usual yesterday.”

“Were you driving over the speed limit?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember what the speed limit was. I don’t think there are any signs on that road.” If there was a speed limit, I probably wasn’t paying attention to it. “I have a weakness for fast cars,” I admitted.

“I can tell,” the investigator said flipping over a paper on his clipboard. “You also own a Saleen S7 and a Hennessey Venom.”

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I gulped. “Yes, sir.” Then I quickly added, “The Hennessey was a gift from my father.”

“Mm-hmm,” the investigator said. “Mr. York, our CSI team has found that the skid marks on the road indicate that you were driving outside of the right lane. Do you think that’s an accurate statement?”

That sounded accurate to me, and I knew that would probably make me responsible for the accident. If the little girl died, I could be charged with vehicular manslaughter. “I’m afraid so,” I said. “But the road is narrow and navigating those curves is tricky.”

“Especially if you are driving very fast,” the investigator said.

I swallowed hard. “Yes, especially if…”

The investigator looked over his notes. “Well, Mr. York, it looks like that’s all we need from you right now.”

He took out his business card and placed it on the small table beside my bedside. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else from you. My contact information is on my card.”

“Thank you,” I said.

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Chapter 3 I was released from the hospital the following day.

The nurse gave me some painkillers to ease my headaches from the concussion I had suffered, but I’m sure my constant worrying about the girl in the coma didn’t help.

The other thing I worried about was the decision I made in the hospital room. It still sounded a bit strange to think it to myself: I am a Christian.

Laying in bed late Saturday morning, I said it aloud: “I am a Christian now.” I looked around the bedroom of my penthouse almost expecting something to happen.

Nothing happened. The white walls with the black and white photographs of my favorite NASCAR drivers — Dale Earnhardt, Richard Petty, and Ned Jarrett — stared back at me. I got out of bed, took two painkillers, and walked into the living room. I sat down on the long, white couch 17

and stared out of the two huge, floor-to-ceiling windows.

From the twelfth floor of the Ritz-Carlton Residences, I could see the azure waters of the inner harbor of Baltimore.

I was still thinking about this new thing of being a Christian. I had never been a really religious person. I remember my grandfather praying when I was a kid and my parents let me spend the Christmas holiday with them on their farm in Massachusetts. But that was about it.

My parents weren’t religious either. So, I was pretty much lost.

I picked up the phone to call Leon. I wanted to know what I was supposed to do next. I called him twice, and he picked up on the last ring sounding groggy.

“Hello.”

“Leon,” I said. “You still sleeping? It’s almost ten o’ clock.”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night here, man.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “You’re in Indonesia now. I can call you back at another time.”

“Nah, right now’s fine. What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something about this being a Christian thing. What’s next?”

“Next, you need to start attending church,” Leon said.

“That way you’ll be around other believers and you’ll start learning more about the decision you made. I should have told you that when I was there. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You had a lot on your mind. So, which church?” I continued. “I know there are a lot of 18

them.”

“Right. I recommend City of Fellowship Bible Church.

It’s in south Baltimore,” Leon said. “You should get in touch with Manley Reeves. He and his sister go there and he’ll be glad to show you the ropes.”

“Okay, cool,” I said. “Talk to you later.”

Manley Reeves worked for the ROTC program at the University of Maryland. He had tried to recruit me when I first started attending there, but I already had a job lined up with Wegel & Co. Marketing Services when I graduated. (My dad co-founded the $500 million company nearly thirty years ago.) Even though I turned Manley down, we remained good friends throughout my time in college.

“Jaidon,” he said when he picked up the phone. “I didn’t get to congratulate you on your graduation, so congratulations!”

“Thank you,” I said. “I have some other good news too.”

I briefly told him about my decision to become a Christian.

“Man, that’s great,” he said. “I always knew you would come around. God answers prayer.”

I wondered if God would answer my prayer about saving the life of the girl who was in a coma from the car accident.

I told Manley what Leon told me about attending church with him.

“Tell you what,” Manley said, “the Saturday evening 19

service starts at eight. I’ll come out to your place and pick you up around seven-thirty. We can ride together.”

“Okay, I’ll be ready,” I said.

So that was that. I was going to go to church as a Christian that evening.

20

EPISODE 2

21

Chapter 4 I’d never been to a real church service before.

The last time I was even in a church was a couple of years ago when some of my college buddies and I were volunteering for the Obama campaign. It was five of us.

We were wearing our blue shirts with the slogan “Forward” emblazoned on them, and we were going door-to-door in a middle class neighborhood asking people if they were registered to vote and if we could put an Obama campaign sign in their yard.

It started to rain unexpectedly, and we ran back to the corner where our van was supposed to be waiting for us. Unfortunately, the driver had evidently decided to take off. So, we were standing in a church parking lot — us and our stacks of campaign fliers and brochures getting wet.

There were about half a dozen cars parked around 23

the church. After about five minutes, another car drove up and an elderly white man got out.

“Y’all kids getting wet,” he shouted over to us.

“We’re waiting for our ride,” I told him.

“Come on and wait inside,” he said.

So we followed him into a relatively small sanctuary — fifteen pews on either side of the aisle with six tall, opaque glass windows set evenly along each wall. There were about a dozen people sitting in the choir box, rehearsing songs that sounded strange to me at the time.

I’m not sure whether the meaning of the words was lost on me, or whether I was just distracted by the blond girl with the smile like sunshine who came down from the choir box to offer us drinks. (Of course, I said yes.) I learned her name was Elizabeth Wesson. I would have tried to talk to her, but she was wearing a “Women for Romney” t-shirt. Not sure we would have gotten along too well.

I pondered that memory as I waited in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Residences for Manley to arrive. The late evening sky was a deep and troubled blue — like a bruise — the same color as the dark blue suit that I was wearing. It was the only thing I had that looked acceptable for church attendance. I didn’t want to stand out — just look, listen, and learn.

Manley pulled into the turnabout and honked once.

“Good evening,” he said as I got into his Jeep.

“Good evening.” I looked over at him in surprise. He was wearing fatigue shorts and a polo shirt.

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He looked at me and evidently knew what I was thinking. “You don’t have to dress up to go to church,” he said. “God doesn’t care about your clothes. It’s your heart that counts.”

“Uh-huh.” I guessed I would be the one who stood out.

About fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of City of Fellowship Bible Church south of Baltimore. The night was hot and muggy. The parking lot was full. I was surprised to see this many people going to church on a Saturday. Usually, I’d be firing up my Xbox to play Need for Speed: Most Wanted this time of the week.

Inside, the sanctuary was dimly lit. Most of the people sitting in the movie theater-style seats were dressed casually like Manley and they were pretty much in our age group too. I saw very few who looked like they were over the age of forty. We sat down in the middle closer to the back. The stage resembled a theater with thick red curtains on either side. People chatted or looked at their phones. About five minutes after we sat down, a drummer with burnt red hair and thick sideburns came on stage and tapped his drumsticks together. He was joined by a guitarist dressed in faded jeans and sandals, and two female singers who held microphones. This was interesting; I had been expecting a pipe organ, a piano, and a choir.

Look, listen, and learn, I reminded myself.

The quartet started singing songs I was totally unfamiliar with. Others in the audience started singing 25

as well. Even Manley tapped his fingers and sang along although he wasn’t much of a singer, so he kept his voice low. Thankfully, the words to these songs were displayed on screens on either side of the stage. Besides textbooks, I didn’t do much casual reading, but I could tell that the words on the screen were filled with passion and meaning. So while the rest sang or hummed along, I sat riveted and let the words burn in my mind.

He is jealous for me, Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory and I realize just how beautiful You are And how great Your affections are for me And oh, how He loves us, oh Oh, how He loves us, how He loves us all Water you turned into wine, opened the eyes of the blind There’s no one like you, none like You! Into the darkness you shine, out of the ashes we rise There’s no one like you none like You! Our God is greater, our God is stronger, God you are higher than any other.

Our God is Healer, Awesome in Power, Our God! Our God!

26

Chapter 5 I was enjoying the music so much that I didn’t want the songs to end. I could tell that the words meant something to the people around me. A chill ran through my chest as I realized that they now meant something to me as well.

When the quartet left the stage, a man whom I assumed was the pastor walked out carrying a stool. One of the video guys, wearing headphones and dressed in a black t-shirt, black slacks, and black shoes, ran onto the stage, set down a small accent table, put a Bible on top of it, and ran off. The pastor-guy looked to be in his late thirties. He had short, black hair which was plastered down on top of his head making him look like one of those Roman guys from Gladiator. He wore John Lennonstyle glasses. Dressed in black slacks, a plaid dress shirt, and sneakers, he was dressed just as casual as the

27

congregation. His name flashed beneath his image on the big screen — Pastor Johnny Dunmore.

“Evening, everybody,” he said as he set the stool down beside the accent table and sat down. “Good to be here tonight.”

A murmur of response rippled through the crowd.

Pastor Johnny picked up the Bible and flipped through it before setting it back down. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “There won’t be a sermon tonight,” he said. Pausing and swallowing hard, he continued. “We’re all family here, you know, and I just want to talk to you from my heart tonight.” He looked around slowly at the crowd. He seemed to be making eye contact with certain attendees.

“Those of you who have been following my blog for a while know that I’ve been on a bit of a spiritual journey — asking the big questions about God, about faith, about the meaning of life, about why evil exists. All that stuff.”

He paused again and swallowed hard. I made a mental note to look up this guy’s blog.

“Well, tonight, I’ve reached the end of that journey,” Pastor Johnny continued. “And I know some of you might disagree with the conclusion I’ve come to. And that’s okay. We’re a family and, in families, people often have disagreements with each other, but they still love each other. And, that’s precisely the reason why I’m sharing this with you first — because we’re a family, and we love each other. No matter what happens after tonight, we will still be bound by our love for each other and the 28

steps on this journey called life that we have shared together.”

Manley fidgeted beside me. He seemed uncomfortable with this line of talk. I wished the pastor would get on with whatever he was going to say.

“Even though, at this point, our steps may diverge, we will still always be connected in some way.” Pastor Johnny took another deep breath as a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. And then, his lips trembling, he said the last thing I expected to hear. “Like I said, I’ve reached the end of a spiritual journey, and I have come to the conclusion that I no longer believe in God.” A low but clearly audible gasp emanated from the crowd around me — as if everybody had been holding their breath and suddenly released it at the same time.

Stunned, I jerked forward in my seat. My throat tightened and I coughed to clear it. I looked around to see what reaction everybody else was having. Most just sat still staring at the stage — an expression between surprise and dismay on their faces. Beside me, Manley touched his fingers to his forehead. His lips moved; I guess he was praying. Very slowly, a man to the far right of the auditorium got up and walked out shaking his head. Two others quickly followed him.

Pastor Johnny began to speak again. “I know, I know.

This is shocking for most of you — all of you.” He held out his hands palms down, like he was trying to calm a rowdy crowd. “But I feel like I just can’t go on teaching and preaching stuff that I don’t believe. I’ve already 29

submitted a letter to the elders of this church regarding my decision. I’ll post the same letter on my blog tonight so you all can read it.” At that, a murmur ran through the crowd.

“If you want me to stay on as your pastor — as your guide on our collective spiritual journey — I will. But that is totally up to you and the elders.” More murmurs, this time louder, ran through the crowd. From the tone and facial expressions of some of the people, they were ready to march onto the stage and throw the pastor out.

Pastor Johnny picked up the Bible and opened it again. “In closing,” he said, “I want to leave you with these words from Jesus Christ: ‘and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’” He closed the Bible and looked up at the crowd. “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen — friends, after months and weeks of searching and wondering and thinking, I have found my truth and I am free.”

30

Chapter 6 “Man, that is jacked up,” I said as Manley and I got back into his Jeep.

Across the parking lot, other church members were gathering in groups of twos and threes talking about what they had just witnessed. I kept hearing things like: “I can’t believe this,” or “This must be some kind of joke,” or “He must be crazy to think he can still be our pastor; I hope the elders get rid of him.” A very few people said, “Well, at least he was honest.”

Manley kept shaking his head and muttering to himself. “I’m really sorry you had to hear that,” he said finally. “Trust me, that is not what goes on during a typical church service.”

I hoped not. I was still trying to figure out how to frame what I had just witnessed. But, it just didn’t fit. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

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Sure, I’d heard of atheists before. I’d met some of them who were members of the Secular Student Alliance at the University of Maryland. But I’d never imagined that someone who believed in God — much less a pastor — would say he just didn’t believe anymore. That sounded impossible to me.

The songs that I heard at the beginning of the service kept replaying in my mind. Snatches of the lyrics filtered in and out of my thoughts. I couldn’t deny what I felt while listening to them. They at least made some sense of what I had experienced.

Manley was silent as he drove.

“I need a Bible,” I said remembering the verses that Leon had shared with me multiple times.

“Just download the YouVersion app,” Manley said stirring out of his own thoughts.

I got my iPhone out and typed in Uversion in the app store. Nothing came up. Manley looked over. “Y-O-Uversion,” he said.

I typed it in and tapped the download button. Half a minute later it popped up on my home screen — right beside the Playboy app. That is not a good look at all, I thought. I knew that if I was a changed man, I had to change my ways. I tapped the Playboy app and deleted it.

Then I tapped the YouVersion app and it opened up.

“What’s with all these versions?” I asked.

“The Bible is a book written over thousands of years in languages other than English,” Manley said. “The different versions make the Bible’s original text available 32

for us to read and understand in our own language. They basically all say the same thing. Some have more modern language to make it easier to grasp. I read the NIV.” “I’m guessing this King James version has nothing to do with Lebron, right?”

“Right,” Manley laughed. “That’s the Bible your grandmother probably has — the one with the thee’s and thou’s in it.”

I tapped the NIV version and read the first thing that came up: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. It was a surprisingly simple line — straightforward and to the point. God created the heavens and the earth.

It was a sentence that sounded as though it didn’t expect to be argued with. I thought about Pastor Johnny again.

Clearly, something had gone wrong with him.

“So… what’s going to happen to Pastor Johnny what’s-his-name now?” I asked mostly to get Manley to talk about it.

He shrugged and ran his fingers through his militarystyle crew cut. “Look, I know there’s a lot of questions going through your head. There’s a lot of questions going through a lot of church member’s heads. All I know is, God is real. I know that from personal experience.” He jabbed his thumb at me as he navigated a turn in the road. “You know it from what He’s doing in your heart.

What happened to Johnny, er, Pastor Johnny—” He threw up one hand and let it fall on the steering wheel causing a low beep to sound from the horn. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. It’s inexplicable to me. I just hope it doesn’t 33

hurt the faith of other people — people like you — and make them start questioning what they believe.”

I nodded.

“There’s a lot we can talk about regarding this, but I’m starving,” Manley said. “Let’s get something to eat and then we can go to my apartment and talk it over.

Abigail will want to know as well.”

“Cool,” I said. “Um, who’s Abigail?”

“My sister. She’s been staying with me since our mom moved into a nursing home.”

“I thought your sister was named Delilah?”

“Yeah, legally. But she goes by Abigail now.”

“Why’d she change her name?”

“Because,” Manley said like it was obvious, “Delilah is a villain in the Bible.” He motioned toward the iPhone in my hand. “She’s always hated that name anyway. A few months ago, she just started telling everyone to call her Abigail.”

“Right. I better get started reading this then,” I said.

The first chapter of Genesis still stared back at me from the phone screen.

Manley chuckled. “She says no parent in their right mind would name their daughter Delilah.”

“Kind of like that Judas guy,” I said. I couldn’t remember exactly what he (or Delilah, for that matter) had done wrong, but I recalled it was pretty awful.

“Yeah,” Manley agreed. “Nobody names their kid Judas.”

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EPISODE 3

35

Chapter 7 After we stopped at Arby’s we drove to Manley’s apartment. He lived in a crowded neighborhood. The businesses and apartment buildings were so close together you couldn’t stick a pencil between the buildings. On some blocks, the buildings were actually connected. We drove past small, locally-owned restaurants, a theater, a bookstore, and a museum. Even though it was late at night, a few people were still out on the sidewalk.

After parking on the side of the street, we walked up two flights of stairs to Manley’s apartment. Abigail opened the door after Manley knocked. She was short, dark-eyed, and had the same dark hair as her brother.

“Hi, Delilah,” I said.

She put her hand on her hip. “It’s Abigail now.”

“I told him,” Manley said.

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“I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not,” I said. “People don’t just change their names, you know.”

“Well, I did.”

“Okay, fine. Abigail it is.” I held the Arby’s bag up.

“Peace offering?”

“Only if there’s a cheese melt in there,” she said taking the bag.

“There’s three,” I said.

The living room we were standing in was small and compact. The white carpet was coffee-stained, and overstuffed velvet blue couches dominated the room.

Abigail waved us into the kitchen which was also tiny.

There was an island table for four and wrap-around counters. The tiled floor was a gold flower pattern. The light fixture in the ceiling cast a yellow glow over the room.

“How was church tonight?” Abigail asked as she sat down on one of the stools at the island.

“You don’t want to know,” Manley said taking a huge bite out of his sandwich.

“But I already know,” Abigail said waving her phone.

“The love of money…” She shook her head.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re saying Pastor Johnny is doing this for money?” Manley said. “Why?” Abigail nodded. “He’s going to star — if you can call it that — in a new reality show called Life After God.” She tapped a few buttons on her phone screen and slid it to the middle of the island. “See here. It says, ‘Oxygen’s new 38

religion-focused reality docu-drama will chronicle the lives of four average Americans who make the decision to leave organized religion and pursue spirituality without structure — or no spirituality at all. The show will focus on the lives of a Baltimore pastor, Johnny Dunmore, who plans to reveal to his church that he no longer believes in God; a Florida college student, Tamela Walbrind, who abandons her faith after her college studies led her to question her beliefs; a millionaire Wall Street broker, Jacob Lehman, who left his Amish community to pursue worldly success; and Georgia school teacher, Sharmon Sharpe, who was branded an apostate by his Imam and barred from attending his mosque after undergoing a sex change operation.’”

“Quite a cast,” Manley said.

“You guys really think he’s doing this for money?” I asked.

“I’m just saying it’s convenient timing,” Abigail said.

“Johnny’s been pastoring for twenty-four years. Maybe he had a real crisis of faith or something, but you don’t just give up on something you believe in like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“He said he was writing about it on his blog,” I said.

“I guess you’re going to say someone should have seen it coming,” Manley said. He shrugged. “We’ll see what Pastor Taylor says tomorrow.”

I nodded, yawning. “Whatever the case, as you can imagine, this was not what I was expecting to hear my first time at church. I’m still trying to wrap my head 39

around it.”

“Don’t,” said Manley.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t try to wrap your head around it,” Abigail said.

“You can’t. And here’s something else you should know: This Christianity thing does not mean your life suddenly, magically gets better. Everything that you see about Christianity today — churches, Bibles, missionaries, Christian TV — all of that came through a lot of, excuse the cliche, blood and sweat and tears. There have always been people who turn away from the faith. Pastor Johnny isn’t the first and he won’t be the last. So don’t dwell on it. Our church will come through this just as churches have done for hundreds of years.”

“Okay,” I said.

Manley nodded. “She’s right. And, you’re going to face your own personal troubles too. Jesus said, in this world you will have trouble. You’ll get Heaven when you get there, but not here. So, I know how you feel about Johnny. To be honest, I feel the same way. But don’t let it discourage you. It’s just one problem. There will be more to come.”

Sitting there, I knew they were right. I remembered the car accident which I hadn’t thought about for several hours. That was trouble for sure and it wasn’t going away. I figured I should get in touch with a lawyer and find out if there had been any changes in the little girl’s condition.

40

Chapter 8 Pastor Thomas Taylor had awakened two hours earlier than usual on Sunday morning to attend a hastilycalled meeting of the elders at City of Fellowship Bible Church. At the meeting, there had been sound disapproval of Johnny Dunmore’s revelation at the Saturday night service.

Thomas was glad the internet campus pastor had had the good sense not to replay the service throughout the night and early morning on the church’s website. An older recording was playing instead. But, still, one time was more than enough to get the social media chatter going, and no matter what people said, all publicity was not good publicity.

Thomas rubbed his fingers across the receding hairline that he was trying to maintain and reached for the cup of coffee on his desk. It was his second cup that 41

morning. Normally, he only had one.

A knock sounded on his office door. “Sir, Johnny is here to see you,” his secretary said.

“Let him in,” Thomas said.

The door opened and Johnny Dunmore walked in.

Thomas looked at him. “Have a seat.” He thought about commenting on the new pair of glasses Johnny was wearing, but decided there was no time for small talk or pleasantries.

“Not quite the, uh, warm reception I’m used to,” Johnny said as he sat down slowly on the other side of the desk. “I suppose that has something to do with my… inconvenient truth last night.” He adjusted his glasses on his face “Obviously,” said Pastor Taylor. “The elders and I have decided to release you from your duties here.”

“I expected that,” Johnny said.

“You came highly recommended to us,” Thomas continued. “Although we cannot see how you came to such a decision as the one you announced last night, we thought you would at least show us the decency of coming to us first and — “ “But I knew what would have happened then,” Johnny interrupted.

“Excuse me?” said Thomas.

“Well, you would have never let me honestly share what I have come to feel is true with the church family — and I still do believe that they are my family.”

“Your feelings are dangerous to the church family,” 42

Thomas said. He jabbed his finger toward the door of his office. “There are many young believers out there. Your feelings are dangerous to their faith. How do we look — bringing them into the church and then you get up there spouting your atheistic nonsense. How confusing is that for them?”

“It’s no more confusing than much of what is in the Bible,” Johnny said. “And, besides, they should know the truth. As we like to say, the truth sets us free. It did me.”

He tried to smile, but he only came off looking pained.

Thomas shook his head and slammed his palms on the desktop, rising from his seat.

“Haven’t you ever doubted God?” Johnny said looking up at him. “Haven’t you ever wondered if all this — all that we say we believe, all that we preach — is really true?

Honestly, we don’t know anything. We have dogma and doctrine based on a book and our belief in a superman in the sky. How flimsy is that?” He paused for a moment.

“Haven’t you ever doubted?”

“No,” said Thomas sharply.

“I think you’re lying,” said Johnny.

“I didn’t bring you in here to argue with you,” said Thomas. “I’ve made myself perfectly clear. You are released from your duties. You’re fired. Now leave.”

Johnny frowned. “What about severance?”

“The elders decided against that,” Thomas said. “Get out of this building, off this property, and I never want to see you here again.”

43

Johnny stood up and turned toward the door. “Well, if I’m ever in the neighborhood, I’m sure you won’t mind if I stop by to say hi,… friend.”

“No!” Thomas nearly shouted. “Don’t ever come back here. You’ve done enough damage already.”

Johnny turned toward the office door and placed his hand on the knob. “I wish you the best. I’m sure you do the same for me.”

“Actually, I don’t,” said Thomas.

Johnny turned back around. “What?”

“You know what the Bible says about that: ‘If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into your house, neither bid him God speed: For he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.’” ............

It was early morning, about half an hour before Sunday’s first service, as Johnny walked back to the gray Toyota Highlander with the heavily tinted windows parked in the corner of the large parking lot. A couple dozen cars were parked across the lot, but the majority of the church’s attendees had yet to arrive. In front of the three-story, curved steel and glass building, parking attendants were donning their orange and yellow vests.

Johnny walked quickly and with his head down. He didn’t want to risk being noticed by the early arrivals. They would see his face again soon enough.

44

He opened the passenger side door of the Highlander and got in. A television producer was sitting in the driver’s seat with a laptop resting against the steering wheel. A video technician sat in the second row. The third row of seats had been taken out to make room for satellite equipment.

Johnny carefully took off the pair of glasses he had been wearing and handed them back to the technician.

“You got all that?” he asked as he put on his regular pair of round-framed glasses.

“Yeah, we did,” said the producer motioning to his laptop screen where the video of Pastor Taylor sitting at his desk talking was playing. “You did well with the hidden camera for a first-timer.”

45

Chapter 9 Early Monday morning, I dressed in a navy blue suit and headed to the Wegel & Company headquarters on the fifteenth floor of the Transamerica tower in Baltimore’s central business district. I parked my white Saleen S7 well away from other cars on the third floor of the parking garage and headed up to the company offices. I had started as junior business developer several months ago, and now that I had graduated with my MBA, I would be moving up to senior business developer in a few weeks when the person in that position stepped down. Basically, my job was to market the marketing company — attract new business, develop long-term relationships, and position the company to reach new markets.

But I wasn’t there for work that day. I was there to meet with the lawyer my dad had hired for me while I 47

was in the hospital. Even though my father, Michael York, was officially retired and bore the title “president emeritus”, he still showed up for work each day. He kept the same office at the end of a long, quiet hall away from the constant phone ringing and chatter of the rest of the business. I knocked on his door.

My mother, Doneese, met me in the entrance. She was a short, plump, graying woman of Cambodian descent. “Jaidon!” she said giving me a hug. “You need to keep in touch better. We didn’t know you were in the hospital until after you had left.”

I smiled at her gentle scolding. “I would say I’ll do better next time, but I don’t plan on being in the hospital again any time soon.”

Dad was sitting at his desk reviewing what looked like a profit and loss sheet. He, too, was short, but not as plump, and his brown head was devoid of hair. “Where were you on Saturday night? We went by your place, but you weren’t there,” he said.

“I was at church,” I said without thinking.

“Hmph,” my dad said making a mark on the paper.

“Well, I guess a brush with death does cause one to become temporarily religious.” He muttered something else that I couldn’t make out.

“I came to see the lawyer,” I said. “Mr. Sonos? Is that his name?”

“Sonos, yes. He’s on the second floor of this building — Kirkland, Sonos, and Austin, LLP.” “Okay. Thanks, Dad.” 48

............

A few minutes later, I sat in Turner Sonos’ office.

“The truth is,” I told him, “I probably was driving faster than I should have been. I wasn’t expecting to meet anybody on that road that late at night.”

“Probability is not certainty,” Mr. Sonos said. “If you admit to that, that family will sue you for every penny in your bank account.” Sonos was a big man who seemed unable to sit still. Just in the ten minutes I had spent in his office, he had changed position five times — first sitting in the leather executive’s chair behind his desk, then sitting on the edge of his desk, then standing in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back, then pacing in front of his desk, and now standing behind his seat with his hands on its back.

“Maybe they deserve every penny in my bank account,” I said. “Their daughter is in a coma. If she never wakes up — if she dies — what then?”

“You’ll lose not only everything in your bank account, but everything you own paying medical fees, damages, compensation, and you could even lose your freedom.” He leaned back against a tall shelf filled with thick, black law books. “Look, Mr. York, you can fight this. You can prove that you are not responsible for what happened to their daughter. I have consulted with a vehicular accident reconstructionist and she said the police report indicates that you were braking at the time of impact. Of course, we need to get a second and third opinion, but an analysis like that presented by an expert 49

witness can stand up in court.”

“Or maybe we can avoid a legal battle altogether,” I said.

“What?” said Mr. Sonos. He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “I’ve seen these kind of cases before. They’re going to sue. I’m telling you.”

“Hear me out. I have an idea,” I said. “Which hospital is the girl in?”

He shuffled through the papers in a folder on his desk. “Sinai,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

“Right.” I remembered hearing the name on the news report. I got up and turned toward the office door. “We have some people to visit. And, as my lawyer, you’re going with me.”

“What? This is insane. You can’t do this,” Mr. Sonos said. But as I looked back, he pulled his suit jacket down from a peg on the wall and followed me out the door.

50

EPISODE 4

51

Chapter 10 When we arrived at Sinai Hospital, Attorney Sonos jumped out of the car and followed me inside.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but this is a bad idea,” he said in a loud whisper as we waited at the nurses station on the first floor.

“I might be doing you a favor,” I told him.

“Sarah Hill is in room 303 on the fourth floor,” the nurse said. “You’ll have to check with the nurses up there to see if she’s allowed visitors.”

“Thanks,” I said as I turned toward the elevator.

“I don’t see how this is doing either of us a favor,” Sonos said as I punched the button for the fourth floor.

“I don’t see anything good that can come out of this at all.”

As the elevator rose, I closed my eyes and mentally reviewed what I had decided to do. I figured that Sarah’s 53

parents, Tommy and Skye Hill, would be there. Then again, I had no idea for sure. As the elevators opened, I began to think that maybe Attorney Sonos was right.

We walked into the waiting area and looked around.

About a dozen people sat in pairs or separately on the couches and seats scattered throughout the large area. I had seen pictures of the Hills on television, so I knew what they looked like but I didn’t see them. I could feel Sonos just waiting to say, ‘See there.’ Giving the waiting area another visual sweep, I turned toward the hall where the entrances to the hospital rooms were.

“Hey, you!” a voice called from the far corner of the room. I stopped and turned around. A man, short but muscular with black hair, got up and approached us. It was Tommy Hill. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he said pointing a finger at me. “You’re the rich kid who put our daughter in a coma.”

“Excuse me,” said Sonos stepping between me and Mr. Hill. “But my client…”

“I don’t want to hear about your client,” Mr. Hill said brushing Mr. Sonos’ arm aside. “You rich people always got your darn lawyers anytime you get into trouble.”

The other people in the waiting area were staring at us. I stepped up beside Sonos. “Mr. Hill, listen,” I said in a louder tone than usual. “My name is Jaidon York, and-” “I know who you are,” he said.

“Yes, and I know you’re upset,” I said. “I’m truly sorry about what happened to your daughter. I’m not 54

exaggerating when I say it’s the worst thing that has ever happened in my life. I’d do anything to go back and undo what happened that night.”

“Well, you can’t!” Mr. Hill shouted. “And now we’re stuck with—” A short, brown-haired woman stepped up beside him and placed her hand on Mr. Hill’s arm. She looked like she had been crying. “Honey, calm down,” she said.

“You’re causing a scene. We can talk about this peacefully.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Mr. Hill asked angrily.

His hands balled into fists as he stepped back.

“I know I can’t do anything to help your daughter and I’m sure the doctors are doing all they can,” I said.

“But what I came to say is that I’d like to take at least one worry from your mind during this time. I will pay all of your daughter’s medical expenses — whatever they are, I’ll pay them.”

Mrs. Hill’s lips parted as she looked at her husband.

He turned his head slightly and looked at me through narrowed eyes as though he were trying to figure out if I was telling the truth. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he said, “You sure?”

I said, “I’m sure.”

Mr. Hill tipped his head back and rolled his eyes up the way people do when they are making calculations in their head. Finally, he looked at me again. “Okay.” He nodded. Taking a step toward me, he stretched out his hand. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just—I’ve been feeling a 55

lot of things I’ve never felt before. I guess I just don’t know how to handle it.”

I shook his hand. “I can’t possibly know how you feel,” I said, “but I understand where you’re coming from.”

After Mr. Sonos and I exchanged contact information with the Hills, I told them that we would be in touch.

“What did you think you were doing in there?” Mr. Sonos said once we were back in the car.

“Avoiding a lawsuit,” I said.

“But…no contract, no signed agreement, no nothing,” he said in exasperation.

“And not so much money for you,” I said.

“That is not what this is about,” he said emphatically.

“I’m pretty sure it is. But don’t worry. I’ll pay you handsomely for putting together the forms you just mentioned.”

56

Chapter 11 Pastor Thomas Taylor sat in his office at the City of Fellowship Bible Church mid-day on Tuesday. He had gotten over his initial disappointment about the resignation of teaching pastor, Johnny Dunmore, and hoped that his meeting with him on Sunday morning would be the last he saw of him. He trusted that what had happened was God’s will.

He was feeling so good in fact that he started to whistle a tune — which he rarely did. He was fairly certain he had the tune wrong anyway, but what did it matter? His good mood continued until his office door swung open and the church’s main worship leader, Gemma Fitz, entered. For such a petite woman, she had a powerful voice. She also had a patient, sweet personality.

Thomas immediately stopped whistling. “Good afternoon,” he said.

57

“Yes, um, I know this is unexpected, but the secretary said I could come right in,” Gemma said taking a seat on the edge of one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. She nervously twisted a diamond ring on her left hand.

“Yes, she knows I’ve usually finished playing Angry Birds by now and am deep into my studies at this hour of the day,” Thomas smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s about Johnny, um, Pastor Dunmore,” Gemma said. “The way he was let go so suddenly—I just feel it was wrong. He wasn’t given a chance to explain himself.”

“Well, I thank you for expressing your concerns,” Thomas said. “But I believe the elders and I made the best decision for this church at this time.”

“I know, but I and some of the others feel as though we should have had some say in it,” Gemma said.

“Oh?” Thomas tilted his head to the side as he listened.

“I mean, it happened so fast. Maybe we could have reasoned with him.”

“Gemma, you are a valuable member of this ministry team, and I truly take your concerns to heart,” Thomas said. “But when I spoke with him on Sunday morning, Johnny was pretty adamant about what he believed…or did not believe, I should say.”

“I see,” Gemma said looking at her hands as she twisted them in her lap.

“Is there anything else?” Thomas asked.

58

Gemma shook her head, her eyes still cast down. “It’s just that I think you may have turned him away forever by firing him so quickly like that. He may never come back.” When she looked up, she had tears in her eyes.

Thomas looked toward the window where the afternoon sun filtered in through the white curtains.

What is going on here? He turned back to Gemma. “Were you in love with Johnny, Gemma?” he asked.

“What? No!” Gemma said flinching in her seat. “Why would you say that? I mean, of course not.”

“Oh,” Thomas said slowly. He watched as Gemma discreetly slipped her right hand over the ring-bearing finger of her left. “Just thought I’d ask. Sometimes, personal tensions can heighten corporate, or, should I say ministerial ones.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” Gemma said getting up hastily and turning toward the door. She paused as she placed her hand on the knob. “I think— would you mind—I’ll need to take a leave for a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Thomas asked.

Gemma nodded.

“You want to say why?”

Gemma shook her head. “It’s kind of personal.”

“Uh-huh,” Thomas said. “Well, make sure you let Stan know.”

“I will. Thank you, sir. I’m truly sorry if it’s any inconvenience.”

59

Chapter 12 “You know, Gemma’s resignation may be something that will turn out for the greater benefit of the church,” said Stan Martin, the human resources director of City of Fellowship, as he sat at the long table in the blue room where the eleven church elders met every week.

“Her resignation?” asked Pastor Taylor.

“Uh, yes,” said Stan whose black and auburn Pompadour hairstyle made him look like a character from the eighties. “I thought she told you already.” He pinched the bridge of his computer glasses as if to make sure they were still on his face.

“No, she told me she needed a leave of absence for a few weeks,” Thomas said.

“Well, she turned in a resignation letter to me,” Stan said in a sing-song tone. He opened a folder and pulled out a typed sheet of paper waving it above the table.

61

“Give me that,” Thomas said. He grabbed the paper and let out a frustrated sigh, letting his fingers wander to the edge of his receding hairline as he read the contents of the letter.

“I’m not surprised,” said one of the elders. “She probably didn’t want to tell you to your face. You know how she is. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“Yeah, that’s been a problem before,” said another elder.

“What kind of virus is going around in this church?”

Thomas said as he set the letter down on the table.

“The resignation bug,” said Stan. “We need to find a cure for it before things get out of hand.” No one laughed at Stan’s joke. No one ever did. “By the way,” he continued, “both previous victims have been in close proximity to you, pastor, so I’m gearing up for your letter next.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thomas said. “You said this might be a good thing. Why?” “Ever heard of Ferrian Flay?” said Stan.

Thomas furrowed his brow. “I’ve heard the name, but I’m not sure…”

“Three-time Dove award winner, two-time GRAMMY winner, currently at the top of the contemporary Christian music charts with his latest album.” Stan pulled another paper out of his folder. “Got this e-mail this morning; says he’s ready to retire from touring. Feels like God is calling him to settle down and find a church to serve in.”

62

“I see,” said Thomas nodding slowly. A feeling of worry rose within him.

“He performed at our Double X summer youth camp last year,” one of the elders said.

“So, how did he find out that there may be an opening for this position?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know,” Stan said. “I certainly didn’t put out any notices. But I took the liberty to pull some information about him from the internet.” He took several sheets of paper out of his folder and slid them across the table. “Here’s his bio, educational information, previous gigs, discography, publicity photos, etc.”

Thomas picked up the papers and flipped through them. He pulled out the letter-size publicity photo of a brown-skinned man with curly black hair who appeared to be in his early thirties. He was dressed in a blue silk suit with a pattern of interlocking triangles, an orange, ruffled tuxedo shirt, and shiny, flamboyant cuffs.

“What’s wrong with Christian musicians nowadays?”

Thomas said. “What happened to black suits, white shirts, and long dress gowns? He’s dressed like — like Prince.”

“Now we know what’s on your iPod,” Stan said.

“He’s a…black Prince,” said one of the elders.

“Prince is black,” Stan said.

“I’m saying this might be good for diversity and racial unity and all that,” the elder replied.

“It may be God closing one door and opening another,” added another elder.

63

“Looking at it from a, uh, marketing perspective: If we hire him, people will definitely come to hear him sing.

And, hopefully, they’d stay around for the preaching,” said Stan. “It would also make a big splash in the local media.”

A silver-haired elder at the far end of the table raised a finger. “And might I add that that is much needed especially after all of the negative attention last week.”

“We should call him in for an interview,” said the elder sitting to his right.

“We can do that,” Thomas said, “but, gentlemen, I feel I need to conduct this interview myself.”

64

EPISODE 5

65

Chapter 13 By the beginning of next week, it seemed the rancor over Johnny Dunmore’s revelation had died down. Maybe Manley was right: what happened with him was the exception, not the rule, and there was nothing to be seriously concerned about.

Saturday afternoon, I got an e-mail from Leon Juarez, my buddy from college who left on a mission trip to Indonesia the day after I had my car accident. He and his wife had arrived safely in a small village in southern Indonesia. Electricity there was inconsistent at best, so he had to drive to a cafe in a larger town eight miles away to keep his satellite phone and laptop charged up.

Leon had set up a blog so his friends, supporters, and church family could stay updated on what he was doing.

He attended a Bible church in Washington D.C. and had been sent out as part of the church’s international 67

missions program. I bookmarked the blog’s URL and sent him a message telling him to stay safe and that I was praying for him.

Late that afternoon, I caught a ride with Manley to City of Fellowship Bible Church.

“Do you know who is going to replace Dunmore?” I asked as we waited in his Jeep at the end of a long line of cars for the parking attendant to wave us in.

“No, I don’t think they’ve picked anybody yet, but there are plenty of good guys who can take his place,” Manley said. He kept flicking the blinkers on and off.

“But there is that new music minister who’s going to play tonight. I heard Gemma Simmons is on leave for some reason.”

The parking attendant waved us in.

“I wonder why they’re here?” Manley said motioning to a satellite truck with WBAL-TV painted boldly on the side.

I shrugged.

As we walked into the building, the entire glass and steel structure seemed to pulsate with the deep, thumping bass sound emanating from the auditorium.

“Have you come to worship? Have you come to praise?” an excited voice boomed through the loudspeakers in the foyer.

We entered the auditorium and found our seats. The man leading the worship was dressed in a dark orange suit and shiny black shoes. “Ferrian Flay” his name read on the big screens mounted on either side of the stage. I 68

made a mental note to look him up later. Overall, the music part of the service felt like a concert. Gone was the subdued, reverent feel of the past few services I had attended. Most of the people seemed to enjoy the new style, however. Folks still stood up and waved their hands in the air. The news crew in the back quietly filmed.

Honestly, though, I liked the former style better, and I asked Manny about it later.

“Everybody worships in different ways,” he said.

“There’s no wrong or right way to worship God. Some people are more expressive, some people aren’t — personality plays into it. Some people like loud, raucous music, others like soft, contemplative music, and some don’t like music at all. When I first started attending church, I was the guy sitting on my hands in the back pew. I’m sure some people thought I wasn’t into church at all, but I got a lot out of it.”

“I guess the real pressure is on the church leaders — having to please everybody,” I said.

“Yeah, but most churches have a certain style and attract a certain type of people,” Manley said. “Nothing wrong with that. Can’t please everybody, you know.”

69

Chapter 14 Monday morning, after a meeting with my dad and the board of directors, I was in my office at Wegel & Co. when I received my first visitor. The potential client’s name was Glinton Sanford. He was a bald, thin black man with big hands, probably five feet, two inches tall. He was with an organization called APG Taskforce.

“Good morning, Mr. Sanford. Please have a seat,” I said.

We shook hands and he sat down. I pulled up the prospect file on my computer.

“So, what does APG stand for?” I asked.

“Anti-Prosperity Gospel,” he said in a quick, clipped voice, and then he added, “Taskforce.”

“Oh,” I said. “And…how do you feel Wegel & Company may be of use to you?”

“Well, the taskforce is a coalition of pastors, church 71

members, and former church members who are fed up with the prosperity gospel that is being preached in many American churches, and that is unfortunately being exported to churches in impoverished nations in Africa as well as in other places.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Just so we’re clear, please explain what you mean by prosperity gospel.”

Glinton looked at me like I was a dummy, but then said, “The prosperity gospel is this false idea that God wants all His children to be rich. It is being preached in many churches across the nation, and it is really a form of religious slavery. Often, what happens is, these pimp preachers get their church members to give huge amounts in ‘tithes’ and ‘offerings’ — what they call ‘sowing a seed’.” He used air quotes around those words.

“They tell the people that God will bless them if they invest in their ministry. What normally happens, however, is that the preachers just line their pockets with cash leaving the people to suffer. That kind of abuse has to stop.”

I had never heard of the prosperity gospel before, and I was appalled that preachers would use their influence like that. “And what is APG’s role in that?” I asked.

“It’s APG Taskforce,” Glinton said stiffly. “Our role is to stop this kind of behavior in the church. Over the past few months, we have put together a coalition of pastors, church members, and former church members. We have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars. Our plan is to 72

begin a nationwide campaign — TV, radio, and print — telling people what is happening in their churches and calling out pastors who preach the prosperity gospel.”

“You do know that this will open you up to major defamation lawsuits?” I said.

“Yes, we are well aware of that,” Glinton said. “But once people know the truth, they will be on our side.”

He paused for a moment. “Can you help us?”

I wanted to do more research about this prosperity gospel phenomenon before I agreed to anything. “I believe we need to go into more detail regarding your plan,” I said. “I can tell you right now that naming names in a campaign such as this is highly risky. Perhaps getting op-eds published in major newspapers would be a better idea — plus, you would have legal protection to express your views as long as you have facts to back up your, uh, assertions.”

“We have facts, I assure you,” Glinton said nodding curtly. “We’ve worked hard on this plan, and we are confident it is the best way to go forward.”

I nodded. “Certainly,” I said. “Let me put you in contact with one of our consultants to go over the specifics of your marketing proposal, and then we’ll see where it leads.”

“When do you think we can get started?” Glinton said. “I’m looking at two weeks from today.”

You’ve got to be kidding, I thought. “If,” I say — and that’s a very big if, I add mentally — “If we decide to take this project, we are looking at at least a couple of months 73

down the road considering that we will have to secure marketing channels which are normally booked months or years in advance.”

“Hmph,” Glinton said.

74

Chapter 15 Later the next day, Manley and Abigail came over to my place for dinner. I really wanted to talk about the prosperity gospel issue, but food always got Manley’s attention.

“If you’re looking for a home-cooked meal, you’re out of luck,” I teased. “This is Chinese take-out night.”

“It’s Chinese take-out I didn’t have to pay for,” Manley said taking off his army jacket and hanging it on the coat rack by my display case of model cars. At the bottom were the plastic ones I had glued together when I was a kid, and above those about two dozen tin and cast iron vintage models. A few of them had been pretty expensive.

“Where’s Abby?” I asked.

“Running late,” Manley said. “She had to run a gala at the music school today. Should be here any minute.”

75

“Well, until she gets here, I want to ask your opinion on something.” I got my laptop from my office and pulled up the APG Taskforce file. “This guy, Glinton Sanford, was telling me about the prosperity gospel yesterday,” I said. “He called it a form of religious slavery and said his organization wants to run an ad campaign to expose it.”

“Uh-huh,” Manley said.

“He also said it’s being exported to Africa as well as other places. Is it really as widespread as he says?”

“Yes. A lot of megachurch pastors and televangelists teach it and a lot of people buy into it,” Manley said.

“That’s largely why I stopped watching Christian TV a long time ago. Much of it is that prosperity gospel nonsense. It’s pathetic.”

“So, this guy is doing the right thing?”

“Probably. The question is if he’s doing it the right way.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I’ve got to figure out.”

Just then, my door buzzer sounded. “Door’s open,” I shouted.

Abigail came in dressed in a navy blue lace evening gown.

“How did the gala go?” Manley asked.

“Better than last year — which was an absolute disaster,” Abigail said. “I’m famished.”

“Dining room is this way,” I said. “We cooked.” I winked at Manley.

“If you did, I’m going to walk right back out that door,” Abigail said. “Thank God,” she added when she 76

saw the take-out cartons on the table.

While chewing her first mouthful of shrimp fried rice, Abigail touched her forehead as though she had forgotten something. She swallowed hard. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said.

“What?” I asked. Manley didn’t say anything because his mouth was too full.

“Ferrian Flay, the new music director…”

“Yeah.”

Abigail lowered her voice. “I think he’s gay…and I think he’s married.”

Manley looked up in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“He was at the music academy’s gala today with another man.”

“And…” “And they stuck together the whole time — holding hands, and making goo-goo faces at each other.”

“That’s not exactly evidence,” I said.

“It’s what I saw with my own eyes,” Abigail said. “If you had seen those two you would have thought the same exact thing.”

“Are you sure it was him?” asked Manley.

“Yeah, it was him for sure. I don’t know who the other guy was,” Abigail said.

“Well, there’s a possibility you may be wrong,” Manley said. “Until you have certain proof, I think we should just keep it between us.”

77

EPISODE 6

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Chapter 16 On Wednesday morning, Attorney Sonos called me with good news. Sarah Hill had come out of the coma and was being moved out of intensive care. I was glad to hear it and I called Tommy Hill to tell him so. He sounded like he was much relieved and we had a far nicer conversation this time around.

After talking with him, I left for work at Wegel & Co. on the fifteenth floor of the Transamerica tower, I found Glinton Sanford standing outside my office door.

“Have you made any progress on our proposal?” he asked as I turned the key in the lock.

“Some,” I said. “But we’re nowhere near making a decision on your marketing plan at this early stage. I’ve been doing some research into the prosperity gospel phenomenon myself.”

“And?” 81

“If it’s as exploitative as you say, I agree with you that people should know what the dangers are when they sit under that kind of teaching.” I set my laptop down on my desk and sat down in the leather desk chair.

Glinton followed me in uninvited. He set a folder down on my desk. “You’ll be interested in this then,” he said. “Statistics on the current growth of the prosperity gospel movement — and remember it is global — as well as testimonies of former prosperity gospel victims.”

“Victims?” I said. That sounded kind of harsh.

“Yes,” Glinton said. “Victims of charlatan ministers who twist God’s Word and deceive the people they are supposed to be trying to help. I hope every one of them— ” Just then, we were interrupted by a knock on the open door. My dad stuck his head in. “Jaidon, you need to—” he began. But then he saw Glinton. “Hey, don’t I know you?” he said. “Glinton Summers?”

“Sanford,” Glinton said. “I remember you.”

“You’re the guy who got me out of Morris Richmore’s House of Wealth,” my dad said. “Best decision I ever made.” I didn’t know my dad had ever attended a church.

It must have been before I was old enough to remember.

“Yeah, you know he got put in jail for embezzling money from the church,” Glinton said. “Seems like his six-figure salary wasn’t enough for him.”

“Good for him,” my dad said. “All these crooks who call themselves preachers ought to be put under the jail.

At least, they ought to give all the money they make right 82

back to the people and the community.”

“I agree,” Glinton said nodding. “Maybe you can help convince your son to take up our marketing project.”

“Well, I normally don’t get involved in the day-today around here anymore, but, Jaidon, you take care of this man, you hear.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“It’s good to see you again,” my dad said to Glinton.

“And talk some sense into my son’s head while you’re here. He’s done got all religious on me.”

Glinton laughed. It was the first time I’d seen him even crack a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

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Chapter 17 An ugly feeling roiled in Pastor Thomas Taylor’s gut when he received the anonymous message in his inbox.

He immediately sent a reply asking for the sender’s name and relation to City of Fellowship Bible Church. A moment later he got a response saying the message was undeliverable.

God, what should I do? he thought. He decided to address the matter head on.

“You never mentioned you were married,” Pastor Taylor said after inviting Ferrian Flay into his office later that evening.

“You didn’t ask,” Flay said as he settled into the seat on the far side of the pastor’s desk.

“It’s also not mentioned in your bio,” Taylor said flipping through the folder that Stan had provided him

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with earlier. “That’s odd.”

“Well, it’s recent.”

“If it’s recent, that’s all the more reason to mention it.” Taylor shut the folder and set it on his desk.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Is there a problem of some sort?” Flay said.

Taylor took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to be straight with you. I got an anonymous email this morning from someone saying that you were married — to a man.”

“Oh,” said Flay. “That’s probably just someone trying to cause trouble. Disgruntled church member, perhaps?

You know how some church people can be.”

“But is it true?” Taylor asked.

“Well… yes,” Flay said. “But I don’t see how that is a problem.”

Taylor sighed and put his glasses back on. “I’m sure you know very clearly how this is a problem. This church teaches, according to the Bible, that homosexuality is wrong. We cannot have unrepentant homosexuals — which is apparently what you are — working on the church staff. We certainly cannot have married homosexuals working on the church staff. And we cannot have secret homosexuals working on the church staff either.”

“You’re going to fire me?” Flay said.

“Unless you want to resign of your own free will,” Taylor said.

“I’ll never do that. You said yourself that you believed 86

God brought us together.”

“That was before I knew about you being married to a man. I’m sorry, but we can’t proceed like this. We have to let you go.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Flay said. “I heard what Ron said in the staff meeting yesterday: attendance has shot up in the three weeks I’ve been here. People are excited; they like the new music style. The media is back on your side again after, you know, what happened with Dunmore. Think about what you have to lose. Do you really want a repeat of the media coverage that happened when Dunmore was forced out? And, I tell you, it will be worse this time. The media will be all over a church kicking out a music minister because he’s gay. You don’t need that. We’re doing great work for the Lord here.

Don’t let some angry church member mess that up.”

Taylor was thinking hard as Flay spoke. He certainly didn’t want a repeat of what had happened more than a month ago. Maybe he could wait a while, let things die down, and ease Flay out the door without causing much of an uproar.

“No one knows about my, uh, marriage,” Flay said.

“It was very private.”

“Someone obviously knows,” Taylor said.

“And no one else will know unless you tell them.”

They were both silent for a moment, and then Taylor said, “Fine, you can stay — for now. On the condition that your partner…or, uh…your wife…cannot attend the church under any circumstances.”

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“Correction, he’s my husband,” Flay said. “But that’s fine, he’s not the religious type anyway.”

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Chapter 18 “Did you take care of my friend?” Dad asked when I met him in his office late on Wednesday evening. He was sitting with his feet up on the desk flipping channels on the TV in the corner.

“I did what I could do for now,” I said. “You know we can’t rush into any marketing campaign without the proper consultation up front.”

“I know, just do what you can for him. He’s a good man.”

I sat down on the corner of the desk. “I never knew you used to attend church,” I said. “I mean, I never went with you.”

“Your mother and I stopped going a few months before you were born,” my dad said. “I was raised going to church each week. My parents took me and my sister, and after your grandfather died, my mother kept on 89

taking us. A few months before I graduated from college, she started attending a new church — House of Wealth.

I told my mother that it sounded like the name of a casino.”

I laughed as Dad went on. “I thought that since I was grown, or almost grown, it would be a good time to start cutting my ties with the church because I never really saw any significance in it. But my mother said, ‘Boy, as long as you’re living in my house, you got to go to church on Sunday morning.’ I tried to skip a few times by sleeping late or getting out of the house early and hanging with my buddies or pretending that I had to study. But my mother always found me and made me go.”

He paused for a moment as though lost in thought.

“So, when did you stop?” I said.

“It was about five years after I married your mother,” Dad said. “I had only kept going after I left home and got married because I promised my mother I would. I kept going to the same church — House of Wealth. The preacher, Morris Richmore, was always talking about how God wanted His people to be rich, blessed, and prosperous. I was fine with that because I wanted to be rich. My mother had to work almost every day of her life especially after my father died. Money was always tight.

I was determined not to live like that, so I went to business school and ate up Morris Richmore’s messages.”

He sighed. “Then I noticed something strange. The church was always asking for money — money to get on TV, money to start this ministry, money to buy this 90

building. The thing that took the cake for me was when they asked for money to buy a plane. What in the world does a preacher need his own plane for? I was getting sick of it, but didn’t say anything because nobody else was saying anything. But it seemed like to me that the only person getting more rich was Morris Richmore.”

“And that’s when you met Glinton Sanford?” I said.

“Right. He was one of the new professors at the business school,” Dad said. “He told me how the prosperity gospel was a rip-off for everyday people and encouraged me to leave. So I did.” Dad’s cell phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

“Your mother has dinner ready. I’m going to get out of here,” he said.

“Dad, when you left the House of Wealth, did you ever consider attending another church?” I said. “All churches don’t preach the prosperity gospel, you know.”

“Nah, I was done with church stuff altogether. It just wasn’t for me,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t need God to help me get rich. I did that on my own.”

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EPISODE 7

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Chapter 19 After talking with my dad at the office, I went home and since I didn’t have anything better to do I started reviewing the marketing plan our team had put together for Glinton Sanford. I turned the TV on, but put it on mute as I worked in the living room. Learning about my father’s past and personal connection to Sanford as well as how he really felt about the church and religion in general had been eye-opening. Before I left the office, he had made it clear that he didn’t want me to, in his words, “get too deep into this religious stuff.” Keep your head on straight, he had said. Keep your eye on the prize.

If Dad’s prize was money and success in business, I wasn’t too sure he was unlike the prosperity gospel preacher he said could have ruined his life.

The phone rang and I picked it up.

“Hi,” Abigail said. “Guess what?”

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“What?”

“I signed you up as a volunteer planner for City of Fellowship’s Nations Sunday.”

“What is that? Why’d you sign me up for it?” I said.

“Nations Sunday is the annual church event where the entire church focuses on missionary activity and what we can do to spread the Gospel around the world.

It kicks off our Missions Focus Week,” Abigail said. “We’re going to receive reports from the missionaries who have been sent and look at new ways to expand our outreach.

It’s really fun.”

“Why did you volunteer me?” I asked.

“Because you need to get more involved in church work,” she said like it was obvious.

“Right. Well, you might want to tell me something ahead of time next time,” I said.

“Hey, we needed one more person for the planning committee and I thought your background in marketing could be useful, so I put your name down. Between asking permission and asking forgiveness, I lean firmly to the latter.”

“Okay, no sweat,” I said. “What am I expected to do?”

“That’s what you’ll find out,” she said. “We’re having the first planning meeting this Saturday at two p.m. You in?”

“Doesn’t look like I have a choice. I’ll be there.”

After I hung up, a familiar face flashed across the television screen. I turned the volume up.

A video of Johnny Dunmore speaking was being 96

played as a voiceover introduced Life After God — the new “reality show” Abigail was telling me and her brother about the night Dunmore made his big announcement at the church. The show was featuring four people who had for one reason or another abandoned their faith.

Besides Dunmore, who said he no longer believed in God, there was a Florida college student, Tamela Walbrind, who abandoned her faith after her college studies led her to question her beliefs; a millionaire Wall Street broker, Jacob Lehman, who left his Amish community to pursue worldly success; and Georgia school teacher, Sharmon Sharpe, who was branded an apostate by his imam and barred from attending his mosque after undergoing a sex change operation.

As I watched the show, I couldn’t help but think of my own father who had left the church as a young man and had never looked back.

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Chapter 20 Pastor Taylor was mortified by the person he saw on the show, Life After God. He saw himself — in a jittery, black-and-white video that had apparently been secretly-recorded by Johnny Dunmore during the private meeting they had held after he made his surprise announcement at the church.

Johnny hadn’t just been wearing a new pair of glasses.

He had been wired.

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Taylor sat back in his recliner and watched himself on the screen. His words, which were also shown as subtitles over the video, sounded distant and foreign. They played back to him like a bad voice mail recording.

The elders and I have decided to release you from your duties here. …we thought you would at least show us the decency of 99

coming to us first.

Your feelings are dangerous to the church family…

I’ve made myself perfectly clear. You are released from your duties. You’re fired. Now leave.

Get out of this building, off this property, and I never want to see you here again.

Don’t ever come back here. You’ve done enough damage already.

Hearing the words again and seeing himself on the video made him feel like he had been used. And he felt especially distrustful of Johnny. He had never imagined something like this happening. ____________ “Maybe he’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t have let him go without severance,” one of the elders said at the next staff meeting.

“No, I think we did the right thing on that,” Taylor said. “Johnny should have explained his issues up front with us. He shouldn’t have gone to the whole church family like that behind our backs.”

“The only question is: what are we going to do about it now?” a silver-haired elder, Sean Petri, said. “I mean the word’s out about how this situation was handled. I can only imagine that even some church members would be upset. The way they portrayed this whole situation made us look like the bad guys.”

“Yeah, we’re officially the meanest church staff

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ever,” Stan said. “Immediately firing a guy without giving him a chance to explain himself.”

“He left us no choice,” Taylor said. “And he did explain himself, remember.”

“Maybe the way forward is humility,” Petri said.

“Obviously, this is something we’ve never had to deal with before. Maybe an apology and an explanation of our actions would be in our best interests.”

“An apology? For what?” Taylor said.

“For not being more…understanding?” Petri said.

“You know how people are today — you have to be open and affirming to everybody, blah, blah, blah.”

“How is a church of the living God supposed to be open and affirming to an atheist?” one of the other elders said. “We’re automatically at odds over the most fundamental doctrine of the Bible.”

“Look,” Taylor said. “Johnny went to Conservative Christian Theological Seminary — the same seminary I graduated from. He learned what I learned. He was taught the same things I and most of us in here have been taught.

He made a choice to turn his back on what he said he has believed for the past twenty years. There’s no middle ground with him.”

Stan leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and steepled his fingers. “The thing is, though, you’re still thinking of this like it’s just a church matter. It’s not anymore. He’s gone and got a TV show. And that means a whole lot of attention is going to be focused on us.”

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Chapter 21 Friday morning, as I was on my way to work, I got a call from Attorney Sonos.

“Tommy and Skye Hill want to see you at the hospital,” he said.

“Why?” “They wouldn’t say.”

“Did you give them the agreement?” I asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“Did they sign it?” Even though the air condition was on, I felt sweat beading on my forehead.

“Yes, I told you they did already,” Sonos said.

“Okay, I’ll be able to get over there this afternoon,” I said.

“Well, they especially requested that you come by this morning if at all possible.”

I quickly did some mental calculations and decided 103

that whatever was waiting for me at the office could wait a little bit longer. “Okay, I’m on my way there,” I said.

As I changed course to get to Sinai Hospital, my mind filled with worst-case scenarios. Maybe the condition of the Hill’s daughter, Sarah, had gotten worse. Maybe they had decided they wanted to take me to court after all.

Maybe…Sarah had died.

I prayed to the Lord right then that, whatever the case, He would help me to accept it and respond to it properly.

I pulled up into the Sinai Hospital and made my way inside. Sonos was waiting for me at the nurse’s desk on the fourth floor eating a Snickers bar with one hand and spinning a pen on the counter with the other.

“Well, what’s the deal?” I said.

“See for yourself.” He turned away quickly and headed down the hall. We passed several doors until we found one that was slightly ajar. Sonos shoved the door open and let me go in first.

Tommy and Skye were standing just beyond the door looking considerably happier than they were the first time we met. Beyond them, a thin curtain partially concealed a hospital bed and a little black-haired girl lying in it. Her eyes were closed and she lay perfectly still except for the gentle flare of her nostrils. An IV was hooked up to her arm. I looked between the deathly still girl and her happy parents.

“She’s awake!” Skye said with giddy delight gripping 104

her husband’s arm so tightly I was pretty sure she was cutting off the blood flow to his arm.

“She’s awake?” I said. She didn’t look awake.

“She’s out of her coma,” Tommy said. “It happened a few hours ago. She’s just sleeping now.”

A flood of relief rushed through me. Thank God! I thought as a huge grin broke out on my face.

“That’s…awesome.”

“We could hardly believe it when the doctors first told us,” Skye said. “It’s been two weeks and it seemed like she was… well, dead.” Tears spilled down her face, but the smile remained as well.

Attorney Sonos was also smiling by the door.

“Well, I’m truly happy for you,” I said. “I’m glad everything is working out alright.”

“And we thank you so much for taking care of the hospital bills.” Tommy motioned toward a clip board on the small bedside table. It looked like several pages of detailed forms were clipped on it. “There’s no way we could have taken care of that on our own,” he said. “I mean, we’d be in debt for the next thirty years.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of assistance in that way,” I told them.

As I drove to the Transamerica tower a few minutes later, I couldn’t think of a day that had been brighter. I was ecstatic that God had answered my prayers for the Hills’ daughter.

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EPISODE 8

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Chapter 22 A tall, silver-haired man pulled his sleek, black Audi into the turnabout in front of a two-story mansion on Baltimore’s east side. He got out and looked around slowly. He had no reason to think he was being followed but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

He rang the doorbell, and a moment later, the butler appeared. “Here to see Mr. Wexson?” he asked.

“Yes,” the tall man said stepping inside the anteroom where the butler took his jacket and hung it on a peg on the wall.

“Mr. Wexson will be right out,” the butler said. “You may wait in the living room.”

A few minutes later, a portly, serene-looking man with snow white hair — Arnold Wexson — opened his palms in greeting as the tall, silver-haired man entered 109

his office. “Welcome, welcome,” Wexson said. His voice was melodic and grandfatherly. “Tell me, what has been happening?”

The porter brought two cups of still-steaming chamomile tea and a small bowl of sugar. Wexson picked his cup up and took a long sip, apparently unaffected by the searing liquid heat that swam down his throat. He raised one white, bushy eyebrow in expectation.

“Haven’t you heard?” the silver-haired man said stirring a spoonful of sugar into his own cup and taking a sip. “Don’t you read the news?”

“I have no time for that,” Wexson said with a wave of his hand. “I want to hear all about it first-hand.”

“Well, the first phase of the plan is well underway,” the silver-haired man said. “Johnny Dunmore was an easy target. With just a little bit of prodding, he went over the edge, and now with this new reality show — which was an unexpected windfall, by the way — he will be a consistent pain in the neck for Pastor Taylor.”

“Pastor?” Wexson chuckled. “I’m sure we’re still agreed that won’t be the case for long.”

“Yes, yes,” the silver-haired man blushed. “But not too fast. Now, about phase two. Everything is going somewhat — “ “Somewhat? Are we in trouble?”

“No, no, we aren’t. It just seems as though someone tipped off the pastor about the new hire.”

“That can’t be good,” Wexson said rubbing his knuckles.

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“No, but it seems as though he talked the pastor into keeping things silent for now. What we need to do is find out who snitched and make sure they keep silent.”

The silver-haired man fell silent and seemed to lapse into deep thought. Then he said, “We can’t allow anything to threaten the cause.”

“Exposure may be a good thing,” Wexson said after a moment. “It’s time for the world to see the true colors of these Bible-thumping bigots.”

The silver-haired man frowned at Wexson’s strident tone. “Remember,” he said, “this is my crusade. I came to you. We are going to take things slowly or I will call everything off. My call.”

“Your call?” Wexson scoffed. “You dream too small, Sean. You may carry out your little plan. But I am working on a much bigger one.”

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Chapter 23 Late Friday, at my planning team’s weekend meeting, one of the staff informed us that she thought it would be unwise to continue Glinton Sanford’s project.

“Why?” I said.

“We got a letter from someone threatening a lawsuit against us and Sanford if we go ahead with his marketing campaign.”

“We’ve gotten those before,” I said.

“Yeah, but if these people are as deep-pocketed as Sanford says they are, we could be in for a lot of trouble.

It’s not just one entity we would be going up against here,” she said.

“Let me see the letter,” I said. The letter read: Wegel & Company To Whom it May Concern: 113

It has come to my attention that a former member of my church, Glinton Sanford, has acquired your company’s services to engage in a defamatory, unfounded, and vicious attack campaign against my church and our non-profit ministry. To gain legitimacy, he has also roped in others and has made unfounded accusations against over two dozen Christian ministers. You should know that Sanford left our church years ago, as a disgruntled man, and has issues with us that he has yet to resolve.

For your own good and the good of your company, I urge you to not aid and abet Sanford in his witch hunt. If you do, we will proceed with legal action against not only Glinton Sanford, but your company as well.

Sincere Regards, Justin Summers Legal Counsel House of Wealth International Fellowship The name of the church set memory bells ringing in my head. When I examined the letterhead closer, I realized that this was the same House of Wealth my father had left many years ago‌and it was still pastored by Morris Richmore. ...

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The next day I attended the Nations Sunday planning committee meeting at City of Fellowship. All of the talk about missions and lost souls made me think of my friend Leon Juarez who had led me to the Lord. I realized that I hadn’t been keeping up with his updates from the mission field in Indonesia. When I got home that evening, I logged on to his blog and read his last message posted a few days before.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), the church leaders here have decided to shut down the church for good. They say it is too much of a risk and it is putting the lives of Christians in danger from the Muslim extremist element in the region.

Other churches have been robbed, set on fire, and forced to close. No one has been killed or injured yet. Thank God, though, many local Muslims do not agree with the extremists. They, like us, want to live and let live. Anyway, for now, the local congregation is being organized into small house church groups. Some of the other local pastors and I will visit each of these congregations to conduct services at least once a week.

In other news, we got our air condition fixed.

(Finally! My wife is very happy about that especially with the baby coming.)

Keep praying for us, folks!

Right then, I said a prayer of safety and success for 115

Leon and for the people he was working with in Indonesia, and promised myself I would get in touch soon.

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Chapter 24 Nations Sunday was a colorful, high-energy affair.

Booths filled the foyer area as charities and mission agencies used the opportunity to explain their ministries, receive pledges, and sign people up for short-term mission trips and other volunteer activities. Church attendees were encouraged to wear native dress or clothing that reflected the colors of their homeland.

The worship service featured a series of international music style — aboriginal drum beats, trilling Irish flutes, an Austrian orchestra, and Indian banjo-playing. It was an eye-opening, informative, and inspiring time as several of the missionaries whom the church supported regularly delivered presentations on their mission work.

Some of those who could not return to Maryland for the service sent in video reports that were played on the big screens.

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Everything was going well until the procession of the flags began. The two double doors at the back of the auditorium were flung open. On stage, trumpets began blowing loudly and in a celebratory fashion. Matthew 28:19-20 was displayed on the big screens: Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you:and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen. Beneath the verse, a small image of each flag of the world was displayed.

Through the open doors marched a stream of people carrying a flag pole and on each pole a flag of a different country — all 196 of them. This year, the flag procession was organized alphabetically.

Like I said, everything was going well until I noticed that people around me in the audience were pointing and whispering at the lines of flag bearers marching through the aisles to the front of the church. I thought that maybe something was wrong with one of the flags.

But when I looked closer I saw what had some people whispering — in the middle of one of the lines of marchers, sandwiched between the flags of Tunisia and Turkey, was a person bearing the distinct rainbow flag of the “gay pride” movement. The shock and surprise that registered on more peoples’ faces was like deja vu for me. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one thinking about Johnny Dunmore. And I was pretty sure that when the planning committee and I went over the flag procession 118

layout, that particular flag was not among the others.

No one appeared willing to do anything about it, but the whispers increased until one stocky man with a military buzzcut stepped out of his seat and directly into the line of flag-bearers.

“Get that abomination out of the house of God!” he shouted as he wrenched the flag pole out of the marcher’s hands. The marcher turned out to be a kid who couldn’t have been any older than thirteen.

“What are you doing carrying this flag in this church?” the man demanded.

Nearly the whole auditorium had stopped to watch and now people were talking loudly and animatedly all over the auditorium. The kid’s face twisted like he was going to cry. “Th-that’s the one they gave me.”

“Who gave it to you? We ought to burn this flag on stage.” The man ripped the rainbow flag from the pole.

Just then, Abigail ran down the aisle and grabbed the boy’s arm rescuing him from his dilemma. “Keep moving, people,” she whisper-shouted waving along the other flag-bearers who had bottlenecked behind the commotion.

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EPISODE 9

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Chapter 25 “You mean to tell me that you had nothing to do with that ‘gay’ flag during the Nations Sunday celebration?” Pastor Thomas Taylor asked. Shirt-sleeves rolled up, he paced the floor behind his seat in the large room where the church’s elders met. He looked like he hadn’t slept the night before.

“You saw me; I was on stage,” Ferrian Flay said holding his hands up. Taylor had called the new music director in to speak with him before the elders gathered for an unscheduled meeting on Monday morning. “I had nothing to do with that flag.”

“Well, someone did,” Taylor said. “And if it wasn’t you, I bet you know who it is.”

Flay shook his head. “You and I had an agreement. I respect that. Just like you don’t want any trouble here, I don’t either. I just want to serve the Lord in peace.”

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Taylor sighed. “You may go now.”

Flay got up and headed toward the door. “Let me know when you find out something. I’m ready to put this distraction behind us so we can get back to what we do best,” he said.

“Yeah,” Taylor muttered. It’s going to be a while before we put this behind us. He slumped down in his seat at one end of the table and pulled out his iPad to check his emails and the latest news until everyone else arrived. As he had feared, the news about City of Fellowship Bible Church was negative, mostly centering around the homosexual flag incident. The video of one of the church members seizing the flag and calling it an “abomination” had been uploaded multiple times on YouTube and the view count was already in the millions. News commentators were calling the church “homophobic” and “bigoted” and some were demanding that Pastor Taylor address the issue publicly. Johnny Dunmore had been interviewed on CNN; he said he had “long felt uncomfortable with the church’s stance on gays.” (That little traitor…, Taylor thought.) Even now, he could hear cars honking at the protesters who had gathered across the street from the church.

A few minutes later, all of the elders had gathered and had begun talking over each other about their ideas for a solution to this problem.

Taylor had only been half-listening when he cleared his throat. He clasped his hands on the table in front of 124

him. “I need to just get this off my chest.” Everyone looked at him expectantly. “Ever since Johnny shocked us all with his sudden departure, I have had this weird feeling that something is going on — like we’re being played. Like…”

“Like the devil is out to get us,” Stan, the human resources director, interjected. “Because, you know…he is.”

“Yeah, but someone else is too.” Taylor leaned forward tapping a finger on the table as he pointed out the succeeding events. “Then Gemma left. She said it was temporary, but she hasn’t been back. Then we got a questionable new music director.”

“Questionable? How?” said one of the elders.

“Just trust me,” Taylor said, swallowing hard. Now was not the time to disclose his agreement with Flay.

“On top of that, we’ve had two very negative episodes of media coverage.”

“And one very positive episode of media coverage courtesy of said questionable person,” Stan piped in.

“Negative coverage always trumps positive coverage,” one of the elders said.

“Just keeping things in perspective,” Stan said.

“Perspective aside,” Taylor said, “what I’m saying is, all of this — happening at this time — seems to me like it’s planned. Like someone is instigating all of this.”

The elders looked around at each other, quietly registering what their pastor had just said. One silverhaired elder spoke up. “Well, Johnny Dunmore isn’t the 125

first enemy you’ve made, pastor.”

No, he isn’t.

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Chapter 26 “I’m sorry, but I have to inform you that we’ve decided to put your campaign on hold for the time being,” I told Mr. Sanford over the phone. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but after receiving a letter threatening legal action, the team and I had decided we at least needed more time to determine the kind of risks we would open ourselves up to and possible ways to mitigate those risks, if not remove them altogether. I had some ideas on how to do that already, but I didn’t want to mention them just yet.

“What do you mean you’re putting it on hold,” Sanford’s voice rose over the receiver. “I’m prepared to pay you guys good money.” “‘Prepared’ is the key word,” I said. “Anytime we have reason to believe that our actions on a client’s behalf would be the source of legal action against the company, 127

it’s in our best interest to take a closer look at the marketing plan, and — if possible — come up with one that eliminates the risk.”

“But we agreed to do this,” Glinton said.

“No, we agreed to consider it and that is what we have been doing. It is just going to take us a little bit longer. I’ll let you know when we come up with a viable marketing plan that will not lead to legal action against either of our companies.” If we can do that.

I could hear Glinton huffing on the other end of the line. “I have spent twenty years preparing for this crusade,” he said. “I know this will be successful no matter what kind of legal threats they hit us with. God is on our side.”

“Maybe He is,” I said. “But we still have to do our due diligence.”

“Look, I told you I — “ “Mr. Sanford,” I said raising my voice over his. “I’ll send you an e-mail letting you know what we’ll be doing during this review time.” I said goodbye and hung up before he could go off again.

As I sat at my desk typing up an e-mail to send to him, my phone buzzed. I picked it up and leaned back in my seat. It was an update from Leon’s blog. Just a few minutes earlier, he had posted the following note: This will be a very quick post. We are getting farther away from the city and the internet service is choppy. We are on the run with a truckload of angry extremists behind us. Headed into the woods.

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Our vehicle is very low on gas — we had no time to get fuel — so we will soon be on foot. My wife, newborn baby (yay!), and about a dozen locals are with us. Chami says he knows some friendly villagers about 20 miles into the woods.

We think that one of the house church members was an undercover Muslim. He found out all of the homes where people were meeting and sent the info to his cohorts. We have no idea what went down at the other meeting houses. We were attacked with smoke grenades and some kind of explosive device.

I think the house was set on fire. But I am glad that everyone who was with us got out safely.

Hopefully, we will hear from the other believers soon.

Pray for us!

P.S.: The GPS of our location (at the time of this post) will automatically display at the bottom of this entry and on the corresponding tweet.

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Chapter 27 Elder Sean Petri’s words had made Thomas Taylor do some thinking. He did have at least one avowed enemy — Arnold Wexson. He and Arnold had gone to seminary together. They had been friends, but that began to change when, upon graduation, Taylor had been offered a professorship that Arnold had been pursuing. Taylor accepted; Arnold seethed. A year later, Taylor gave up the job to start City of Fellowship Bible Church. He had invited Arnold to be a part of the team; he accepted, first as a pastor to families, and then as an elder. Taylor had never felt that Arnold had let go of his negative feelings about the professorship position, and Taylor didn’t feel as though he could be fully trusted. Whatever the case, Arnold had left the church three years earlier. (Taylor was glad when he did.)

It didn’t take long to find Arnold Wexson’s address.

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He was some sort of spirituality guru now. He was “helping people find their inner god.”

Whatever, thought Taylor as he stood in the turnabout in front of the two-story mansion on Baltimore’s east side. He walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.

A butler answered and stared down at him.

“I’m here to see Arnold…Wexson,” Taylor said. “I’m an old friend.” Not really.

The butler nodded and waved him in, telling him to wait in the living room. He looked around, particularly at the display of photos on the mantel above the fireplace.

Two in particular made him freeze.

A minute or two later, the butler came back to usher him into an office a few doors down a long hall. The butler left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

A portly-looking man was standing behind a desk with his back to the door. He had white hair; Taylor noted that it was dyed.

“Arnold,” he said.

The man turned around. “Thomas,” he said. “It’s been a long time. To what do I owe the pleasure of this…visit? It’s been three years.”

“I know, and I haven’t heard from you. I thought you might have moved elsewhere.”

“Why would I?” Arnold said, pulling out his seat behind his desk and sitting down in it. He took a sip from a still-steaming tea cup. “Baltimore is my home.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve heard of what’s been going 132

on at our church.”

“How could I not?” Arnold spread his hands apart.

“Tough time you’re having over there. I do hope you’ve not come to offer me a position. Not sure what I could do to help you.”

“No, that’s not why I’ve come,” Taylor said. “I’ve come because something tells me that you have a hand in all of the negative things that have been happening at City of Fellowship.”

“Wait a minute. You’re accusing me?” Arnold’s face suddenly became red and tight with anger.

“Not accusing you. Just asking you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Arnold looked strained and furious.

“Don’t tell me nothing’s going on. Johnny came to you for something recently,” Taylor said. “Don’t deny it.

I saw the picture. You married him and Gemma. And I know for certain that that happened sometime within the past three weeks. I bet you have something to do with the real reason why Johnny left in the first place.”

“He had to follow his own path to enlightenment,” Arnold said. He settled back in his seat, his face resuming its previous placid expression.

“So, you knew he would leave? You encouraged him to leave?” Taylor said.

“We both had our…questions for a while,” Arnold said. “Let’s just say that I helped him along in his spiritual journey.” He paused and then added. “I guess I should 133

go ahead and admit that I didn’t stop there.�

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EPISODE 10

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Chapter 28 Pastor Taylor found out that Arnold Wexson hadn’t stopped with just his influence on Johnnie Dunmoore.

Arnold hadn’t just left the church all those years ago either; he had left his faith in God and developed his own spiritual guidance ministry, promising his patrons that they would find “the truth and the light within.” (Arnold didn’t say just how much money this guidance business generated, but Taylor figured it must have been a lot considering the opulent mansion and the rich furnishings within it.)

Beyond that, Arnold had set out to undermine his former place of service. Publishing several “letters to the editor” in local newspapers, Arnold had posed as a disgruntled former member of City of Fellowship Bible Church. He had criticized the church, attacked Bible doctrine, accused the leaders of hypocrisy and more.

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Taylor remembered the letters well, although he hadn’t thought about them much since they stopped being published after about three months. He remembered wondering who the writer behind them could have been.

After discussing the matter with the church staff, they had decided not to respond to the letters publicly, but sent out a note to each of the newspapers asking the editors to let the letter-writer know that the church leaders were willing to answer any questions or concerns they had. The church had never received a reply.

During his meeting with Arnold, Taylor had the mind to record the conversation. He took his iPhone out, pretending to check the time, and then put it back in his shirt pocket — upside down with the microphone facing out. After getting one of the technicians in the church’s media center to filter out the background noise and raise the volume, he replayed the entire recording for the elders during their next meeting. Now, Arnold’s voice came through the speakers in the room where the elders met.

“I’m going to keep coming after you and your church,” Arnold said. “I’ll make you realize that you don’t really believe all the things you say you stand for.”

“Nothing you do will ever change what I believe,” Taylor said.

“It’s not just what I will do, but what I have already done. And, look — you’re shifting already. Ferrian told 138

me about your little agreement to keep quiet about his homosexuality. Johnnie told me how you have been avoiding those difficult passages in the Bible.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taylor said.

“Oh, I think I do,” Arnold replied. “And you do too.

You always were soft-hearted — not wanting to offend anyone, so you don’t preach on those passages that condemn certain sins. I’ve got a record of all your messages, so I know. Our seminary professors will be very disappointed in you.”

“Now that I know what you’re up to, I’m going to put an end to it,” Taylor said.

“Not sure how you’re going to do that without shooting yourself in the foot,” Arnold said.

Taylor, himself, wasn’t even sure.

“You can’t hurt me, can’t stop me,” Arnold smiled.

“But I can expose you,” Taylor said “Wouldn’t change a thing. You know why? Because you’re dealing with a man who has nothing to lose.”

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Chapter 29 I felt uneasy after reading the post from Leon about what was going down in Indonesia. Before I left the office, I tried calling him several times on his satellite phone but didn’t get an answer. Maybe he had left it behind when they had to leave the house where the local church was meeting, or maybe it was damaged or destroyed. I prayed for him and his wife before calling Manley.

“Did you hear about Leon?” I asked.

“Yes. Me and Abbi have been thinking of something we can do to help.”

“Something like what?”

“We’ve been going through Leon’s contacts to see if anybody else has heard something. Nothing on that so far. So, we’re thinking that if we don’t get an update in the next twenty-four hours, we’re flying over there.”

“You fly planes?” I asked.

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“No, but I have connections,” Manley said. “I’m working on some now.”

“Okay. I want in,” I said.

“Sure,” Manley said.

Late evening the next day, Manley, Abigail, and I boarded a small jet at an airfield about thirty miles south of Baltimore.

“It used to be a military facility, until it was abandoned and converted for civilian use about ten years ago,” Manley said.

The pilot was an older Californian man who worked for American Airlines before he decided to go into business for himself. Now, he piloted private flights like ours and taught aviation at an Air Force Academy. His name was Marco. “Does your friend know you’re coming?” he asked once we boarded his plane.

“We’re not for sure,” Manley said. “He gave us just enough information to find him if we look hard enough.”

“So, a rescue mission then?”

“We’re hoping that everything works out so it won’t come to that, but it will be if it has to.”

After a sixteen hour flight across the Atlantic, we stopped to refuel in Morocco. The sun was hot and the air was dusty in Casablanca, and Marco told us that a dust storm had just blown across the city. I had only traveled out of the country once before — with my parents when we vacationed in Mexico about eight years 142

ago. The long flight hours had made us all a bit cramped and tired, so we got out and walked around while Marco refueled the plane and talked to the control tower.

Marco insisted on getting something to eat so we ordered pizza inside the terminal and ate in the airport’s waiting area. We tried to reach Leon on the satellite phone again, but we got no answer. While Abigail informed our friends back in the states about our progress, I checked Leon’s blog to see if he had posted another update, but he hadn’t. We did, however, receive an update from the mission agency that was sponsoring Leon’s trip. They said they were working to re-establish contact with the team on the ground.

Before we got back on the plane, we prayed again for our own safety while traveling and for the protection of Leon and the church members in Indonesia. If this did turn out to be a rescue mission, we were seriously going in blind.

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Chapter 30 “How can one man be doing all of this?” one of the elders asked after the recording of Pastor Taylor’s conversation with Arnold Wexson had finished playing.

“I mean, I really want to just chalk it all up to Arnold going crazy, but he sounds serious.”

“He is serious,” Taylor said. “He’s already proven that.

Now, we just need to figure out what to do about it. We obviously can’t continue on the path we’re on. He obviously still has connections to people in this church that we didn’t know about.”

“Sleeper agents, working from within,” Stan said.

Taylor nodded. “We need to find out who they are.”

“And you never told us about this deal you had with the music director,” another of the elders said wrinkling up his face.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Taylor said. “It 145

would look really bad if we fired a new music director just two weeks after hiring him. And he agreed not to make it an issue, so I decided to keep quiet about it.”

“You should have told us at least.”

“What’s done is done,” Taylor said. “We have to focus on moving forward. What are we going to do now?”

“I say we expose Arnold Wexson,” said one elder leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Tell everyone what he’s up to. There’s still a lot of people in this church who remember him.”

“But you risk two things: there’s a lot more people who don’t know him and won’t care,” another elder said.

“On top of that, some of the people who do know him will remember him as the person he was, not the person he is now — “ “We’ll give them the facts,” the first elder said.

“Let me finish,” the second elder went on. “Those people will not want to believe what we’re telling them about him. They are going to want to hear his side of the story, which raises a third problem. By exposing Wexson, we expose ourselves. People will begin to question us just as much — if not more — than they question him.”

A moment of silence followed the elder’s speech.

“There’s not much we can do except carry on,” one elder said. “We won’t let Wexson put us into a position where we compromise what we believe on the issue of homosexuality and other issues from the Word of God, the Bible.”

“He already has,” another elder said.

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“So we’re trapped,” Taylor said.

“I have a feeling this is exactly where our good friend, Arnold, knew we would be right now,” Stan said.

“He did,” the silver-haired elder Sean Petri said. He had been silent the whole time.

Pastor Taylor looked at him. “Wait,” he said leaning forward in his seat. “You knew. You knew the whole time that Wexson was behind Johnnie Dunmoore leaving and behind the recommendation to hire the openly homosexual Ferrian Flay. That’s why you said it was an enemy I had made before, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I did know,” Sean said.

Everyone was silent again.

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EPISODE 11

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Chapter 31 The air was thick with heat when we landed in Jakarta. After entering the terminal, where we got our passports stamped and passed our minimal luggage through customs, we met with Charla Mann, an official from Leon’s mission board.

“Any news?” Manley asked as we followed Charla out of the terminal to the jeep she had rented.

“No.” Charla shook her head, the short black bob she wore bouncing up and down as she did so. “And in this case, no news is not good news.”

“You haven’t heard anything from anyone?” Abigail said.

“We checked in with a few of the neighbors who lived near the house churches throughout the city. They say everyone left abruptly three nights ago. Some church members went back to their homes. Some left and never 151

came back,” Charla said. “At least, as far as we can tell, no one was kidnapped or killed. But this was left somewhere inside each house.” She pulled a thick, yellow sheet of paper from her pocket and spread it out on the hood of the jeep.

Manley, Abigail, and I gathered around and stared at the paper. “I don’t read Indonesian,” I said.

“It says, ‘Gather here again and we will destroy this house,’” Charla read.

“So, now what?” Abigail said.

“The break-in incidents have already been reported to the local authorities, but they probably won’t do anything about it,” Charla said. “The largest number of believers are missing from Leon’s house church. So, we need to look there first.”

I pulled up Leon’s last blog post on my phone. “He hasn’t posted anything else,” I said. “So the closest we have to his location are these coordinates.”

We all got in the jeep, and Charla put the coordinates into the GPS system. “The location is a wooded area about sixty miles north of here. It’s well outside the city boundaries, and there are villages beyond that. Let’s get going.” …….

Once we got out of Jakarta proper, we drove on dusty and bumpy roads to our destination. The sun went down until we were riding in the dusk. Just as we reached the

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location indicated on the GPS device, we noticed something up ahead: a pickup truck with official-looking signage on the door and hood and two uniformed men standing on the side of the narrow road. Ahead of them, a large van had been driven into a ditch. One of the men was talking on a walkie-talkie; the other was writing information on a clipboard.

“Indonesian National Police,” Charla said as she pulled up behind them and got out.

The police officer on the walkie-talkie turned and approached us. “Is this your vehicle?” he said with a thick accent.

“No, but it may belong to a friend of ours,” Charla said.

“And where is this friend? Did he abandon the van on the side of the road?”

“We don’t know. We are trying to find him,” Manley said.

“May we take a look at the van?” Charla asked.

“You are welcome to go and see. But we will be towing it back to the city,” the officer said.

Charla and Manley went up to the van and looked around inside. They came back looking grim. Charla gave the police a number to contact once the van had been towed and then came back to the jeep.

“What did you find?” I said.

“Nothing,” Charla said as she turned the key in the ignition. “But the glass was broken out on the panel.

The indicators on the odometer, compass, and gas gauge 153

were all forcibly turned to the right — east. I think Leon’s sending us a message. They took a right turn, going east somewhere up ahead.”

Charla slowly drove around the police truck and the van and we proceeded down the road, looking for a road that led east. Only a few minutes had passed when I noticed what looked like the beginning of a narrow dirt road. “Wait,” I said. “Look there.”

The entrance to the pathway was covered in thick branches, but they hung at unnatural angles as though someone had bent them that way on purpose to hide the road. I got out of the jeep and walked to the wall of foliage and pushed it aside. The narrow dirt road, bordered by trees, stretched away into the distance.

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Chapter 32 Pastor Thomas Taylor took Sunday off. He had so much on his mind; he didn’t think he could handle the pulpit. He went golfing instead.

He invited Raymond Johnson to go with him.

Raymond was over sixty-years-old; he had founded City of Fellowship almost forty years earlier. While he no longer held an official position at the church, Taylor frequently went to him for advice.

“So, what is on your mind these days?” Raymond said as he and Taylor teed off at the first hole. “I thought you were supposed to be in the pulpit today.”

“I know,” Taylor said. “But I have a lot of things on my mind.”

“Church stuff? As far as I can tell, everything seems to be going well.”

“As far as you can tell,” Taylor said, “That’s the 155

problem. Everything’s not so well behind the scenes.”

“What’s going on?” Raymond said.

Taylor explained the whole situation with Arnold Wexson and Sean Petri undermining City of Fellowship from within and without. “So, we’ve got a used-to-beChristian criticizing the church on the airwaves. We’ve lost our very good music minister. We have a new, openly homosexual music director. And Arnold is threatening to do further damage. I don’t know what that means nor do I know how to stop him without ruining the church.”

“Arnold Wexson,” Raymond said thoughtfully as he leaned on his golf club. “He’s still upset about that professorship. Strange how some people can’t let go of grudges.”

“It’s not just the professorship he’s mad about,” Taylor said.

“Oh, what is it then?”

“Sarah.” Taylor rested his club across his shoulder as he and Raymond walked to the next hole.

“Sarah? Your wife, Sarah?” Raymond said, his brows knitting together.

“Yes, we both knew her in college. I found out later, after graduation, that Arnold was in love with her as well.”

“Ah, the things some people do for love,” Raymond said. “But there is nothing you can do about yesterday’s problems.”

“I know. What about today’s?”

Raymond dropped his golf ball to the grass, bent 156

over, and started tapping it with his club as though he were preparing to hit it. “Someone once told me that everyone, in their life, goes through a crucible — at least one. Either you come out alive on the other side of the crucible, or you die in it — not just physically, but spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. Either you struggle through it, or you give up in it. It looks like you are about to give up.”

“No, I’m not giving up,” Taylor said.

“But, right now, you’re not fighting. You don’t even have a plan. You’re out here playing golf when you should be preaching.” Raymond swung hard and hit the ball; it sailed up in an arch, landed, and rolled to a stop a few feet away from the third hole.

“I’m trying to think of a plan,” Taylor said. He set his ball on the ground and hit it. It shot past the hole and landed in the shrubbery on the other side.

“While you’re doing that, the devil already has one and so do the enemies of God’s church.” Raymond and Taylor went to retrieve their balls. “And the plan you need is painfully obvious.”

“What’s that?” Taylor kicked around in the shrubs until he came up with his ball.

“Tell the whole church the whole truth,” Raymond said.

Taylor stared. “I don’t see how that helps. In fact, I think it will make things worse. It will put a bad taste in people’s mouths, that’s for sure. Some people will probably leave.”

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“Maybe. But at least you will see who’s on your side and who’s not.”

Taylor scratched his head. He looked doubtful.

“You got a better idea?” Raymond said.

“I just want it all to go away. We need to shut down whatever ties Arnold still has inside the church. The first step to doing that is getting rid of Flay. But how?”

“That’s easy,” Raymond said. “He’s living in open sin.

Fire him.”

Taylor nodded doubtfully.

“If you don’t do it now, you will have bigger problems down the road,” Raymond said. “Your first loyalty is to Christ and his Word. You can’t let people’s opinions, public perception, or anything else get in the way of that.

I heard about a church that had a homosexual leading the church’s music ministry. The pastor knew about it, but he let it go on for months. When the church congregation found out about it from a secular news report, he had a big mess on his hands. The sad thing is that the pastor defended his decision to let this homosexual lead the church in worshipping God. I never thought I would see Judas churches like that.”

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Chapter 33 The long dirt road was dusty and bumpy. It was so narrow that two cars couldn’t drive abreast. We had to stop and pull over onto the underbrush anytime we came across a vehicle going in the opposite direction.

I don’t think any of us were sure what we were looking for exactly. Not even Charla. But, as we drove, we just kept hoping and praying for the best. After what seemed like an hour, the road opened up, and houses started to pop up around us. The houses were spaced out, with cultivated fields surrounding them. Evidently, we were in some type of farming community. We kept driving and came to a place where the houses were closer together, and larger buildings, such as a school and what looked like a medical clinic, appeared. Charla cut the jeep to a crawling pace because the main street was filled with people, some walking, and some pulling wooden carts.

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We pulled up alongside a bustling market. Charla got out and started browsing the vendors’ wares.

“What is she doing?” I said. “We’re supposed to be finding Leon.”

“Just wait,” Abigail said.

After looking at several stalls, Charla bought something from each one and spent a minute talking to each vendor.

“What was that about?” I asked when she got back in the car.

“I was getting lunch and information,” she said as she passed around bananas and a deep purple-colored fruit. “People are more willing to talk to you when you give them some cash.”

“And…,” Manley said.

“Leon and his group came thru and stopped at a house about half a mile from here. I got directions.” ………

We heard them singing before we reached them. The sound was melodious and raw, not like the polished sounds I was used to at City of Fellowship. There were no musical instruments, just human voices. At first, I thought the sound was lacking until I realized that I had only seen one version of how a local church looked and sounded. What if there were many? What if what I was hearing now was closer to the original churches?

Charla steered the jeep off the road and across a

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grassy field to a wide, low-slung house with a thatched roof. We got out and followed the sounds of singing around the building where there were about forty people gathered. Some sat on plastic chairs or folding chairs; some sat on the ground. All faces were attentive and purposed; they didn’t look the least bit worried about having had to leave behind their homes in the city. I wondered if the believers I knew back in the U.S. would respond the same way. I wondered if I would.

An Indonesian man who was standing a few feet away from the edge of the crowd recognized Charla. He came over to her, and they embraced and kissed. Charla looked relieved that he was okay. They spoke earnestly in Indonesian for a few minutes and then he turned to Manley, Abigail, and me.

“I am pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking each of our hands in turn. “Our brother, Leon, has such good friends who will come to find us and be with us in our time of trouble. You are welcome here.”

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EPISODE 12

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Chapter 34 “We should stop calling these meetings ‘emergency meetings,’” Stan said when the City of Fellowship Church elders gathered midday on Monday. “The whole point of an emergency is that it is rare.”

“Hopefully, this will be the last one for a long time,” Pastor Taylor said as he took his seat at the head of the table. He clasped his hands as he began. “You all know the issues we have been dealing with in this church over the past few months. We have struggled to decide how to respond. Well, I have been in touch with the man who founded this church. He helped me clarify some things and reminded me why we exist as a church.” Taylor glanced around the table making eye contact with each of the elders. “We exist as an expression of Jesus Christ himself in the world today. We are His church, and as such, we are obligated to do things His way whether we 165

agree with it or not. Our job is to advance His work in the earth. When we deviate from that, or allow others to force us from that path, we betray Christ. That being said, I have made a few decisions about how we will proceed to deal with the issues that we are facing.”

“As you know,” one of the elders interrupted, “we all need to agree to these decisions you have made before they are carried out.”

“I know. I will present them to you now. I believe that if you prayerfully consider each proposal, you will find that each one is what the Lord would have us to do.”

The elders looked around at each other and nodded silently.

Taylor turned his attention to Sean Petri. “Sean, you have been with this church since the very beginning.

However, your recent actions show that you have been sowing the seeds of discord and division for several months. While sitting among us as an elder, you began trying to tear us down through your association with Arnold Wexson, a sworn enemy of this church and the church of God as a whole. You have forfeited your right to serve here, and we are releasing you from your duties.”

“Wait, you can’t just fire me like that,” Sean said.

“This has to be put to a vote.”

“Fine, let’s have a vote,” Taylor said. “Considering Sean’s actions, if you agree that his service here should be terminated, say ‘I’; if not, say ‘nay.’”

There was a resounding chorus of “I’s”.

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“You have to let the congregation vote on this, too,” Sean fumed as his face grew red.

“If we do that, we will have to reveal to the entire church family what you have been doing to tear us down,” Taylor said. “We know that there are many members who love you, Sean. You can resign now, quietly, and keep a measure of respect and dignity. We will forgive you, and not one word about your deeds will go beyond this room. Or you can make a spectacle out of this, lose all of your respect, and further divide the church family.” Taylor was silent for a moment as he saw the gears working behind Sean’s eyes. “This is one last chance for you to do the right thing here. Either way, you’re gone.”

Sean rose quietly from his seat at the table and left the room.

Taylor let out a breath and moved to the next issue.

“You all know about Ferrian Flay,” he said. “I made a verbal agreement with him that if he never brought his spouse (who also happens to be a man) to the church, that I wouldn’t say anything about him being a practicing homosexual. That was wrong; I was wrong. As you know, if any of us was living in sin, we would not be allowed to continue serving in the ministry.” He took a breath and then said, “I have decided to terminate Flay’s employment here effective immediately.”

There were some nods of agreement around the table, as well as more than a few murmurs of complaint.

“I know what you are thinking,” Taylor said. “But, 167

right now, we can’t be worried about the consequences.

We can’t be worried about the fallout. All we can do is do the right thing and let the chips fall where they may.”

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Chapter 35 The worship service with the Indonesian Christians had a profound impact on my perception of Christianity.

I thought of the faith as a house. Up until our trip to Indonesia, I had only seen the outside of the house — the pretty doors, windows, and painted walls. But, in Indonesia, I saw the inside of the house. There, I saw Christianity stripped down to its bare essentials — people with a strong, living faith in a strong, living God. Back in the United States, I had more clarity regarding what the church was supposed to be. I wondered if we stripped away all the gloss and veneer at the City of Fellowship (or any church for that matter), would we find the same raw, beating heart of faith and trust in God as I saw with the believers in Indonesia?

As a younger believer, it was easy to be swept up in the eye-pleasing aspects of Christianity and to miss what 169

true faith is all about. It is less about convenience and comfort and more about taking risks for God because He is reliable. By taking a risk, we choose to live outside of our comfort zone, and we let God know that we are willing to rely on Him — that is it, Him and us against the world, against whatever, against whoever. For Leon, going to Indonesia was his risk. It was his act of faith and obedience. I wondered what form my risk would take and how soon it would come. ………

A day after our return from Indonesia, I went back to work at Wegel & Co. Glinton Sanders was sitting in the waiting room outside of my office when I arrived. I should have been expecting him.

“Good morning, Mr. Sanders,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“You know what you can do for me,” Glinton said.

“I do. But I have been out of the country for a few days, so give me a couple days to review where we are on your project and get back with you.”

Glinton stood up. “Look, I know you’re worried about taking on the Anti-Prosperity Gospel Taskforce. You will get criticized. You might get sued. Your reputation may be attacked,” he said. “Yes, it’s a risk, but it’s one I’m taking. I’m asking you to do the same.”

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Chapter 36 I sensed that something was different at this Sunday’s service. I think most people did. As we sat in the auditorium before services, a nervous buzz hummed through the crowd.

Pastor Thomas Taylor walked out on stage. He cleared his throat as he took the mic. “Before we begin our regular services, we need to discuss something just as a church family. Those of you who have been here for a while know that there have been some rapid changes and conflicts over the past few months,” he said. “While much good has continued to be done, not everything that has happened to this church family over the past few months has been for the better. Frankly, some of us in leadership failed to see the warning signs of a serious attack on City of Fellowship Bible Church. But I assure you, Jesus’ words are still true: the gates of hell will not 171

prevail against us.”

Starting with Johnny Dunmore’s declaration of atheism and his decision to resign, which had happened the night I first attended this church, Pastor Taylor recounted all that had happened since then — some of which I was not aware of. He included the music minister’s resignation, the hiring of a new music minister, the disparaging letters that had been published about the church and the pastor in the local newspapers, and the negative news coverage the church had received.

“What would you say if I told you that all of it was orchestrated?” Pastor Taylor paused for a moment. “Well, it was. It was orchestrated by a man many of you know and love — Arnold Wexson.” A ripple of recognition swept through the crowd. “Some of you might know that, he, too, has left the Way of Christ. Even though none of you, none of us, did anything to wrong him, he turned against this church, and, in his own words, will try to prove that we don’t believe what we say we believe.”

A rumble of confusion rippled through the audience.

“But, we’re going to prove him wrong, right?” Taylor waited for applause or something, but then went on.

“And that starts with me. I have fallen into the trap of thinking of the church as a business — thinking that if I do or don’t do certain things more people will be attracted to this church. Those things include how I preach God’s Word. Preaching about sin always makes people uncomfortable. Especially the sins that we try to brush over in the church: homosexuality, loving money 172

more than we love God, husbands not being the leaders of their families, our lack of interest in soul-winning and prayer.” Taylor raised his voice. “I promise you, that ends today.”

There was applause at that.

“I promise you that anyone on this church staff who refuses to live according to biblical principles, including myself, will not be allowed to serve. That is why I have fired the music minister whom we hired a few weeks ago.

He is a married, practicing homosexual. And, I am ashamed to admit, that I agreed to keep that a secret.”

So, Abigail was right. People throughout the congregation leaned over to whisper to others near them. Then, many of them stood and applauded.

“Before anything else,” Taylor concluded, “we are a church of the Lord Jesus Christ. What He says, as outlined in His Word, is the only guideline for our faith and our lives. Our first loyalty is to Him. And we will not forsake Him. We will not betray Him. We will not be a Judas Church.”

THE END.

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Do You Know Jesus Christ as Your Savior?

A note from the publisher: Our goal in publishing inspirational fiction is two-fold: (1) To help those who know Jesus Christ as their Savior live more faithful Christian lives, and (2) To show those who do not know Jesus Christ as their Savior how they can get to know Him in the course of life circumstances that many people face.

That being said, if you do not know Jesus Christ as your Savior, here is how you can get to know Him today: First, accept the fact that you are a sinner, and that you have broken God’s law. The Bible says in Ecclesiastes 175

7: 20: “For there is not a just man upon earth that doeth good, and sinneth not.” Romans 3:23 says, “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” Second, accept the fact that there is a penalty for sin. The Bible states in Romans 6:23: “For the wages of sin is death…”

Third, accept the fact that you are on the road to hell. Jesus Christ said in Matthew 10:28: “And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.”

The Bible also says in Revelation 21:8: “But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.”

Fourth, accept the fact that you cannot do anything to save yourself! The Bible states in Ephesians 2:8-9: “For by grace are ye saved through faith: and that not of yourselves: it is a gift of God. Not of works, lest any man should boast.”

Fifth, accept the fact that God loves you more than you love yourself, and that He wants to save you from hell. “For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (Jesus Christ, John 3:16).

Sixth, with these facts in mind, please repent of your 176

sins, believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and pray and ask Him to come into your heart and save you this very moment.

The Bible states in the book of Romans 10:9, 13: “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” “For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

Seventh, if you are willing to trust Christ as your Saviour, please pray with me the following prayer: Heavenly Father, I realize that I am a sinner. For Jesus Christ’s sake, please forgive me of my sins. I now believe with all of my heart that Jesus Christ died, was buried, and rose again. Lord Jesus, please come into my heart and save my soul and change my life. Amen.

For more information to help you grow in your newfound faith in Christ, go to GospelLightSociety.com and read What To Do After You Enter Through the Door.

Please e-mail us at gls@gospellightsociety.com so that we can send you free material that will help you grow in your walk with Christ.

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FICTION BY DANIEL WHYTE III WITH MERIQUA WHYTE FAMILY DRAMA ...And Family Drama Just Won't Stop I ...And Family Drama Just Won't Stop II ...And Family Drama Just Won't Stop III THE PRAYER TRILOGY The Unspoken Prayer Request I Need Someone to Pray With Me I Know What Prayer Can Do Charmaine The Common Prayer Not for the Righteous I'm Dreaming of a Black Christmas The Thanksgiving Letters Shaking the Gates of Hell No Time for Evil The Writer's Life All the Bishop's Children 1 All the Bishop's Children 2 TO BE A TEEN AFTER GOD'S OWN HEART Zelphur Giné

WITH DANIEL D.P. WHYTE IV The Prophet, the President, and the Pastor The Correction The Cover-Up (The Cover-Up, #1) The Candidate (The Cover-Up, #2) Judas Church Letters to the Supreme Court

WITH DANITA WHYTE The Great Train Ride to Liberty Mountain

WITH DANIELLA WHYTE Eden, N.C.