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 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 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."
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 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 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 down the road considering that we will have to secure marketing channels which are normally booked months or years in advance."
"Hmph," Glinton said.
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."
"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 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."