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 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.
"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."
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:
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 ago...and it was still pastored by Morris Richmore.
. . .
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 Leon and for the people he was working with in Indonesia, and promised myself I would get in touch soon.
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.
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 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.