F. Thomas has been a friend of my since early childhood. This post will be longer than usual because it is a short story. This is a work of fiction and no part may be used without the expressed permission of the author.
I went to church last Sunday for the first time in five years. A flyer addressed to “Our Friendly Neighbor” at my address came in the mail on Wednesday inviting me to attend services. It aroused my curiosity. How did they know I was a ‘friendly neighbor”? I reside in a bedroom community 20 miles away from their campus now, that’s some neighborhood. The flyer mentioned the campus as being the old Lady Madonna University. I graduated from Lady Madonna with a BS, major in Montessori, some fifteen years ago when it was operated by the Sisters of Contemplative Education. So, I said, what the heck, it will be good to see the old campus and I’ve got nothing to do on Sunday anyway, so I’ll go.
I drove to the Lady Madonna campus which was now “My Church, A Global Ministry of Willie George Barker” Pulling into the main drive way, I noticed that the statue of our Lady had been removed. In its place was a global sculpture with a large digital message board arching above the road. With busting firecrackers, the scrolled message said, “Welcome to My Church where the Lord is praised and His work is done.” It continued to flash the times of services along with other events. Once on the campus, the winding road leads me to the old stadium which now had a dome on it. I searched for a parking space, row after row, after row until I found one in section X aisle 6. Finally, after locating a parking space way, I began the long trek to the stadium excuse me the ‘worship center.’
During my walk a friendly guy in a bus with “My Church Transit System” painted on the side, picked me up, gave me a brochure, engaged me in small talk about my relationship with the Lord and dropped me off at the front door of the massive building. Stepping from the bus, I heard him talking with someone on a cell phone in hushed tones, Brother Arnold this is Sam, have a middle aged man, not a born again Christian, and has not been to church in 5 years. Now, I’m not paranoid by nature but I was the only single man on the bus who fit that description, the other passengers were parents with small or teen age children. All of them had been given balloon sculptures by a street clown who welcomed them to My Church.
A man introduced himself to me as Brother Arnold as I stepped inside the remodeled stadium. He glad handed me like a used car salesman. Every now and then, I could still smell the stench of the jocks’ locker room. Ah, the memories of days gone by. That’s another story in its self. Looking around while exchanging pleasantries with Brother Arnold, I felt like I was in the Mall of America. People were gathering, standing in line, and sitting at tables in a Starbucks Coffee Shop which Brother Arnold explained as being the first shop in the BM [Believers Mall]. It was a vision of one of Brother Willie George Barker and a member, who had a Starbuck franchise, to make people feel at home while at church. Ten percent of the proceeds went to the church.
Brother Arnold took me on a stroll around the BM pointing out the various stores along the way. Here’s our Christian Book and Gift shop stocked only with Christian books by such noted Christian authors as LaHaye, Falwell, Bakker, Oliver North, and such. Adults and parents don’t have to worry about seeing a Harry Potter book in here no sir. Christian books and only Christian books including the King James Version of the Bible,” he said.
Stepping inside the bookstore, I notice a display of books by Willie George Barker. Several caught my eye: “The 10 Things I Taught Rick Warren: The Miracles of a Purpose Driven Church.” Brother Barker seems to be a prolific writer having written more than one hundred books. “What Will You Do Without the Lord?” “Hell, It’s Your Choice.” “Street Evangelism: the old fashioned way.”
Leaving the bookstore we came to a small grocery store, “God’s Storehouse.” All the organic food is grown in the “The Fields Are White Unto Harvest” hot house and organic garden where once the Sisters of Contemplative Education had their garden located on the southern edge of the campus. The soil in “The Field Are White Unto Harvest” garden has been sanitized to free it from all pollutants and pesticides including any taint of Roman Catholicism ensuring clean and pure vegetables. Each seed is prayed over and sprinkled with holy water from the Jordan River prior to planting assuring a good harvest. Brother Arnold told me a truck delivers the ‘holy water’ twice a week.
As we left the grocery store, I mentioned to Brother Arnold that I was a Roman Catholic. He enjoyed it when I called him, ‘brother,’ made him feel as though we had connected somehow. When he heard I was Catholic, he put his arm on my shoulder, patted me on the back in his used car salesman manner and said, “Brother Willie George will help you see the light. I was miffed. I didn’t desire to be enlightened by Willie George. The only Willie I wanted to enlighten me was Willie Nelson. I more than ever wanted to be “On the road again.”
There were many other stores and shops in the BM which encircled the worship center including The Daughters’ of the King Beauty Shop, a video arcade [which allows only Christian video games such as “Joshua vs. Jericho,” “Warriors for Jesus,” “Bible Man vs. Unbelievers” and “Jesus vs. the Temple Money Changers”, an indoor play area such as found at McDonalds and Burger King. The video arcade and the play area teemed with youth and children screaming, yelling, and running wild as if possessed by something.
A blue light began flickering throughout the BM and a voice from the overhead speakers announced, ‘worship will begin in 15 minutes.’ It was like the ‘blue light specials at K-Mart.’ People began to run or walk rapidly toward the nearest worship center door. It was total bedlam. Almost to the door, which was jam packed with people pushing and shoving trying to be the first to get in, When the doors opened, a loud noise blew over us. People began to shout, “Its Pure Crimson Blood.” Shouting over the ever increasing noise, Arnold said it was My Church’s Christian Rock Band. Pure Crimson Blood sounded to me like someone who had tripped out on some bad acid.
I decided that My Church was not My Church and would never be My Church. I told Arnold, I needed to use the facilities. Brother Arnold pointed down the BM to the facilities. I could hear him say, “Don’t take too long,” as I beat a hasty retreat to my car.
F. Thomas Rondy
©January, 2008
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