presents the unpublished* manuscript of a provocative novel
© 1985 by Ron Van Dyke ~ All rights reserved.
*Posted in Paradox Online on July 24, 2009
INTRODUCTION
PREFACE
Chapter 1: THE PREACHER
Chapter 2: SARAH BROWN
Chapter 3: FIRST ENCOUNTER
Chapter 4: NEW ORLEANS
Chapter 5: ANGEL
Chapter 6: THE TRAP
Chapter 7: ULTIMATUM
Chapter 8: HAPPY SIN
Chapter 9: NED TALMAGE
Chapter 10: FIRST TIME
Chapter 11: A HARLOT
Chapter 12: A HERETIC
Chapter 13: GOING HOME
Chapter 14: SYNCHRONICITY
Chapter 15: RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION
Chapter 16: THE VERDICT
Chapter 17: PENITENTIARY
Chapter 18: THE POET
Chapter 19: BREAKTHROUGH
Chapter 20: CONFRONTATION
Chapter 21: TIDAL WAVE
Chapter 22: HAPPY HERESIES
Chapter 23: ICHABOD
Chapter 24: RECONCILIATION
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Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
"The inordinate number of spiritual weaklings makes paradoxical truth dangerous." Carl Jung
It is unfortunate that some, no doubt, will consider this a dangerous book; yet many insights can be gained by taking a look at scandals involving big-name preachers. They often appear paradoxical, but seeds for growth lie hidden beneath the surface.
All of us are imperfect at best, and need freedom to grow along with a willingness to learn. Growing people usually learn that they are ambivalent beings full of opposites and apparent contradictions. This discovery leads to tolerance. If only we were not so blinded by our own prejudices, so sure we are right!
A major preacher walked barefoot and naked for three years throughout the cities and towns of his nation, making spiritual declarations. An omnipotent ruler strolled every morning in a pristine garden with a naked couple. Twelve delegates on a mission for a theocratic government stayed with a local harlot during their assignment. One religious leader baked his bread mixed with dung, and another married a prostitute. Both insisted God commanded them. Still another prominent religious messenger wore a leather girdle, ate locusts and wild honey, and dunked people in a dirty river.
These are not articles gathered from the Enquirer, or other sensationalist tabloids. On the contrary, these are events recorded in the Bible. The preacher was the prophet Isaiah, the ruler was God, and the delegates were spies sent into the city of Jericho by Moses. It was the prophet Ezekiel who persuaded the Lord to let him use cow manure, instead of human feces, for baking his bread. Hosea, yet another prophet, married a prostitute, and the bug-eater was John the Baptist.
If you think these are incredible, you should read about Jesus Christ – the things brushed over quickly or omitted in most Sunday morning sermons. He had a reputation for drinking and celebrating with sinners, and a number of women with questionable morals were in his inner circle of friends. He did things we would consider indecent, if not immoral, like taking his clothes off in front of his disciples. It may shock some, but he actually broke many of the religious laws of his people. He even had the audacity to tell the religious leaders of his day that He was changing what Moses had taught them. He often said they were blind. He said, "You have heard it said … but I say unto you." Jesus put their moral law on a level that made believers either guilty by improper thinking or hypocrites. It was beyond the scope of their understanding that the solution was to love and to stop judging each other. Instead, because they did not understand Him, He was written off as a heretic and killed by the most devoutly religious fundamentalists of his day.
Someone once told me that a paradox is an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Perhaps this is true, for paradoxes obviously do not follow ordinary logic – at least not before we are able to grasp newer paradigms. Paradoxical truth is dangerous: for those who cannot or will not think, for those who refuse to grow up. But paradoxes are frequently used in scriptures to challenge our limited and distorted mindset and to get us to broaden our outlook beyond three dimensions. Thank God, there are many people in this generation who are beginning to put the pieces together.
The well-known author, M. Scott Peck, MD, opened his perennial bestseller, The Road Less Traveled, with these words: "Life is difficult." It is. It is also much broader than most realize, and most of our difficulty can be summed up in just one word: ego.
The immature ego with its finite consciousness only sees itself as right, as an insider. From this perspective, all other viewpoints are wrong, and other people are outsiders, at least in our world of seeing through polarized lenses. By polarized I am referring to our propensity to divide everything into opposing and conflicting polarities. This is common – a human defect that afflicts all of us in this culture. Only growth is able to correct it.
Maturation is a process of personal responsibility and personal integration resulting from the discovery that opposites are two sides of a life force that promote cohesiveness and continuity. They form the basis for synthesis rather than dichotomy. The person with such integrity is tolerant because he understands that both sides are necessary for human growth and that the outer world is merely a projection of the inner content of our souls. We live in a world of mirrors where everything mirrors everything else.
Heretics, Harlots, and Other Saints is a fictional trilogy. Fantasy gives us the advantage of being able to see ourselves in nonexistent characters, recognizing that their attitudes and their struggles are similar to our own. It enables us to perceive solutions that are not normally used in actual events.
The main characters in Heretics, Harlots, and Other Saints, and all the situations depicted, although similar to headlines in 1987 and 1988, are, nevertheless, creations of the author. It was conceived and written, first as a narrative poem in September, then as a novel completed on November 30, 1985. Only delays in finding an appropriate publisher may make it look opportunistic, rather than prophetic. It is presented as a catalyst for growth, to enlarge the perspective of the reader. It is not intended to defame or cause injury to any person or groups whose attitudes may be described, or to further polarize our already volatile society.
Book One of the trilogy is subtitled The Preacher and Sarah Brown. The foundation for that which will follow has been carefully set forth in this introductory work. It is suggested that the reader look between the lines at what may be implied, not just at what is said. It does require thought, and quick conclusions may not be wise.
Book Two, The Story of Angels, will delve more deeply into the backgrounds of the girls who comprised the Angels of Mercy, focusing on Angel in her work as the madam of the French Quarter. Expect a few surprises as nagging moral questions are probed with provocative candor.
The final book in the trilogy will be the preacher's story: The Womb of Wisdom. Co-authored with the poet, this work will answer many of the philosophical questions: Why did the preacher think of his earlier life as heretical after his life-changing experience? How is it that harlots were able to make spiritual contributions? Why do answers so often come to us in paradoxical form? These and other questions will be dealt with candidly.
This series is not recommended for those who already know everything and have life all figured out. It is written for the open-minded, those willing and able to think and rethink, those who look for reasons, and enjoy the analytical, the metaphysical, the psychological, the theological, and the philosophical. It is for the reader who is unafraid to tackle the paradoxes and risk the danger, and the rewards, of growth and self-discovery.
I invite you to go on a journey with me through the inner world of individuals who struggle for meaning. I hope you will find a foundation for love that encourages growth. I hope you will learn to accept yourself more by gaining a better grasp of life's paradoxes. Most of all I trust you will see that we are all more similar than we are different, and find courage in that fact, courage to live more often from the place of unconditional love within us all.
Ron Van Dyke, 1988
Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
I had known Jimmy James by name and fame for many years before I had the opportunity to meet him personally. I used to be an evangelical preacher myself…before I realized that my own inconsistent humanity could never measure up to the perfectionist doctrines I espoused. Then I decided that the best course was to accept myself as I was, for I knew that to maintain my supra-religious image was, and could only be, hypocrisy. So I embarked on a risky spiritual quest to find what is called, the grace of God. I would learn that this demanded absolute integrity, and a hungry, open heart.
The circumstances leading to that first interview, had I not participated, would have seemed incredible. For an unknown poet to sit down and talk man-to-man with one of the foremost leaders in the fundamentalist and charismatic renewal was the experience of a lifetime. Jimmy James was, after all, one of the main movers in the political activism of the new right and Moral Majority; so to be asked to work with him, researching the events surrounding this remarkable story, and then to be able to record it for the benefit of others, has truly been the opportunity of a lifetime.
The Master of Destinies interwove the preacher's life with the lives of others, as it is with all of us. Sometimes the others have a distinctly mystical quality, almost as if they are beings from another realm. They often change the stories in which they are found, even as the lives they touch are forever transformed. For Jimmy James, that enigmatic role was played by a beautiful, teenage girl.
Sarah Ruth Brown was growing up in an ultraconservative sect of perfectionist Christianity when her life took a radical change of direction and circumstance. To be honest with you, I cried as I pieced together the information about this unusual and gifted young lady. Her situation, and the events that transpired in one short year, are both hauntingly beautiful and hauntingly tragic.
It was to become a red-letter day in the lives of the preacher and Sarah Brown. He began it in Oklahoma City – she in New Orleans. Their convergence would start a chain of events that would send shock waves throughout the evangelical community. The story has the potential of re-focusing the perspective of many individuals, both those who think by choice, and those pressured by life's misfortunes to rethink their perspectives. It is my sincere hope it will continue with you as you read about the paradoxical metamorphosis of the Reverend Jimmy James.
The Poet
Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
The cellar was dimly lit and had a dank, musty smell, as most basements do. The walls were damp and dirty. Hooks, eyes, chains, and strappings were mounted in place, indicating the probability that some kind of persecution had occurred here. Implements for torture confirmed this suspicion. There were stains of dried blood on the floor, and other evidence of agony in this intriguing and archaic dungeon. Many had obviously suffered throughout centuries of intolerance and ignorance. The whole place reeked with the smell of acrid decay. It howled with an intriguing invitation to discern its riddles.
Jimmy James did not know why he was in this ominous place, how he had arrived, or even where he was. Only one thing seemed conclusive: this ancient catacomb held many mysterious secrets and a captivating fascination for this inhibited fundamentalist.
As he explored this unusual setting, he was startled by the appearance of a serpent, perhaps the largest he had ever seen. Cautiously, and with his heart throbbing, he inched away from the personification of the devil, but the snake managed to maneuver him into the corner. Trapped and frightened, as the creature's tongue jutted back and forth in his face, the preacher prayed for a way of escape. As he inched first to the right and then to the left, he saw little chance for a getaway with his path abruptly blocked in each instance. He felt certain he would die if a way out was not found quickly. If he could get to that spiral staircase, he knew he could flee to safety. He searched the wall on either side, looking for something he could throw as a means of distraction, pleading with God for an opportunity to make his desperate dash.
His hoped-for distraction came from an unexpected quarter as he heard what he thought was the sound of a door being unlocked. Looking across the room, he saw the door he had not seen earlier. He sensed it was the closet where they kept the skeletons of the victims. The preacher held his breath as a chain dropped to the floor and the door creaked open. In the faint light he watched as an old man came out and stared at him. The man's hair and beard were snow white, and his eyes sparkled, reflecting the flickering torchlight. They watched each other in silence. Everything was motionless. Finally, the old gentleman turned and walked toward the opposite corner, not saying a word.
Then she stepped out from behind the door. She was the same one who kept reappearing to him on the beach. She was absolutely beautiful with long blonde hair and the figure of a beauty queen. With her arms outstretched, she came toward the preacher. "Go," she commanded the serpent, and it slithered away. Seductively, the naked temptress continued her approach, until she stood but an arm's length from Jimmy James.
Relieved by the compliant retreat of the snake, the cold sweat remained on his brow as he glanced at his unknown muse from head to foot. He wished he could just disappear as he tried to look the other way, which was a futile attempt to be sure. He stiffened as she reached out and touched his hand. He wanted to speak, but the words would not come out. He could feel himself blushing as she stroked his sweaty brow.
It was so unusual. He could see himself viewing the whole situation as though he was a spectator and not a participant. He was dressed in his usual three-piece suit, an outfit obviously out of place. The expression on his face never changed, as if it were made of plastic. Without showing his terror, Jimmy James appeared to be acting so cool, so calm, and so collected. It was similar to his performance before the cameras. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew he had to escape or die trying. Once and for all he had to rid himself of this Jezebel, but how?
Finally, without concern for her welfare, he pushed her into the wall. She collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, uttering a barely audible whimper as she went down. Without looking back, he sprinted toward the staircase. As he ran, he noticed the serpent entwined around a huge cross, and the ancient man glaring at him from the opposite corner nearby. He detected compassion in the glare, but did not have time to think about it as he bounded up the stairs and out the door at the top.
He gave a sigh of relief as he stood in the sunlight, but his mysterious adventure continued. He now stood outside his boyhood home, which had been transported to the beach. Instead of being at the cellar door, Jimmy James stood at the front door. It was all quite baffling.
He did not have long to be at ease though, for he soon heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. The doorknob turned as he applied all his weight against the door. He felt someone trying to push it open and struggled to hold it closed, digging into the packed sand to gain a foothold.
The struggle was brief, concluding when he no longer felt the pressure from the other side of the exit out of his mystical chamber of distress. Not taking any chances, he dug into the sand with his foot and then with his hands, piling sand a foot up from the bottom of the door to prevent it from reopening. He added a few large stones to fortify his barricade.
Turning away from the ocean, the preacher started to move toward the wooded area behind the house. As soon as he walked around the corner, he was startled again when he bumped into the old man. The man turned. Their eyes met, this time in daylight. Even though he had never met him face to face before the dungeon experience, the preacher knew instantly who he was.
"Jesus?" he said, halfway questioning and halfway making a statement of fact. Jimmy James was dumbfounded. The man did not say a word, merely staring back with a look of compassionate frustration. The man was holding the serpent over his shoulders. It did not seem quite as terrifying, or nearly as large, as it had earlier. His confusion was increasing by quantum leaps. Then, from behind him, the girl reappeared. She reached out to the old man who took her hand in his. They turned and started walking away together. She was, as always, naked.
Jimmy James was perspiring heavily and trembling as his alarm went off. This had been another in a series of enigmatic night visits with the world of his subconscious. The images were so vivid they frightened him.
Little did he know when he kissed his wife good-bye a while later, that this would be the day he would cross an invisible line. Never again would he be able to regain the pattern his life had taken the past twenty plus years. For Jimmy James this was the beginning of the end. At the same time, it was also the beginning of the beginning.
For months the preacher had struggled with repeated bouts of nagging depression and anxious periods of uncertainty. He would admit it to no one, but he was having doubts about long-held and cherished notions. Often, he was bombarded with forbidden thoughts, thoughts that would make a preacher blush – and blush he did, for Jimmy James was a foremost leader in the activist wave of moralistic conservatism sweeping the world. He was a preacher's preacher. Why did he continue to have these strange dreams? What was causing this man, fashioned in the image of a spiritual giant, to be so restless, so on edge?
Mid-life crisis was a secular and psychological term that referred to that phase many men and women experienced in their forties and early fifties. For Brother Jimmy, as he was known to millions of television viewers across the country and abroad, such worldly explanations were totally unacceptable. Rev. James attributed all negative thoughts and circumstances to the devil. He considered himself a major devil-driver, one proficient in the art of exorcism; but his attempts at casting out this oppressive spirit fell short of his goal of perfection. Perhaps, he had thought, the drive between Oklahoma City and Ichabod, Mississippi would provide the necessary solitude to meditate. Maybe he would be able to find the key. In any case, he was committed and uncompromising in his determination to get to the root of this evil.
The sun was not yet up as he pulled from his driveway. The forecast was for fair weather, though hot and muggy. It was to be a typical Indian summer day in late October. He was thankful his Cadillac was air-conditioned and pleased he would not have to suffer with the humidity. The leaves were a myriad of colors. He could not expect better conditions for making a long drive.
Seven hundred miles lay ahead of him. It would be thirteen to fourteen hours of Jimmy and the Lord. He had a healthy supply of taped Christian music and messages, but his purpose in making the trip alone was to get an answer from God. Only God could help him.
By the time he stopped for gas near Little Rock, he found the unexplained pressure was building again, bombarding his restless mind with a thousand thoughts, both good and bad. His canned diversions provided little or no relief. The truth was, Brother Jimmy was worrying he was losing his Holy Ghost anointing and power. His image was still very much intact – no one had any reason to expect what was going on inside this man of God. Still, something was definitely wrong.
For over twenty years Jimmy James had preached to literally hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people. He was a man with the answers. His program, "The Old-Time Religion Hour," had become one of the highest rated religious programs in the nation. God's Cable Channel carried it nearly around the world. He also published a monthly magazine, called The Conquerors. Besides this, he had written three books:
God Said It! I Believe It!
I'm on the Winning Side, and
The Devil Ain't Got Nothin' on Me.
His church, The Assembly of Living Saints, was one of the largest in the nation. He had all the trappings of success. From his unfading smile to his high-fashion wardrobe, from his well appointed home to his baby blue Cadillac, Jimmy James was a picture of a man at the top.
It had all started about two years earlier. Exactly what it was was anyone's guess. Maybe it was his rebellious son Jeremy. That boy did not want to listen to some of his father's ideas, ideas that he considered old-fashioned. He was free-spirited and had a mind of his own. It was just before Christmas when Jimmy found out that his difficult one, as he called him, was playing in a rock-and-roll band. He was not satisfied with the chance to play his guitar in the church services. Jeremy had to get involved with the devil's music. Brother Jimmy lectured, he scolded, he pleaded, and he even threatened – all to no avail. It was not at all uncommon to hear shouting matches from inside this holy household. What else was a father to do, when he had gone on record condemning a particular thing as evil, and then discovered his own son was involved in that very thing while still living under his father's roof?
David, his older son, never displayed such rebellion. He went through his adolescence with model behavior. Now he was happily married. Because he did not want to work in the shadow of his father, or become a carbon copy, he chose to serve as youth pastor in Tom Christiansen's church in Denver. He was following in the path of the Lord, much to the preacher's delight.
Susan Elizabeth, the only daughter, was never a problem either. In just one more year she would graduate from Bible School. She planned on becoming a missionary to South America.
Both of his older children were fine Christians in the holiness tradition.
Maybe it wasn't all Jeremy's fault. Maybe it was those awful thoughts and those sinfully erotic dreams. Where were they coming from anyway? He was a happily married man and had been all his life, it seemed. Why, after many years of unmistakable victory, were his eyes and thoughts wandering, even while he slept? Why were so many ladies starting to look so good to him? Why was he feeling as if he had missed out on something? He could not tell his wife. He could not tell anyone. Who would understand? He did not understand it himself.
Maybe it was the television's fault. He didn't have time to watch it often, but whenever he did he found himself bombarded with immoral garbage, as he called it. Everywhere he turned, it was sex, the devil's beat, more sex, more temptation. He could have blamed it on the TV, he could have blamed it on the world, and he could have blamed it on the devil. He could have and he did. He even had awful thoughts of blaming God, Himself. For a man like the preacher, there was only one thing he could do: he had to keep it covered. It had to remain hidden in the basement of his subconscious with the door secured. He had to keep himself under control at all times because millions were watching him. Minor lapses, here and there, would go unnoticed by the majority of Christians. He could get away with little things like losing his temper when he did not get his own way, or badmouthing someone with whom he disagreed. What was plaguing Jimmy was more than just a little lapse, and no one knew. No one was allowed to know. Brother Jimmy had to carry it all alone, with only Jesus' help. But Jesus was not making it go away for the preacher.
In the beginning he had increased his personal appearances by traveling frequently. He hoped that by keeping his mind occupied with the ministry he could somehow drown out the voices. The temptations and suggestions kept on coming, so he decided he had to try the opposite approach. This would be only his second personal, outside appearance in almost eight months. He had been increasing the duties and opportunities of the associate pastors on his staff, sending them off to hold the meetings in the other areas for him. There had been always many more invitations than one man could respond to anyway. Now he was saying no to nearly everyone, with the exception of his oldest and closest personal friends.
Three years earlier, during the Jimmy James Super Revival in the New Orleans Superdome, the preacher had promised his friends, Jesse and Rebecca Brown, that he would hold a short series of meetings at their church in Ichabod, something he had never done. Jesse had preached in The Living Saints Church, but never the other way around. Over and over both Jesse and Rebecca had reminded him of this, and of his promise. Since their only child, Sarah Ruth, had become a runaway the previous fall it was more important than ever before. The Browns were heartbroken, and wanted Jimmy's support to help alleviate their grief and sense of failure.
Brother Jimmy had finally agreed to hold a four-day, low profile revival from Sunday morning through Wednesday night. There would be no publicity other than by word of mouth between the pastors in this rural area of southern Mississippi. The preacher did not want large crowds, and Jesse convinced him that a few days in the Shady Nook Motel would be a peaceful change from the fast pace at the Oklahoma City headquarters. Maybe the change would provide a breakthrough in that realm of his life the Browns knew nothing about.
By the time he reached Poplarville, it was near the end of the afternoon. The journey had provided enough solitude to amplify the so-called demon activity that tormented his mind. He was more restless than ever. Jimmy James was a bundle of frayed nerves. He was an event waiting for the opportunity to happen. Nothing had been able to silence or camouflage his raging inner battle, in spite of his great expectations.
Then a new thought came to him, another in a series of continuing impulses that ran counter to his convictions: why don't you stop and get a cold beer? He began to debate with the evil messenger. Out loud he thundered, as if he was making his case before an audience, "No, absolutely not! Wine is a mocker, and strong drink is raging. Besides, I haven't had a beer since I became a Christian." The dialogue continued back and forth with the voice persisting, asking who would know? The clincher was the voice's final argument: You don't have to get drunk. Even Jesus drank wine. You know very well it wasn't grape juice. Go ahead. One beer won't hurt you!
As the words went through his mind, he passed a small store with a Budweiser sign flashing in the window. He slowed down and stopped a few hundred yards beyond. He looked back to size up the situation, seeing only one car parked off to the side. "It's probably the clerk's," he said. "No one else is there."
His mind raced with confusion as he sat on the edge of that invisible line. The pull was magnetic; his resistance was low. What harm could there possibly be in a single can of beer? Nothing else had been able to help him. He was thirsty, and who would know?
Finally, he crossed the line, made a U-turn, and pulled onto the dirt road that ran alongside the convenience mart. It curved to the right, passing to the rear of the store. He stopped again. The silence was deafening. No one was there, yet the voices were howling in his ears. He quickly sized up the situation from his new vantage point.
There were actually two small buildings with a narrow alley running in between. Only a fence, a dumpster, and a pile of old tires and batteries lay between him and that alley. Anyone who might be able to identify him, especially a Christian, was his foremost concern. Sinners did not care what he did, at least in most cases.
After hesitating for a minute or two, he messed up his hair, unbuttoned a couple shirt buttons and pulled it out of his pants, then rubbed his face to alter his complexion. He even put his sunglasses on for the first time since nine or ten o'clock that morning. Jumping from the car, Jimmy leaped the fence and ran into the alley. As he arrived at the end he stopped, glancing in both directions. Everything was still the same way it had been a few minutes before.
He walked casually to the door even though his heart was beating rapidly and the demon voices continuing their discordant opera. It was too late. Nothing could stop the preacher now. He had passed the point of no return.
Upon entering, he walked straight to the cooler at the rear of the store. There were no loose cans, and there was a sign prohibiting the separation of prepackaged units. He had only wanted one, but he reached in and grabbed a Bud Lite six-pack, obeying the sign, and brought it quickly to the counter. The song on the radio was one of Elvis's: "Make the World Go Away."
The clerk, a middle-aged, overweight man, looked up from the magazine he was reading. "Boy, it sure has been a hot one today, hasn't it?" he asked.
"Yes, it has," the preacher said, laying a ten dollar bill on the counter next to the forbidden six-pack. He carefully avoided eye contact with the man.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, thank you." When he received his change, he walked out of the store. He began sprinting as soon as he was around the corner, not stopping until he reached his car. In a flash, he got in, started the engine, and took off down the road, spinning the tires and leaving a cloud of dust behind him. He did not slow down until the store was out of sight.
His first sip tasted awful. He asked, "How can anyone drink this stuff?" Without replying, he took another and then another. At least it was cold, and he did find the taste a bit less bitter with each additional gulp.
As he meandered along the country roads that wound their way through the fields, he stopped briefly two or three times in places where he could see no one. He was glad he had a compass mounted on his dashboard. At least he would not get lost.
He was on his last can as he reached the paved road again, the same road he had come in on earlier. By now it was nearly dark. His face was completely numb, and he felt a strange, but quite pleasant, sensation. He had to admit he felt more relaxed than he had for quite a while. It was a good feeling.
Then, heading east on an open stretch of road, he saw her. His foot spontaneously went to the brake as he passed by. She was a beautiful blonde. She was hitchhiking – reaching out to Brother Jimmy. He stopped about a hundred yards beyond her. She ran toward his car. Again his heart was throbbing furiously as his thoughts raced like a computer out of control.
Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
She opened the door and jumped in, throwing her bag onto the back seat. "Hi, I'm Sarah," she said as she closed the door.
"Where are you headed?"
"Ichabod."
"Pretty girls like you shouldn't be hitchhiking," he said. "With all the perverts around these days, you shouldn't take any chances. You never know what kind of person might pick you up. It's not safe."
"I know, but I've learned to take pretty good care of myself. Besides, you don't look like a bad person. What do you do for a living?"
"You'd probably never guess."
"Oh no? I'll bet you have something to do with religion. I saw the Bible and the box of books on your back seat. You might be a Christian book salesman or maybe even a preacher."
A hard lump formed in his throat as he practically swallowed his tongue. She probably saw the beer cans, too. If he was not so set against littering, the evidence would be gone, but it was right there. How would he explain the contradiction between the Bible and the beer cans? She probably could tell that he had been drinking, too. Finally, after pausing for a while, he said, "Yes, I am a preacher." The words caught in his throat and came out slurred.
"Hey, that's far out. I'll bet you wouldn't believe me if I told you I was an angel. I was only kidding when I guessed you were a preacher. No real preacher would have all those beer cans in his car." She stared at him, and waited for his response.
Jimmy was embarrassed. He could not tell whether she was being sarcastic or not. He did not know what to think. He said, "But I am a preacher. You may not understand, but it's true."
His thoughts were racing again. Why did he stop? Why did he drink that beer? What was happening to him? Why was his life in such turmoil? The questions came much easier than answers. Regardless of the answers, his situation was obvious and nothing could change it; anyway, he was not in much of a philosophical mood. Not only were his thoughts racing, but it felt as if his whole head was spinning. His face was completely numb. Still, he could not help noticing the shapely female who was occupying the seat with him. She was pretty, he thought. He was also chastising himself for another thought, one that was becoming only too familiar for the preacher – lust. He could not keep from admiring Sarah out of the corner of his eyes. She was a lovely young lady.
Sarah was wearing tight fashion jeans with a pink sweatshirt that hung down over her left shoulder. The shirt was trimmed on the bottom, allowing most of her midriff to be exposed. Her long blonde hair dangled on either side of the bare shoulder.
She continued to stare at the preacher. Did she recognize him? Was she feeling deja vu? Or was she just sizing him up in an attempt to determine her own action in the situation?
(Jimmy told me later that Sarah puzzled him. She looked like an angel, but he also felt what he could only describe as negative vibrations. She was a replica of the seductress from his dream world. Such familiarity made it seem as if he knew her, but because of the beer his senses and his memory were confused. He was not sure.)
Several minutes were spent in silence; each puzzled by the familiarity of the other. But for Jimmy, with his inhibitions lowered, interests of a more erotic nature easily offset his perplexity.
Sarah could tell that the preacher's thought patterns were not of a spiritual character. The evidence was there. She had to see it, and she certainly would have been able to recognize it. This was indicated when she said, "Imagine, a preacher with a preacher's daughter..." She stopped before completing her thought.
Sarah's father was none other than Jesse Brown, himself, but because both had changed in appearance since their last meeting, it was no surprise that they could not recognize each other. Jimmy had aged quite a bit, and was not his usual polished self. Sarah had not only grown-up, her make-up and hairstyle gave her a completely different look than when he had last seen her at the Superdome more than three years before.
She was not a runaway, as Jimmy, and others, had been told. On the contrary, it had been about a year earlier, when she was sixteen, that Jesse had kicked her out of the house. Everything that had happened that night was still fresh in her mind. She remembered every word that had been said, her father's expression of disgust, her mom's pitiful, helpless look, and the heartbreak she felt inside. She had relived the horror of that night many times during the past year. Even though she had tried to forgive them, there were still times she was overcome with feelings of harsh resentment.
All of her life Sarah had been a sensitive child, but it was not until she reached her teens that her world started caving in, and she did not know why. She had tried to do nearly everything that was expected of her. When she was ten she thrilled her parents by giving her heart to the Lord. How proud they were that their only child had chosen to dedicate her life to Jesus.
Sarah Brown was a very pretty girl with undeniable charisma. Her bubbly personality had been in evidence from her youth. By her very nature, she was a charmer, so it was not unusual that the boys, even in grammar school, were always picking on her. It was their way of flirting. She acted as if it bothered her, but she enjoyed it. She liked the attention. All was not well though.
Seventh grade came. Sarah was beginning to blossom into a young lady. It was not unusual that she began to notice the boys in a different way, and vice versa. It was at this time that she started feeling peculiar, different from her classmates. She felt as if she did not belong, and it bothered her.
Her parents could not understand the way she felt. They refused to allow her to follow any of the latest fads and styles by making her conform to their idea of holy dress. That was inflexible. Like most parents, Sarah's did not want to see her make any wrong choices, so they helped by making most decisions for her.
For Sarah, many things were labeled sinful. The ample thou-shalt-not list for this young lady growing up in the 1980's seemed to increase each time a spiritual leader warned of sinful trends in society's dress, thinking, or behavior.
The do rules were simpler. She had to go to church twice on Sundays, once during the week, and more often when the special revival meetings were held at least twice a year. She was required to read her Bible every day and participate in the family altar. She had to do her homework, her chores; and she was always required to act like a little Christian lady. After all, she was a preacher's daughter.
Acting like a Christian was often more prohibitive than it was expressive. A Christian growing up in the holiness influence could not follow the fashions, as was already indicated. Jesse Brown was especially strict on this point and very opinionated what was and was not appropriate. Jewelry and make-up were not allowed.
"They make women look like whores," Jesse insisted.
The devil's music (rock-and-roll), and his channel (MTV) were also forbidden. The movie theater and dance halls were out of bounds. Movies supported the evils of Hollywood, and as Rev. Brown liked to preach, "They don't make decent movies anyway. There's much too much sex." Dancing was called too sensual and suggestive; and, it was worldly. So many of the activities taken for granted by the youth in American society were considered to be inappropriate Christian behavior.
Unless a person has been exposed to the thought patterns of the serious fundamentalist, comprehending their perceptions is difficult. Jesse, like so many others with this narrow view, saw the devil behind every bush, and believed he was out to get him. Psychologists call this paranoia, and each fundamentalist is heavily indoctrinated in this perspective. This was the teaching given to Sarah as a guiding principle. She was taught to be on guard at all times.
For Sarah, the worst rule of all concerned the boys. "You will not be allowed to have a boyfriend until you are sixteen years old, and then, only if I decide he's proper for you. There will be no exceptions."
Pastor Jesse had rules for everything, but what worried Sarah the most was that she did not believe he loved her. Ever since she started developing, he seldom hugged her. It was almost as if he did not want her breasts to contact his body for fear of temptation, or perhaps moral contamination. Nothing was ever said, but she had trouble understanding his actions. It did not seem to be love to her. Was there something wrong with her? She was troubled about it.
There was no privacy for Sarah in the Brown household. Her bedroom, her purse, anything and everything that belonged to her were subject to inspection at any time. This right was exercised regularly to make sure that she did not possess anything on their forbidden list. More than once she had caught her mother in the act of snooping through her belongings.
On one occasion her mother had found a blusher in her purse. It was a gift from her girlfriend. She was putting it on each morning and washing it off after school, stopping at her girlfriend's house on the way. She was only trying to make herself look nicer, but that did not stop Jesse from blowing his stack when he found out.
"Sarah Brown, come in here right now!"
She could tell from the tone of his voice that she was in trouble. She was trembling all over as she walked into the kitchen. "Yes, Dad, what is it?" She did not know what she had done.
"That's what I want to know. Your mother found this in your pocketbook. Where did you get it?"
"Kathy Warner gave it to me as a Christmas present."
"Kathy Warner? Didn't we tell you we don't want you to hang around with that girl? Her father won't take the pornography off his shelves. We don't want that sort of thing here in Ichabod, and you don't need to be friends with any girl who comes from such a bad home. People like that have no morals at all."
"But, Dad, she's one of my best friends, and she doesn't – "
"I don't want to hear it. Stay away from her. Maybe if all the genuine Christians took a stand and left people like that alone, they'd get the message and change their act. I don't want you to be with her anymore. She's no good for you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Dad, but – "
"No buts! Stay away! Period! Now, about this make-up, you know we don't want our little girl to grow up and become a whore. The next thing you'll want is to wear lipstick, then eye shadow, and before you know it, you'll look just like all the other worldly people in Satan's camp. Godly women have an inner beauty and don't need to paint their faces to look nice."
"Dad, please, this isn't the stone age anymore! Even the Christian ladies on 'PTL' wear make-up nowadays."
"I don't want to hear about what those compromising, carnal, country-club, Christians are doing. If they want to be and look like the world, let them. As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. This is a holy house, and you are only thirteen years old. No daughter of mine, living under my roof, is going to get away with this worldly stuff. You have a good spanking coming. Spare the rod and spoil the child is what the Bible says."
He took off his belt, striking her several times across the legs and buttocks, casting out her obvious demons of rebellion and worldliness while hitting her. She cried loudly, retreating to her room when he finished. Once alone, she lay on her bed sobbing quietly until she fell asleep. She had eaten no supper, and it was morning when she woke up.
These flare-ups were repeated on a regular basis with only minor variations. At least once a month, someone at the church would say she had given them a smart answer or they had seen her doing something wrong, such as talking to a boy when she thought no one was looking. A preacher's child was scrutinized by nearly everyone, especially in the legalistic churches that had strict rules for every type of behavior. Many well-meaning individuals kept Sarah Brown in line. Whether it was her conduct, or possession of forbidden items – things like teen magazines, rock-and-roll buttons or records, a hair bandanna, even jewelry or make-up – anything that looked suspicious was promptly reported to Pastor Jesse.
Once, when she was fifteen, her mother found a note from one of her male admirers. Brother Jesse practically tore the roof off the house in his rage. Again he called her a whore, which was becoming his favorite accusation, based on such overwhelming evidence. To them she was struggling to go to hell in the fast lane. In reality, though, she was nothing more than a curious, growing, teenage girl, trying hard to discover her own identity.
As her sixteenth birthday drew near, Sarah was becoming an emotional cripple. She was so paranoid that her personality was bruised and her spirit nearly crushed. Although still beautiful on the outside, her eyes revealed inner torment that was evident to anyone with reasonable perception.
Once a student with high academic achievement, Sarah's marks had plummeted; she had to repeat many of her tenth grade courses. Neither Jesse and Rebecca, nor Sarah herself, were of any help to the teachers and the school administrators. They were understandably concerned. To the Browns, it was all the devil's fault. Satan was trying to destroy their daughter. Because she loved and did not want to embarrass them, she repressed her emotions, refusing to share her feelings with anyone. When asked, she would simply clam up. Life for Sarah was anything but fun.
For a long time, the Browns thought Sarah was becoming demon possessed or oppressed because it appeared that the devil had such a strong influence on her. They kept this to themselves, praying often and with great fervor that God would take control of the situation. They failed to realize it was already beyond their control. The young girl they had brought into the world was being poisoned by the very medicine they were providing for her well-being.
One day Sarah overheard her mother praying for her, and it brought tears to her eyes. They did not understand.
When school started again, many of Sarah's classmates were new. Her old friends were in different classes; and in spite of her natural beauty, she was avoided like the plague. Everyone thought she was weird, some called her names, and few wanted to be her friend.
Sarah changed, and her parents did not even recognize her conduct as abnormal. She did whatever she was told, becoming an apparent role model of obedience. Because of her unquestioning submission to authority, they thanked God for answering prayer. They were relieved. They did not know she was praying to die.
Toward the end of October, she was walking home from her bus stop, when a stranger, a very good-looking young man, approached her. He seemed to have come out of nowhere, and she was frightened at first, but he acted as if he knew all about her. He spoke as if he was on her side, and seemed to identify with what she was going through, volunteering to try to help her.
"Why do you always look so sad?" he asked her. "I want to help you," he said, as he handed her a small envelope. "These are called uppers. They will help ease your mind a little bit when things start coming down on you. I know how tough it is when no one understands you. I really do."
Sarah told him very little, making him do most of talking. She did ask, "Are they drugs?"
"No, not really," he said, "they are doctor-prescribed medicine for people who are going through hard times. They won't hurt you a bit." With that he turned and walked away.
Sarah watched him go, wondering who he was and how he seemed to know so much about her. She did not intend to take the pills, but absent-mindedly put them into her purse and continued home. That night, after finishing the dishes, she was studying for a test when she recalled the events of the afternoon. She rehashed the meeting in her mind. The man made a good impression on her, and she appreciated his apparent concern with her problems. It gave her a good feeling to think someone cared. She finished her homework and went to bed.
The following day was quite normal until she was on her way home from school. Kathy Warner came running up to her and began asking all about that guy she was talking with the preceding day. She thought he was really great looking and asked Sarah to find out who he was, if she ever saw him again.
Sarah said, "It was so strange. I didn't know him at all, but he seemed to know all about me."
That night the telephone rang as they were eating. It was Sister Cantrell, one of the church busybodies who tried to keep Sarah in line. She informed Jesse that Sarah was seen talking with Kathy Warner that very afternoon. It was all he needed. He tore into her with all the indignation of his self-righteous rage as soon as he hung up. It did not matter that she had not finished eating; she had disobeyed again. No explanation was accepted as she was sent to her room following another chewing out.
Sarah was almost beyond tears. Being always misunderstood by her own parents was extremely painful. Her word was never accepted. Anyone's testimony against her was the same as gospel. Why didn't they ever believe her? Why didn't they even listen? She was growing tired with the injustice of it all.
She lay on the bed, staring through the ceiling. It felt as if her insides were coming apart. She could not scream or even cry. Why? Then she remembered the pills. Why not? Just once can't hurt me, she thought.
Waiting until her mother had left the kitchen, Sarah went to get a drink of water, took a sip in the kitchen, and carried the glass into her bedroom. She closed the door behind her.
Her mother saw her going into her room with the glass, a practice that was unusual and forbidden, since food and drink were normally not allowed in the bedroom. She decided to investigate.
Standing with her ear to the door, Rebecca heard nothing. It was quiet, too quiet. Without a warning she flung the door open. Sarah was sitting on the edge of her bed. She stared up at her mom, who noticed the envelope at her side. She walked in and grabbed it. There were five small tablets inside. "What, in God's name, are these?"
She grabbed Sarah by the arm, dragging her toward Jesse's study. She did not wait for any reply from Sarah.
Sarah said, "Mom, wait. Please wait. Let me explain."
"Your daughter is on drugs!" Rebecca said angrily as she opened the door where Jesse was studying for his next sermon.
He jumped to his feet and was around his desk in a flash. He slapped Sarah in the face twice, then took off his belt and began striking her. Again, as was customary, he cast out the devil as he hit her and screamed at her, "No daughter of mine takes drugs. You'll kill my reputation! You whore! You witch! You evil one! You'll be my soul's damnation! I can't have you living in this Godly house of mine! Get out, and don't come back until you learn to walk the line!"
His words pierced through her entire being as she turned, crying hysterically, and stumbling toward her room. She slammed the door and collapsed on the floor as she entered.
Her mother returned just a few minutes later, but not to give any sympathy. "Come on, Sarah! Your dad wants you out now! Get moving!"
Sarah sobbed. "But, Mom, where can I go?"
"That's your problem. If only you had learned to obey. Go, just go." Rebecca turned and walked out.
Sarah stuffed a few changes of clothes and some personal items into a small overnight bag. It was difficult for her to see what she was doing with tears obscuring her vision. She hoped they would change their minds, but she was well aware that her father was a very stubborn and determined man. Her mother never dared disagree with him on anything, at least not that she had ever noticed. She left her room and headed for the front door. Her parents just stood there, watching her with suspicion and anger. She stopped and looked them straight in the eyes with tears in her own. They did not bat an eyelash. Neither of them said another word, and they made no move to stop her as she opened the door and walked out.
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Pastor Jesse Brown was a third-generation preacher. His grandfather was the famous Peter Brown, an influential pioneer faith preacher and healer during the sweeping Pentecostal revival that occurred at the start of the twentieth century. A resolute Bible believer, he had started many full-gospel churches from Colorado to Alabama. In his later years he became the founder of one of the first full-gospel Bible schools in the country. The Peter Brown Academy of the Holy Law in Oklahoma City was dedicated to training young men and women in the ways of the Lord, making sure they correctly interpreted the Holy Scriptures.
The emphasis of the movement was on the religious experiences of sanctification, which they believed removed inbred sin from the believer; and the baptism of the Holy Ghost with the outward evidence of speaking with other tongues. Personal holiness was stressed as the only way to be accepted and used by God.
To these early Pentecostal pioneers, Christians were bound to avoid the very appearance of evil for the gospel's sake. Sin and all forms of worldliness had no place in the life of a true believer. Living saints were expected to spend their time reading and studying the Bible, only the Bible, and praying, going to church, worshipping God, and witnessing for the Lord. The livelihood of these God-fearing people had to be in a non-evil category, as interpreted by their strict code of holiness.
Jesse's father, John Brown, was raised with convictions like these. As a child he was a talented and enchanting singer. He enjoyed the fuss and attention he received at the crusades. He began to preach when he was only nine years old. The people were understandably proud of their child prodigy.
As John passed into manhood, he became a widely traveled evangelist, following in his father's footsteps. His message was unchanged. It was good, old-fashioned Holy Ghost religion that saved people from sin and hell, and put them on the pathway to heaven, if they endured till the end.
Jesse was the first Bible school trained man of the three, graduating from the Peter Brown Academy. Unlike his forerunners, he did not desire the life of a traveling preacher. Instead, he chose to become a church pastor, and with the help of his father, established the Church of the Holy Law in Ichabod, Mississippi. The town's name meant the glory has departed, but Pastor Brown was bound and determined, with the Lord's help, to bring it back by delivering the full-gospel message throughout the area.
Ichabod was not chosen because of its name or its location. It was love that drew Jesse to the small rural community, love for Rebecca Walker. Rebecca was the daughter of Jack and Miriam. The Walker family had been pillars in the First Baptist Church of Ichabod since its founding at the conclusion of the Civil War.
Jack, besides being a deacon at First Baptist, was known throughout the community as a very devout and honest man. For him religion was a serious matter, and he had been seeking God's will since his childhood, always looking for a deeper walk on higher ground.
One day, while praying in the woods behind his home, he had an ecstatic experience. He did not even have a name for what had taken place, but later learned it was the infilling of the Holy Ghost. His church had always taught against speaking in tongues, calling it a manifestation of satan, yet he was certain that what he had experienced was of God. Still, it troubled him so much that he did not even tell Miriam. Instead, he dedicated himself to an intensified search of the Word of God and his own heart. It did not seem to him that he had become a devil-worshiper or gone off the deep end, but quite the opposite. The experience seemed to increase his joy and made Jesus more real than ever before.
Finally, after becoming fully persuaded it was of God, he told his wife. She was skeptical, but she had to admit she had noticed a difference in his overall spirit recently. He had not been nearly as moody as usual, and he had developed the habit of singing or humming nearly all the time, something he had never done before. She agreed to keep it quiet, but began to watch him even more closely.
When she decided it was not something evil, she began to ask God to let her have the same experience. Her prayer was answered six weeks later. She was home alone, meditating quietly, when the whole house seemed to be swept by a gentle breeze of fresh air. She was transported into what seemed like another dimension, feeling as if liquid love had been poured over her from head to foot. She felt she had been totally immersed in God's glory and goodness.
Unlike Jack, Miriam was convinced that everyone should have this wonderful experience, and she wanted to share the good news with all her friends. It had to work for anyone, so she began to tell people what had happened.
The reaction of those in their church was both shocking and humiliating. Despite their previous good standing, many of their friends ridiculed and slandered them. Their own pastor said they were devil worshippers, which he called all Pentecostals. Parents began to keep their children away from Rebecca and her sister, Mary Elizabeth. The Walker family was no longer welcome in the First Baptist Church. It was heartbreaking for them, a traumatic display of intolerance by people who were right in their own eyes.
It was less than a week later when Ralph Pendergrass, a sign salesman from Bogalusa, Louisiana, came into Jack's IGA grocery store. Although there was no need for a new sign, they took an instant liking to each other. Ralph was an active member in the Holy Pentecostal Church of Bogalusa. When Jack told him what had been happening, he was given a personal invitation to bring his family to their worship services some Sunday. The thirty-six mile trip was a little less than an hour's drive from Ichabod, and that very weekend the Walkers made the first of what would become weekly excursions to Bogalusa. They all became members, and it wasn't long before both Walker girls had been sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost.
Rebecca was the more serious of the two and felt called to dedicate her life to the Lord's service. Two years later, after her high school graduation, she began training at the Academy of Holy Law, preparing for the ministry. She was in her second year when she first met Jesse Brown. They fell in love immediately. Their relationship was in full bloom, with talk of marriage, before they had known each other three months. An August wedding was planned.
With the blessing of both families, Jesse and Rebecca were married on August 24, 1968, in the Bogalusa church. It was a hot and beautiful Saturday. Jesse's father officiated at the double-ring ceremony that was followed with a sober, but joyous wedding reception in the church hall. For their honeymoon, they received a two-week trip to Niagara Falls as a gift from both parents.
Rebecca never did return to Bible school, and upon returning to Ichabod, they set up housekeeping in a small apartment above the Walker store. They began at once visiting people in the community and announcing their plans for a full-gospel church. Their first service was held in the Walker's living room, with a dozen people in attendance, mostly their relatives.
Two months later John Brown brought his gospel tent to town. This stirred things up a bit as the curious and the seekers came out to hear this preacher who had been labeled a heretic by the Baptist pastor. One week later, as the tent came down, six new families were added, along with a few God-fearing individuals. The Church of the Holy Law in Ichabod was on its way.
Money was always scarce for these pioneer pastors, but the Lord always seemed to provide.
Before the year was over, Rebecca was pregnant, and on July 28, 1969, Jesse and Rebecca became the proud parents of a healthy five-pound, ten-ounce baby girl, Sarah Ruth Brown. All was not well though. Complications required a C-section delivery. Rebecca was told she had a uterine anomaly and that her pelvic structure was too small for a normal delivery. Considering her condition, the pregnancy was considered statistically remarkable. (To the Browns, it was nothing short of a miracle.) However, to prevent any possibility of a future pregnancy, which was considered life threatening, a tubal ligation was performed.
Having prayed for a son, Jesse was disappointed, though he was thankful, considering that both mother and child came through in pretty good shape. He was determined, with Rebecca, to raise Sarah in the fear and admonition of the Lord. They pledged her to God. She belonged to the Lord.
This restriction on their family size was only one of many disappointments faced by the Browns during this period. Shortly before Christmas of 1969, Jesse's parents John and Naomi Brown, and his younger brother Zeke, were killed. They were returning home for the holidays, following a series of meetings in Oregon, when their small plane crashed into the Rocky Mountains. Debris was widely scattered. Because of a snowstorm, it took three days to locate the bodies. All thirteen people aboard were killed.
The funeral service was held in their Oklahoma City church, the Assembly of Living Saints, a week after the tragedy. The young, associate pastor, Rev. Jimmy James, conducted the memorial service for Evangelist John Brown and his family. Those who attended reported an extraordinary move of God, as the young preacher seemed to be gifted with a supernatural anointing.
Brother Jimmy began his eulogy; "There never was a man of God any more dedicated to the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ than Evangelist John Brown. Not only was he the man used by God to transform my own life, the lives of countless thousands across this great country have been revolutionized by the preaching of this man who opposed sin and stood tall on the battlefield of good versus evil. Pastor John left us a heritage rich in God's truth and glorious in His holiness.
"It was just a few years back that I was invited by one of the men I worked with to go hear the preacher he referred to as a mighty man of God. I was newly married at the time and had no intention or desire to go, but he persisted. Finally, to get him off my back, I decided to humor him by going to the tent with Mary.
"As most of you know, I was not raised in a Christian home. Of course, we considered ourselves Christians. We went to church on Sunday, most of the time, and were careful to say grace whenever we had company for dinner. We were good, moral people, but life did not have special spiritual significance for any of us. We lived day by day without ever becoming overly concerned with religious issues. No one ever accused us of being fanatics. We worked hard and minded our own business. This was my family's lifestyle and mine. I certainly did not intend to change it.
"To tell the truth, I was more than just a little skeptical upon entering the gospel tent that night, but my skepticism was soon changed to wonder. I heard singing unlike any I had heard before. Good God, those folks could sing. They raised the roof. I had goose bumps all over. It was like a little piece of heaven on earth right here in Oklahoma City.
"By the time John Brown took the microphone, my attention was riveted. Here was a man who seemed to ooze the very presence of the Almighty. His words were powerful. He had such charisma. As ignorant as I was, I knew I was witnessing a display of the holiness of God in a human being. Those of you who knew him know exactly what I am talking about.
"He took the microphone that night, and started singing the song 'Surely I Will Lord.' He sang, 'If working and praying has any reward, then surely some morning I'll see my dear Lord.' No one worked harder or prayed more than John Brown. He was a man you knew was very special to the Lord God Jehovah.
"His message that night was entitled, Without Holiness, No Man Shall See God, and I don't know if I have ever heard a more inspired message in my whole life. The truth and power of God's Word as it came from the mouth of that living saint was awe-inspiring. The fear of God, which the Bible says is the beginning of wisdom, fell upon that whole canvas auditorium. Before he could even finish his message, people were crying loudly and running to the altar of God. I was one of them.
"When Pastor Brown laid his hands on me that night, it felt like electricity flowed through every fiber of my being. I was saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost all at the same time. That something like that could or would happen to me was beyond my wildest expectation and imagination. To top it off, before that service ended, he laid his hands on me a second time and prophesied. I will never forget the words while there is breath in my being.
"'I, the Lord God, even the Most High, have anointed you this very night. Henceforth you shall be My minister, and carry the gospel of the Living God across this country and around the world. Look to the north, to the south, to the east, and to the west. All lands shall be your mission field, as I, the Lord your God, give hope to the disheartened and raise up the downtrodden. You shall be as a beacon shining forth in great darkness. I will make you to know the fellowship of My suffering, so that I might share My treasure with you. Your inheritance is to see the Kingdom of the Lord Almighty, and his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. Go, My son, and expose the lies that rob My people of their joy. Let My love and grace rule your heart forever.'
"It still gives me goose bumps." He bowed his head, and a holy hush filled the huge sanctuary. After a few moments, the preacher continued.
"Forgive me. That night, after most of the people had gone home, Brother John and I talked for almost an hour. Before I even had time to consider what was happening, he had convinced me to enroll in the Academy. Don't get me wrong, I loved it, but I was just a factory worker at the time. I didn't know anything about the Bible. I did not have any particular aim in my life. I was ready to live and die normally, like all of my relatives before me. As far as I know there were no preachers among my predecessors, with one possible exception. A genealogist once told me I am kin to Jesse James, the famous outlaw. Imagine that. If it is true, I do have at least one preacher back there. His father was supposed to have been a Baptist minister.
"Anyway, to make a long story longer, Mary and I were both in Bible school before we had been married a year. We had only been saved for a month and already God was preparing us to work in his vineyard as prophesied. When God moves, he moves fast, and we grew like weeds in the springtime.
"Brother John, and others we didn't even know, sent us money every month to meet our obligations. I was never told how, but our tuition was always covered. The Lord provided, and I'm quite sure John Brown had a lot to do with it. We sure needed it, because God blessed us with our two lovely children, David and Susan Elizabeth, during our three years at the Academy.
"You can easily see why I consider this man like a father to me. He has done more to influence my whole life than anyone I have ever known, except for Jesus. Brother John Brown was a spiritual giant among men, a living saint.
"Now, the good Lord has seen fit to take his choice servant home, along with his godly wife Naomi, and the youngest of their two sons, Zeke. It's hard to understand the ways of the Lord, and we must never question God, but I can almost see and hear the angels in heaven rejoicing as this family stands before that glorious and lofty throne. I can almost hear the words of the Master, Well done, My good and faithful servants. We who remain on this sin-cursed planet must not grieve. As good Christians we can look Death right in the face and shout, Oh Death, where is your sting? Oh Grave, where is your victory?
"As many of you know, Zeke was to be starting Bible school this coming year. His older brother, Jesse, and his lovely wife, Rebecca, pastors of the Holy Law Church in Ichabod, Mississippi, are here with us tonight. They have been blessed with the cutest little baby girl. I'd like them to come up here on the platform, and to bring little Sarah Ruth with them."
Jesse, carrying Sarah, and Rebecca made their way up onto the elaborate and elevated platform where they stood with Brother Jimmy, facing the congregation.
He laid his hands on them and prayed. "Almighty God, in the name of Your dear Son Jesus, I ask You to prosper this couple in the work you have called them to do. Bless them in a very special way. Make theirs a home of holiness, and may You ever be glorified by their steadfast and faithful commitment to Your holy truth. Help them to nurture and raise Sarah Ruth, this precious little girl, to become a living saint. In Jesus' name we ask it, amen."
The preacher then took little Sarah Ruth into his arms. He held her up so the congregation could see her. He asked, "Isn't she the prettiest little thing you have ever seen?" Then he prayed a prayer of dedication, "Oh wonderful and blessed Jesus, behold this baby girl, so precious and so innocent. You said to allow the little ones to come to You and not to forbid them. We bring Sarah Ruth Brown before You now, the very day we are to lay her godly grandfather in his grave. May his mantle fall upon her as Elijah's fell upon Elisha. Give her a double portion of Your Spirit, and may she become a specially anointed vessel to reveal Your love and grace to people everywhere. Use her to cause the Light to shine in the darkness, and let her blessings be beyond measure. In the name of the Good Shepherd who gave His life for the sheep, we ask it. Amen and amen."
In closing, a prophecy was given by Sister Louise Johnson. The closing words were, "Brother John was a mighty man of God, but Sarah Brown will bring down strongholds."
There were few dry eyes in the entire place as that service ended. Spiritual electricity filled the sanctuary again as Sarah Ruth Brown was rededicated to the service of the Lord. Brother Jimmy felt it. So did her parents. Many did.
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As Sarah left, Jesse and Rebecca, although angry their enemy had lured her away, joined hands to pray. Jesse said, "Dear God, please do not forget Your word concerning her: that she is to bring down strongholds. Satan is in control at the moment, and she has rejected the pathway of holiness, but please do not reject her. Forgive her rebellion and evil ways. David stated: ‘Though I make my bed in hell, You are there.’ Be there for her, and prepare her way. When she returns, like the prodigal son, may she be a changed girl and accomplish Your will for her life."
In the cool breeze, Sarah paused at the end of the block, hurting from the physical and emotional beating she had received, trying to hold back the tears. She had to be strong. There was no time for crying now. Her heart was pounding as she wondered which way to turn. Getting away from Ichabod was her only hope of escaping the tyranny of oppression she had been living under for the past few years of her short life. Almost anyplace had to be better than this.
A train went past on the edge of town each night. Sarah did not know for sure where it was going, but did know it was heading south. She had watched people on TV hop into freight cars on moving trains, and she decided that that would be her best chance. Then, at least, she would not have to bother anyone. Not knowing what time it went through, she made her way to the outskirts of rural Ichabod. If she missed it, she would have to wait until the next night. She prayed, "God, please let me catch it." Arriving at the tracks, she hid in the bushes to wait.
At least an hour passed. It was an hour spent praying for help and guidance. She was relieved when the train, approaching from the North, broke the silence, but her heart started pounding again. Even though the train slowed down a little as it passed by the town, it was still very dangerous. If she missed that first step, she knew she would be killed instantly by being mangled under the steel wheels. There could be no practice attempts. She watched carefully until she noticed an open door, then started running as fast as she could. In seconds, the open car was to her left. Almost by instinct, she tossed her bag inside and grabbed onto a railing. Hanging on for dear life, she swung her legs up and through the open door, landing safely on the well-worn floor.
Sarah lay on the floor for several minutes, catching her breath. The thought hit her: am I alone? No one had spoken. She nervously peered into each dark corner, trying hard to focus her eyes. She sighed. The car was empty, and she was alone. Gradually, she grew accustomed to the tedious and repetitious clickety-clack, and relaxed enough to fall asleep.
She was awakened by a different sound of banging and bumping. The train had come to a stop, and cars were being maneuvered into an industrial rail yard. It was dark as she looked out and saw the lights of a city; which city, she was not sure. She hid and waited. When her car came to a complete stop, she again looked out, this time in every direction, trying to see if anyone was there who might discover her. She heard voices in the distance, but saw no one. She decided it would be best to remain inside until near dawn, not wanting to be wandering around in a strange city in the middle of the night.
Sarah passed the next few hours hovering between being awake and asleep. When awake, she would pray quietly, thanking God she was still safe and continuing to ask for His guidance. In spite of her apprehension, she seemed to have an assurance everything would work out, though she did not know how.
When she sensed morning was not far away, she made another search of her surroundings. She did not see or hear anyone. There were many dark buildings, factories, and warehouses, next to the rail yard. She was in the midst of an industrial complex. The only movement was the occasional lights that flashed between the buildings, lights of passing vehicles. By listening to the sounds, she could tell whether the vehicles were trucks or cars. Traffic was extremely light on this early Saturday morning.
Deciding to move on, she apprehensively jumped to the ground and started walking straight ahead. Her pace was rapid as she crossed the yard, then the parking lot behind the buildings, and proceeded along the driveway between two of them, continuing to walk quickly toward the street. Reaching it, she looked to her right, then to her left. She was trying to figure out which way to go as a truck passed by, followed closely by a small car. She watched as the car slowed down and stopped a couple hundred feet or so away. When the back-up lights came on, she wasn't sure whether she should run or wait. She waited.
The man stopped his Toyota in front of her, and leaning over to roll down the window, said, "You look lost."
A hard lump formed in Sarah's throat as she studied the man. He was a young man with long brown hair and a full beard. He was dressed in work clothes. She had to trust someone, so she said, "Yes sir, and I'm scared. My boyfriend and I had a fight, and he dropped me off behind these buildings and just took off. I've never been in this part of town. Can you tell me how to get to the nearest phone booth, so I can call a friend to come and get me?"
She made up a pretty good story, but was worried that the man would sense that she was not telling the truth. She realized that her overnight bag did not fit her story.
He asked, "Would you like a ride into town?"
"Would you mind? I don't want to cause any trouble."
"No trouble. Hop in," he said, reaching over to open the door for her.
She got in, and for the next few minutes they sat quietly, staring at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Sarah's heart was beating fast, but she kept her composure.
The man just continued driving. He finally asked, "What street do you live on? I'll take you home."
Another lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard, pondering a few seconds before responding. "No, that's okay. My dad would kill me if he knew I was out at this hour." (The clock on the dash indicated it was 5:37.) "I'm supposed to be at my girlfriend's house. That's why I have my overnight bag with me. He still doesn't let me have boyfriends, so I have to sneak." She crinkled her nose and brushed her hand across her face.
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Where do you want me to take you then?"
"Just take me downtown, please."
"Look, miss, New Orleans is a big city. What part of town?"
"Down by the hotels in the tourist section," she said.
"Do you mean the French Quarter?"
"Yes, that's it."
The next few minutes were silent again. Sarah could not help wondering what he was thinking. Did he question why she wanted to go into the French Quarter and why she did not give him an actual address? She did not have long to wonder. After a few minutes, he put his hand on her thigh.
"Watch yourself, mister," she said, grabbing his hand and putting it back on the steering wheel. "My dad is an important preacher in this town, so you'd better not try anything stupid."
"Oh yeah! What would he do? He doesn't even know you're here."
"That's right, but I'm still not that kind of girl. My dad works with the police in the bad part of town trying to clean up this wicked city. He has a lot of important friends."
"Is your father the Chaplain, that guy who works with the prostitutes down in the French Quarter?"
"Yes, he is."
She wondered if he believed her, but he did not try anything else with her. He continued driving. Both were silent. Nothing looked familiar to Sarah.
He finally said, "Look, miss, this is the French Quarter. Where do you want me to leave you off?"
She looked ahead. "Right in front of that hotel will be just fine, sir."
He pulled up to the front door, stopped, and looked right at her. He looked confused to Sarah, but kept his thoughts to himself. After a moment or two, shaking his head, he said, "Well, good luck to you. I hope everything works out."
"Thanks, mister, I really do appreciate the ride," she said, breathing a sigh of relief as she got out of the car.
He drove off, leaving Sarah alone again in the strange city. She watched until the car was out of sight.
Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
Sarah was scared and hungry. For a few minutes she stood at the entrance to the hotel, looking around, and wondering which direction she should go. The doorman was watching her. Finally, he came out of the lobby and asked if he could take her bag. She said, "No thank you, sir. I'm waiting for a friend."
He said, "Well, would you mind waiting someplace else? This is a loading and unloading zone for patrons of this hotel."
"Yes sir," she said, politely, picking up her bag. "I'm sorry." She walked to the corner, still not sure which direction she should take.
The doorman stood there for a while looking at her. She kept glancing back at him, feeling uncomfortable to have him staring. Finally, she noticed that he was gone, and she looked inside to see whether he was still peering her way. He was talking to a lady at the counter, and Sarah hurried out of his sight.
As she walked down the street, she admired the old buildings with their fancy terraces. It was a picturesque area, especially peaceful at this hour of the morning. The traffic was light and only a few people were out on the sidewalks. As Sarah meandered through the city, she spoke to no one and no one spoke to her.
Eventually, after strolling several blocks, she reached a small park. The birds were flying around in the trees, and the sound of their chirping filled the air. It was like an oasis in the midst of all the provincial architecture. She sat down on one of the wooden benches, and watched the litter blowing in the soft breeze. Her stomach was growling as she whispered a brief prayer, "Please, God, if I ever needed You, I really need You now. Please help me. In Jesus' name I ask it, amen."
Sarah remained on the bench for over an hour. As the city was waking up on this Saturday morning, the sounds intensified, but Sarah's thoughts traveled back and forth between New Orleans and Ichabod. She was insulated from her surroundings, thinking that her father had always said New Orleans was a sin city. She also remembered his harsh words from the night before. There had been so many times he had called her a whore, even though she was still a virgin, and a witch, because she seemed rebellious to him. She thought about the man who had given her a ride earlier. What if he had raped and killed her? Sometimes she felt as if she wanted to die, but she did not really want death, only a chance at life.
As troubled people usually do, especially people who have heard God, God, God all their lives, Sarah thought about God. Sometimes He seemed so real to her, but there were other times when she wondered if He was just another Santa Claus or Easter Bunny story. Was He only a fantasy to give life hope and perhaps a little bit of meaning in a world that so often seemed meaningless? Was God real? She hoped so at that moment, but she sometimes had doubts. She breathed another prayer anyway: "Thank you, Jesus, for watching over me."
Her head bobbed as she began to doze off, and her whole body jerked in reaction. Then she heard a car door slam as a lady was being dropped off by a man in a big maroon Cadillac. The lady came toward Sarah.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully, as she stopped in front of the bench and looked Sarah over from head to foot. "It looks as if you are either coming or going. Which one is it?"
Sarah stared at the blonde-haired woman and the provocative clothes she was wearing. She hesitated, but answered, "I've been in town since last night."
"Where are you staying?"
Again, Sarah paused before responding. "I don't know yet."
"My real name is Christine," the lady said as she sat down next to Sarah, "but everyone calls me Angel. What's your name?"
"I'm Sarah."
"Did you run away from home?"
"No! He kicked me out."
"Are you okay?"
Sarah did not reply, but this lady who was asking so many questions seemed concerned. Sarah needed someone to be concerned.
Angel asked, "What did you do, get pregnant or what?"
"No, nothing like that. My dad is a preacher, and for him everything is a sin. He just doesn't understand, and he doesn't listen either."
"I know what you mean. It may sound strange, but a lot of girls come here from religious homes because they couldn't take it anymore. Janice, one of my best friends, came here a little over a year ago. Her father is a minister, too. He would not let her do anything. She was only seventeen when she ran away. She arrived here pregnant and had to have an abortion. She sent her parents a letter some time back, trying to explain the whole thing and begging them to let her return home. So far though, she has not heard a word from them. I guess they can't handle anything that doesn't go according to their rules."
Sarah stared at the ground, thinking about what Angel just told her. Maybe she wasn't alone in her situation. Finally, she looked up and said, "That's exactly the way it is. Why is it they can talk so much about love, but don't know the first thing about showing it? Both of my parents really love God, but it's like they are trapped in some kind of invisible prison. Unable to get out, they get mad and call everyone else sinners. It's never them. Something's wrong, but I don't know what it is."
"I think I do, but it's a long story. We could sit and talk all day long, but I have to get some sleep. I'm tired. If you'd like, you can come up to my place. I'll give you breakfast and let you crash for a while. This afternoon I'll take you over to meet Janice. How 'bout it?"
"It sounds good to me. I'm hungry, and I would like to meet your friend, too."
The building where Angel lived was right across the street from the park. It was a three-story, brick building with small shops and stores on the street level and apartments on the next two. Angel lived in a three-room-and-bath apartment on the top floor. Sarah detected a peculiar fragrance when they entered. "What's that smell?" she asked.
"I burn incense a lot. It makes the place smell better. Why don't you sit down while I get breakfast?"
As Angel began making bacon, eggs, and toast, Sarah surveyed her new surroundings. She peered out the window over the sofa. She could see the street below, and the park as well. Inside, it was nicely decorated and furnished. A curtain of beads divided the living room from the kitchen. A short hallway began where this curtain ended. There were doors on both sides with another at the very end. She correctly figured out that the doors led to a bedroom, a bathroom, and a closet. A royal blue sectional sofa and matching recliner were directed toward the stereo and TV set situated on the étagère, along with a VCR and two stacks of VHS tapes. Debbie Does Dallas was on the top and caught Sarah's eye, but most were just Maxell or Sony boxes. There were drawings and pictures on the walls, most of them quite erotic of nude bodies in various sexual postures. Sarah was confused because there was also a picture of Jesus on the cross amidst the others.
Soon the aroma of food permeated the apartment. "Come and get it," Angel said.
A bowl of cereal, two eggs, bacon, two slices of toast, and a glass of orange juice were on the table for Sarah. "It looks so good. I really do appreciate this," she said.
"Don't mention it. Sit down and enjoy it."
Sarah could not remember when food ever tasted so good, or when she had appreciated it more. She savored each bite. When she finished, she said, "That was delicious. Thank you very much. I hope I'm not causing too much trouble for you."
"You're very welcome, and it's no trouble," Angel said, smiling. "I'm glad I can help. Now it's time for me to get some rest. You can stay up if you'd like, or you can get some sleep, too. I don't imagine you slept as well as you wanted to last night. It's up to you. Feel free to do whatever you want."
"No, I didn't sleep too well. I guess I'll get some rest."
The bedroom was nearly as large as the living room. A king-size bed with disheveled bedding was in the middle of the floor. There were mirrors on the ceiling and the upper portion of three of the walls. The crumpled spread looked like a piece of scarlet fur. Sarah sat down on the edge of the bed. The fuchsia sheets felt like silk.
Angel wasted no time in getting undressed. "I'm going to take a shower. You can hop in after I'm done, if you want to."
Sarah wasn't used to having anyone disrobe in front of her, except when she had to take showers in her gym classes. For her it was shocking to have an adult act with such immodesty. Angel was out in a jiffy, still dripping, as she dried herself in front of Sarah. "Well, are you going to take one or not?"
Sarah hesitated, and her face flushed.
Angel must have realized she was embarrassed and went to her closet to get a robe. Handing it to her, she said, "Here, put this on when you're all through."
The hot water felt good. She took more time than Angel had, enjoying the warmth and rhythm of the pulsating water. She came out of the bathroom with the robe on and her clothes neatly folded. She placed her soiled garments into the laundry sack her mother always kept inside the overnight bag. "Where would you like me to put this?" Sarah asked, holding up the bag.
"Just leave it beside the bed."
She did as she was told, and as she climbed under the covers, she noticed Angel was still naked. She made no comment, but kept the robe on. There was no further conversation.
Angel fell asleep long before Sarah. It was so quiet. The only sound was the silence of her own thoughts as she wondered what was going to happen to her. She also wondered what kind of person Angel was, what she did, and if it was safe to be with her. She considered what she had already seen. Angel seemed to be a pleasant person. She was friendly, open, and willing to help, but did she have an ulterior motive for her kindness?
Even though Sarah had never met a real prostitute, that was the first thing that had come to her mind concerning Angel. But prostitutes, she had been taught, were wicked and evil people who sinned against God and humanity, destroying the moral fabric of society. They were devoid of any decency, values, or virtues. Like everything else in Sarah's training, it had to be black or white, good or evil, right or wrong, God or the devil. There was no middle ground, no room for personal discovery by experience, no freedom for honest expression, or honest mistakes. Anything that did not have a good spiritual motive was sinful; and since people were depraved from birth, almost everything people did was considered to be a sin. Unregenerate man was simply incapable of unambiguous goodness. Only genuine Christians could be good. It was indeed confusing for this innocent, young girl.
Although Angel was probably a prostitute, she seemed so kind and genuinely concerned. It was a real dilemma for any sixteen year old who had been sheltered from the secular world, a world where people had a combination of moral traits, not just one or the other. Sarah fell asleep thinking about it.
It was nearing two o'clock when she awakened. Angel was already up and dressed. Sarah had had another one of her dreams, something that had been happening since she was a little girl. They were always so vivid, so real, and she could remember the details clearly. She lay in bed watching Angel move around the room, pondering her dream at the same time.
Angel looked over, noticed she was awake, and asked, "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, nothing. Just a dream."
"A dream? What kind of dream?"
"I don't know. It was kind of weird."
"Please tell me about it."
"Well, I was in a beautiful garden. There were all kinds of flowers, fruit trees, bushes, and plants from all over the world. Birds and animals were everywhere, flying and roaming all around freely. The lions and other wild animals seemed harmless.
"There were a lot of people there too, people from all over. I was one of them. We were all singing and dancing, acting as if we had no cares and nothing to worry about. Everyone was naked, and I wasn't even embarrassed. Neither was anyone else.
"Then I saw this strange, glowing creature who always seemed to be in the middle, no matter where we went or what we did. The creature was sort of shiny, like it was made out of light or something – a white light with a sort of golden glow, if that makes any sense. Wherever this light went, love and peace followed. It was like being in heaven."
Angel had listened intently. "It was heaven," she said, "and that light was God. I don't think God or Jesus is anything at all like the religious people tell us He is. Anyway, let's go visit Janice, like I promised. We can talk more later."
Sarah went into the bathroom to get dressed. When she came out, Angel was on the phone. "Are you up yet?" After a pause, she said, "Oh, I'm just fine. I was with the senator again last night. What a phony he is. He's always preaching morality in public, yet he screws me every time he comes to town without his wife. He just can't wait until he gets his hands on me. But that's not why I called you. I have good news. This morning, when the chauffeur dropped me off at the park, I spotted a young girl sitting on the bench. She's another preacher's kid. She was kicked out. You have to meet her."
As Angel hung up, Sarah asked, "How far away does she live?"
"Just a couple blocks. We can walk. You ready to go?"
"I guess so. Do I look okay?"
"Of course, you do. Let's get out of here."
Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
Janice was only eighteen, a petite brunette with a knockout figure and a pretty smile. Having experienced the extremes of two very different sides of the spectrum of life – both religious fanaticism and life on the streets – she was certainly much wiser than most girls her age. Her apartment was also located in a three-story brick building. It was furnished and decorated in a fashion similar to Angel's, but the layout was different.
Upon entering the apartment, Angel introduced the two young ladies, and then exchanged small talk with Janice, giving Sarah a chance to look over her new acquaintance and surroundings. After a few minutes, Janice turned to Sarah and asked where she lived before coming to New Orleans.
"Huh," Sarah said, her thoughts being interrupted by a question she had not heard.
"Angel said you are a preacher's kid. Where are you from?"
"Ichabod, Mississippi."
"Ichabod, Mississippi! I never heard of it. Where is it?"
"I guess it's about ninety or a hundred miles from here. It is around thirty-five miles east of Bogalusa."
"Oh there," Angel said with good-humored sarcasm.
"It's just a small country town of a few hundred people, with maybe as many living on the farms in the surrounding area."
"And your dad is the preacher," Janice said. "From what Angel told me, I'll bet he's fire-and-brimstone holiness."
"He sure is, at least he thinks he's holy, but if you ask me, he's too holy."
Sarah went on to narrate the events of her past couple days in detail; often brushing tears from her eyes as she spoke. She described other events that had taken place over the past year or two, relating a story of horror to her audience of two. They listened intently, saying from time to time that they understood exactly what she was talking about.
Angel said, "Sarah, I have been in New Orleans for about eight years now. I grew up in a small Iowa town, fell in love, and married my high school sweetheart immediately following our graduation. Our parents said we were too young and wanted us to stay on the farm, but we didn't listen. Many small farms were going under. Rich wanted to make big money, and felt he could do it by working on the oilrigs. He promised me the world, if I would move with him, and we ended up here. Well, he gave me the world all right, but it was not the world I expected.
"We had been married for less than a year when Rich took off with some Jessica, leaving me all alone. To me, that woman will always be a Jezebel. I haven't seen or heard from him since.
"There I was, eight hundred miles from home, with no money or friends. We had been here for only three months, and most of that time I was alone. Overnight, New Orleans changed from being a fascinating city to one of terror. As you can imagine, I was crushed. I had just turned nineteen, and there was no way I wanted to go back home and face all the I-told-you-so's. What could I do?
"Then I met a good-looking man who had a lot of connections throughout the community. His name was Ned Talmage. Even though Rich was the only lover I had ever had; I thought I was in love with Ned. I was too naive to realize I just needed someone, anyone. Anyway, we had sex together every chance we could. He was really nice to me, buying me food, paying my rent and all my other bills, and even buying me new clothes. It was great. It was what I thought I needed, except Ned was a married man. He went home to his wife almost every night. This upset me a lot because I wanted him to marry me, but he had no intention of marrying me. We used to fight about it a lot.
"Our affair continued for about three months. I was his lover and he was my provider. That's the way it was.
"Then one day Ned came to me with a new deal. He had this friend, a man in the state government, who was in town alone. In other words, he didn't have his wife with him. This guy wanted a little safe action, not some street hooker. Good clean fun, that's what Ned called it. The man was willing to pay well. Ned asked me if I'd mind. Mind! My God, I was dumbfounded. I was absolutely outraged. I cried hysterically, not believing what I was hearing. I screamed at him that he was a bastard. What did he think I was? There was no way I was going to sell my body to some stranger.
"Sarah, he put it to me another way. 'Either you'll do as I ask, or the free ride's over, baby.' What could I do? It was a trap. Naturally, I had to consent, but I didn't like it. I was between that rock and a hard place, ass they say. I could not see any other choice at the time, so I went through with it, hating every minute of it and hating myself for doing it. Ned took half of what the man paid me. He said it was his fee.
"I wish I could say it stopped there, but that was only the beginning. More government men, big business men, sportsmen, oil tycoons, writers, musicians, and even a few preachers requested my services through Ned. The string never seemed to end. Along with my regulars, new faces were always being added to my list of clients, some even coming from overseas.
"I learned a lot of things, hard things, about life. Honey, this world is not what it appears to be. So many of the most successful people are deceitful, manipulative, and immoral no matter what public image they portray. Some, if they thought you might expose them and mess up their public image, would not hesitate to have you wasted."
Sarah asked, "You don't mean they would actually kill you, do you?"
"That's exactly what she does mean," Janice said. "In this world, the outcasts, that's us, often become the toys of the rich. Every day we face the possibility of their displeasure, their wrath. They can be so demanding. From what I have seen and heard since I left home, nearly everybody gets away with it. Whatever they want, they get."
"Are you a . . . a . . . a prostitute, too?" Sarah asked with cautious hesitation.
"Sarah, that's about all you can do when you're still young and not good enough for the good people. When you flunk out in their game, they can be just as merciless as the ones they call sinners. The only difference is they kill your spirit in the name of God and goodness. The truth is, anyone can survive in either game – the world's or the church's – by simply keeping the rules. But honesty and openness, being real and being weak – especially being weak – are against the rules in both games. You cannot win if you refuse to play the games. You simply cannot."
Tears were flowing down Sarah's cheeks as she asked, "Why do I feel as if you are telling me the truth? Why it's awful, simply terrible!"
"It is awful, and it is the naked truth. It may end up killing your body, but it can't touch your spirit unless you allow it," Angel said.
"But that doesn't make sense," Sarah said.
Janice said, "It will. It will."
"After I had been working for Ned for about a year, he moved me into the place where I live now. He bought all of the furniture for me, taking an extra twenty-five percent from my commissions until he was paid back. The place has proved to be a stroke of luck, a magnet. You are now the seventh Christian-home reject, and the third preacher's kid, who has wandered into that park since I've lived there. They kick you out because they don't know how to love you, and we love you the way you are. We try to help you discover what the game really is. It may take a while to see it, but the pieces do start coming together."
"Don't the police bother you at all?" Sarah asked.
"I told you, Ned has big connections. We never have to work the streets. The meetings with our clients are always scheduled in advance. We just get a call and are told when and where we have to meet the customer, or what time the customer will pick us up. It's like going out on blind dates, except we do get a lot of repeats. Everything goes smoothly until someone tries to step out of line. Then the shit hits the fan."
"What do you mean by that?"
"With my girls, nothing like that has ever happened, and I don't think it ever will. But it does happen out on the streets. I hope you never have to see it. It can get pretty messy. Some girls get mutilated pretty bad; others end up getting themselves killed. Janice knows exactly what I am talking about."
"The police must get involved when that happens, don't they? I mean, they can't get away with murder, can they?"
Janice said, "My first few weeks were spent out on the streets, before I met up with Angel. I know what it's like out there. The officials do not care. A big investigation would step on too many toes, so most of the time it's just brushed under the table and recorded as a suicide or an accidental death. Rarely is the victim local; most are runaways, and very few have regular contacts outside of New Orleans. Most of the time their families don't even know they are here. Believe me, the French Quarter can be a brutal place. It's not all glamour like the promoters want to have everyone believe. Besides, the most influential police are well taken care of and even use the service themselves at times."
Sarah could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was a very different world than she was used to. Then Angel completely pulled the rug from under her.
"Well Sarah, when would you like to meet Ned?"
She stared at Angel and Janice with a blank and unbelieving expression. "Are you kidding me? Do I have to meet him at all?"
"No, and we are not trying to be hard on you either. There are other choices. You might want to go back home or get a job and try to support yourself. You can even work the streets, if you want to. If you don't like any of those options, there's Ned. He will be thrilled to add you to his bevy of beauties."
"I can't return home, you know that, and neither can I earn enough money to make it on my own. I'm only sixteen. How can I support myself? Isn't there another way?"
Janice seemed surprised. "You're only sixteen? My God, you are even younger than I was. If anyone outside asks you, always say you are eighteen. Remember that."
"But why should I lie?"
"Sarah, you are about to get a crash course in life, whether you like it or not. I don't want to see you end up out on the streets. It's really the pits out there. It's a world of drugs, violence, and death. At least with Ned you will have a chance to live in relative comfort and safety. With a little luck you might even piece together some of the fragments of your shattered life. We have. It's up to you though. I'm not trying to push you into anything. Give me a better option, and I'll probably go for it myself. I certainly don't want to be a call girl for the rest of my life."
"But, ma'am, I'm a still virgin," Sarah said, sobbing. "I don't want to become a prostitute, even though my dad has been calling me a whore for years. I just don't want to do it. I don't know what to do. Oh, God, please help me."
She was crying uncontrollably. It was a heartbreaking sight for both Angel and Janice, yet they knew it had to be. Angel sat beside Sarah, put her arm around her, and said, "Well, baby, you can come back to my house and take as long as you need to think it over. You do need to know one thing: when Ned discovers you are staying in one of his flats, you will either become his employee or you are out on the streets. I can't do anything to help you at that point, and neither can Janice. That's one of the rules. You can either accept it, run away, or die. There really isn't much choice, is there?"
Sarah stared at Angel through tear-filled eyes, then at Janice. She was trembling. "If I do meet Ned, what will I have to do – not that I'm going to. I need to know." Her crying was diminishing to a degree.
"The way he usually works it is to keep you for himself for the first month or two. He sets you up in your own apartment and teaches you the ropes and all. He's not married anymore, so you would probably see quite a bit of him for a while. During this time he takes several pictures of you to show interested clients. They choose the girl or girls they want from those photographs. Are you a natural blonde?"
"Yes, of course. Do you think my father would have allowed me to bleach my hair? Why do you ask such a silly question?"
"It's quite simple. In this business natural blondes are a fantasy. A lot of men want to make it with a woman who has a blonde bush."
"What's a blonde bush, anyway?"
Janice laughed, "Blonde pubic hair."
Sarah blushed. The whole thing was too much for her. She wasn't used to such open conversation about sexual matters. She wasn't used to any dialogue at all on the subject.
Angel looked at her watch, changing the subject quickly. "Oh my god! It's time for me to get back home. I have to get ready for tonight, and we still need to get something to eat."
"Don't sweat it. I can pop some frozen food in the oven and have something ready in no time," Janice said.
Sarah sat quietly while Angel and Janice got things ready to eat. There was so much to think about, she wasn't even hungry. Less than twenty-four hours ago her dad's temper had erupted. So much had changed in one day.
Hardly a word was spoken as they ate. Both of the veterans were well aware of the turmoil that was taking place in their young, new friend. Neither envied her, and both would have done anything in their power to make it easier for her, but there was no easy way out. This path seemed to be Sarah's destiny.
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Angel tried her best to cheer Sarah up on the way back to the apartment, but Sarah remained in a quiet, contemplative mood. When they arrived, she went right to the sofa and buried her head in the pillow.
Angel told her that she had to get ready to go out with the senator again, but she may as well have been talking to the wall. Sarah was lost in her own world of thoughts. She would be alone in that world all night long.
It took nearly an hour for Angel to get ready. When she came out of the bedroom she was wearing her hair on top of her head with a cubic zirconia headpiece sitting right in the front. Two curly locks of long hair, one on each side, hung down over her shoulders. Her dress was a low-cut, red-silk-with-lace-trim evening gown, ankle-length but slit up the right side almost to her hip. Her high heel shoes were also red, and she wore diamond earrings, a necklace, and bracelets on each arm. She looked as if she was going to a costume party dressed as a queen, only lacking the mask.
"How do I look?" she asked Sarah. "Sarah. Sarah. Hello, Sarah, this is Angel calling Sarah. Come in, Sarah."
She looked up and smiled. "Sorry," she said. "I must have been out of it for a minute."
"A minute! You've been in another world for over an hour. How do I look?"
"Like a princess," Sarah said, without enthusiasm.
"Last night I was the senator's hooker; tonight I play his queen. He seems to get a kick out of costumes and role-playing. The only one of his little games that really bothers me though, is the bondage. I don't appreciate being tied to a bed, even if it is a charade. It resembles the truth too much, and I still don't enjoy seeing a lot of that all at once. It takes time, a lot of time, to be able to accept your own bondage and all of the many things you just can't control. Sometimes I think I'm almost there, but it's so painfully difficult. Even though I've come to the point where I believe freedom begins with complete surrender to the truth about yourself, it's still difficult to relinquish the illusion that somehow you'll be able to escape, or that maybe you're really not what you know you are. I keep trying, but I guess I need outside help. The problem is finding someone who is reasonably free of judgmental attitudes so that they can see clearly enough to be able to help others. I don't know why, but there don't seem to be many people like that in this world."
Angel was talking to herself. Most of what she was saying made no impact on Sarah, who was lying there without replying, looking at Angel, but still lost in her own thoughts.
"Come on," Angel said, "please talk about it. It helps to get it off your chest. I still have a little time before the senator's chauffeur is due to pick me up at the cafe, and I want to help, if I can."
"I don't know where to find the words yet," Sarah finally said. "This is all so new to me, so sudden, so scary. Angel, I'm afraid, really afraid. I wish I could just go hug my daddy, and heal all the sores on the inside, but I can't. I'm also angry, so angry that I'd like to kill him, too. It doesn't make sense, does it?"
"More than ever, baby. Like I said before, it's hard, damn hard to put all the pieces together. I don't think most people ever do. Most don't even recognize all the pieces as their own. The ones they want, they claim. What they don't want or can't accept, well those belong to them. That is probably the sickest game of all we humans play, and it's likely the one that keeps us in constant turmoil. One thing for sure, I've learned a hell of a lot about people, especially myself, since I've been doing this job. People can say what they want about it, but few professions give you an education on human behavior equal to this one."
"But, Angel, how can you let all those men touch you and do all those bad things to you. I don't think I could ever do it; at least, I could never feel good about it."
"Who said anything about feeling good about it? Sometimes it does feel good, for a while, but then the truth clobbers you. It was only a game and did not even touch you where it hurts, let alone help you find a solution to the endless questions. Hey, it's not easy to do, but it's not hard either. You have to convince yourself that both you and the guy deserve a little pleasure, sort of like an island in an ocean of pain. For a brief moment, it does help you forget, and if you are able to think about the pleasure your partner is receiving, not just your own, your own pleasure seems to increase. I don't have the answers about how it works, but I certainly don't think God intended for us to be untouchable prudes either. After all, if God really did make us, why would He want to deprive us of good feelings? I don't believe He does. If marriage was all it's cracked up to be, why do all of these married men, and women, too, keep trying to find someone or something else? It's another one of those puzzles that doesn't seem to have an easy solution.
"I hate to cut it short, but I only have five minutes to get down to the cafe. I'll see you tomorrow." She stopped in the doorway, looking back at Sarah. "Oh, Sarah, by the way, for what it's worth, I love you." With that she was out the door.
Last night, Sarah was hopping aboard the train about this time. It seemed an eternity ago. From one extreme to the other, the hand of fate had driven this young lady. Was her destiny on target, or had she gone completely off the path? That answer depended a lot on how it was viewed.
Sarah had lived over sixteen years in a so-called moral environment, a climate of a twisted, manipulative love that was based on inflexible rules and impossible demands. Now, on her first day in this immoral setting, she was confronted with an understanding love. It was a love that accepted people as they were, giving them space to learn, and to grow, a patient love. It was not a love that called everything good either. Yet even this world had its undeniable pressures to conform quickly; and she still had to play by rules established by someone else.
Sarah wondered what her parents would tell the church, the school, Grandma and Grandpa Walker; if they would ever regret kicking her out; if they would ever see how much they had hurt her with their holiness discipline. She fell asleep wondering, and had another dream. Did her dreams have any significance?
This time she was back in her childhood. Daddy, Mommy, and little Sarah were again a happy family playing together on a big playground in the schoolyard. There were swings, a slide, and a merry-go-round. She played on the monkey bars, the horsies, and the other pretend animals. They were having so much fun.
Then the scene began to shift as the sky became dark. She was not a little girl anymore, and her daddy and mommy weren't very happy. Neither was Sarah. She was crying. The playground had disappeared. Now she was alone in a big dark room with no windows or doors. Her bed had a hard mattress, and there were no sheets or blankets to keep her warm. Her pillow was a rock. On her walls were pictures of witches, goblins, skeletons, and demons. She was screaming in terror, but no one could hear her.
Finally, the scene changed again. She was grown up. Her daddy and mommy were gone. She cried because she did not know where they went. She was in another room. This one had many windows and doors. The same figures appeared on the walls, but behind each one was another figure. She looked closely. It was Sarah, herself, behind each one. She was smiling from ear to ear and was hugging each frightening creature in front of her. The light on her face went right through these evil beings. They looked so frightened. She cried again as she watched, because she did not understand.
Someone shook her, and then shook her again. Sarah opened her eyes slowly. She rubbed them and looked around.
"I'm sorry to wake you, but you were crying softly," Angel said. "Why didn't you go into the bedroom?"
"I guess I fell asleep here."
"That's obvious. You must have slept well, because I left almost eleven hours ago."
"You did? What time is it?"
"Almost eight o'clock. Would you like some breakfast?"
"Sounds good. Can I help you make it?"
"Sure. You can pour the juice and get the cereal out while I am changing into something more comfortable."
She went into her bedroom and changed, putting on her robe. Returning to the kitchen, she made toast while Sarah poured the cereal and milk. "What's wrong with you this morning?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost or something."
"I had another dream."
"Go ahead and tell me about it."
Sarah related it as best she could but the last part did not make much sense to her. Angel was able to shed a little light on it, as she did her best to interpret it with Sarah.
"Do you agree you were looking at three different stages of your life?" Sarah nodded. "When you were a little girl you were able to play and be yourself. You were very happy. But as you began growing up, you weren't happy anymore. You could no longer be yourself. Life became hard and dark for you, and it seemed as if there was no escape. Then, somehow you got away from your parents and became a lady. This is where you are now. Does this make sense to you?"
"Yes, I think that part is easy. It's the next part that confuses me."
"The present is always more confusing than the past. What came to my mind as you told it was the movie: ‘The Dark Crystal’. In the end of that, the good beings seemed to merge with the evil ones. Only good beings that looked like light were left. The light went right through the darkness and changed it completely. I think you are going to take control of the things that have always frightened you in the past. When you do, you are going to be surprised to find that many of your fears vanish. It will almost seem as if the things you were afraid of are now, for some unknown reason, afraid of you. Even I don't understand why, but I think it is showing you that you don't have to be afraid anymore. You will be able to handle whatever comes your way."
Just as she concluded, someone knocked on the door. Angel jumped to her feet and looked through the peephole. She turned to Sarah, and whispered, "It's Ned." Then, out loud she said, "Just a minute, Ned," as she signaled for Sarah to go into the bedroom. She waited until Sarah had left the room, and then opened the door.
"Good morning," she said, as Ned walked in. The dishes were still on the table, but they went straight into the living room and sat down on the sofa together.
"I heard that you have a new girl staying with you."
Sarah could hear what he said, and quickly hid under the bed.
Ned continued. "Now, Angel, you know the rules. Why don't you have her come out here, so we can meet?"
"Look, Ned, you know I've never given you a hard time, but this girl is sixteen, and she has led a sheltered life, more so than most of the others. She's not ready yet. I've told her the score, and I think she'll come around, but she needs a few more days or so. Please, Ned, give us a break."
"All right, Angel," he said, smiling, "I'm in a good mood today, so I'll be Mr. Nice Guy. Three days is your limit though, not one day longer. Either she is on my payroll by Tuesday night, or she is out on the street. I know you understand. This is a business, and all businesses must have rules. What's her name?"
"You mean you don't already know? You must be slipping, Ned. Her name is Sarah…Sarah Brown."
"They say she is a very pretty girl."
"She is, Ned, and pretty doggone special, too."
"They are all special to you, aren't they, Angel? You are some kind of woman. I'll be in touch with you by Tuesday or Wednesday, if I don't hear from you first." With this he got to his feet, walked quickly to the door, and left without further comment.
Sarah came out of the bedroom shaking. Angel embraced her tightly. "It's okay, honey. He had to find out sooner or later. I had hoped it would be later."
She looked at Sarah with deep compassion, a look Sarah had not seen in her own mother's eyes for a long time. Tears welled up in both their eyes as they hugged again.
"I don't have to work tonight, at least not yet. Why don't we get out of here, and I'll show you some of the sights?"
"Sounds good to me," Sarah said. "Let's go. I need to try and get my mind off things a little, if I can."
They changed their clothes and left for a walk through the French Quarter. Things were fairly quiet because it was Sunday and still early; but the afternoon would bring out the crowds again. For Sarah, it was a little fun; but she could not keep from thinking about her situation, no matter how hard she wanted, or Angel tried, to ease her mind.
The only other time Sarah had been in New Orleans was when she had gone with her parents to the Superdome to hear Brother Jimmy. There was no time for sightseeing then. They drove in, then right back out again when it was over. Now she had a chance to really see the French Quarter with all of its old-world charm and fascination. They spent the whole day together, talking, eating, and enjoying the sights. They even went for a ride in a horse-drawn carriage. Angel was a great tour guide.
It was almost six o'clock when they finally returned to the apartment. There were no messages on the answering machine. Angel breathed a sigh of relief. "Great! It looks as if we might get to spend the evening together, too. Let's get these breakfast dishes cleaned and put away."
When they finished, they sat down and watched ‘Angel’ on HBO. The movie dealt with a young girl, abandoned by her mother, who had to survive by working as a prostitute in Hollywood. It was an appropriate movie for Sarah to see.
Sarah had never seen it before, and it surprised her to see a movie with nudity in it. She kept thinking that if her father knew she was watching such an evil movie, all hell would have broken loose. For him, such displays were simply skinful. He coined the term to refer to the sinfulness of nudity. She was now free of his outward judgments. She would have to learn to free herself from the condemnation he had implanted in her psyche. That was a much more difficult task.
When it was over, Sarah turned to Angel and asked, "If I go to work for Ned, will you be able to help me and keep me safe? I don't want to end up on the street like those girls."
"Of course I will. I try to help all the girls get things into a perspective they can live with. Is that what you have decided to do?"
"I may have to. Let's sleep on it though. I'm real tired."
"You're tired! I probably didn't sleep more than two or three hours last night. Just because I get to spend so much time in bed, doesn't mean I get a lot of sleep. Let's hit the sack."
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The flesh profits nothing! The flesh profits nothing!
Sarah awakened with those words resonating in her mind. She looked over at Angel, who was still fast asleep. Remaining still and quiet, she considered her dreams, her circumstances, and those words. Finally, she whispered, "God, please, I'm so confused. I always loved You the best I knew how, and I still do. I remember when they taught me in Sunday School that You always look at the heart, not the outward appearance. Well then, You must know the terrible spot I'm in. I don't want to do bad things, but I don't know what to do or where to turn. I want to be able to do what You want me to do. Please help me find the right way. Please."
Angel began to stir and stretch, then opened her eyes and looked at Sarah. "Good morning, princess. I heard you whispering. Have you been awake long?"
"Not very long. I've just been lying here thinking about everything and praying for help. Angel, I really don't want to do evil things. Even though my parents think I've gone to the devil, it's not true. It's not my fault they didn't know how to love me the way I am and ended up kicking me out. Now it seems as if you really do love me, but look at what you are."
Angel's eyes revealed sadness as she responded, "I know you are very serious about God; and it's not just for your parents either. I think you really want to do right."
Sarah said, "I do, and that's what makes it all so confusing. I have always been taught that God is disappointed when we do wicked and sinful things because that shows we do not love Him the way we should. If we love Him we are supposed to obey His commandments, but sometimes it seems so impossible." She paused. "Angel, do you think God loves you, even though you do the things you do?"
"I've had lots of time to think about it, that's for sure. The way I look at it, and you know I'm not one of those people who are convinced they have all the right answers, but . . . well, let's put it this way: when I was a little girl I used to go to Sunday School every week, and I always learned my memory verses. I may not remember all of them, but one has always stayed with me. It was probably the first one I ever had to learn: God is love.
"Love is tough to understand, because people use it for so many different things: I love candy, let's make love, I'd love to do this or that. To me love means acceptance, tolerance, forgiveness, understanding, and caring. I believe these describe the way God is.
"And another verse I still remember is about God loving the world so much that He gave us His only Son. He must know then, being God and all, that this world is a pretty confusing place. There are so many people with different ideas, each telling us what we should or must do, as well as what we should not or must not do. I mean, even the religious people can't seem to get it straight. They even fight with each other, with each insisting that they are on God's side, and are, therefore, the only ones with right answers. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, it's like some of the Baptists in our town say we are all wrong because we speak in tongues and believe in healing and all. Some of them even say we are of the devil. Of course, my dad and the most of people in our church think they don't love God enough to go all the way, like they stop short of getting God's best. You're right. It is confusing."
"Yes it is. Like I was saying, I think that if God is love, then love must be pretty important to Him. So I always try, at least most of the time, to accept people the way they are. I even try to put myself in their shoes thinking how I would feel if someone did to me what I would like to do to them. This helps me a lot. It's still real confusing though because there are an awful lot of just plain mean people in this world, people who seem to get their kicks seeing others in misery. I try my best not to put them down or get on their case because I don't like people getting on mine. I try to look at them as people who are having the most trouble adjusting to the confusion. I think God still loves them, just as much as He loves you and me, so I don't think it's my job to correct them. I have enough trouble with my own life.
"What I think must upset God the most is when people act as if they are the only ones who are properly adjusted, or like life isn't really confusing and they have all of the correct answers. They seem to think they have the right to treat those who don't see as they do any way they please. Sarah, I can't believe that is love, nor do I think it pleases God. One thing for sure, it doesn't make the world a very happy place to live."
"But what about the bad things, Angel, are we supposed to do the sins just because He loves us?"
"No, but I think He loves us even with our sins. I don't think we sin to take advantage of His love – some might, but not most people. I think we do what we do because we are trying to find something that works for us, something that will make us fit in a little better, or maybe because we haven't learned to do it the right way yet. I guess it's a little bit like with babies. We don't think it's so terrible when they mess their pants, but five-year-olds who are still messing their pants are a different story. They should be potty trained by then. I think God looks at us that way. He looks at where we are in our life more than He looks at what we do. I think it bothers Him the most when we know we should do something good for someone, and don't do it. When we do some of the wicked things, especially sex, it's not usually to hurt anyone, but because we are hurting ourselves and want to feel better. As we grow and learn, I think He expects us to make mistakes. How could growing and learning make a loving God angry? I don't think it can."
"But, Angel, we know we are not supposed to have sex unless we are married to the person. How can you have sex with all the different men? How can you keep doing it, when you know you can just stop, if you chose? Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I do. I've really struggled with that, more so when I first started than I do now. What I finally came up with is this: I don't know whether it's right or wrong, but it's how I have to look at it to keep going.
"First, I was more or less trapped in the beginning. Don't think I grew up with the dream of becoming some high-class whore. I wanted to get married, have kids, and live happily ever after. It didn't happen that way though. I was caught in circumstances I could not control. You don't know how many times I wanted to kill myself in the beginning. I couldn't even stand to look at myself in the mirror. One day, I sat on this very bed with a razor blade in my hand. I was about to slash my wrists when the phone rang. It was Ned. He had another client for me, and the chauffeur was going to pick me up at the cafe in an hour. 'Well,' I said to myself, 'This is the last time, the very last time I play this sick game. Tomorrow it's all over.'
"I met the guy and he took me straight to his motel room – no wining, no dining, no dancing, no conversation. That's the way the street girls work, but not what I was used to. This guy introduced himself, and it was off to the bedroom. I hurt so badly that when we got to the room, I broke down and cried. He really surprised me with his response. That man was so gentle. He held and comforted me. It was not a sexual hold, just a warm embrace. He encouraged me to talk, and he listened.
"I spilled my guts that night, and when I was all finished, he told me he was a preacher. Sarah, I couldn't believe it. It never occurred to me that a preacher would hire a prostitute, but it was true. He was an evangelist who traveled all over the country. Then I became the listener, as he told his story.
"He was married and had a young child. Since their son had started school, his wife could no longer accompany him on most trips, and he was often away from home a month at a time by himself. Of course, it was very lonely for him. He told me there were many nights when he cried himself to sleep, just longing to hold and be held. He could not get used to sleeping alone. He wished God had skin.
"One day he was reading and came across a quote by one of the early saints. I think he said it was Saint Augustine. He was the saint who talked about something he called a happy sin: a sin God sort of winks at and understands. It had something to do with God's tolerance, if I remember correctly. Anyway, he pondered the idea and prayed about it for a long time.
"Some time later, after one of his meetings, a lady came and asked him for a private counseling session. At her suggestion, he agreed to meet with her at a restaurant following the service. She was a divorced Christian woman who was in a moral bind since her husband had run off with another woman. She asked him what she was supposed to do with her sexual needs. She wanted to obey God, but wondered what provision there was for such difficult times. What was she supposed to, pretend those needs and desires did not exist?
"As they poured their hearts out to each other, it became apparent that their needs were similar. They slept together that night, each satisfying the other's ache for affection.
"Afterwards, his conscience began to bother him. He wanted to tell his wife, but just couldn't. The only one he could talk to about it was God, so he prayed and prayed. Finally, after a long struggle with his guilty conscience, he felt God gave him a discretionary green light. This was his happy sin provided by God to meet a very real need in his life, and to help him grow – strange as it may sound – in character.
"From that point on, he began to view some of the ladies who provided for these needs in a different light. He looked at them as angels of mercy. Believing God looks at all needs as just needs; he began to view the sharing of affection as a much-needed ministry, with or without sex. Of course, he could not openly express this idea, not without losing everything he had worked for all his life, but he accepted it and thanked God. Accepting his sexuality without self-condemnation enabled him to become less judgmental than in the past, which made him much more compassionate. He actually felt he was a better Christian.
"He never did say how he found out about Ned, but that night when we made love, I felt as if it was my very first time. It was the first time making love seemed spiritual. Never before did I feel the love of God like I did that night. It was truly beautiful. It was like a taste of heaven on earth. We made love again in the morning and it was even better. He looked at me with those big blue eyes and said, 'Angel, I thank God for you, and I promise I'll remember and pray for you wherever I go.'
"Since we parted that morning, I haven't seen or heard from him. He was the first person to call me Angel, and I've kept the name ever since. My whole life changed with that one experience, and I'll never be the same again because I no longer see things the way I used to see them.
"Less than a month later, I met Diane. She became my first angel-of-mercy trainee. She was a Christian home reject, just as you are. I met her in the same place, sitting on that same bench where I first saw you. It seems as if that place is a magnet. You are my seventh girl since then. All of you are very remarkable people from similar backgrounds, drawn here to try to find the other pieces of life's puzzle and put them back together. Don't tell me God doesn't understand us; I think it's the religious people who have trouble accepting reality."
Sarah's eyes were filled with tears. So were Angel's. They cried as they held each other in a warm embrace. They were happy tears though, tears of love and understanding. The presence of God in that room was rich and warm, full of grace. God is love.
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Sarah decided to meet Ned. Angel arranged everything. Then they went down to the cafe to await the chauffeur. "Here comes his limo now," Angel said.The ride to Ned's office took less than ten minutes and both remained quiet on the way. Angel watched Sarah closely. It was obvious that she was nervous.
The office was located in a high-rise building, and Barbara Streisand's song "People Who Need People" was playing softly as the elevator whisked them up to Ned's office on the top floor. When the door opened, they stepped out into the plush lobby, and the receptionist greeted them. "Hi, Angel. Mr. Talmage is expecting you. Go right in."
Ned Talmage was the president of a major oil company, a city councilman, an LSU booster, and a deacon in the Presbyterian Church. He had been married for fifteen years, but was divorced for the last five – ever since his wife found out about his off-the-books business. She had threatened to ruin him, but a substantial alimony for the rest of her life ensured her silence. Now, he was a happy bachelor, although his lifestyle had been barely altered by the divorce. He had always been able to get and do whatever he wanted.
Ned's office was spacious and well appointed, appropriate for a man of his status. The purple carpet was so plush it felt as if you were sinking with each step. Ned was sitting behind his huge mahogany desk as they walked in. He was a distinguished-looking man with a slightly receding hairline. He had black hair with just a touch of gray at the temples. His pinstriped, three-piece, navy suit was finely tailored. He also wore a white silk shirt with a navy-and-maroon striped tie.
"Well, Angel, I see you've made it with more than a day to spare. Good work. So this is the little lady I've heard so much about. You're right; she is beautiful." He smiled at Sarah. "I hear you are only sixteen."
"Yes, sir, that's correct," she said, looking at Angel.
"And how long have you been in New Orleans?"
"Since Saturday morning, sir."
"What brought you to our fair city?"
"My parents kicked me out, sir."
"You don't have to keep saying sir."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I mean, okay, Mr. Talmage."
"Has Angel told you the way we work around here?"
"Yes, she did."
"What do you think of our little operation?"
She did not reply.
Ned repeated, "Sarah, I want you to tell me what you think of the operation."
"I don't know, sir. I'm sorry. I just don't know. It seems real scary. I've never done anything like this before. I don't know if I can do it or not."
"I'll tell you the truth, if you keep the right attitude there won't be any problem at all. One thing I have learned is that whenever Angel brings me a girl, I can bet good money she is a nice girl. She has never brought me anyone who did not have real class. I don't know how or where she finds you, but Angel's girls are the cream of the crop. Each one is a first-class lady in my book."
"Well, thank you," Angel said. "You always say that, and as I've mentioned before, it's a long story. I don't think you would understand it if I told you."
"I know; it has something to do with religious homes and all that stuff. You don't think I'm stupid or something do you? I understand a lot of things."
"No, of course, you're not stupid, but would you believe God brings them to me for some reason?"
Ned laughed. "God. You must be kidding. Why on earth would God bring girls to work in a call girl ring? Somehow that just doesn't strike me as His kind of business."
"No, I'm not kidding; you know I'm not. As I said before, you wouldn't understand, few would. Besides, I'm not exactly sure of the reasons myself."
"You're right. I don't understand, and I certainly don't want to get into it now." He turned to Sarah. "Well, are you ready to go to work for me?"
"I guess so, Mr. Talmage, but please be patient with me. I never did anything like this before. It's all so new."
"Why, of course, it is. I'm sure we will get along just fine though." He turned to Angel, "Angel, I guess you can go now. I'll take it from here."
"Look, Ned, this one is very special. I can feel something different about her. Take good care of her. Oh, and one more thing, Ned, she is not on the pill. Please don't get her pregnant."
"Angel, Angel, Angel, they are all special. You don't have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. You know I can handle it."
Angel turned and walked out, leaving Sarah alone with Ned.
"Well, Sarah," he said, getting to his feet. "Come over here, and let me get a better look at you."
She walked toward him, stopping about an arm's length away. He reached out and gently stroked her hair with his right hand, maneuvering it over her breast as he brought it back to his side. As he touched her, she retreated a step and stiffened. She glanced around the room and did not look directly at him. She wondered if he could tell how absolutely terrified she was.
"Do you dance?" he asked.
"No, dancing is worldly. It's a sin." She parroted the doctrine of her rigid training with innocent truthfulness.
"Really?" He looked surprised to hear it. "Let me tell you what I am going to do for you then. Tonight I am going to buy you the very best meal you ever had in your whole life; then we will take in a show together. Have you ever been to a show before?"
"I've been to gospel concerts and jamborees. What kind of show are you talking about?"
"It's something like that, I guess. It will be a stage show with live performers. The music may be a little different, and the comedy may be a bit more spicy, but it's basically the same thing. You just have to sit and watch and listen. Hopefully, you will be able to enjoy it, and it might even help you get your mind off some of your problems. I don't suppose you have a nice evening gown, do you?"
"No, I didn't bring very much from home, and I left my bag at Angel's apartment. I'll go back and get it if you want me to."
"That won't be necessary. I'll buy whatever you need. Do you have an ID?"
"Do you mean an identification card?"
"Yes."
"Yes, I have one. It's not a driver's license or anything like that," she said, fumbling through her purse.
"Let me see it."
She removed the card from her wallet and handed it to him. She had printed her name and address on the card that was in the wallet at the time of purchase.
He took one look at it and said, "I'll keep this, and have a real ID made for you. Sit down while I make a few phone calls. I need to know your height and weight."
"Five-four and about one hundred and five pounds," Sarah said as she sat down on the edge of the sofa. She listened as he spoke on the phone.
"I need an ID made up for Sarah R. Johnson. Now let's see," he leafed through a small book he had pulled from his desk drawer, "Forty-nine Saint Anne Street, Apartment two B. Yes, that's over in the French Quarter." He cupped his hand over the phone and asked, "When is your birthday, Sarah?"
"July 28, 1969," she replied. If she wasn't mistaken, Angel lived in apartment three A at the same address. Was she going to be downstairs from Angel? She hoped so.
"It's July 28, 1966," he said, "and she is five-four, one-o-five pounds, blonde hair, and blue eyes."
As he hung up the phone, he asked for her clothing sizes, writing them down as she gave them. Then he made another phone call, ordering a whole new wardrobe for her. She could not believe the list. Were all of those things going to be for her? She shook her head. It sure was getting interesting. She had never received that many new clothes at one time in her whole life, even on her best Christmas. Still, she was worried about the other things she knew were in store for her.
"Come here, Sarah, I have to take your picture for the ID."
They went into a small room where a camera was all set up. It only took a couple of minutes. His phone was buzzing as they reentered the office. He pushed a button and began speaking without picking up the receiver. "Yes, Miss Marshall, what is it?"
"You are needed down in the sales office." Her voice was loud and clear as it came across on the intercom.
"All right, tell them I'll be right down." He turned to Sarah, "I have to ask you to wait here. I shouldn't be too long. Please excuse me." He went out the door, turning the P.A. system music on before he left.
Sarah walked around his office, looking at his degrees and the pictures on the walls. He had been quite a sportsman in his day. There were numerous photographs of him taken when he was on the LSU football team, as well as more current pictures of him posing with the Saints. There was also one of him with a young girl around Sarah's age, and she speculated that it might be his daughter. He certainly looked old enough to be her father.
The time seemed to drag for Sarah, even though Ned was only gone for about thirty or forty minutes.
When he returned to his office, he brought the form for her new ID. "Now let's add the finishing touches to this thing," he said as he took the scissors from his desk. He cut her picture to the appropriate size and affixed it in the proper position on the card. "You need to sign this. Don't forget, it's Sarah R. Johnson, not Brown."
She signed it, and he immediately embossed it and handed it to her. "From now on your are Sarah Johnson, nineteen years old, and that is your new address. I put you downstairs from Angel, seeing how much you like each other."
"Thank you, Mr. Talmage. I really do appreciate that. I do like her a lot. She's really nice."
"I'm glad you feel that way. Now you are an official part of our happy family. I understand you already met Janice. Did you meet any of the other girls yet?"
"No, sir, not yet."
"You will. I don't try to discourage any of you from getting together in your free time. It seems to help your morale."
Sarah stared at him. She knew a question was written all over her face.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Mr. Talmage."
"You can call me Ned."
"What if I don't work out? What if I can't handle it? I'm scared."
Before he had an opportunity to answer, the buzzer went off again. "Yes, Miss Marshall?"
"The main lobby on line two, sir."
"Thank you. Ned Talmage, may I help you? Just have him wait there. I will send my chauffeur around right away." He pushed another button on his phone and dialed two numbers. "Yes, Dave, I want you to drive around to the front lobby. The man from Penney's is waiting with some packages. Load them into the car. The young lady who came with Angel earlier will be down shortly. Take her and the packages back to Angel's, and help her carry them into 2B. She'll have the key. Then come on back."
He hung up, opened a drawer, and pulled out a key. Handing it to Sarah, he said, "You go on home and get ready for tonight. Tell Angel I will be taking you to a dinner show; she will help you get ready. Be at the cafe at seven o'clock sharp. And, Sarah, don't worry about a thing. You'll do just fine. I'll see you tonight." He smiled as she left his office.
When they arrived, Angel was standing outside to help her move into her new apartment. It even smelled new, being freshly painted and completely redecorated to the smallest detail, with French provincial furnishings throughout. The colors were mostly pastels and earth tones. Sarah loved it. Both she and Angel were excited as they organized the new clothes and put them away.
"I could hardly believe it when Ned called to say you would be living here. Sometimes I really think that man has a heart after all. He owns this whole building, you know. An old man lived here since before I came, but he had a stroke and died about a month ago. How do you like the way Ned had it fixed up?"
"He didn't do all this for me, did he?"
"No, of course not. How would he have known you were going to show up on the bench?"
"Yeah, you're right. You know, Angel, he really didn't seem too bad. I couldn't believe it when he ordered all these clothes for me. It made it seem just a little bit exciting for the first time. I'm still very nervous though…about the sex, I mean. I don't know if I can go through with it. He's old enough to be my father. I don't even know if I'm ready to have someone more my own age touch me that way, but an older man?"
"It's quite normal to have a lot of mixed feelings. Being scared and not knowing what to expect is one of them. Of course, if you were in love, it would be a lot easier, but even then it's a new experience. I think you'll do just fine though. Ned is usually quite gentle his first time around with a new girl. The more you are able to relax, the easier it will be and the better you will feel. Since it is your first time, it will probably hurt some, but that's normal and nothing to be concerned about. Also, don't get upset if he kisses you all over. Try to enjoy it. It's nice.
"You mean he might kiss me down here?" She pointed with a look of disgust on her face. "I overheard the girls at school talking about that, but I think it's gross."
"He might. He probably will, and it's not gross if you are clean. It's a great way to get ready for intercourse. If you can accept it, it will help you to relax. Believe me, it feels wonderful."
"My mother never talked to me like this. No one did, not even my girlfriends. I only overheard – "
"Don't worry about it. I really don't care what you may have overheard; it doesn't matter. As for your mother, she had no reason to talk to you about anything like this. In her mind, you weren't ready for sex, and why cross a bridge before you get to it? Knowing what you have told me though, I doubt she would have told you about these things on the night before your wedding. Nature would have had to take its course and you would have learned on your own. I have to give you a crash course, because you don't have time for trial and error like most kids. You have to jump in all at once. Sex is beautiful, not dirty. It is the giving and receiving of affection, and we all need as much of that as we can get."
"If you say so. I guess you are right."
"Where did he say he was taking you?"
"To a dinner show. He's going to pick me up at the cafe. I have to be ready by seven."
"I think you'll enjoy it. He knows how to make a lady feel very special, and he knows how to have a good time. I'm not just talking about the sex either."
Angel helped Sarah select the clothes she would wear that evening. There were so many beautiful outfits the decision was difficult. It was exciting. Being showered with gifts would be a thrill for most people. For Sarah, it made the whole mess a bit easier to accept. It was good psychology on Ned's part.
When they were through, Angel went up to her room, promising to return around six-thirty for any last-minute preparations. Sarah decided to take a short nap.
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By six-fifteen Sarah was ready and did not want to wait for Angel to come down, so she ran up and knocked on her door.When she answered it, she took one look at Sarah and said, "Wow!"
Sarah looked beautiful. It was not mere painted-on beauty, but a natural radiance. It was the glow of her innocence coupled with attire that complemented her features well. Her dress matched her eyes. It was a royal blue, full-length, long-sleeve, chiffon evening gown, high cut up front and a bit lower in the back. Both sides were slit to just above the knees. Her long blonde hair provided a stunning contrast.
"A couple of finishing touches will make it perfect," Angel said as they went into her room. A trace of blue eye shadow was applied, with a string of cultured pearls added to complete the changes. Sarah's appearance was simply exquisite. "You look fantastic on the outside, but how do you feel inside?" Angel asked.
"Okay, I guess. I'm still nervous, but I'm trying to pretend that I'm a princess, like I'm living in a fairy tale or something. Still, when I think about having sex with him, I feel cheap. No matter what he gives me, it's degrading and humiliating."
"You are a princess, and you're not cheap. It's survival. I know it's not the way you dreamed it would be, but the truth is it never is, even when it's with someone you love. After my first time, I said to myself, 'Is that all there is to it?' From talking to others, I know I'm not the only one who felt that way.
"You are going to have to try and enjoy yourself as much as you can. Ned can be a super guy, he really can. In a way, any girl he breaks in can consider herself lucky. Most men are not lovers, at least when they are starting out. They are impatient, and often rough. They don't understand or can't be bothered with a woman's special needs. Ned's not like that. I expect you will find him both gentle and patient. A lot more so than if it were with someone your own age."
"I know you are trying to make it as easy for me as you can. Do you know I even prayed about it while I was getting ready? Do you think it is wrong to ask for God's help for something like this, or am I a hypocrite?"
"To me, hypocrites are people who say a thing is wrong, and then turn right around and do that very thing in secret. As for praying about it, if that's what your heart told you to do, you did right. I think if people would only listen to their hearts more, this world would not be as hard as it is. We are cut off from our feelings. In the book, Mr. God, This Is Anna, someone said that the head is for the day, and the heart is for the night. Your head will fail you, but your heart never will."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Of course, it's so. Always listen to your heart. Trust me. They don't call me Angel for nothing,” she said. "Hey, look, I still have some things to do to get myself ready, and you better get down to the cafe." She hugged Sarah. "Remember, honey, I love you, and so does God. You'll be all right."
Sarah went down the stairs checking to make sure she had locked her door as she went by. In just a few minutes she was at the cafe and sat down at one of the outside tables to wait for Ned. The waiter came by and asked if he could get her anything. She said, "No thank you. I'll be leaving in a few minutes."
It was only another minute or two when the limo pulled up to the curb. The chauffeur came around to open the door for Sarah, and she climbed in and sat beside Ned.
"You look ravishing, simply ravishing!"
"Thank you, Mr. Talmage, sir."
"Now, Sarah, didn't I tell you not to call me Mr. Talmage or sir? I am Ned. Don't make me feel like an old man."
"I'm sorry."
"You're forgiven."
They drove over to Saint Louis Street and up to Royal where Dave dropped them off at Antoine's, a landmark French restaurant in the Vieux Carrie section of the French Quarter. Many of the items on the menu were unfamiliar to Sarah. She let Ned order for her, telling him she liked almost everything. He ordered a meal that featured shrimp: shrimp Creole, shrimp jambalaya, and shrimp remoulade. The latter was served as the appetizer. He also ordered a bottle of fifty-year-old French champagne to go with the meal.
Everything tasted good to Sarah, except the champagne. She had never tasted an alcoholic beverage of any kind, but sipped the drink until her wine glass was empty. For dessert they both enjoyed nonpareil custard bread pudding, one of the specialties of the house. It was delicious, and Sarah smiled.
"What are you thinking?" Ned asked.
"You were right. This was the nicest meal of my whole life. Thank you very much."
"You are quite welcome, my dear. Now it's show time. Let me get Dave on the car phone. I'll be right back."
Sarah watched as Ned went to the front to use the phone. He was only gone a minute or two. Once back at the table, he said, "Tonight, show time will be at the LaPetite Theatre."
The time they had to wait for the chauffeur was passed with trivial conversation about champagne and alcoholic beverages in general. To Sarah, it was a sin to drink anything containing alcohol, but Ned promised her a treat for later in the evening. He would not tell what, only that he was sure she would be pleasantly surprised.
Sarah was unmoved by the show, worrying about her rapidly approaching sexual encounter with Ned. For her, the building was the most interesting thing about show time. The LaPetite Theatre was in a historical mansion called the Cabildo. She had gone past it with Angel during yesterday's tour. Ned told her it was where they had signed the Louisiana Purchase back in 1803, and that it also housed the state museum. It was a magnificent old building.
Following the show, they went to Ned's penthouse suite in the same hotel where Sarah had been dropped off her first morning in New Orleans. The suite was luxurious, even more so than his office. After taking a moment to survey her new surroundings, she asked if she could use the bathroom.
Permission granted, she was awed by the grand decor of such a functional room. Marble appliances with gold fixtures seemed a bit too much in a place where the primary purpose was the routine elimination of wastes and the cleansing of the body. Only the cushioned toilet seat was considered a useful luxury. Everything else was deemed unnecessary extravagance. Ned was never told of her assessment. Only Angel and the other girls were let in on Sarah's critique.
Returning to the living room, she was greeted with the soft music of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and another drink. Ned held a glass out to Sarah. "This is my surprise. I think you will find it a little sweeter, and hopefully more to your liking than the champagne. It is a liqueur called Anisette."
She took a sip and her face lit up. "This really is good. It tastes a little bit like licorice. I do like it."
"I thought you would. How did you like the show?" he asked, sitting down on the plush sofa and beckoning for her to do the same.
She purposely avoided telling him the main reason she had been unable to enjoy the show. "It was okay, I guess. I really wasn't paying much attention. I'm not used to that kind of entertainment. I know my dad would call it worldly, so I had a little trouble enjoying myself. I wish I did not feel like he was watching me all the time. There is so much I have to get used to, and I don't need him tagging around in my mind. For the first time in my life, I'm free. You don't know how hard it is having a preacher father."
"Why is it so many of you religious kids end up in places like this? What's the catch?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe it is because Christian people, and especially ministers, find it so hard to accept anything or anybody that doesn't measure up to their standards of right and wrong – especially when it is their own children. I know how difficult he made my life. I guess it made him feel better about himself, trying to see all the imperfections in me. Even when he was the one who was wrong, he couldn't see it. It's so confusing to me."
"What did you do that made him kick you out?"
"Nothing really. My mom caught me taking a pill some guy gave me on the way home from school. Both she and my dad thought I was a drug addict or something, but it was only my first one. They didn't even take time to listen to my side. They never did. My dad always had to be the judge and jury, and he would listen to everybody else's testimony except mine. I was always wrong. Whenever I would try to say anything, he would call me arrogant, rebellious, or a witch. He used to call me a whore a lot, too, but it's not true at all. He's a very hard man."
"Are you still a virgin?"
"Yes. I have only kissed a couple of boys in my whole life. Most of the time, if I had a crush on a boy, my dad never knew it. I was not allowed to have any boyfriends, and he even chose my girlfriends for me. He wanted to protect me, I guess."
"That sounds like emotional abuse to me,” Ned said, putting his arm around Sarah. She stiffened. "Why are you so tense?" he asked. "I promise, I won't harm you a bit."
"But aren't you going to make me have sex with you?"
"Honey, sex won't harm you. Humans beings are sexual, but let's get one thing straight – I have never forced a woman to make love, and I never will. I am a lover, not a maniac."
"But what about all the rules and everything? It sounds to me like you are a pretty hard man, too."
"Did Angel tell you that?"
"No. She said you can be a very nice man. She even told me you were patient and gentle, and any girl broken in by you was a lucky girl."
"Did she really say that?"
"I don't lie. No matter what I may have to do, I don't want to be a liar."
"Sarah, I do want to make love to you, but I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. You are free to go, if you like. But don't get me wrong, I run a business with you girls. As long as you do your job, I'll take good care of you and see that you get everything you need, and I'll try to make sure you don't get hurt. I don't think any of Angel's girls has ever been hurt here. If you don't believe me, ask her; I'm sure she will tell it's true."
"Angel never mentioned anyone she knows being killed or hurt real bad, but don't they get killed out on the street? How does that happen?"
"Not in Angel's group. You girls don't have to work on the streets. There are a lot of girls here who do though, and the French Quarter can often be brutal for them. I will never ask you or any of the other angels to work that way. Do you have any idea why they get hurt?"
"No."
"It's mostly the drugs. Prostitution and drugs usually go hand in hand. Drugs distort the minds and turn people into tough and vicious savages. The pimps get their girls hooked, and then they use the drugs to control them completely. Whenever they step out of line – even if they are suspected of stepping out – they get hurt. I try to run a clean operation, no drugs or violence. I also do my best to carefully screen and instruct all new clients beforehand. As I told you, if you do your job, I protect you the best I can."
He poured two more drinks as he continued talking. "It has been proven that the human body requires caressing and lots of touch. This is especially true of a woman. People are silently screaming for the lack of tenderness, the lack of loving touch. I bet you didn't know that babies who are not held get sick and die, and adults turn violent without affection. I'll bet, too, that your own father rarely ever held you."
"Not since I began to develop. He seemed afraid to let my breasts touch him, like he'd get contaminated or something. It's strange, even some of my friends from church say their dads hug them tightly, but not my dad. He's too holy for that, I guess."
"That's so sick," Ned said as he began to gently stroke her breast, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He paused, waiting for her reaction. This time she only tensed up a little, but did not pull away.
As Ned continued to caress her face, hair, neck, shoulders and breasts with his hands and lips, Sarah began to loosen up. He unbuttoned her dress, and she made no move to stop him, even as he slowly slid it down over her shoulders. Ned was a man of extreme patience. He took pride in being a ladies' man and a lover. It was not unfounded egotism, but had a genuine basis in the way he treated the ladies. It was not at all uncommon for him to take an hour, sometimes two, in foreplay, especially with someone new. This was a case in point. Even as they entered the bedroom and all of their clothes came off, there was no rush for immediate penetration. Ned believed in waiting for the perfect moment.
That moment arrived, and Sarah was ready. His patience paid off in her response as she proved to be not only starved for affection, but also responsive to his tender loving care. They fell asleep in each other's arms, spent from her first taste of a passionate, warm, and tender embrace. For this abused teenager, it was a time of mixed emotions.
(Those who judge by mere external moral principles would call this abuse too, and maybe it was. Morality though, was more than just actions and appearances. Sex within a marriage could often be as immoral as the seductions that take place in meat exchanges every night of the week, sometimes more so, primarily where intimacy was not based on honesty. Like the words Sarah awaked to earlier, the flesh profits nothing. Morality that does not come from the heart, and was not completely honest, was hypocrisy!)
Morning seemed to arrive quickly as the phone rang. It was Ned's wake-up call. "I have an appointment in only forty-five minutes. I'm sorry I have to rush," he said, kissing her forehead. "You were absolutely wonderful, my little princess."
Ned was dressed and ready to go in little more than twenty minutes, but Sarah had not moved from the bed.
"I'll call you in about two hours and let you know when the chauffeur will be here to take you home. I expect you have some things you want to discuss with Angel."
"I can walk," she said. "It's not that far."
"You'll do nothing of the sort, young lady. You wait here until I call. I will have room service bring you breakfast in about an hour." He left her alone on the round waterbed – alone with her thoughts.
She remained in the bed thinking about the situation she was in and wondering if there would ever be an end to her confusion. She had completely forgotten room service until she heard the doorbell. Wrapping Ned's robe around herself, she answered the door, taking her French toast and sausage breakfast from the bellboy, and turning on the TV before sitting down to eat.
When she was through, she went in to take her shower. She was upset that she had not thought to bring a change of clothes; having to wear the same garments she had on the previous night. After getting dressed, she sat down to wait for Ned's call. The "Donahue Show" was on, and the guests were talking about runaways and the plight of unwanted children. As one guest was discussing the negative effects of inflexible religion on the situation, the phone rang. It was Ned. He told her to go down to the lobby, and the chauffeur would be there in ten minutes. She watched a few more minutes, and then reluctantly switched off the TV, wishing she could wait until the end. She wanted to hear everything they had to say about it, but she had to go.
In the lobby, Sarah noticed the same doorman who had been on duty her first day in town. He recognized her, saying something to the lady at the desk. Sarah felt he was talking about her, so she was relieved when she saw the limousine and ran outside. "Good morning, Dave," she said, getting in. He looked surprised that she had remembered his name.
During the short drive to her apartment, she thought about the "Donahue Show." She had no idea the problem was as widespread as they indicated, and it bothered her that so many well-meaning parents could be so cruel in the name of God. She was only one of thousands.
They arrived quickly, and Dave dropped her off. She said good-bye, wishing him a good day, and then ran inside to see Angel.
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Sarah did not take time to stop at her apartment, going up the extra flight of stairs to Angel's. She knocked several times, but there was no response. Disappointed, she went back down and changed her clothes. She was brushing her teeth when she heard a knock on her door. Foaming at the mouth, she ran to see who was there. It was Angel and Janice, curious about the previous night, and eager to see how she was doing."Good morning, Sarah," Angel said. "How is the little princess this morning? Quite rabid, I see."
"I don't have rabies." Sarah laughed as white bubbles ran down her chin. "I'm okay," she said, returning to her own, very ordinary, bathroom to finish brushing her teeth.
When she returned, Angel asked, "Was Ned easy on you?"
"I guess so. You know I don't have anything to compare it with. I still feel mixed up a little."
"Do you want to talk, or would it be better if we left you alone to sort things out first."
"Not at all, I'm really glad you're here. Let's sit down and talk."
Sarah and Janice sat down as Angel put water on for coffee. "I prayed for you more than once last night," Angel said from the kitchen.
"So did I," Janice said.
"Thanks." She paused. "Last night was sort of wonderful in a way. It was everything I ever thought it would be, and even more. The only difference is that I expected it would be with my husband, not a . . . er . . . what was it you told me he was?"
"A pimp," Angel said. "Ned's not one of your ordinary run-of-the-mill pimps, but he's a pimp just the same."
"Yeah, that's it. Anyway, he was nice to me. We talked quite a bit all evening, even at his hotel suite after the show. He seemed to be interested in me and concerned about what I've gone through. He may have only been pretending, but it was nice having a man my father's age to talk to me as an adult. I don't think I could have gone through with the sex, if we hadn't talked so much first.
"Once we got started, I realized I had been wanting someone to hold and touch me for a long time. Still, I was quite nervous. Believe it or not, I was afraid he wouldn't think I was pretty or there might be something wrong with me. I was glad he took his time and helped me to relax. He kept saying he thought I was beautiful, and he made me feel beautiful, too. I felt a little bit wonderful, and a lot mixed up. That doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"Sure it does," Angel said. "It was your first time."
"Did it hurt?" Janice asked.
"Only a little bit in the beginning, and it made me bleed a little; but after that, I guess it was okay. I sure enjoyed being caressed."
"How do you feel now?" Angel asked. "Knowing you, I'm sure you have been thinking a lot about it already."
"You're right. For a while last night, I was able to forget some of the hurts from the past and the judgments of the future. I guess I got carried away, but this morning it all came back. When Ned left earlier, I saw a part of the 'Donahue Show.' It was about runaways. I have wondered why everyone thinks living with strict religious parents is so wonderful, and why it's such a terrible sin to be loved and caressed for the first time since I was a little girl. It doesn't make sense. Why should I feel guilty that I had some good feelings while I was sinning? I mean I used to feel bad when I was being good, because I felt so empty, so misunderstood. Now I feel bad for feeling good, and I still feel empty and misunderstood. I just don't understand."
"Tough, isn't it? Welcome to the real world. Life doesn't come to us with all of the answers neatly wrapped. It comes full of questions, full of emptiness and misunderstanding. The people who think they have it all figured out are probably in the worst boat of all. Oh, what am I saying? Someone has to have the right answers somewhere. That preacher who first called me Angel was the closest I have ever come to meeting someone who could encompass both God and real life in the same package; yet even he had to have a happy sin and hide it from almost everyone in his entire life. It sure is a mystery. Something has to be wrong somewhere, but where or what, I don't know."
The next few minutes were quiet, each one thinking about what Angel had just said. Finally Janice asked Sarah, "How much sleep did you get last night?"
"I don't know. Four or five hours, I guess. It was twenty to three the last time I remember looking at the clock. I was still wide-awake then. He said he had to get some sleep because he had a big day ahead of him."
"Well," Angel said, "I didn't get that much. I need to go up and get a few more hours anyway. How about the two of you?"
"No, I'm going to stay here and talk, that is, if it's all right with Sarah."
"Sure, I'd like to talk some more. It seems to help."
Angel departed, leaving the two newest Angels of Mercy to get better acquainted. "She's quite a lady," Janice said. "Amy and I were just talking the other day about what she means to all of us. She has a lot of wisdom. Do you have any idea what it's like for the girls who have to work the streets?"
"Ned told me last night that it's not the best of worlds."
"Not the best? Sarah, it's the pits! I don't remember if I already told you, but I was out there for a little over a week when I first came here from Baton Rouge, so I know. Almost all of the girls are drug addicts or alcoholics. Although they do basically the same thing we do, no one screens their customers, and they get a lot of rough ones. Some of them get beat up almost as often as they make love. Is it any wonder they're so hard? They have to be hard to just survive out there. By comparison, we have it made."
"That's just about the same thing Ned told me. It's awful to think that I might have ended up working out there. I guess I should be glad I met Angel."
"Ain't that the truth! Our situation is probably one in a million. It may not be perfect, but it sure beats the normal existence of most prostitutes. We have God, Angel, and even Ned to thank for that."
Sarah thought about that for a moment. "Maybe God specially prepared Angel to work with girls like us. Weren't we always told that God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform?"
"Yeah, and how much of a coincidence do you think it is we all came from strict Christian homes. Three of us have preacher fathers. It's almost as if we are being given the opportunity to balance what we had with what we lacked. Maybe both sides are necessary to create caring and loving people."
"I don't know. I wish there was a better way than this. Confusion is not my idea of fun. If only it could be – "
"Sarah, we don't deal with possibilities. In our situation we have to deal with what is. What good does it do to complain?"
"None. I just wish I could avoid the situations I know I am going to be facing soon."
"We all face those. Like Angel always says though, we are not the ones in control. We will learn what we are supposed to, even if it takes forever."
They continued talking for over an hour, and then went down to the cafe for lunch. Janice treated, since Sarah still had no money of her own. When they finished, they each went to their respective apartments.
Sarah lay down, and before long she was fast asleep. At 4:15 the phone rang, waking her up. It was Ned. He told her he would pick her up at 6:30 for dinner.
She went up to Angel's, and they talked for about an hour. Angel was going out that night with one of the New Orleans Saints football players. He was a married man, but every three or four weeks he would get together with Angel. "He weighs between two and three hundred pounds, closer to three, I think," Angel said. "He's like a big teddy bear. You wouldn't think anyone that big and tough could be so gentle, but he is."
"Do they ever send black guys to you?" Sarah asked.
"Why do you ask that? Are you prejudiced?"
"I never really thought I was, but making love with a black man, I . . . I just can't picture myself in that situation."
"It happens. It was a bit awkward for me the first time, but if you can get the idea out of your mind, you find it really doesn't make much difference. One thing you need to remember, Ned screens the men, and the service is not cheap. In most instances we are dealing with individuals who are successful. They may get kinky at times, but they are generally fulfilled people, and they certainly have more to lose if they really go off the deep end. Of course, that doesn't mean you'll never get stuck with a real bastard. Some people, no matter how successful they are, seem to get their kicks humiliating others. To that type of person, you are nothing more than a fancy toy. They won't necessarily hurt you, but they aren't concerned about your feelings either. In a way, I guess that's how most people are, and only a few care. I know it's sad, but I think it's generally true."
Sarah said, "I guess the rich people might not get as frustrated as the less fortunate. Since they can buy whatever they want or need, even people, they don't have to go without. But I really don't know what I'm talking about, I can only guess. I've never known any people who are very rich, and my dad always said that money doesn't buy happiness.'"
"He was right, Sarah. If the wealthy were truly happy, then they would not be searching all the time for another high or more spectacular sex. There has to be more to it than money."
Sarah looked at her watch. "I hate to rush you but I have to start getting ready. Ned is picking me up in about an hour. We can talk more tomorrow."
"Yeah, I have to get ready myself. By the way, did Ned take care of birth control? I don't want you getting pregnant."
"He put some foam in me, that he said would lubricate and keep me from getting pregnant at the same time. He's going to get me on the pill as soon as possible."
"Good, at least he remembered. Go ahead and get yourself ready."
That night Ned took Sarah to Brennan's, another fancy French restaurant well known for its Creole cuisine. To Sarah, it was even better than the night before, probably because she was more relaxed.
Following the meal, Ned bought a bottle of liqueur, and they went to Sarah's apartment. She drank a little more than she had the previous night and began feeling a bit lightheaded as they talked. He wanted to know almost everything she had done during the day and how she felt. She almost couldn't wait for the conversation to end and the hugging and kissing to begin. During the day, Sarah had not been aware how much her passion had been aroused by last night's affection, but having Ned with her, continuing his interest in her, rekindled her desire. She was no longer afraid of her sexuality, though she had much to learn about it. Ned, Angel, Janice, and maybe even God, had a big part to play in that.
He continued to wine and to dine her for the next few weeks. She continued to learn the art of making love in a variety of places, positions, and times of the day.
Her friendship with Angel and Janice grew, and she met the other girls – Amy, Susan, Kim, Becky, and Diane. They became fast friends, each coming out of a similar background and all bound together by their common experience, lifestyle, and fate in life. It was a loving and sharing group of young women, a family that enabled them to maintain reasonably healthy attitudes.
Finally, after her second trip to the Superdome with Ned, which was her fourth Sunday in New Orleans, he told her she was ready. Her heart sank. She was becoming bonded to him and she loved the way he treated her. He broke the news to her during the half-time show. She felt like screaming at him, but with all the people around, she just retreated into her own inner world. She was completely oblivious to her surroundings. Her body was in the seat next to him, but her mind was troubled by what lay ahead.
He told her after the game, on the way to the limo, that her first client would be one of the players on the San Diego Chargers. "He went absolutely crazy when he saw your picture, and he can hardly wait to meet you. I told him that this would be a new experience for you, and he gave me his word that he would take care of you."
Sarah waited until they were inside the car before replying. It had been brewing for well over an hour. "Ned, you're rotten. You think you can just use me. Well, you can't. I think I love you, even if you are my father's age. How can you just sell me off to someone I don't even know?"
Dave was surprised to hear her stand up to Ned that way, but pretended he was minding his own business as he inched toward the exit.
"Sarah, Sarah," Ned said in obvious frustration, "What did you expect? I never promised you commitment. You knew the score from the beginning. You can never accuse me of lying to you, right? Well, can you?"
"Yes, you're right. You are always right. Whatever you want to do has to be right; but you don't give a damn about anybody but yourself. You're no better than my father."
"Your father? You compare me to a minister?"
"He may be a minister, but he only cares about himself, too. Both of you are insensitive bastards."
"So now I'm a bastard, am I? You sure have a hell of a lot more spunk than I gave you credit for. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear you talk to me that way. Do you want me to let you out of the contract?"
Sarah was stunned. She sighed deeply, feeling as if the wind had been taken out of her sail. She just glared at him as tears welled up in her eyes.
"Well, is that what you want?"
"Damn it, what choice do I have? You've got me in a corner, and there's nothing I can do about it." She bowed her head and cried openly.
Ned put his arm around her after letting her cry for a few minutes. She stiffened at first, starting to pull away, but then collapsed in his arms.
"It hurts so bad, you just don't know." She sobbed.
"Yes I do. Someday you'll learn to build your walls thick enough so it doesn't hurt anymore. Then you can become like the rest of us."
"I hope that never happens. I'd rather suffer the pain than become insensitive. You can use my body, but with God's help, not you or anyone else will kill my spirit, not ever again. I'm going to feel. I'm going to stay human, even if it hurts."
"Well said, my little princess. We'll just have to see how long you can hold on to that youthful idealism before life wears you down and teaches you the truth."
"What's the truth, that we all have to become bitches and bastards?"
"Something like that, I guess. Your football player will be picking you up at your apartment at eight o'clock sharp. Make sure you're ready. Dave, get her door, please."
They had been sitting next to the park for several minutes. Sarah did not wait for him, opening the door herself and slamming it shut before she ran across the street to the apartment. Her heart was pounding as she ran up to tell Angel the latest news. "I feel like a discarded toy," she said before she had even gone through the doorway.
"Sounds like he is ready to farm you out," Angel said with disappointment as they walked into the living room. They stopped and looked at each other for quite a while, communicating with their eyes. At last Sarah reached out to be hugged by her substitute mother.
"Why can't he be happy with me and let me make him happy? He said I was good." She sobbed. She had known it was going to happen sooner or later, but that still didn't ease the pain she felt now. "I really told him off. It not only surprised him, it even surprised me because I've never dared to stand up to anyone like that in my whole life."
"Good for you. It does my heart good to see you fighting back. Sometimes you have to. The truth is, Ned told me that you were good, and that he likes you a lot. Even though he knows how special you are, he won't allow himself to get emotionally involved. He is a lover to a point, but only to that point. His cold and calculated business sense rules his decisions. If he were to allow himself to really love you, or anyone else for that matter, it would make him too vulnerable, and he can't handle it. There are a lot of people like him. I know it's sad, but that's the way it is."
"He said I would get hard like him."
"I guess most people do. All corpses get hard. It takes a real strong person to resist building walls to insulate them from the frustrations and disappointments of life, and once you build walls, you're dead. The walls become your coffin, and you can't grow anymore. I think that in any situation people can grow by remaining open, but only by staying open.
"What time do you have to meet this football player?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Then you'd better start getting yourself ready."
She gave Sarah another hug. "God help her," she said out loud as she released her to go downstairs and start getting ready.
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Sarah survived her night with the football player, discovering, in spite of her anger and pain over being sold, that people can be nice sometimes. The football player treated her with kindness and consideration as Ned had promised. She would endure, and sometimes even enjoy, the intrigue of meeting various people from so many walks of life. Although she would never be thrilled with the lifestyle that fate seemed to have dealt her way, she became accustomed to her situation and experienced significant growth as a human being.
The girls who comprised the Angels of Mercy maintained their lifeline to sanity and self-respect by participating in healthy group therapy. This was good for Sarah, whose personality, after she had stood up to Ned, made quite a positive shift. She came into her own, being allowed, in her new environment, the freedom to express herself without being continually put down.
It would be foolish to assume there were no happy times in the life of a call girl. It would be as ridiculous as thinking it was all fun and games. Much of the time it was necessary for each of them to remain totally aloof, untouched by what was happening. Often it was impossible for them to be in the moment at all. There were also those individuals who touched the girls' lives in special ways. That was always a thrill that was shared with the entire group.
Overall, to sensitive girls like the Angels, their lifestyle offered a unique opportunity to gain an in depth understanding of people caught in the act of being their naked selves. What they witnessed was not always pretty, but it was real.
What may be difficult to understand, and therefore hard to accept, was that the angels actually believed their situation was ordained by God. They learned that God's love could be found in any circumstance in which an individual might find him or herself and even where most would never even think to look. Only love, they discovered, could plumb the depths and scale the heights of human experience. Their lives were literally flooded with the grace of light and love, and they seemed to have guidance that was beyond easily explained human understanding.
Many of their clients, and Ned himself, came back repeatedly, not just for the sexual fulfillment of the moment, but because they unconsciously sensed they were touching a larger dimension when they were with these extraordinary young women. These prostitutes were adding a spiritual dimension to this oldest of professions. In some ways it may have always been there, escaping detection in a world blinded by its own surface judgments. The mixture of polarities very often created amazing results.
For Sarah and the others, blending their prior training with their new lifestyle was a means of survival. Although money was not their motivation, the girls were able to support themselves in fine fashion. They were able to obtain and enjoy things they did not have at their homes.
Home was often remembered. They all wondered what was going on with their families, their friends, and the many people they had known before they had been so radically uprooted from their early environments. It was impossible not to wonder, not to hope there might be changes of attitude in those who had been so inflexible, and just maybe they might be able to return again someday. They often thought about whether they were missed, even though most of the angels had passed into adulthood while working in New Orleans.
There were other things to occupy their minds as well. Sometimes fun was the order of the day. The Mardi Gras was just such a time. It was probably the most exciting time to be in this Paris of North America, where one could enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.
Most Biblicists never considered that The Law of Moses, which they recognized as God's Law, made concessions to vent frustrations by seeking pleasure. One such example was recorded in Deuteronomy chapter fourteen. In that passage the people were allowed to take one of their tithes, convert it to money, go to the festival in Jerusalem, and "spend it on wine and strong drink, or whatever your soul lusts after." Was this Biblical heresy or another paradox?
Speaking of home, Jesse and Rebecca were praying every day that God would make Sarah sleep on burning coals to sanctify her corrupt flesh. They prayed He would somehow get a hook into her jaw and bring her back to the path of the straight and narrow. They followed the Corinthian admonition to deliver her up to Satan so that her sinful nature would be destroyed, and her spirit saved on the Day of the Lord. Such was the blind and merciless compassion of the God-fearing Christians who, it might be said, where blinded by the light. Their principles were derived from the Book with the enigmas unconsciously edited out. Yes, the inordinate number of spiritual weaklings did make paradoxical truth dangerous.
For the angels, business during the Mardi Gras snowballed. It was the busiest time of the year. Everyone wanted a piece of the action, and there were never enough angels to go around. The girls were with clients continually, dancing in the streets, in and out of the clubs, and in and out of the sack. They made a lot of extra money, several times their normal income. In one week Sarah earned almost what her father did in three months. It was physically draining though. The two days off Ned gave them when it was all over was deserved and much needed.
Angel had, for a long time, encouraged the girls to pray for their customers, and she followed her own advice, even though results were rarely seen. (Perhaps their answers were when they no longer saw the ones for whom they prayed.) In any case, it was late in August when they were blessed with a letter from a former client. It was an answer to Angel's most persistent prayer request.
Dear Angel,
I wrote down your address almost eight years ago. I can only hope it hasn't changed in all that time. I have no reasonable expectation you will even see this, but I write anyway, hoping and praying it will somehow find its way to you.
Please accept my apology for not contacting you before this. I have never forgotten you. Day and night you have been in my thoughts and prayers. Our brief encounter left me feeling that ours was the most significant relationship I have ever had. I know you are a very special lady.
After leaving you that morning, I went on to my meeting in Pensacola, Florida. The actual services were relatively uneventful, but a phone conversation with my wife shook me up considerably. She dreamed that I was cheating on her. I tried to tell her that it was a lie from the accuser of the brethren, you know, the devil. There was no truth in it I told her.
From then on, I could no longer respond to the subtle hints from inclined ladies when I was out of town. (I know you didn't give me any hints. Someone mentioned Ned to me. Through him, I came to meet you. You know, it's surprising how such details spread even in church circles.) My wild, adulterous life was short-lived. With all the talk of AIDS, maybe that's a blessing. You were my final amorosa, as they say in the Latin world.
Thereafter, instead of real people, I became involved in pornography. Fantasies became my happy sin, and living a lie remained my unhappy sin. No matter how hard I tried to justify myself, my guilt became unbearable. Yet the more guilty I felt, the harder I struggled to overcome my own sexuality, and the more vigorously I preached against sins of the flesh. It was a vicious cycle. The more I fought the more entrapped I became, like a bug caught in a spider web. All the while this was going on though, I continued my masquerade as God's man of faith and power. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, were saved, healed, and filled with the Holy Ghost in my meetings. Sometimes I don't understand God.
One day, while eating a late breakfast in a New Jersey restaurant, I noticed a man sitting in the corner with three or four books. Although he said nothing to me, and I don't think he even saw me, my attention was drawn to him. He was a stranger, yet I felt the strongest compulsion to go over and talk to him. I kept formulating reasons why it was stupid to approach a man I didn't even know, but the more I argued with myself the stronger my impulse became.
I finally began to move toward him, but stopped before reaching the table. I looked at him, and he glanced up at me and smiled. I noticed the title of one of the books on his table: I Ain't Well, But I Sure Am Better. I wanted to talk, but felt stupid, so I continued to the door, then out to my car. For some reason, I could not make myself leave. What did that title mean? I certainly wasn't well, but I did want to be better. Why was I drawn to that man with white hair and a white beard? Did he have my answer? I pondered the questions for over five minutes before determining to go back inside.
I went right up to him and asked if I could sit down. He gestured for me to go ahead. I told him I had felt drawn to him from the moment I saw him sitting there. He asked me what I did, and I told him. He was a lecturer on spiritual dynamics, which is a fancy name for a preacher.
Angel, I poured my heart out to that man. He listened intently, nodding knowingly at several points. When I was finished, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my back. He was the first human being with whom I had ever been able to share the whole truth, at least since I was with you.
After dumping on him for at least thirty minutes, he shocked me with his analysis. He said: "You are a Christian who is trying to find new-covenant grace and freedom, living in an environment that does not encourage spiritual growth. You are stunted because you still try to apply the old-covenant principles to new-covenant realities. If you ever intend to reach a spiritual orbit, you will need to jettison paradigms that have become obsolete. Jesus said, Behold, I make all things new. Christ is concerned with matters of the heart, the inner man, not with mere externalities."
He went on to say that some writer for a Sunday School journal had always said the greatest heresy in the Christian Church was that of Christians trying to live the Christian life in their own strength and understanding. I kept quiet and listened, even though it didn't make much sense to me.
One of the books he had was the Bible. He opened it and showed me a verse I had probably read a hundred times before: "Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes."
He concluded our long conversation by giving me a taped lecture: "The Illusion of Morality," and one of his tape lists. He had talked a lot about illusions and paradoxes, concepts that didn't register very well with my theology. We parted with a hug, promising to pray for each other.
I listened to that tape repeatedly. One sentence stood out: Stop assuming an outward expression that doesn't come from within! I wrestled more than two months with that one. At last it dawned on me. The only way I could get myself straightened out was to stop pretending that I was something I was not. Trying to cover my garbage and fight my weakness was only an exercise in futility. That is called self-righteousness in the Bible. That was the sin that Jesus confronted repeatedly in his ministry. It is the sin of the religious folks.
I finally decided to open up and share it with my wife. I told her the truth, revealing my new commitment to live my life in open honesty, regardless of what I was supposed to do or say. Well, I couldn't even finish. She exploded with indignant rage, calling me every name in the book. It left me devastated. She even blurted out my confession to church leaders who, believe it or not, counseled her to file for a divorce. They called me a heretic, and I ended up losing my license to preach in the whole denomination.
My divorce became final a little over a month ago. My career seems ruined at a time when, strangely enough, I seem to have more love inside than ever before. My long-standing guilt is nearly gone, and I can finally accept myself as a human being complete with all my faults and imperfections. It really is amazing grace; still, I feel so alone. I also have a mysterious sense that I will be involved in a great spiritual explosion. I still have not been able to put all the pieces together, and maybe I never will. Perhaps, with my commitment to truth, they will come together by themselves. Wouldn't that be wonderful?
Please forgive me for pouring out my story to you. I need to share with people, and few want to listen to me. As I said before, I still don't even know if you are around any more or not. If you are, I hope this will find you in good health with a strong spirit. I want you to know I love you very much. From the moment I first met you I knew you were a very special lady. I would really enjoy hearing from you, if you would care to write. I am living alone now, working as a salesman. I don't know if you will ever get this, but miracles do happen, don't they?
With special love,
Peter
Angel shared the letter with the girls.
They wept, thanking God for enabling Peter to recognize the importance of integrity. They were also happy to have witnessed such a remarkable answer to one of their prayers. It gave them hope that there might yet be a way to heal this twisted world.
A few days later Angel sent off her first letter to Peter. She related what had been happening since their last meeting, encouraging him with the word that he had been responsible for her outlook, a perspective that had enabled her to go on dancing in a strange light. It was a long letter, describing the plight of the other angels. She commented that Christians like his ex-wife wife and the girls' parents were cold and heartless, so unable to accept anyone's humanity. She told him she and the girls were praying that people would somehow be enabled to see as he had.
Peter and Angel began a weekly exchange of letters, and all of the angels began living on the edge of expectancy more than ever before. They were thrilled that positive movement was being noticed.
Home Brevard New Way Orlando Out of Area Food for Thought Links
Peter's letters triggered new excitement for the girls, especially for Angel. She had the thrill of sharing her amazing story with a loving man who could understand her. Because of the good news, she had every reason to believe that things would not continue forever as they were. She realized people could and did go through changes that made them more human and less rigid. It seemed unfortunate the price tag was the pain of being rejected by those who were not yet ready to see. It was a high price to pay.
One of Sarah's clients at this time was also a preacher. Revelation of his identity was quite unintentional on his part, but the truth seemed to have a way of surfacing at the strangest of times. He was only making small talk when he slipped, telling her about his recent trip to Houston and mentioning ‘church’ in the conversation. Sarah noticed it at once, and asked him several questions until he admitted his vocation. He was so embarrassed; he just wanted to get away. He would not have gone on with their encounter, if Sarah had not put him at ease by telling him about Peter, and the unusual situations of the girls. He had trouble believing the fascinating story, and left the following morning scratching his head. The words of Jesus came to him when he said good-bye. He quoted them to her: “I tell you the truth, heretics and harlots are entering the Kingdom of heaven ahead of you.”
When Sarah told the others, Amy looked it up in her Bible. The words were spoken to the religious leaders, the group that caused Jesus the most difficulty. Jesus was a heretic to them. They did not like his brand of truth and light. Hypocrites never do! They would rather wear their masks and hide their nakedness.
The girls never ceased to be amazed at the insights they had as they shared their lives with each other. One such realization involved another customer who said he wished his own prostitution could be as pleasurable as Becky's. When she asked him what he meant, he told her his job was little more than the sale of his time, performing a task he hated, just for the money. He thought the girls could at least enjoy their work.
Angel was quick to point out in the discussion the following day that many people were, in a sense, actually little more than prostitutes. Our society considered economic prostitution respectable as long as it was not sexual or drug related. Often, it was mandatory for survival. They wondered why the sexual form was so detested. Why were people, whole civilized societies, so petrified of their sexual function and need? It was a question none of them could answer.
It was Monday, October 20, 1986, when the crisis came. Sarah was just getting up from a nap when someone pounded on her door. It was Ned.
He was visibly upset as he asked frantically, "Where is Angel?"
"I haven't seen her since yesterday," Sarah said. "Why? What's wrong?"
"I just found out she didn't show up for her date last night. The client is furious at me and is demanding his money back. I was hoping she would be here. She isn't upstairs, and neither Amy nor Susan know where she is. I haven't been able to reach the other girls yet."
Sarah was shocked. She had absolutely no idea where Angel might be. Nothing had been said to indicate any unusual plan. She grabbed her purse, ran into the hallway, and bounded up the stairs. Her heart was beating fast as she fumbled with her keys to unlock the door. Everything was there – except Angel. Tears came to her eyes as she thought the worst. "The last I knew, she was preparing for last night's date. I don't know where she is."
Ned was furious. "I want that bitch. Where is she?"
Shaken herself, Sarah tried to calm him down. "Come on, Ned, slow down. I'm sure there has to be a very good explanation. She'll probably show up any time now."
"I don't think so. Not this time. She's gone. Somehow I know it."
"You'll see," Sarah said, with doubts of her own, "She'll be back. She would never go anywhere without telling us first. I'm sure of it, Ned."
Ned ran from the building, slamming the door as he went out, and took off in his limo. Sarah locked Angel's apartment and returned to her own. She began calling each of the other girls. Janice had been out with Diane and Becky. Kim was the hardest to find. One by one though, they all concurred – no one had seen or heard from Angel since late the previous afternoon. They were all anxious about her sudden disappearance.
For the angels, that night and the nights that followed were most difficult. While Angel's unannounced departure predominated their thoughts and discussions, their own situation had shifted radically.
Ned was like a madman, furious, frantic, as he searched for any clue that might indicate where Angel had gone. All of his efforts proved futile. The police had no unexplained deaths, his contacts could not uncover anything of significance, and he was grasping at straws trying to come up with an answer.
In interrogating the client Angel was supposed to have been with the night of her disappearance Ned demanded an explanation regarding the delayed report of the no-show. Why did he wait? If he had called right away, something might have been done while her trail was still fresh.
The man was one of the regulars. He told Ned he had become drunk while waiting for Angel to show up at the cafe. He ended up going home with one of the waitresses at the end of her shift. Ned verified his story, but remained unsatisfied. He had no idea how she could have slipped away without being seen.
On Wednesday morning, all the angels were called into Ned's office. "Why are you hiding her from me?" he demanded. "I want to know where she is, and I want to know right now." He slapped Sarah in the face, and she staggered, holding her head in her hands. "Where is she? She lived right above you. You must know!"
She glared at him. "You have no right to hit me. I don't have any idea where she is, and you know it."
All the girls had tears in their eyes. "We don't know anymore than you do, Ned. If we knew where she was, we would be with her. You know very well she's been like a substitute mother for us, but we do not know where she is," Janice said, shouting at him.
"Get out of here before I kill the lot of you," he shouted back. "If you know what's good for you, you'll find Angel for me."
They left his office, trembling. Dave was ready to ride them back to their apartments, but they refused, choosing to walk to Kim's apartment, which was the closest. They discussed their dilemma on the way.
"What are we going to do?" Diane asked.
Janice acknowledged the worst. "We may just have to weather the storm. What else can we do?"
"Ever since we were kicked out of our homes, it seems paths have opened up for us. Why should it be any different now? We have always said that God was in this thing. Now we need to pray harder than ever before," Sarah said.
"But where do we stand with Ned, if Angel doesn't come back? I don't know if I can go on without her."
The whole group echoed Susan's apprehension as they continued to share their concerns. No one had an easy answer.
Amy, who had known Ned for six years, expressed the consensus. "I have never seen him come unglued like he has been the past day or two. It's very frightening."
They closed their discussion, agreeing with Sarah that they had to do their best to work with Ned as before. They would make it by continuing to support each other as they always had and by trying to keep the right attitude. Then they disbanded to their separate apartments.
That night a few of their clients behaved differently than ever before. They were much rougher. Something had gone wrong. Had Ned purposely paired them off with those who would show them who was boss? Even when Kim showed up at the Thursday get-together with a blackened eye, and Janice and Diane reported being hit, they agreed they would continue to do their job and say nothing to Ned or the customers. They hoped the whole thing would blow over soon, allowing things to return to normal again.
Ned kept Sarah for himself that night, and his behavior was totally different from ever before. He was rough and demanding, avoiding all of his usual courtesies. Even when he left her the following morning, he was abrupt to the point of rudeness. It bothered Sarah, but she fell back to sleep anyway.
This nap was for a dream, a dream that would redirect the course of many lives, especially the lives of the angels. In the dream, Sarah was home again in Ichabod. All her family and old friends had come to see her. The whole town seemed to have turned out for her return. She was happy and seemed free from all her old problems in that community. The faces of the people were strange though. It was as if they each had faces behind their faces. Up front they were sad, angry, and even hateful, but behind these melancholy apparitions were the glowing countenances of loving and happy people. She was unable to see herself in the dream, but she knew she was there in Ichabod.
As she watched the scene, looking deeply into the faces of the townspeople, everything quickly shifted back to New Orleans. She was with the remaining angels, and they were all dressed in long white gowns. They were in Ned's office, and he was yelling at them. He was dressed in black and was cracking a whip over his head. Then another man materialized behind him. He looked almost like a clown, or a mime artist, dressed in tails and top hat. His face and clothes were white on the right side and black on the left. As Ned was yelling, the clown was playing charades with the girls, trying to get them to guess the message one word at a time. They were each trying to figure it out.
They jumped up and down as they finally realized what it was: Go home! Get out of here. Go home! He faded away once they had guessed correctly.
They were frightened as Ned raised the whip and threatened them. He was yelling loudly, "I'll get Angel for deserting me after all these years. You are all going to pay. I'll get her. I'll get all of you." His face was red with rage. The girls ran from him, each in a different direction, each returning to their homes again.
Sarah sat straight up in her bed, drenched with cold sweat. She shivered as the dream broke into her consciousness. "Oh, God, please help me," she said to herself.
In a little over an hour, all the girls had been assembled. Sarah related her dream to them. The meaning was obvious. "We must get out of here. We must return home. It won't be easy facing our parents and families again. They may be angry at first, but their masks will come off as they see the love we return with. They have to see it. They just have to."
Their time in the French Quarter was over. They were ready to embark on a new phase of their adventure, but they had to move quickly and carefully.
Becky suggested they should leave behind all they could not carry with them. It was important that their movement not arouse suspicion. Angel, if she had indeed fled, might have been caught if she had tried to get out with her belongings. Anyway, as they saw it, their things belonged to Ned, not to them. They would no longer need the trappings of that lifestyle.
They hugged each other and returned to their apartments. By three thirty that afternoon, all the angels had left New Orleans behind, taking off in seven different directions.
Sarah Ruth Brown was on a Trailways bus heading back toward Mississippi. She would get off in Poplarville, and then hitchhike to Ichabod. She carried the same bag she had brought with her nearly a year ago. Her heart was beating fast because she was finally returning home.
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In her year as an Angel of Mercy, Sarah Brown had grown up. Although she was the youngest, her wisdom went beyond her years. She came to understand the meaning of the words that had come to her nearly one year ago: The flesh profits nothing. A person's outward circumstances and behavior had little bearing on their character and none on their worth. Sometimes good behavior only masked a corrupt heart and was performed to deceive or manipulate the response of others. The opposite was also true, and Sarah had witnessed both extremes in her short life. She, herself, had experienced a promiscuous lifestyle while retaining her purity of character. Because of her confidence that God looked on the heart, she was able to maintain her hope for the future. Although the memory of her parent's treatment of her was still a sore spot, she had decided to forgive their weakness, as she wished they had done for and with her. This was important as she headed home.
As she had planned, Sarah got off the bus in Poplarville and began walking east along Route twenty-six. She had only been walking for about twenty minutes when the blue Cadillac stopped in front of her. She ran to the car. . . .
"Okay, so you are a preacher," she said, moving closer, "and I'm a preacher's kid, an Angel of Mercy." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his hand. His face and his hands were sweaty, in spite of the air conditioning. "You look as if you need some real loving," she said seductively.
He did not reply, and she began stroking his thigh. Jimmy's body responded immediately, as her hand went to the juncture, and she purred in a sexy voice, nibbling on his ear, "Let's pull off the road, Okay?"
The preacher was compliant, turning at the next dirt road, then making yet another turn onto a tractor path that lead into a field. He parked behind a cluster of bushes. The daylight had disappeared. There is little doubt that his head was spinning out of control. Sarah continued applying her feminine wiles, and Jimmy James responded.
Sarah said, "It's too crowded in here. Let's get out."
He consented. Removing the blanket he kept in his trunk for emergencies, they spread it out on the red, grass-covered earth. Soon they were both naked. His long-repressed impulses were rapidly taking over as he kissed and explored every inch of her warm and sensual body. This was no longer a dream, as he stole a thousand kisses, while receiving thrills he had never experienced in the same way. Forbidden fruit was truly sweet for this man of the cloth.
Sarah felt as if there was something familiar about him but was unable put her finger on it. She did not know why she sensed vindictiveness rising up within her. It was uncharacteristic of her to feel animosity toward a lover, but for some reason this one was different. She applied her skills with a mysterious feeling of retribution.
Sarah's year of special training had given her an excellent understanding of sexual response, and her muscular control caused him to pulsate with a greater intensity than he believed possible. It was like going to heaven for just a moment, a treasure sweeter than honey and warmer than a cozy bed on a cold winter morning. It was a time of pure adulterated pleasure – an unspoken fantasy come true for the puritanical preacher.
For Sarah, it was a haunting pleasure. The strange emotions continued to surface, keeping her from any possibility of her own enjoyment. She was merely going through the motions. Jimmy even asked her, at one point, if something was wrong. She gave the pat answer. There was no problem. He should just continue to enjoy himself. He did.
They had completed their escapade, and were returning to the car when Sarah understood the reason for her uneasiness. She saw that it was Brother Jimmy. Even though he looked different than he did on television, she felt certain it was him. She realized that the title on the box in the back seat, "The Devil Ain't Got Nothin' on Me" was one of Jimmy James's titles. It had been on her father's desk for some time.
It was surprising she had not recognized him sooner, because her father revered him. She had been forced to watch him on TV regularly, though much of the time her mind had wandered to things of more interest. She knew he had reinforced the attitude she had grown to despise as anything but godly, the position held by people similar to her father. She had witnessed this man preaching against the moral decay and the permissiveness of society. She had seen him casting out devils and delivering those who were oppressed by sins of the flesh. He was the one who had said, "You must fight the devil at every turn, lest he pull you into his pit of destruction." That was the man who had just committed adultery with her. It staggered her imagination.
There was no reason Sarah could have known he was on his way to hold meetings for her dad, at least not before she recognized him. Now that she knew, she could not help wondering why was he heading toward Ichabod? She was aware that he and her father communicated regularly, but was he headed to her house?
The thoughts that ran through her mind were all blurry. It challenged her sanity. She raced through the sundry consequences and possibilities of their actions. Her overwhelming desire was to expose the whole thing. She wanted the conservative Christian world, especially her parents, to know that even their most honored white knight was human. If they could only see that even the best can falter and stumble, and face the fact that all of us are human, maybe they would become more tolerant and less judgmental. Having some insight into her character, it would be hard to imagine that hers were thoughts of pure vengeance. She wanted to provide a catalyst that might help people broaden their view of reality, and grow, as she had done. However, the odds were stacked against her.
The time Sarah had spent in the French Quarter eliminated her innocence. She was no longer the naive little country girl who rode the train from Ichabod a year earlier. She was quite aware that few would believe her word against a man like Jimmy James. The truth made no difference, if one refused to accept it. Most would fight against all odds, trying to maintain their particular doctrine, especially when public image was involved. To say it was one thing, to get them to believe it was another; and a vast chasm lay in between. She was unsure just how she could bridge it and needed more time to think.
As he drove closer and closer to Ichabod, she inched, again, toward the preacher man. "I'm thirsty. Can you buy me a drink?" she said with all the wiles her training had provided.
"Sure, my little princess. For you I'll do anything," he said.
"We passed a store a couple of miles back," she said.
That was all the suggestion he needed. The Preacher, also needing more time to think, turned the car around, and headed for another six-pack. Like Sarah's, Jimmy's mind was exploding with confusing thoughts. The pieces of his puzzle had not yet fallen into place as he pulled into the country store by the roadside.
This six-pack was less bitter, by far, than his first, and he was also considerably less cautious in the purchase, to the point of being careless with his own image. The attendant recognized him this time, although that fact would not come out until later.
They drank in silence as they approached the town. Sarah rubbed the back of the preacher's head and neck. Jimmy James was trying to think of a way to keep the whole thing from getting out. How was he going to keep this whore quiet? In some ways he felt like making love again. He also felt like killing her. Both thoughts, and others, took turns in his mind, as his persona and his repressed dark side clashed violently. The pent-up emotions of over two years of mid-life crisis were rapidly producing the climax.
Principles mattered very little at such times, especially when protection of the image was so important to one's livelihood. For those who had not accepted themselves as human beings, the persona was everything. This included the ultra-religious as well as the ardently anti-religious. The survival of the present point of view, regardless of the extreme, was of utmost importance. Anything that threatened to get in the way must be eliminated. As he asked what her name was, murder was becoming the only easy alternative to his most embarrassing dilemma.
"Don't you know me, Jimmy? I'm Sarah Ruth, Sarah Ruth Brown. You must be on your way to see my parents." Tears formed in her eyes as she spoke.
The bottom had dropped out of sight, simultaneous with the caving in of the roof. "Oh my, God! You," he focused his attention on her, "Are Sarah!" His lips trembled and tears filled his eyes, too. "I dedicated you!" His mind flashed back as he experienced instant recall of John Brown's funeral service. This was Sarah Ruth Brown, the baby destined to bring down strongholds. "My God! My God!" For Jimmy the words spelled ultimate defeat and absolute surrender. He knew there was no way he could kill her.
Words alone could never convey the intensity with which his head was spinning as they made their final approach to the town of Ichabod, Mississippi. The effect of the beer was minimal, compared to the decisive impact of the truth. As he polished off the final swig in the last can of that second six-pack, the car was moving into dead man's curve. It was a sharp curve to the left that had been the scene of several fatal accidents over the years. Their speed was estimated to be more than forty miles per hour as Sarah grabbed the wheel with both hands, pulling with all her might to the right as she leaned on his right leg. There was neither time nor sufficient reflexes for Jimmy to react, and with full force they collided into the immense, accident-scarred oak tree. The dilemma of choices came to an abrupt halt for both the preacher and Sarah Brown.
Neither appeared to be in very good shape. The impact had thrown Sarah through the windshield and she landed with the upper half of her young body through the glass and over the left side of the crushed hood, while her bottom half hung limply over the dashboard inside the car. Her pretty face was lacerated beyond recognition. As for Brother Jimmy, he was unconscious. Broken glass penetrated his face, hands, arms, and shoulders. Blood was splattered everywhere.
Soon the whole town of Ichabod was at the disturbing scene. Jesse and Rebecca did not know it was their Sarah. The ID card bore the name of Sarah R. Johnson. When Brother Jimmy was identified, everyone was shocked beyond belief.
Both victims were rushed to the hospital in Poplarville. The preacher suffered a concussion and fractured ribs. Several stitches were required to close the wounds caused by the glass fragments. It was not such good news for Sarah. She was DOA, dead on arrival. The autopsy revealed the cause of death as massive hemorrhaging due to transection of the aorta. The report of the pathologist revealed two important legal facts: first, she had been involved in recent sexual activity; and second, unlike her driver, she was sober. This paradoxical angel had come to an abrupt and tragic end. For the famous preacher there remained an uncertain future.
Several days passed before the authorities could determine Sarah's true identity. Her parents were speechless when told. It was an answer to their prayers. The hook had been placed in her jaw, and no path on earth was straighter and narrower than death.
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CHAPTER 15: RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION
As her dream had indicated, the whole town did turn out for Sarah's return to Ichabod. In a way they actually came twice – once for the accident, and then again for her funeral service. No wonder she had been unable to locate herself in the dream – her body was in a closed casket.Because of confusion with her identification, Sarah's burial had to be delayed. Even though the full extent of her escapades remained unknown, the little that was revealed evoked a response of anger and hatred in those who professed to be children of the most holy faith. The eulogies were not flattering. No one had nice words to say about the runaway who had been a harlot for a year. Only the worldly people of Ichabod demonstrated sorrow over the tragic death of Sarah Ruth Brown. The others felt she had received her just dessert.
Her former classmates were especially moved by the loss of a peer, no matter how unpopular she may have been during their last contact with her. Kathy Warner wept openly as Sarah's casket was lowered into the ground and covered with dirt.
One cannot help wondering, if they had known the phenomenal impact her one solitary life and death would have on the insights of so many, would they have still reacted with such contempt? We all spend most of our lives with blinders on, failing to make the necessary effort to see beyond mere appearances. At this point, only those accustomed to seeing the dimensions beyond time and space could have had even an inkling of what lay ahead.
Speaking of dimensions beyond, if dreams could be validated as messengers from other realms, then what occurred beyond human vision was entirely different. Someone said that Sarah was seen entering the place where all were naked, the habitation of those with nothing to hide. A loving personage was at the end of her dark tunnel to greet her with open arms. "Well done," he said, hugging her as tears flowed from his compassionate eyes. "Welcome home."
No more would this princess be battered about by the blind who claimed to see, nor by those who would use her in the pursuit of their own ends and without concern for her well being. For Sarah, fulfillment of the prophecies given at the funeral of her grandfather would not require her further choice or involvement. The seeds had already been sown, and Sarah was home at last. Time would tell whether strongholds would actually come down, followed by an increase in the manifestation of love and grace, as she had often prayed.
Following the bitter funeral service, Jesse Brown called the pastors who had been planning the Jimmy James meetings to meet with him. He had agonized over the recent events, and had spent three days in a total fast with prayer. As he stood before them with a resolute expression, he said, "I have called you here to discuss the tragic events that have taken place in recent days. As you are well aware, the details of this atrocity have already been carried around the world by the media. They are having a field day, making all sorts of innuendoes about the faith. It is an appalling reproach on the gospel of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Brethren, I don't know what we need to do, but we must struggle to preserve our testimony and witness as children of Almighty God. This whole affair is the fabric of nightmares. We have been made a spectacle, and to many, a laughingstock.
"I have been on my face continually for the past few days, seeking the Lord's direction in this. I wish I could tell you I have a clear answer, but I do not. Quite frankly, my soul is at its darkest hour. I imagine God, Himself, is embarrassed. I do not know what I could have done to prevent it, but I am committed to do all I can to rededicate myself to complete restoration. I am open to your suggestions and – "
Pastor Harry Hart from the Bogalusa church rose to his feet, interrupting in mid-sentence. "Jesse, you have no grounds for taking it personally. It's not your fault Jimmy James did what he did, and as for Sarah, you always tried your best to lead her in the ways of the Lord. You didn't force her to run away. She ran from your Godly authority of her own free will. We know it has been difficult for you and Rebecca. The devil has put you through more in the past year than most of us will go through in our lifetime. All of our prayers are with you.
"Concerning Jimmy James though, why do we hesitate, as if we don't know what to do? The scriptures are as clear as a bell on this. In the fifth chapter of First Corinthians we read Paul's inspired words concerning sexual immorality in the church. He admonished believers:
‘When you are assembled in the name of our Lord Jesus and I am with you in spirit, and the power of our Lord Jesus is present, hand this man over to Satan, so that the sinful nature may be destroyed and his spirit saved on the day of the Lord. I have written to you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people – not at all meaning the people of this world who are immoral, in that case you would have to leave this world. But now I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who calls himself a brother but is sexually immoral – with such a man do not even eat. Are you not to judge those inside (the church)? God will judge those outside. Expel the wicked man from among you.’
"My brothers," he said, "what else is there to discuss? The Word of the Lord is clear. He has spoken. Jimmy James has fallen from grace. He is a sexually immoral and a wicked man. God's Word admonishes us to touch not the unclean thing. We are told to come out from among them and be separate. We are to have nothing more to do with him. Why don't we just write to his home church and his wife, declaring the plain counsel of God in this matter? Let us state clearly to the press that our God is holy, and neither He, nor we, will tolerate these abominations in the church, especially in the ministry of Jesus Christ. When the adversary comes in like a roaring lion, we must raise up a standard of holiness against him. We must resist the devil, and he will flee from us."
He sat down with a self-assured smile, patting himself on the back for his scriptural eloquence and his righteous stand. The Book was on his side. What else could be added? There was complete silence, most sitting with their heads bowed.
Finally Jesse got to his feet. "God knows what is best. His Word is our road map to safety, a sure anchor in the time of storm. We are wise when we heed its admonition, especially when we may have trouble understanding all the reasons. Does anyone have anything to add before we draw up the papers in obedience?"
There was an uncomfortable stirring among some in the group, but no one dared raise a voice to question the absolute authority of the Word they had just heard. How could they continue to call themselves Bible-believing Christians and contradict statements as clear as those just read? To counter such an argument with Biblical quotations calling for mercy was like spotlighting an apparent inconsistency in the infallible Word of God.
Again there was a lengthy silence. Again Jesse spoke, "Well then, let's close with a session of prayer."
Ralph Pendergrass rose to his feet. "Our Gracious Heavenly Father," he said, "we are truly sorry for the shame and reproach that has smeared Your holy name. It causes us to reexamine our own hearts. Lead us in the days and weeks ahead, helping us to be lights in the darkness." He sat down.
Jack Walker said, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on our souls as we struggle to remain on the straight and narrow. Help us to stand steadfast in Your Holy Truth, as it has been revealed to us in Your Word."
Jesse said, as he concluded, "Almighty God, anoint and inspire us as we prepare the declaration of your will. May we come forth, by your lovingkindness, stronger in our faith than ever before. We ask it in Jesus name, amen and amen."
They started to rise from their seats, thinking that that portion of the meeting was over, but the Spirit had other ideas. The prophetic anointing fell on Elder Mike Rawlings from Poplarville. Everyone sat down quietly and listened to the words spoken with the authority of a word of prophecy.
"The house of the Lord our God is a holy house. The Lord's people are the light of the world and the salt of the earth. Woe to those who pervert justice. Yea, thus saith the Lord: ‘I am against this wicked and perverse generation. I stand at the door and knock. My gates of judgment are opening wide, and the Lion of the tribe of Judah shall come forth with healing in His wings, overthrowing the pride of the haughty, and exposing the terrible and unmerciful deeds of the proud ones who defy the Almighty God. They shall be as stubble, saith the Lord, and with the fire of my holiness shall they be consumed. My mercy endures forever.’"
Exclamations of praise and worship emanated from the mouths of this white-hat gang that had assembled to expel one of their foremost leaders who had plummeted from the ranks of the worthy. God had sanctified their action with a word of prophecy. To most it was a sign of approval, an affirmation that their course of action was of the Lord. Praise the Lord! and Thank you Jesus! and Hallelujah! were heard throughout the room.
Letters were drawn up, one to the Assembly of Living Saints Church, another to Mary James, and a third for submission to the media. The appropriate course of Christian action was carefully outlined and documented, using the Bible texts as irrefutable authority. Saints everywhere were called upon to raise up the standard of truth for all men, to let the beacon of righteousness shine in this hour of disgrace. This proclamation was given to encourage all Christians.
The media, always intoxicated with any tidbit of sensationalism, wallowed in the vomit of gossip and insinuation. Had it not been such a tragic event, the polarization that was occurring could have almost been considered humorous. The liberals underscored the unbelievable lack of tolerance and understanding of the Moral Majority meddlers who were trying to save face from the embarrassment of it all. Many of the religious leaders took full advantage of the tragedy and used it to put distance between themselves, their doctrines, and Jimmy James. Many of these opportunists relished their chance for another and bigger piece of the national spotlight. Few of them showed mercy, while most absolved themselves of any possibility that such a thing could happen to them. Their armor glistened in the artificial lights used by hypocrites adept in the use of costumes and masks.
Brother Jesse was interviewed on national television by some of the foremost talk show hosts in the industry, including Larry King. He condemned both his own daughter and Jimmy James, his long-time friend, showing no mercy – only an arrogant stand for personal holiness. Those who shared his perceptions justified his righteous indignation; while others saw it for what it was: self-righteousness in its most hideous form.
Letters began pouring into Ichabod from all corners of the nation. Most were supportive of his firm position, and the extra attention kept Jesse Brown going, keeping his mind preoccupied and focused beyond himself. There was little time for serious introspection. He liked it that way.
Throughout the country, sides were being chosen. Everyone was babbling about the TV preacher who fell when he encountered a seventeen-year-old preacher's daughter turned whore. It was juicy gossip, and the people loved it.
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Jimmy James was in a coma for a few days. The damage to his reputation far exceeded the injuries to his body, although he was totally unaware of what was happening. Upon regaining his consciousness, everything was still quite foggy. His feeding had been intravenous, and tubes and bandages were everywhere. At first he thought it was all a bad dream, but when his perceptions finally began to clear, he realized it was not a dream. It was a terrible nightmare – a real horror story.The legal questions he faced were another matter entirely: charges of driving while intoxicated, involuntary manslaughter, and statutory rape were pending the reading of his rights. That required consciousness. The authorities were waiting for final approval from his doctors before implementing the legal criteria. It had to wait until he was off the critical list.
For three days Jimmy hovered between consciousness and a semiconscious dream state. His thoughts covered the gamut of his life, from his youth until the present. He had no dialogue with anyone. When asked how he felt he usually mumbled a one-word response. He did not attempt to communicate with those who were attending to his needs.
He was able to reconstruct the tragic events in his mind for the first time a week following the accident. He remembered the beer, and images of Sarah flashed in and out of his mind. It was a three-hour period he wished he could simply erase from his life. That thought would dominate his thinking for some time.
He kept having mental flashbacks. He saw the oak tree looming in his path like a foreboding giant, heard Sarah's paralyzing scream, the roar of the engine, and the sound of glass shattering. The sight of blood everywhere haunted him. Finally, he mustered the courage to ask one of the nurses that all-important question. "How is the girl?" He could not bring himself to say her name.
She stared at Jimmy with a look of anger. It was obvious that she was outraged, and she probably felt like telling him off, but maintained her professionalism in the face of her emotional viewpoints. "She is dead," was her curt reply.
Her words pierced the preacher like an arrow penetrating to depths of his soul. All he could do was say, "Oh, my God!" repeatedly. He prayed it wasn't true, but he knew all the prayers in the world would never change the awful fact. Full of remorse, he pleaded with God that he himself could die.
Normally, severe depression hinders the body's capability of repairing itself, but Jimmy's negative prayers had no effect. His speedy recovery astonished his doctors who were aware and concerned by his state of mind. Psychiatrists had tried to talk to him without success. They were doing all they could, but they knew his deep emotional and spiritual scars would require a prolonged period of psychotherapy. They could not make his mind cooperate in a short time, but it did not seem to matter in his case. The preacher's body refused to respond to his will, overturning his desire to die.
Two weeks after the accident, the doctor signed the releases, allowing the authorities to take charge of Jimmy James's keeping. He was scarred inside and out, but was physically well enough to survive without further medical care.
The morning he was to be moved, he was disturbed by the fact that no one had visited him yet. There had been no calls from his wife or from any of his associates. There were no cards or flowers and not a single word from anyone he knew. He knew he had done something terrible, but they could at least check to see how he was doing. He was worrying about it when two policemen entered his room with the doctor. He was startled to see them.
"Jimmy James, you are hereby charged under the statutes of the State of Mississippi with the operation of a moving vehicle while intoxicated, involuntary manslaughter, and statutory rape. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you. If you cannot – "
By this time he did not hear a thing they were saying. His mind was racing frantically. It had not even dawned on him that he could be in trouble with the authorities. Somehow he had been living with the delusion that he was above the law. Besides, who needed rights at this point? What Jimmy needed was the ability to figure out what had gone so awry and why. That would take a considerable amount of time. Instant answers would no longer be matter-of-fact for the preacher.
Clothes were brought to him, and he was told to get dressed. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.
One of the policemen said, "To the station for booking. Then you're going to the city jail."
The preacher felt as if he had been steamrollered. In his whole life he had never even been given a simple traffic ticket. Now he was facing serious charges and was going to find himself behind bars. He did not know what to do or to say. This man who had counseled others for so long was unable to help himself. He could always see the right answer for someone else in his or her need, but this was different.
As they exited the rear door of hospital, the police van was waiting. Jesse Brown stood solemnly at the back gate only a few yards away. The wind whipped a piece of paper into Jimmy's face. Brushing it aside, he turned and saw Jesse. The preacher froze in his tracks. They stared at each other for a minute or two, neither saying a word. Jimmy was silently pleading, looking for a glimmer of understanding and forgiveness. He saw nothing of the sort. Instead, the gaze that met his was one of utter contempt. If one could kill with a look, Jimmy James would now be dead, and Jesse would have been charged with murder in the first degree.
The stares were interrupted when the policeman grabbed Jimmy by the arm, indicating that they had to get going.
The Preacher turned and entered the van. He could tell what Jessie had been thinking. He knew Jessie condemned his actions and wondered how he could have done what he did. Jessie's whole attitude was one of reproach for the way he thought Jimmy had brought disgrace upon the entire Christian cause. They had trusted him, and he had let them down. They were all asking why.
They sped away to the police headquarters, as a solemn Jimmy James sat with the look of death on his face. The seriousness of the situation was erupting with full force on his consciousness. He could not even hold his head up.
The event had such poor timing. The Moral Majority movement seemed to be on a roll, gaining unprecedented political clout and legislative momentum. They persuaded the Reagan administration to investigate the moral climate in many areas of American society. The release of the Meece Commission Report had given them all the ammunition needed to manipulate 7-Eleven, the largest convenience store chain in the nation, into pulling Playboy and other adult publications off their shelves about six months earlier. Their followers had successfully bombed several abortion clinics across the country. When the headline-producing scandal occurred, plans were moving well along toward getting tougher laws into the books against the rising immorality, using community standards as the guideline to clamp down on vice by limiting personal freedom of choice. There were even rumors that one of their own preachers might run for president in 1988. Their hopes were running high, and they could almost taste the victories at hand.
Then Jimmy James tumbled from his pedestal in front of the whole world. In a matter of days, it seemed their gains would be set back at least several years. Many zealots spoke openly about the elimination of this mocker of moral decency.
At his arraignment, bail was set at $25,000. It might as well have been a million. No one was stepping forward to help this wounded man in his most staggering need. Legal or not, with the backing of church leaders, Mary James had taken full control of their finances. Their resources were not to be used to fight the great sinner's legal battles. For family and friends alike, the preacher was now anathema. He was unworthy of any rights, even the right to his own bank account. No one in the community of believers would give any type of support or assistance. They had already held court and found him guilty. Now they clamored for the civil authorities to execute judgment quickly and without mercy. If they could get their way, he would be required to pay heavily for his crime.
Furthermore, Brother Jimmy did not want his freedom. He was not ready to fight anyone. He was utterly devastated, unwilling to exert himself in a battle for his rights or anything else. He did not protest when told of Mary's action and did not even desire the representation of counsel. He, too, had held court. He was guilty and not worthy of mercy.
Robert Weintrab was a high-priced lawyer. He worked for the American Civil Liberties Union and had been involved in many of their cases dealing with individual rights. Jimmy James, along with most in the new right confederacy, had been a well-known detractor of that organization. The two of them would certainly have been viewed as unlikely associates; however, strange things sometimes happen.
Enraged at the lack of compassion and downright intolerance of Jimmy's wonderful Christian friends, Bob Weintrab donated his services in the defense of the preacher. It was a move that infuriated the Moral Majority more. That he should be defended at all was an affront to their convictions, but by a ‘communist liberal’ was to add injury to such an insult. The ACLU knew this would be their response, and Mr. Weintrab's decision was a well-calculated attempt to further polarize the nation, hoping to manifest and to magnify the true character of those who were screaming so loudly for moral and ethical change.
Brother Jimmy, by his own request, was kept sequestered from the press and the public. He knew nothing of the clamor being made all around him, and he did not want to know. He wanted to be left alone. He spent each day in abject depression, having lost the will to live. Had he been aware of the attempts being made for him by Mr. Weintrab, he would have tried to forbid it, but he neither knew nor had the interest to inquire. All he knew was a man named Bob was his lawyer, and he assumed the court had appointed him.
The gamble of the ACLU paid off as publicity was kept at a chaotic level. The conservative right vehemently protested the proceedings, and the so-called liberal establishment, at least on the surface, flocked to Brother Jimmy's support. The Christian fundamentalists and evangelicals were paired off against their imaginary foes – the humanists and the left-wing religionists. The publicity, not the trial itself, was the main event. The public craved the hoopla.
As expected, the trial lasted but a fraction of the time it had taken to get it into the courtroom. It was all over in less than one week, and neither the proceedings nor the verdict came as a surprise. Most of the evidence was already well known. The defense had done its homework well. The real scoop was the testimony regarding many details of Sarah's life as a call girl in New Orleans. It was a revelation that enabled defense counsel to get the statutory rape charge dropped.
In his closing arguments, Robert Weintrab called attention to Jimmy James's conduct during the proceedings, claiming that he was not really a threat to society at this point in his life. (Outside the courtroom it was argued by some that he had posed more of a threat before, not since, the accident.) He pointed out that the preacher had not had any previous criminal record, and he pleaded for the court's leniency. He was admittedly guilty of neglect and misconduct, but justice could be better served by showing mercy than by exacting blood. That was a direct reference to the well-publicized demand of the Christian community for an opposite decision.
Rev. Jimmy James was found guilty on two charges. He stood before the bench without any sign of emotion. His head was bowed and he stared at the floor. Judge Dan Sorenson read his sentence: five years in the state penitentiary for the crime of vehicular manslaughter, and an additional year for driving while intoxicated. Time already served would be incorporated into the sentence, and parole could be considered after thirty-six months.
Brother Jimmy did not resist in any way, as the bailiff led him to the side door of the courthouse. The police were waiting to take him to the state penitentiary, and he could, again, hear and see the angry demonstrators as they jeered, waving their signs.
Someone yelled, "Jimmy James, I hope you rot in prison."
Newspaper and magazine headlines proclaimed the obvious: TV Preacher Is Guilty, and Justice Jeers Jimmy James. The story was carried across the country and around the world. Many Christians believed his sentence was too light. Others felt it was about time those who wanted to make choices for the rest of society could see that it was not quite as simple as they had thought. There were no real winners. Continuing polarization never ensured victory – only continued rivalry.
Outside, on the courthouse steps, Bob Weintrab responded to questions from the press. He answered candidly when asked if he thought the judge should have let the preacher off with a period of probation, accepting the time he already served as sufficient punishment.
He said, "No, I don't think that at all. If for no other reason than his own safety, that man is better off where he is. Incarceration may prove to be one of the best things that ever happened to him. We'll just have to see how he responds in the future to that unusual freedom of retrospect. Maybe he will focus on his positions, past and present, and change his mind. I wish all of those, who, like him, want to choose for others, were given the same opportunity."
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Jimmy James's address was changed from the Pearl River County Jail in Poplarville, his home for over a year, to the Southern Mississippi State Penitentiary in Hattiesburg. Like most others in the nation, it was overcrowded and not exactly a resort hotel. From convicted murderers to rapists and con men, Jimmy James was now numbered among a different class of people. Many of them had previously watched him on television. They knew all about him, from his outspoken convictions on moral and political issues to his recent misfortune. Some jeered as he was led to his cell, mocking the preacher who was in the same predicament they were. Others kept their mouths shut, feeling sorry for Brother Jimmy.
No one was more regretful than the preacher himself. For so long he had stood tall on the battlefield of good versus evil. He had been a white-hat general at whose urging multitudes had marched against the evils of abortion, homosexuality, pornography, and other popular moral issues.
Jimmy James had exhorted Christians to stand up and let their voices be heard. He wanted them to wage war on the dominion of sin in the towns and cities of the nation. He believed the politicians were looking to them for moral direction, listening to their cries for decency. The world waited for them to light their camps of darkness. They were its salt, the preservative that would keep the pollution from sinking the whole society into the morass of degeneracy.
He had said, "America was founded on Godly principles of moral decency, principles that have eroded while many of us stood by helplessly as the tide of moral decay swept across the nation. But no more! The people of God are on the move! I urge every child of God to get involved now! Go forth and raise up the standards of God's righteousness for all the world to see."
When Brother Jimmy spoke, millions listened, hanging on his every word. He had appeared regularly on talk shows, as well as on his own telecast. He had extolled the rapid growth of Bible-believing, spirit-filled churches and had rejoiced in the rapid decline of so many showing compromise. Now, as he entered a new phase of his human experience, he was unaware of how much the focus of the fruit was on him. He had been sheltered, by choice and by decree, from outside news and knew little about the huge debate surrounding his situation, but that was about to end.
He could not believe what he read when he picked up the news magazines, seeing in detail for the first time the reports of the furor that had erupted over his three-hour, moral blunder. He very nearly mustered enough energy to get angry and to speak out, indignant that the ACLU had used him, exploiting his disaster for their own objectives, and manipulating him against his former alliance. He was angry, but speaking out would have required too much effort, and Brother Jimmy did not want to get involved in any dialogue. More than anything else, he wished and prayed for a speedy death.
In his younger days he sometimes daydreamed about going to prison for the gospel's sake, but never did he anticipate being imprisoned as an evildoer. Except for learning why the Lord had allowed such a dreadful thing to happen to him, Jimmy saw little reason left to live.
Many reporters requested the opportunity to interview Jimmy James. The public heard what had been reported, it listened to diverse and contradictory opinions, but many wanted to hear from the man himself. Jimmy steadfastly refused the appeal. His mind was churning like a violent storm-tossed sea. There was no way he was able to give anyone clear statements concerning what had caused his fall, nor where he expected to go from here. With everything turned upside down and nothing making sense in his own mind, how could he possibly have been expected to satisfy the curiosity of those who were seeking intelligent answers to their questions? He could not. However and whenever possible he wanted solitude, but because the prison system was bursting at the seams, such a premium was impossible.
Some of the preacher's new peers, including his cellmate who was an extortioner, delighted in the opportunity to insult and poke fun at him both physically and orally. Because Jimmy refused to fight back and kept his mouth shut, they were denied some of the thrill they sought, and after a while they left him to his own ends.
He may not have been able to achieve much outward solitude within the confines of his environment, but he managed to keep to himself. He was bound and determined to get to the root of his most perplexing dilemma – the real reason for his dramatic fall. He retreated more and more into his own inner world.
Repeatedly Brother Jimmy reevaluated the incidents that led up to his climactic encounter with Sarah. As he had in the past, he began by blaming others, then he accused God, but it wasn't long before he faced that he had to take most of the blame himself. He had blown it. Everything he ever wanted he had held in his own hands, and he allowed it to slip through his fingers. For the first time in his life he actually saw himself as a real sinner. This was a perception he had never sincerely confronted in himself before the accident. Death was what he desired, because death was what he believed he deserved. Still, his mind was restlessly groping.
Prison was an excellent place for the incubation of seeds. Those planted in Jimmy James were good seeds. They lacked only an environment in which proper germination could occur. Basically, the fertilizer had been lacking. The compost of combining many various components, including that considered waste, would produce heat, energy, and life. He did not know it, few did, but Life had a way of working strange miracles. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it would become apparent. It was both a natural and a spiritual law. It could do nothing but work its wonders. Because of his earlier choices, Jimmy James was not a prisoner for life: he was life's prisoner.
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Jimmy James attracted interest, but he absolutely refused to be interviewed. While many were talking about him, no one knew what he was thinking, or what his perspective on the troublesome situation was. Secondhand perspectives were making headlines and being bantered about, especially by those who wanted to ridicule the movement of the religious right. The preacher, for his part, offered neither excuses nor reasons, but everyone else did.For over a year, the topic of the Brother Jimmy scandal had been highly marketable, and many maneuvered to gain a piece of the action. Talk show hosts and their staffs sought diligently to locate individuals who could offer new or stimulating insights into the Jimmy James case. Phil Donahue was one of those seeking to produce a program that dealt with the provocative situation and the subsequent reactions of many special-interest groups. He had his staff working on a format to discuss Jimmy James and the Christian response to his fall.
A struggling poet wrote to the "Phil Donahue Show" concerning the preacher's dilemma, suggesting a unique insight. His inquiry aroused the interest of a staff member and she gave it to Phil along with the enclosed manuscript edition of his booklet, Living Gods Are Hard to Find. Phil reviewed the letter, considering the poet's suggestion that he might be able to clear up some of the confusion, and perhaps shed a little light on what was happening.
Phil decided to scan the booklet at home that night. He was not a fan of poetry, but he thought it was at least worth a brief look. It had not been printed professionally, but upon a closer examination he found it to be full of paradoxical insights that could provide the catalyst for some intriguing discussion on the show. He decided to contact the author.
The poet was a former pastor, radio evangelist, and religious newspaper editor. He had gone through a personal mid-life crisis and found that many of his cherished assumptions had been turned inside out. As his life twisted upside down, his family and many friends had turned their backs on him, calling him a heretic and refusing communication. When those in his narrow-minded group could no longer tolerate his honesty and straightforwardness, he was forced outside. Hurting and virtually alone on his quest, he received many of his insights. He realized it was foolish to allow his arms and legs to be cut off so that he could fit into the restricting confinements in which others had chosen to live their lives. Not only was it stupid, but it also lacked integrity.
During their preliminary interview, Phil asked why such a challenging work had never been published. The poet pointed out that there did not seem to be much of a market for poetry in the United States. His work was paradoxical. That he tried to make readers see new horizons did not endear his writing to publishers only concerned with the bottom line. They believed most people were only interested in reading things they agreed with, not things that challenged timeworn conclusions they accepted as truth. He added that not one legitimate publisher had ever taken the time to even read the book. That was the impossible challenge of all new authors.
Donahue was impressed and the poet appeared on the show with Robert Weintrab, who was Jimmy's lawyer, and John Williamson, the associate pastor of the Living Saints Church. Like many of his programs, it produced fireworks on stage and in the audience.
[The following is a condensed transcript of the program.]
DONAHUE: What happens when one of the foremost religious leaders in the country topples from his pedestal in a moment of personal weakness? His followers come to his support with a demonstration of loving forgiveness. Isn't that the way it works in an age of enlightenment and a time of spiritual awakening?
AUDIENCE: No!
DONAHUE: Why not? Haven't we been hearing, in recent years, the assertion that we are going through a period of moral renewal? Sometimes I have to wonder what is being renewed. Recently the story of Rev. Jimmy James was in the headlines. This is the man who experienced what I described. He not only fell from his pedestal, he refused to even testify in his own defense.
Robert Weintrab, a lawyer with the American Civil Liberties Union, handled the preacher's defense without charge. What was it like, working with this well-known evangelist?
WEINTRAB: It was difficult, very difficult. Not only did he refuse to take the stand, he gave us virtually no information. All that we were able to learn had to come from outside sources. That involved much research.
DONAHUE: What were your impressions of the man himself?
WEINTRAB: He is a broken and defeated man who does not seem to have the will to continue living. It's phenomenal to witness the radical change he has undergone in such a relatively short time. He is nothing like the fiery preacher we used to hear on the TV.
DONAHUE: Why did you choose to defend a man who had taken such a strong stand against things the ACLU considers attacks on personal freedoms?
WEINTRAB: The outcry from his own people was intolerant beyond imagination. They showed no mercy. No human being deserves such treatment for one momentary slip of behavior. He had absolutely no blemish to mar his past, yet for that single occurrence his closest friends and family were actively seeking his punishment. They wanted the man's blood. Their reaction was disturbing, and, in my opinion, immoral for intelligent, responsible human beings.
DONAHUE: Rev. John Williamson is an associate pastor at the preacher's Church of the Living Saints in Oklahoma City. Even though Jimmy James was his personal friend, he has made public statements urging that Jimmy be punished to the fullest extent the law allows. How do you justify such a response, and how do you respond to Mr. Weintrab's charge of being immoral?
WILLIAMSON: First, let me make a correction. The Church of the Living Saints never belonged to Jimmy James. Jesus Christ is now and has always been Head of the Church of Living Saints.
I think Mr. Weintrab's charge is completely ridiculous. To have a man who supports pornographers, abortionists, homosexuals and other antisocial and immoral causes to even suppose he has the right to level such an accusation against the people of God who stand in defense of the Biblical standards of holiness is, I believe, crazy.
Jimmy James was raised up by God to a position of spiritual leadership and authority. His actions, considering this fact, are much more despicable and deplorable than if it had happened to an ordinary individual. He has become like leprosy on the purity of the Body of Christ. Millions and millions of honest, born-again Christians are deeply saddened and horrified at the thought of the reproach brought upon them and the glory of God by this one man. That is why I called for his punishment.
DONAHUE: Come on, isn't he allowed to be human? Is the Christianity you profess so inflexible, so intolerant, and so unmerciful as not to allow for mistakes, for errors in judgment, or for moments of personal weakness?
WILLIAMSON: The Bible says: Without holiness no man shall see God. This was a man who stood for personal holiness, and people looked up to him as a pillar of spiritual strength. He let down his armor, falling prey to some of the very same things he had attacked so vigorously during his ministry. We have given him up to the devil for the destruction of his body with the hope that someday his soul will be saved on the Day of Judgment. This is what the scriptures demand of us.
DONAHUE: What do you mean by demand? I thought the Bible teaches mercy and forgiveness.
WILLIAMSON: It does, and God is merciful to sinners. It also lays down principles and rules for proper judgment, especially for those in the church. It says: To whom much is given, much is required. When we follow Biblical directions, we have God's blessing. If we do not obey, we stand alone. Besides, we don't judge Jimmy James. We are only complying with the Bible, making it clear what God's opinion is.
DONAHUE: Our next guest is author of the booklet, Living Gods Are Hard to Find. That collection of prose and poetry was brought to my attention only recently. I found some of his insights to be provocative. Backstage he told me that people like Rev. Williamson are merely using Jimmy James as a scapegoat for their own repressed guilt and evil.
WILLIAMSON: That's ridiculous! How can he say we have guilt and evil? We are not the ones who sinned. Jimmy James was.
DONAHUE: We all know what Jimmy James did. Right now though, we would like to hear what the poet has to say. He didn't interrupt you when you were speaking, and I think you should give him the same courtesy.
WILLIAMSON: Of course. Go on.
DONAHUE: (Speaking to the poet) You also implied that the demand for punishment without mercy is an attempt to absolve themselves of the responsibility of the wickedness that lies hidden within their own hearts. Please comment further.
POET: One needs to understand the importance of image to these and, I guess, to all people. Our image is so intertwined with our philosophies and doctrines that to undermine concepts perceived as perfect is seen as a fatal blow to our reason for being. For the fundamentalist, their image, indeed their whole purpose, is ordained by Biblical interpretation. They publicly construct their lifestyle carefully, based upon their rigid and infallible belief system. Brother Jimmy marred that image. He was one of the saved, an important one, who was caught with his pants down, so to speak. He did not just slip. He fell back one hundred and eighty degrees in the sight of his followers.
It poses a real dilemma. If they say to Jimmy James, You fell down, poor boy, but we will pick you back up and give you another chance, they will unconsciously be left naked. Their search for a perfect image will be undermined, and their system will no longer be infallible.
I suppose it boils down to the fact that their image is not real, has never been real, nor will it ever be. It is a mirage, a mere figment of their imagination.
DONAHUE: Let me see if I have this straight. You are trying to tell us that they are hypocrites? The image itself is phony, and Rev. James actually fell from hypocrisy. They condemn him only because they want to remain hypocrites.
POET: Wow! You said that well. As I told you earlier, their problem, and it belongs to all of us, is the inability to see the root of anything. For most of us, the issue is right and wrong – morality. Its root is recorded in the Bible. God told Adam and Eve that if they tried to determine good and evil they would die. Since He had already called everything very good, it's obvious to me that we were not to judge anything evil. That was, I think, precisely what the forbidden fruit typified.
DONAHUE: Are you saying the Genesis account has significance for us today? Many people would take that as an insult to their intelligence.
POET: Man has made phenomenal strides in understanding our world. It is in the area of grasping our own nature that our learning is most deficient though. Whether historical or mythological, the creation story reveals an important aspect of human life. It can give us a new perspective, if we look closely.
We pride ourselves in our ability to play God by determining good and evil. This gives us a finite, egocentric viewpoint; it polarizes us, pitting us against each other. Such stupidity has to cease if we are to achieve any measure of peace in our world. It has never been a question of right or wrong, but rather life or death. Our whole perception of what is important is twisted.
Since life is a process of expansion, living things require space to grow. To shrink perspectives into carefully defined and easily managed parameters is to create a coffin, entombing us while we are pretending to live. Only those who have the courage to quest with total openness, have even the remotest possibility of discovering the secrets of life. Fundamentalists, whether in religion, politics, or science, always have inflexible codes and dogmas based on their closed-system world. This always produces a form of death in the respect that growth is always limited by the old ideas.
WILLIAMSON: Are you the Antichrist or what? The Bible is the Word of God, and it doesn't change. It is complete. You may think it is only old ideas, but let me tell you, it is right up to date. Besides, if we can't trust that, what can we trust?
POET: Not what, but whom. We can trust God. The Bible is a great catalyst that can stir us to become greater human beings, but it is not the word of God. In the Bible, Jesus told the religious leaders they were searching the scriptures to find eternal life, but they were looking in the wrong place as long as they refused to come to the source of life. In yet another place He said: If you were blind, you would see. Because you claim to see, your blindness remains. Saint Paul wrote later: The letter kills, but the Spirit gives life. How much plainer can it get before you see? Jesus was the Word of God made flesh, which is exactly what He wants to do with his word now – make it flesh. People are more important than laws set in stone, even those written by God's own finger for people in a bygone era.
LADY IN AUDIENCE: I am Jewish. I think Mr. Weintrab shows more compassion and understanding than that preacher from the church in Oklahoma.
WEINTRAB: Thank you. We place our priority on the individual. This is why we stress personal freedoms. If some group were trying to prevent the born-again people from believing whatever they want to believe, and to practice those beliefs, we would fight for them. But it is common knowledge that this group tries repeatedly, by force, by intimidation, and by legislation whenever possible, to take the rights of others to choose for themselves. We have to draw the line. We have to oppose those who threaten the freedom of individual choice.
MAN IN AUDIENCE: That's just like you liberals. You support rattlesnakes and rabbits equally. You don't know how to draw the proper line. What happens when the rattlesnake turns and bites you?
WEINTRAB: You cannot take the risk out of life. One man's candy is another man's poison, to use the old cliché.
POET: Mr. Weintrab is right. If you try to eliminate all risks, you invariably destroy the potential of growth. Jesus Christ, if he were here in the flesh, would probably be crucified again by these very people who claim to be his defenders. Concerning risk he said: If you try to save, keep, preserve your life in this world, you will lose it. Lose it, or at least be willing to, and you will find it. Now that's risk, and it's also faith.
LADY IN AUDIENCE: It seems you and that lawyer want to defend all the worldly things. Reverend Williamson only wants to defend godliness and decency.
DONAHUE: Can I ask what worldly things are they defending?
SAME LADY: Sin and wickedness of all kinds, mostly sex. They'd like to let Jimmy James get away with his terrible sins.
WILLIAMSON: She's right. Sin is an abomination to God, and these people sit here trying to sugarcoat it, as if no damage has been done.
SAME LADY: Yes, it's true.
POET: Nobody is trying to sugarcoat anything. I don't care how much sugar you put on poison, poison kills! It's obvious to me, and I hope to many other people, that the poison so many Christians have eaten for years is now being blatantly manifested in their hatred and unforgiveness toward Jimmy James.
DONAHUE: Rev. Williamson, do you hate Jimmy James?
WILLIAMSON: I hate what the man has done to the cause of Christ.
POET: I don't think Christ fell off his throne. He was never surprised before when his best disciples stumbled, but they were. Let me ask you something personal, John, have you ever, in the privacy of your own mind, undressed a woman or had a sexual fantasy?
WILLIAMSON: (Face flushed) Huh . . . um . . . I never –
POET: It's okay. We knew the answer, but I'm not throwing stones, just showing you are human. That is the way you are made. Jimmy James had the opportunity to live out his fantasy in a moment of personal weakness. That is something we have all done within the privacy of our own minds. We call it a crime because of the result, because she was only seventeen and died.
WEINTRAB: Besides, the investigation showed she was working as a call girl for about a year in the French Quarter of New Orleans. She was not exactly pure. Who knows, she may even have started the whole thing.
DONAHUE: That's the point many of us are trying to make. This man was caught. What he did cost Sarah Brown her life, but it seems to me it also cost him his life. He'll never be able to regain what he has lost.
POET: That's where I beg to differ. You are right in a way. He will never be the man he once was. We can thank God for that.
MAN IN AUDIENCE: Oh, come on now, thank God?
POET: Yes. Jimmy James was a bigoted and narrow-minded man. He had a good heart, as far as sincerity goes, but he was blind. The accident could yet prove to be growth producing. While in prison he may gain insights that will change his life for the better. The whole world needs to learn God's way up, starts with a fall. So often we never even begin to think until we are driven from our garden. Our ego dies, opening the door for a miracle to occur.
DONAHUE: Rev. Williamson, do you have an opinion about this?
WILLIAMSON: I'm listening. Some of what he says is scriptural, but then even the devil tells the truth when it serves his own purposes. Much is pure vomit and should be flushed.
POET: Look, all of our lives we are taught that polarities must be divided. It sounds so logical: separate all the good from the bad and everything will be all right. The only problem is: it's not possible. To divide polarities is death. Paradoxical as it may sound, the solution is for individuals to recognize and integrate their own polarities, something like letting the light side make love to the dark side. Trying to cast off our darkness will only make it show up in someone else. Then we blame them for our evil. The very act of fighting any part of ourselves only strengthens that part. We can only win by accepting our weakness, by making peace with ourselves. It is the path to harmony and self-control. Of course, this requires a commitment to benevolence.
DONAHUE: What do you think? Is he right?
MAN IN AUDIENCE: Personally, I think the guy is as nutty as a fruitcake. He obviously doesn't know what he's talking about. How can good and evil make love? It's ridiculous.
POET: Let me put it another way. If we separated all males from all females, life as we know it would end in that generation. If all negative ions were divided from the positive, both magnetism and electricity would cease and the whole world would fly apart. For anyone with eyes to see, it appears integration of opposites is responsible for both the preservation and continuation of life, as well as the cohesiveness of the physical world. Within kinds, opposites attract. Trying to produce division or elimination of an opposite is to work against the very powers that hold things together, and ensure our continued existence. Those powers by many are called God. We say God is love. Well, love creates and integrates polarities. This is wisdom, and the only reasonable basis for morality.
DONAHUE: What do you think? Does it make sense?
LADY IN AUDIENCE: No, he's off the wall! I know his mother, and she says the same thing. It sounds as if he is saying we should just accept our evil, and everything will be okay. Well, it won't.
WILLIAMSON: That's right, the Bible says: Woe to the man who calls evil good, and good evil. That's exactly what this man is trying to do. In my opinion, he's just another heretic.
DONAHUE: Are you a heretic?
POET: What's a heretic? Someone who is looking from a different vantage point? I am whatever anyone perceives me to be, and that is all I can be to them.
WEINTRAB: I am a Jew and an atheist. All my life I have been repulsed by nearly everything I witness in the world of religion. From their abortion clinic bombings to their treatment of Jimmy James, they are incredibly intolerant and narrow-minded. That is even true of many Jews. This man though, and I don't appreciate his god words, does seem to make sense, even to this atheist.
LADY IN AUDIENCE: I'm a psychologist. I've read all the books and studied the issues. I think this has to be one of the most important issues we are facing today.
DONAHUE: We face problems of international terrorism, economic upheavals, political unrest, and you say this is one of the more important issues?
SAME LADY: Yes, I do. I am also a Christian, I might add. Today the focus has been on how we see the world and ourselves in it. It's so important because it determines how we will conduct ourselves as social beings. Many of us Christians are not doing so well there because we apparently don't see very clearly yet. I appreciate what the poet has shared.
WILLIAMSON: I don't know what kind of a Christian that lady is, but it's these people who don't see clearly. They're all mixed up. We know exactly what we believe.
POET: Yes, you do. Therein is your problem. You see everything else with such perfect clarity, but you cannot see yourselves. It is all out there. To you the whole problem is in them. Well, I am my problem, the only big problem I have. Jimmy James is not my problem, and he's not yours either. I know you see him as a big jerk. Judging is your problem. Jimmy is his own problem.
DONAHUE: Rev., what do you think will happen to Jimmy James?
WILLIAMSON: I think he will die in prison. The guilt he feels must be staggering. He has lost the support of his family and closest friends. His moment of pleasure will cost him a lifetime of regret. He may repent, but the Christian community will never trust him again.
DONAHUE: Robert, what about you? What do you think?
WEINTRAB: I have to agree with the reverend on this. The man seemed to be near the point of death when they took him off to prison. He had lost his will to live. Without his support group, he has nothing to live for. I think it's a very sad commentary on the Christian community that it seems unwilling or unable to restore its wounded. If they get shot, they are left to die alone. It's a disgrace.
POET: It is a disgrace, but I disagree that it's a hopeless case for Jimmy. From a human perspective, the odds seem to be stacked against the preacher. As for me though, I think the hand of God is at work here. God has a strange way of bringing life out of death and shining the light out of apparent darkness.
MAN IN AUDIENCE: How can those of us who are trying to be good, integrate our evil, as you put it? That doesn't change anything.
POET: You are so right. It changes nothing, and yet everything changes. Stop trying to determine perfection. Just be what you are. The Bible says: There is none good, no not one. Abandon yourself to God, not to some dead religion. Don't make the error of thinking they are the same. Religion may have contributed to our culture, but it has never provided us with peace. Why do you think Jesus, who is referred to as the Prince of Peace, could not get along with the religious leaders in his own generation? If you have to have a religion, let yours be a rocket ship instead of an anchor. Advance rather than stagnate.
LADY IN AUDIENCE: You seemed to imply a while back that it was God who led Brother Jimmy to do what he did.
POET: The events that occurred in Brother Jimmy's life happened because the seeds were already in his heart. He kept them pushed down, but could not maintain control once the pressures became too great. He could not, nor can anyone, maintain an image of perfection because we don't understand what perfection is. In the Jewish Kabala it says: Perfection cannot exist without the balancing of opposites.
Pastor Williamson, I'd like to ask you another question. Who controls this world right now?
WILLIAMSON: The Bible says that Satan is the God of this world.
POET: You're right; it does say that. Does that mean Satan is in control then?
WILLIAMSON: I guess so, but we know that Jesus Christ is Lord of all. His kingdom is not of this world. When He returns, as it states in the Bible, everything will be put under His feet. Satan has control until then.
POET: So right now Satan has greater control on earth than God does? Is this right?
WILLIAMSON: No, well, not exactly. What are you driving at?
POET: You have an impotent God. That's because you don't really know the Bible as well as you think you do. If you would see that God works all things after the counsel of His own will, as the Bible indicates, you would know the world has never been out of His control. Jesus is Lord of all, not tomorrow, but right now. That is in the Bible, too. But I don't think you truly believe the Bible – only what you want to believe. What is, is, and God calls it good. Man made the judgment that there was evil and, in the process, created it. He was ashamed and tried to hide from God, covering his nakedness. That, I am convinced, reveals the psychology that gave religion its start. Be it revelation or good myth, it gives us something to think about – and, it's in your Book.
LADY IN AUDIENCE: This guy makes you think. I consider myself an atheist, but maybe it's religion and not the god idea I have been so opposed to. I want to thank him for letting us in on his insights and wish him the best of luck with his book.
DONAHUE: We're out of time. I want to thank each of our guests for being with us today.
MAN IN AUDIENCE: I think if Jimmy James would sit down with this man and talk, he would be helped a lot.
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The preacher's new home was a difficult place for anyone to live, but Jimmy James did not make it any easier. He continued the introverted and antisocial behavior he had displayed while in the county jail. He did only what was required, rarely engaging in conversation with anyone. His free time was spent reading the Bible, praying, and in deep meditation. Still, more than a year after the accident, there was no breakthrough in understanding.His prayers were heartrending admissions of his guilt with promises of reparation. He remained inconsolable, with visions of Sarah continually haunting him. Regardless of his repentance, he found no peace, and his guilt seemed to increase with each passing day. He could find no refuge from his nagging oppression. Everything he had ever preached to others came back and mocked him. He was losing weight and was barely more than a skeleton with skin. The prison officials believed he was going to die; yet he made no attempt to respond to offers of help. He refused to even speak when they sent him to see the prison psychologist. He had chosen and preferred being cut off from the world as much as possible.
Soon after the "Donahue Show," the poet decided he would try to break through into the preacher's world. He visited the prison, requesting an audience, but like the others, he, too, was refused. Disappointed, he left a copy of ‘Living Gods Are Hard to Find’ and pages from another manuscript in progress. When the guard handed them to Jimmy, he merely added them to the box beside his bed.
People did send cards and letters regularly, but rarely were they opened or read. He put everything in that box. All the correspondence was from people he did not know. This hurt. He longed for news from home, word from his family and friends.
One day he opened a letter from an elderly woman who lived near San Antonio. It was only a brief note, telling him she was praying for him, and believed God could still turn things around in his life. She said, in part:
"Look at Job. The Lord blessed the latter part of his life more than the beginning. I know it can happen to you, too."
Jimmy did not believe that was going to occur. It was another failed attempt to lift his spirits.
On another day a letter came from Jesse Brown. Tears filled the preacher's eyes as he held the envelope clutched to his breast with hope. This was the first communication from anyone he knew personally. He opened it with trembling hands. "Please, God," he prayed, "let this be a sign to give me hope."
Mr. Jimmy James:
You know how much you have damaged the gospel and the work of God in this wicked world. It's bad enough to have the ungodly sin and pervert our nation, but it's a disgrace when a man of God succumbs to the enemy. It will take years to restore what has been damaged by your actions.
One of Sarah's friends, a girl named Janice, wrote to me. It seems there were a bunch of whores down there in New Orleans who called themselves angels of mercy. Did you ever hear of such a thing? My Sarah had been one of them. They worked for some big shot as call girls, but she insisted God was working with them, and Sarah was a very special girl. She said someday we would be proud of her, and that her life and death were not in vain. She even said she was praying for us. Can you imagine that? A common whore praying for a man of God! What's this world coming to anyway? The preachers are sinning, and the prostitutes praying. It's crazy.
Rebecca ripped the front page out of Sarah's old Bible. I thought you might like to see it, since you're the one who made it impossible for her to ever have her prayer answered. She was only ten when she wrote it.
Pastor Jesse Brown
The page from Sarah's Bible was dated 9/22/79. It read:
Dear Jesus,
I really want to give my whole life to You. Please use me to do something good for You. I ♥ You and want to help other people ♥ You too.
Love your friend,
Sarah BrownXOXOXO
Tears filled his eyes as he read the page. He crumpled the letter from Jesse and threw it into his corner. Sarah's letter was placed in his Bible. From that point on, her letter to Jesus was his bookmark. Every day he reread it and would cry again.
His dreams involving Sarah increased after this. Reflecting on the strange visions, he realized that Sarah was always the one who kept reappearing, even in the days before his accident. Why, he wondered, did this young girl seem to appear so often in his subconscious? Why the link? What was she to him anyway?
One day the prophecies about Sarah, given at John Brown's funeral service, flashed into his mind, with the words: ‘She shall bring down strongholds’ reverberating in the depths of his soul. He could not escape those words. Some days it seemed as if there were a thousand different voices crying out in unison: ‘She shall bring down strongholds! She shall bring down strongholds!’
For Jimmy James, dreams had always been unimportant. He was predisposed to assume that God spoke primarily through the Bible, and dreams and visions were so ambiguous, requiring such careful scrutiny, as to be considered too much trouble. Like most people in the pragmatic and rational twentieth century, he relied more heavily on the conscious mind than his subconscious. The latter, he felt, was a device of secular psychology and not to be trusted by Spirit-filled Christians.
But God was now using the foolish things – even dreams that were, on the surface, immoral – to confound this man who was wise in his own eyes. He was sidestepping prayer and deliverance, the channel anticipated by Christians like Brother Jimmy, to get him to see in new ways. It was so confusing for this preacher who sometimes felt as if he was losing his mind.
On another day he was going through his box when he noticed the bag near the bottom. He did not remember where it came from but opened it to discover ‘Living Gods Are Hard to Find’ and pages from what appeared to be a partial manuscript. Leafing through the loose pages, a poem, The Paradox of Lies, caught his eye. He began to read:
God's Kingdom does encompass
The enemy's domain,
It reaches to the wounded
And raises up the slain. . .
Holiness doesn't separate
The daytime from the night
The night must run its course;
It’s all in God's design,
And God can say of Satan’s plan,
It's just a part of mine.
The words hit him like a flash of light. For the first time he could see a glimmer of hope in his dire situation. Maybe the preacher was finally beginning to see in new categories. Would he be able to throw off the shackles that made him perceive evil in everything? Would he be willing? Extensive changes in point of view never come easily for anyone. Letting go of the old and familiar would be a form of death.
Jimmy began to read the poet's material he had discovered in the bag. Quite often, because many of the poems were blunt and the use of profanity disturbed him, he threw it down in disgust. He wondered how an individual could talk about God that way. It appeared to manifest an arrogant and careless attitude. It was not the writing of a liberal or carnal Christian, nor was it likely to find approval on any conservative's reading list. To the preacher it was a new, unnamed category. The titles alone were enough to make a serious Christian cringe:
Eulogy to a Dead God
No Bibles in Heaven
A Fundamentalist's Hell
A Double-Standard God
An Impotent God
Deceived by God
Ten Thousand Times I Swear
There were others just as provocative. The poet held verbal sparring matches with God and spoke with bluntness the preacher had always considered blasphemy, but there was a liberating power in the message. The preacher never liked poetry, but this was something different. He felt as if he was being operated on without anesthesia. The poems acted as scalpels, cutting deeply into Jimmy James's heart and soul. Jimmy was hurting so good that he could hardly stand it as the cancers of self-righteousness and spiritual pride were being dealt a deathblow.
As time progressed, the preacher was finding an integrating force at work in his life. There was a healing occurring in Jimmy James that was much more miraculous than any physical healing. He was coming to accept the fact he had not seen as clearly as he thought he did. The words of Jesus to the religious leaders took on new meaning as he pondered: ‘If you were blind, then you would see; but because you say you see, your blindness remains.’ From his darkness, he was beginning to see light; and from his erotic dream encounters with the princess, he was experiencing love at a depth unknown to him in the past. It was certainly an integrating force never before experienced by Jimmy James.
The foundation upon which the preacher had built his life, a footing based upon his own understanding of scripture, was being exposed as the instrument of death it was. Improperly used, it could and did deceive many into a false comfort concerning their spiritual security. He realized spiritual growth did not occur like weeds growing in the springtime, as he always liked to brag he had grown. It was a much slower process, involving more than meets the human eye, much more. The foolishness of God was wiser than men.
As these liberating realities hit home, visible changes took place in the preacher's behavior and attitude, with the staff and the other prisoners observing it. His countenance and gait, his whole personality was undergoing a complete metamorphosis. His lackluster demeanor was being replaced with a glow radiating from his soul, reflected through his face. He began exchanging small talk and was cheerful and encouraging. He was also beginning to eat and put on some weight. Again people were talking about Jimmy James, and now it was good.
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The transformation taking place as Jimmy James developed a new perspective was infectious…a good infection. Everything around him seemed to be changing as he changed, and everyone felt it. One could not help admitting that something extraordinary was occurring in the life of the preacher.
Word of the transformation began to leak outside the prison walls, with rumors being printed in some of the area newspapers. A religious writer with TIME magazine received one such report buried in a gossip column of a Memphis paper. He investigated, and was pleased to find Brother Jimmy open. The preacher granted the first interview since the day of the accident.
[The following is a condensed version of the interview that appeared in TIME.]
TIME: Rev. James, it was just over a year and a half ago when your former way of life came to a screeching halt, turning your whole world upside down. Many people have clamored to hear your side of the story, but you have consistently refused all requests for interviews before this one. Why?
PREACHER: I was so devastated by the events I was not even sure who I was anymore. My identity was shattered and I had no control over my own life. To be honest, I just wanted to die.
TIME: So, because you didn't feel you had anything to say, you chose not to say anything at all?
PREACHER: That's exactly right.
TIME: Were you aware of the public outcry, especially from the evangelical Christian community, against you?
PREACHER: I knew something was wrong. My family and friends did not contact me at all, in fact, since my accident I have received only one letter from anyone I knew. That was from Jesse Brown.
TIME: What did he have to say?
PREACHER: He blamed me for all that had happened to the church and to Sarah. I crumpled it up and threw it into my box once I read it. It was not very encouraging, but he did include a page from one of Sarah's old Bibles. It was a letter to Jesus she had written when she was ten. He blamed me that her prayer could never be answered. I've kept it in my Bible ever since.
TIME: Why did you save it?
PREACHER: I don't know. Maybe it was guilt; maybe hope. Who can say for sure? I was still bitter and confused, but I did start asking myself if there was anything good that could come out of it all. In retrospect, I realize that was the first time I began to look for something of value in the situation that previously seemed hopeless.
TIME: Why do you suppose no one else attempted to get in touch with you, I mean, among your friends?
PREACHER: I wasn't sure for a long time. I suppose if I were in their shoes I would have done the same thing. You never realize how important love and forgiveness are until you are in need, and there's no one to help you.
Our old concept of God was terrible. The God we claimed to know was a vengeful, demanding, unrelenting, and judgmental deity. His law was plain and clear, and whoever broke it was worthy of anything bad that might happen to them.
I know they didn't communicate with me because they wanted to help God in meting out the proper punishment.
TIME: What about forgiveness?
PREACHER: As I said, I desperately needed forgiveness, but how do you forgive someone for being weak, when you are fighting so hard against the very same things, and apparently winning? The answer is, you cannot. To do so would mirror your own weakness. Self-righteousness, which is the only kind that can be produced by trying to keep an impossible law, never inspires forgiveness. I don't think it's possible for man to love and be self-righteous at the same time.
TIME: You sound a lot different than you used to. What made you change your tune? What happened to you?
PREACHER: For a long time, a beautiful, blonde princess appeared repeatedly in my dreams. Sometimes she would just appear, and then suddenly evaporate. She was always naked, and kept trying to seduce me. I would awaken in a cold sweat, utterly mortified. After the accident, she continued to appear, trying to lead me into a garden. As I had resisted in my earlier dreams, I continued to resist the new advances for a long time.
TIME: I assume you eventually stopped resisting. What happened?
PREACHER: Her prayer gnawed at me, because I felt God could only answer it through me. I finally concluded that she had to be the person in my dreams; but I was unwilling to go with her, even in a dream, to see where she was trying to take me.
After a while I did stop fighting and started to walk through the garden with the princess. Each time I received new insights. We were always naked, and I stopped being ashamed. I still didn't understand consciously, but I was beginning to open up. I even began to search through my correspondence box.
The conscious breakthrough came when I discovered a book and pages of an unfinished manuscript in my box. To be honest, I do not remember how or when I received them. There was a stirring cover letter written to support and challenge me. It was simply signed, ‘The Poet.’
TIME: What were they?
PREACHER: Living Gods Are Hard to Find was the title of the book and the other was a portion of Inside Out and Upside Down.
TIME: I think that poet was on one of the talk shows some time back, the "Phil Donahue Show," I believe it was. I didn't see it myself, so I know very little about it. A friend told me it was quite provocative. What effect did the book have on your life?
PREACHER: It continued my shock treatment. I would get so mad sometimes when I was reading it that I would throw it down on the floor, quite disgusted. I always picked it back up though, and read more. That is one penetrating book! Someday I want to meet the poet.
Through those pages I was able to see what was wrong for the first time. We divide everything into conflicting camps. That is not the way it is naturally; we create it by the way we think. We see everyone else as evil, and everyone else returns the favor, so we perpetuate war and many other kinds of violence. The weaknesses we fight in others are the same ones we nourish in ourselves. I tell you, we are stupid. No wonder living gods are hard to find. The God we demand is one made in our own image. If God exists in our image, we are in serious trouble.
We Christians talk a lot about Jesus, but I don't think we comprehend the first thing about Him. If He were to show up here today, right in the Bible-belt of America, I'm afraid born-again Christians would crucify him again. I know that won't be a very popular thing to say, but I'm convinced it's the truth. One doesn't have to have a high IQ to see what kind of people Jesus hung around with two thousand years ago, nor to see who gave Him the most trouble. I doubt things have changed much since then. It's so sad. We still seem to enjoy condemning outsiders who are different than we are. Almost two thousand years of Christianity hasn't changed things much in that respect. Maybe that is why it says in the Bible that God's judgment has to start with religious people.
TIME: Speaking of outsiders, your trial defense was handled by liberals, both in the political and religious meaning. Your own lawyer is on the staff of the American Civil Liberties Union. He is one of the humanists you used to fight against. Did you know this, and if so, what do you think about it?
PREACHER: I knew that those who testified for me were not born-again Christians, and as for my lawyer, I assumed he was court appointed. It was not until the trial was over that I realized the truth. I was disgusted at the time, but right now it doesn't make a bit of difference whatsoever. Even though they may not have been spiritual people in the sense of the evangelical outlook, they did, at least, have enough natural compassion to try to help a human being who had fallen down. That's more than can be said about my Christian friends. I'm not condemning them, because, as I said before, I would have done the same thing.
TIME: How difficult was it for you to get used to prison life?
PREACHER: As I already indicated, the whole thing devastated me. I was experiencing severe emotional trauma. The external prison merely coincided with my internal reality. I was in prison from the moment I regained consciousness in the hospital. I was detached and oblivious to my surroundings. I did what I was told and prayed to die. Since I've changed, prison still has little effect on me. I'm liberated on the inside, and no matter what my circumstances might be; I think that I would still feel free.
TIME: Have you made any plans for when you get out?
PREACHER: No, I still have more than four years to serve on my sentence, if I do not receive parole before then.
TIME: How do you plan on spending your remaining time?
PREACHER: Paul wrote most of the New Testament from prison. I have already begun to make notes for a new book I'm going to call ‘The Womb of Wisdom.’
TIME: What will that be about?
PREACHER: The idea came to me while reading ‘Living Gods Are Hard to Find.’ (He picked up his copy.) Here it is, in the epilogue:
“For those of you who hear that Voice and are willing to cast yourself unconditionally into the invisible arms of an unknown God, I encourage you. You are now involved, and have been all along, in the most important activity occurring on earth today – the incarnation of God in flesh. You will be stripped, cut open, exposed! You will hurt like hell! You will cry out! You will be despised and rejected by men! You will seem forsaken by God! You will die! I encourage you! You are very brave! This is the cross!
“I wrote those words with tears flowing down my face, standing at the threshold of my own tomb, the womb of the wisdom of God.”
When I first read those words, tears flowed down my face, too. As you saw, I still get choked up a bit when I read it. For most of my life, I told God I wanted to do His will and I wanted Him to have His way with me. I believed my prayers were being answered, but I became nothing more than a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal, as Paul wrote in the love chapter: First Corinthians thirteen.
Do you mind if I read something else to you?
TIME: No, go right ahead. This is your chance to make your own statement. After all, there have been hundreds who have spoken for you. The world now waits to hear what you have to say for yourself.
PREACHER: Thank you. This is another poem: True Love Comes in Broken Hearts. It speaks so well to my entire life and situation.
TRUE LOVE COMES IN BROKEN HEARTS
I'm a prisoner of love
And I never want my freedom.
He'd like to capture all his kids
And by his spirit lead 'em.
But I was so self-centered –
Had the answers figured out;
I knew I was a special case,
That I'd win, I had no doubt;
For I could quote the Bible,
I knew what God would do;
And I would walk that narrow road
As one of the chosen few.
I could show the other people
Just where they were wrong,
For I had a balanced view of truth
And my faith was very strong.
I would fast and I would pray
To make God move his hand;
After all, He promised,
And on his word I'd stand.
I would show those atheists
Just how real God was;
I'd be his great defender;
I'd really cause a buzz.
And those terrible bad people
Who were breaking all the rules,
I'd tell them a thing or two
And prove that they were fools.
Those who disagreed with me
Were in for quite a fight,
For all the hosts of darkness
Couldn’t stand against my light.
I could never be defeated
Because I had the truth;
So I'd seek out all the errors,
I'd be a master sleuth.
The world could be converted,
It only had to see
The great anointing God had caused
To rest on lowly me.
God found himself obliged
To answer every prayer;
After all, He promised,
And I knew he was there.
But something different happened –
My Bible God was dead;
He would not listen to my prayers –
He had another plan instead.
For you see, I was not loving;
My heart was hard like stone;
So He was forced to break it
By leaving me alone.
There I was with all my plans
And my dreams of being used.
I was unaware of sickness,
And that I was deeply bruised.
So I spent time in the valley
Where everything fell apart:
All that I had lived for,
Now I couldn't even start.
I learned about despair
And in self-pity sank,
For God had me imprisoned
Within a darkened tank.
I felt such awful bitterness
That I had been deceived.
My life seemed so hopeless,
The things that I'd believed.
But He broke my self-reliance,
He smashed self-righteous pride,
He crushed me with his hand of love
Till I saw deep inside.
Oh, friend, I wasn't pretty.
I was uglier than hell.
And when I saw the real me,
Down on my face I fell.
And that is where I found love –
He accepted me that way,
So I will never cover up
My human feet of clay.
I am an earthen vessel,
But I have a broken heart;
And I know God will use me,
I know He'll do his part.
For now I can obey Him
When he commands to love –
True love comes in broken hearts
As a gift from God above.
Please forgive me for crying.
TIME: Don't worry about it. I understand completely. So your new book will be about your own experience?
PREACHER: Yes, some of it. From here I am quite limited to do the research that might be necessary to get all the details. I may have to settle for just sharing my own feelings, and allow someone else to dig up the facts and to tell the whole story.
I will include my new insights and tell what I have gone through. It was very hard for me to open up. I have had to unlearn so many things I had believed before. Old perceptions do not die easily, especially when you are convinced they are the unalterable truth of God. It is painful to admit that using the Bible as your guidebook could deceive you. I thought I had an excellent understanding and prided myself on rightly dividing the Word of Truth. I had to learn that the Word of God goes way beyond any book, even the Bible. The Word of God is a living spirit, the Spirit of Christ, Himself.
When the poet said the incarnation of God in flesh was the most important activity taking place on earth today, he knew what he was talking about. The Word of God must always continue its transformation into flesh. We must become sons of God, going way beyond our current assessment of what it means to be Christians. I have come to the conclusion that most, if not all, of present-day Christianity is the Antichrist, Babylon the Great, Mother of Harlots, as John described in the book of Revelation. That's a hard thing to say, I know it is, and I'm not trying to judge, but look around. I doubt we can survive on this planet without getting beyond our religion. We must learn, not as part of a religion, but as part of being human, that we need to love others without manipulating them into believing our particular doctrine. That is what kills. It never changes anyone, yet that is where Christianity majors.
We often sang the hymn "Just As I Am" when inviting people to come to Christ. When they came, we did everything in our power to change them, trying to make them conform to the image of what we believed they should be. We meant well, but we were destroying them in the process. Unless we can learn to accept people just as they are, and love them that way, without judgment, without condemnation, and without trying to force change, I'm afraid we will end up invalidating each other and ourselves, too.
Forgive me for preaching.
TIME: No apology is necessary. Please continue.
PREACHER: I'd like to be able to go out and knock down the walls, remove the scales, and expose the lies we call truth, but I can't. In one of the poems in Living Gods Are Hard to Find, I remember the poet saying something like: Oh walls dividing, fall down and we'll be blessed. He wanted to storm the walls, but God told him to wait. Walls must fall from the inside, he was told. Those who cried would be healed, but those who continued to hide would die inside their precious walls. I wish I could recall the exact words, but that is the gist of what he said.
It makes it very hard when you catch sight of the unity of life for the first time and when you recognize things are not what they seem to be. It makes you want to go out and shake people until they can see it too. You want to shout, what you think is light is just another shade of darkness. Who would believe it though? I never would have, if it weren’t for the irrational things that happened to me, forcing me to reflect deeply for the first time. I don't know what it is going to take. Is God going to have to shake the whole world, turning everything upside down, before we will be freed from the lies we call truth? Or will he be able to shake only a portion of the whole, individuals like me who really want to know God, but don't realize they are just playing a game, one that is destructive and hideous?
TIME: Rev. James, it is obvious you are a changed man, yet you are the same firebrand preacher you always were. I want to thank you for allowing me the privilege to be the first one to carry your story to the world. It is different; I'll say that.
PREACHER: It hurts; it really hurts. I'd like to reach out and simply love people and to show them what true love is. Love really does come in broken hearts. I appreciate the opportunity that you have given me. Thank you very much.
TIME put his picture, complete in prison garb, on the cover. The headline was: JIMMY JAMES SPEAKS OUT. IT'S A REAL SHOCKER!
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From the day the Jimmy James issue of TIME hit the streets, a tidal wave of public reaction began. The interview brought an avalanche of response to both the magazine and the preacher. The remarks and opinions covered a wide range of political and religious viewpoints. The emotions, too, ran the gamut of possibilities from raging anger to ecstatic delight.
Both mail and visitors poured into the penitentiary. It was fortunate that Jimmy's cell mate had been released shortly before – with no one taking his place – in view of the continuing stream of callers who showed up to meet and interview this transformed preacher. He put the prison on the map, giving the administrators a real headache. Many had to be turned away because the increase in traffic was difficult to handle. Word was out that visits had to be prearranged, and all uninvited guests would be refused an audience with the preacher. Dozens left disappointed.
One of the first visitors allowed to talk with Brother Jimmy was the poet. This time he was welcomed with opened arms, as two hours were spent together discussing ways in which the message of integration and unity could be extended. They were riding the crest of enthusiasm and public interest, but dangerous polarization was occurring. Could the pitfall of the egocentric struggle to try to coerce others into seeing be avoided? Such an inclination was always present in immature human nature, plaguing history with wars fought to prove: I am right, so you better see as I do, or I am going to kill you!
Such was not the case in the prison. The mood was notably upbeat. No one had to force the inmates or officials to see; the evidence was obvious and dramatic. Not only was it not a threat, especially the prisoners welcomed it. They now had hope. Many were feeling optimistic about themselves and their situation for probably the first time in their lives. They had witnessed firsthand the extraordinary changes that could occur in a defeated human being. Could it cross over into the free society with equal receptivity? It was doubtful. People who knew they were prisoners often had an unmistakable edge in open-mindedness over those who did not, because most of them had no delusions of being in control.
Just before the poet's departure, they discussed plans for a book. The poet agreed to do the vital research to uncover all he could about the lives of the preacher and the enigmatic Sarah Brown. They decided the paradoxical title: ‘Heretics, Harlots, and Other Saints’ would be stimulating and apropos. The poet departed the prison with joy in his heart, thrilled at being commissioned by the preacher to handle such a momentous and far-reaching task.
Keeping up with the mail had become a full-time job for the preacher. He was encouraged by the widespread support his recent revelations had stimulated, support that came from very diverse and often unexpected quarters. The new-age community, liberals, atheists, humanists, and even many still designating themselves conservative expressed their delight with his new perspective on life. More than just a few former fundamentalists were thrilled as well, realizing they were liberated from the bondage of forced hypocrisy. Many designated his old views as antihuman and even anti-God, but saw him now as a lover of both God and man.
The perceptions of those from other camps greatly intrigued Jimmy James. Nearly everything they said, although he certainly would have rejected it a year or two before, made sense. (He discovered that much of what was said was scriptural, although it was not something he could have easily seen from his old vantage point. These things were on the opposite side of the paradox.) He wondered how he could have missed so many paradoxes in the book he honored so much. He began to have this truth indelibly etched on his conscious understanding: that all truth relating to people was applied in varying degrees that depended entirely upon individual development. What was true at one stage might be completely inappropriate at another. In other words, he saw that truth was relative.
This insight of relativity was pivotal in the development of human tolerance. Without it, each truth must be broadly applied as an absolute. For years, scientists had been saying there were no absolutes, which made most religionists indignant. Advocates of religion nearly always maintained a closed-system, either/or philosophy. This perspective allowed them to always be right in their own eyes. Jimmy James comprehended the reality that any two positions could be both right and wrong simultaneously. It was a subject he would be dealing with in The Womb of Wisdom.
Much of the correspondence was the other type from those who were angry and opposed to changes viewed as compromise. Many believed the preacher watered down the truth by his new understanding, and more than a dozen letter writers called him a heretic. Many were venomous in their attacks on his perspective.
His former associate, John Williamson, wrote, in part:
"First you fall into a heinous sin. Then you seem to allow your devil-inspired dreams, and that opinionated and blasphemous poet, to provoke you to justify yourself. It is almost as if you are crediting God with predestinating your adulterous escapade, like it was a good thing. Well, it was not good! Sin is sin! I am appalled at your increasingly reprobate thinking."
Other letters were especially appealing. Two were from girls who had been Angels of Mercy, Janice and Diane. Janice wrote.
Dear Jimmy,
I was thrilled to see your picture on the cover of TIME magazine. What you said excited me even more. I have been praying for you ever since the day I first learned what had happened with you and Sarah.
Sarah and I worked together in a call girl ring in New Orleans. Our parents made life miserable for us at home. I rebelled by getting pregnant and running away. I met a lady at a park in the French Quarter. Her name was Angel, and she was an angel indeed. Though we worked as prostitutes, God was with us, and taught us to love and not to hate. I'm not saying there was never any guilt in what we were doing, but there was usually a strange inner peace that could only come from God.
Sarah, on the day of your accident, after relating her dream to us, suggested we all had to leave at once. I went one way, and the other girls each took off in a different direction. Angel had disappeared at the beginning of that week. I have not contacted any of the other girls since that day. I did write a letter to Sarah's parents though, but they didn't answer. I guess I didn't really expect them to.
God has been really good to me. I was able to find a real job when I arrived home. It wasn't much, but it helped me to get by. My dad is on the staff of the ministry here, and he couldn't handle me living at home, so after four days I had to move out again. Lucky for me, I ran into an old friend the day after I arrived, and she was looking for her own place. We decided to live together and share expenses for a while.
About two and a half months after coming back, I met a wonderful guy. His name is Roger Albright. We were married two months ago. We're going to wait till we get on our feet before we start having babies, but our marriage is wonderful. It was made in heaven. I'm happy and thankful to God.
Don't feel bad about Sarah. God gave me a dream about her. She is okay. She is with God and surrounded by those who know how to love. She's really home now. After reading your interview, I realized what had happened to her was for the good. Many people are going to learn what love is all about – people who may not have had that opportunity were it not for Sarah's brief life and sudden death. Jesus died so that others could live, and I hope it's not wrong to say, but I think Sarah did, too.
God bless you, Jimmy. I'm going to keep praying for you that God will help you to spread his real love.
Love, your friend,
Janice Albright
Tears filled the preacher's eyes as he read. He was thrilled to see the grace of God at work. Diane's letter had been equally touching.
Dear Rev. James,
You don't know me but I was a friend of Sarah's for the last year of her life. She was a real special girl. We were part of a group of high-class hookers who called ourselves Angels of Mercy. I know that may sound a bit strange, but our leader and inspiration had been a lady named Angel. It was a preacher who gave her that name, and he was the first one to call her an angel of mercy. She was going to kill herself that night when he came, but he gave her hope to go on.
I was the first, and Sarah was the seventh Christian-home reject who was helped by Angel. She sort of kept us centered on what it was to be human and helped us not to get bitter. She disappeared a week before your accident with Sarah.
Please don't get mad at me for saying this, but I don't think it was an accident. I read your interview. I think it was part of God's plan. I'll bet Sarah is with God right now, and I'll bet, too, that He was really happy when she got home. She was a real special and loving girl. It's too bad her parents couldn't see that, but I guess if they had things wouldn't have come out like it is now. I know God is going to really use you to help people see, like you want to do so bad.
Things are going pretty good for me. My parents read your interview, and they talk a lot about it. I have been living with them for over a year and a half now. It was kind of tough in the beginning, but they got used to me again. I'm dating a nice guy. We are talking about getting married next year. I guess you really don't want to hear all about me though. That's okay.
I'm going to keep praying for you like I have for the past year. I pray for Sarah's parents, too. Please pray for me when you think about it. I want to know God better and see this world become a nicer place to live.
Very truly yours,
Diane
Jimmy's son, Jeremy, also wrote.
Dear Dad,
I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner, but Mom said I couldn't. It really hurt us a lot when you did that. Mom cried for weeks. We wanted to reach out to you, but all the elders said we would be better off leaving you alone. Dad, they gave you up to Satan. We were told we shouldn't have any fellowship with you.
Please forgive me for all the hard times I used to give you. I still don't see anything so terrible about rock-and-roll, and I still play with my band. I know there are some people in the rock industry who seem dedicated to evil, but there are more who would like to see more love and peace in the world. Nobody, at least not many, wants to see the world blow up. Maybe some Christians do because they think Jesus will rapture them first.
Dad, I've never talked to anyone else about this, but I've done a lot of thinking. I don't think Jesus is going to rapture the Christians. I don't have the Bible verses to prove it, but it doesn't make sense. How can He bring peace if He takes away all the Christians and the Holy Spirit, like you always taught? Besides, if the Holy Spirit is God, and God is everywhere, how can he disappear or be taken away from anywhere? I'm not into theology like you are – I prefer my music – but it seems crazy when I think about it.
I liked what you had to say in your interview. It was great. Mom and a lot of people at church are talking about it. Some of them are calling you a heretic, but I think you are getting through. Don't give up.
I also think it's about time Christians started showing some compassion instead of just criticizing everybody all the time. Look at what they did to you. You were at the lowest point in your whole life; and instead of helping you, they condemned you. I'm glad you are changing. It might take some time, but I think a lot of other people are going to change, too. Wouldn't it be nice if Jesus could come back to a world full of love, instead of a bloody world where everybody hates everybody else?
I told Mom I was going to write to you. She didn't try to stop me. She didn't say anything at all. I think she is softening.
I miss you, Dad, and I love you a lot. I never told you that very much, but you were hard to love back then. It's a lot easier now, even if you are a heretic. Maybe we should all become heretics. Just kidding. Ha ha. I don't think you are a real heretic anyway. I think the ones who call you that are the real ones. They just can't see it yet.
David and Judy have a little girl now. Her name is Christine, and she is real cute. They are doing fine. Susan is doing good, too. She is in her last year of Bible school.
Thank you, Dad. I am proud of you. I hope it won't be very long before I can see you again. I have lots of hugs to give you.
Love,
Jeremy
The preacher wrote back.
Dear Jeremy,
Son, I was choked with emotion when I received your letter and even more so when I read it. God is so good.
I understand and forgive all of you for your reaction to what I did and what happened. It was hard on me, very hard. I wanted to die for over a year, but like I said in the TIME interview, God managed to get me turned around. I discovered something I had never really understood – grace. I thank Sarah Ruth, the poet, and God for that.
Speaking of the poet, he came to see me the other day. He is going to be working with me to write the story. I am not able to gather all the information needed, and I don't even know all the details yet myself. He can handle it. We seem to agree on so many things, I know he won't overlook what other people might never see. He has much wisdom, a gift he prayed for over and over as a little child and as a young man.
We both feel we are on the verge of the most powerful and gracious move of God in recorded history. The important word is Reconciliation. Jesus, through his people, will be reconciling the world to himself. All we have to do is get people to stop fighting each other long enough to see it. It is not us against them. If God so loved the world, why can't we? Well, we will. We must.
Christianity as we have known it is but a caricature, a distorted picture of reality. I think true Christianity is universal, encompassing all religions and all cultures, and Christ is all and in all. That is a literal statement. To fight people is to fight Christ. We are commanded to stand, not to fight. We will never see this until our eye is single, then our whole body will be full of light. If the light that's in us is darkness (because of our divided perception), how great that darkness is! That's what Jesus tried to communicate. I believe single vision is the key to reconciliation.
Oh, Jeremy, I'm sorry to be preaching, but I'm just so full that it comes out whenever I open my mouth or write.
Don't worry about the rock-and-roll. The devil may think he's using it to keep people from God, but he is defeated. Everything he does is part of God's plan. The devil may lay a trap, but God unlocks the door and sets the captives free.
There I go again. I can't help it. Please say Hi to your mom and your brother and sister for me. I love and miss all of you. I can't wait until I can see you again, either. If you don't mind, your mom can read this, if she wants to hear what I had to say.
Love always,
DadP.S. I think you may be right about the rapture. The way of escape is not up, but down first. If there has to be a great tribulation, it will be as mine has been – a time of death that produces life, and a time of darkness from which the light will surely shine.
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A month after his letter to Jeremy, Brother Jimmy's mail and the flow of visitors was beginning to slacken off a bit, and he was finding time to work on his book. The liberating truths the preacher had discovered went way beyond the subject of religion, but most people still made the mistake of classifying anything to do with God as religious. Jimmy James unheedingly contributed to at least some of that confusion that had led to the animosity of many people against God. He wanted to use the book to express his heartfelt regrets for that misrepresentation.
His task, clarifying the difference between religion and spirituality, would not be easy. He realized he had to show that a great chasm existed between religion and secularism on the one hand, and a balanced and fulfilled life on the other. Explaining that religion, and its apparent opposite, secularism, were really on the same side of the coin (both falling short of the optimal) was one thing and proving it was another. Bringing together such diverse perspectives could easily become an exercise in futility, as he was well aware. Still, he wanted to tackle this formidable objective in his new book.
He had become grateful for those who were able to exercise tolerance and understanding, no matter what labels they chose to wear. He only wished there was some way, any way, to show that God was not some big bigot who got off by making people suffer and passing cruel sentences on the weak. The deceptive piety of the Christian establishment had misled countless individuals, keeping them from undertaking any diligent search to find meaningful keys to understanding the mysteries of human life. They had actually been standing in the way, blocking the entrance to the City of God.
Jimmy was well aware that this Babylon had no greater goal than to preserve the illusion it was God's earthly representative. Many of the spiritual leaders were blinded because they thought more highly of themselves than they ought to think. They liked playing God, but they could never, while maintaining the illusion, rise to the stature that was their God-given inheritance. To preserve their image, though false, became of paramount value to these who relished the most absurd pleasure of sin – sitting on an illusory throne and governing a kingdom that did not exist. This was pure folly. It was a pathetic facet of a reprobate mind that coveted the authority of God without first becoming godlike in character. They recreated a god in their own marred image, and that pseudo-deity was the one they displayed. It was a travesty of universal scope and consequence. Jimmy James was sorry he had been a leader who had played that game.
How could he, a preacher guilty of prior ignorance, now show people that Jesus Christ meant for each person to become a little christ? There was only one way – personal demonstration. He had to grow up to it. Truth was not a concept to be learned, it was a pathway to be walked.
The words of the poet rang in the preacher's ears: The job of the person with insight, who sees the unity of all things, is to create flexible wineskins, temporary scaffolding, capable of providing security for the masses, while the old wineskins are being torn asunder by the very hand of God who promised to shake down everything that could be shaken.
There was no way the old wineskins could be retained without risking genocide, which was obvious not only to Jimmy James, but to all who were beginning to see. The old system was based on competition and projection of guilt to others. But was there a structure, any type of scaffolding, which could channel the new, creative energies into constructive endeavors without blowing up the world or shedding rivers of blood?
The narrow and broad ways had long been subjects of Jimmy's messages, and he had always encouraged people to walk the narrow road. Now his definitions were changed. This was the inevitable result of seeing unity and design, instead of disunity and chaos, in the extensive diversity of the world.
The narrow way was, in reality, much broader than Jimmy James and others realized, but because single vision was a prerequisite to finding it, comparatively few had made the discovery. The concept of dualism – this against that, rather than this and that – had so permeated the thought pattern of the western world that ability to see wholeness was impaired almost beyond measure.
The broad way was broad, quite simply, because everyone was so narrow-minded. It was full of people who were imprisoned in a wide assortment of limited perceptions. These go through their lives with virtual tunnel vision. Some were convinced that it was their God-given function to oppose and resist anyone who did not look at life through their particular knothole. Those who looked through a different knothole, or a crack in the fence, became automatic rivals or even enemies. That animosity should be the result of this human ignorance should not surprise anyone.
The narrow way was the path of people who were broad-minded enough to see the interdependency of everything. If they saw something outside the scope of their normal vision and perspective, they asked why it was there, instead of desperately seeking weapons to eliminate it. Broad-minded people were those who tried to understand, rather than render a damaging judgment. These not only tolerated those holding other viewpoints, they celebrated the differences and tried to integrate them into a cohesive and cooperative unit. Others were not seen as automatic enemies, just as others. The various stages of human development were accepted by the truly broad-minded soul, with the emphasis on helping as many as possible to achieve their fullest stature. To the liberal – and the broad-minded are liberal – fulfilled people provided the greatest possible stabilizing force upon society. A fulfilled individual was never a threat to anyone.
This vantage point of the broad-minded on the narrow way, if it could be adopted by enough individuals, would render a fatal blow to the damaging egocentricity of the human race with its paralyzing sectarianism. It was the pathway to peace and safety. Jimmy James wanted people to see it, to embrace it, to grow up to live it. But was it more than he could handle?
"Oh, my God," he said one night as he was pondering these things, "I do not know the way. Without strength from beyond myself, or perhaps in a part of myself I have yet to discover, I cannot even begin to remedy the situation. I know all of my old principles, programs, and priorities will fail. Unless You show us the way, we will all perish from the face of the earth."
God, as the poet had suggested, was in his apparent crisis stance. He remained silent, waiting for men to hear the Voice that spoke to everyone, everywhere. He had promised He would lead the blind by ways they had not known and along unfamiliar paths He would guide them. He promised He would turn darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. Was He waiting for man to fall over the precipice that most pretended wasn't even there? Was He letting the divisive lies, revealed in the Garden of Eden story, simply cause self-destruction? Could evil bring its own end or could it be penetrated by good, not as a weapon, but as an act of love, and thereby be overcome? One thing was obvious: the penetration of light into darkness always rendered the darkness impotent.
The preacher was sure that whatever the solution love was the key. But a continuing submission to divisive sectarian attitudes that produced a jockeying for position and rank would only serve to prolong disintegration. If the other could not be esteemed as better than one's self, it at least had to be counted as an equal. ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ was crucial.
Considering his increased awareness, the preacher realized that the political arena was as impaired as religion. Politicians could not trust each other in the same country, much less those in the enemy territory. It was inconceivable anyone could be naive enough to believe that summit meetings and international treaties could prevail, and bring any deep-seated or long-lasting peace. How could they? First, the attitudes of mutual mistrust still prevalent at the end of the ‘enlightened’ twentieth century had to change.
No, the preacher had been thrown into the cutting edge. At first it looked as if it overcame him, but then miraculously, it incorporated him. He had become a part of that which seemed to conquer him and had thus transcended the enemy. The destroyer's power was rendered useless and impotent in the preacher's life. Death had been swallowed up in victory. It had lost its sting. Through the power of love and grace, Brother Jimmy had learned that God does do the impossible. He integrated opposites and made the lamb to lie down in peace with the lion. The serpent had become the instrument of healing. A new man had been born.
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Jesse Brown was delivering an unusual sermon at the Church of the Holy Law in Ichabod. The congregation sat stunned.
"So, brothers and sisters, I humbly ask your forgiveness for misleading you all of these years. What I thought was holiness, what I preached as righteousness, was as anti-christian as when Saul of Tarsus went around slaughtering the early saints. He felt he was doing God a favor, exterminating that new heretical sect in his zeal, but he lacked true wisdom and understanding. God confronted him on the road to Damascus, speaking to him out of a blinding light. ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ ‘Who are you Lord?’ Saul asked. ‘I am Jesus whom you are persecuting,’ the voice answered.
"I have been confronted by Jesus, too, for I was persecuting Him without knowing it.
"When Brother Jimmy's interview first appeared in TIME, you all know I was quick to call him a heretic. Most of you sat here for the past thirty or thirty-one months as I condemned, first Sarah Ruth, my own daughter, and then Jimmy James, a friend for many years. You have listened as I spewed out my vindictiveness, manifesting an attitude of bitterness and unforgiveness. You have voiced your loud amen's, as I encouraged and nourished these same attitudes in you.
"I confess to you there is sin in my heart, not just these heinous and deceptive sins I have specified, but covetousness and lust as well. All my life I have felt that I needed to hide and cover my weaknesses. All my life I have pretended to be a man of faith and power. All my life I have preached the importance of fighting the devil and his works. Well, it doesn't work. This is not Christianity. Christianity isn't as much fighting as it is seeing. Brother Jimmy is right."
Many gasped loudly. Jesse went on.
"Rebecca and I are going to step down as your pastors. The message God is emphasizing to us must be carried beyond the boundaries of Ichabod. Others need to hear the liberating truth that they can stop hiding. God loves us now and forever, just as we are. We don't have to wear white robes to try to cover our black hearts. God can see right through them anyway. If we can't hide what we are from God, what sense is there in hiding it from each other? The love of God covers a multitude of sins, and the Bible calls the man blessed when the Lord does not count his iniquities against him. His transgressions and sins are covered so that God can get on with the more substantial work of transformation. The transformed man is enlightened. He loves instead of hates and forgives rather than condemning. The man who receives people who are different, and doesn't build walls of separation to keep them out of his privileged group, is genuinely blessed.
"God is a holy God, as we have always said, but we have failed to discern what holiness is. Holiness is purity and it is integrity. Purity and integrity! We immediately think we know what they mean, but do we? I think I have an insight.
"Pure light is integrated light. Here in the South we know that the opposite of integration is segregation. Segregation keeps out colors. We might think the absence of color would be pure and white. Not so. It makes black light. It doesn't work like we think it should.
"I said pure light is integrated light. Integrated light is light that includes all colors – it is white light. What does this say to us? It screams at me!
"Integrity is not just telling the truth and being honest. Holiness and integrity wrap everything in a blanket of warm love. It is the holiness of God that allows Him to accept those of us who are morally inferior to Him – everyone of us! It is the love of God that goes to any and all extremes to get us to wake up and see what we are and to see our weaknesses as well as strengths. It is His gift of wisdom that enables us to accept ourselves as we are. Without that acceptance, we cannot be healed; without healing, we cannot ever hope to become what God created us to be. We need to grow up into the full stature of Christ.
"I still have not been able to figure out all of the seeming contradictions in the Bible. That's right, call them paradoxes if you want, and they are, but they appear to the human mind as contradictions. I have noticed them for a long time, but chose to brush them aside, refusing to think it through. For centuries the Church has lived on one side of the paradox or the other. We have all seen the results. Christians drove their own children into the streets. They passed judgment on the wounded who were in their midst. They killed (figuratively) all who would not or could not maintain the proper image. All this was done in the name of a holy God.
"When I saw it, I felt like throwing up. I will no longer tolerate such an attitude in myself. I have a long way to go – a long way to grow; but Rebecca and I are determined to go forward just as we are. We are going to tell the truth, regardless of what it costs us personally. I might add, I do not mean the objective truth of the Bible, but rather the subjective truth of the Spirit of God at work in us. I know that's risky living, but we are committed to applying our faith in a different way.
"Tonight we are going to be meeting at the Baptist Church. We are going to honor Sarah Ruth in a more loving way. I believe everyone who swallows his or her pride and comes will experience an extraordinary blessing. Invite everyone in the entire town.
"Now, may the grace and love of God, which goes beyond human understanding, be manifest in all of Ichabod, and may the Lord's glory be seen as never before."
The whole town buzzed with the news. That night an overflow crowd gathered at the Baptist Church. Speakers had to be placed outside. People huddled together to keep warm. Nearly everyone in the whole town was in attendance, even the skeptics. That two churches, which had stood in doctrinal opposition to each other, were meeting together was a miracle in itself, but news of Pastor Brown's confession had rocked the community. There was an air of curiosity and expectancy as Pastor Harry Glendenon stood in the pulpit.
"Heavenly Father, we thank You for Your grace and goodness to us, for the fact You have overlooked our dreadful attitudes for many years, years which will, by Your grace, be put behind us. We praise You for granting Jesus the ministry of reconciliation, and have seen fit to open our eyes so that we might participate with Him in that ministry. Bless that which is about to happen, and may no one leave here the same as when they came. In the blessed name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.
"Last Monday morning, Pastor Jesse Brown came to my house. He was weeping even as he came up the walk, visibly shaken. He asked if he could sit down and talk with me. I invited him into my study.
"Most of you know that for the past nineteen years or so, before I even became a part of this community, there was a rift between the congregation meeting here and the one meeting on the other side of town. Still, we each claimed to be worshipping the same God. Name-calling and backbiting has taken place on both sides, as most of you are aware.
"Well, my brother, the pastor of that other church, came to see me with tears flowing down his face. He confessed he had an arrogant and self-righteous attitude toward this assembly and me. He told me he has often preached against our errors, even as I have theirs.
"He went on to relate how his judgmental attitude had caused him to kick his only daughter out of the house when she was sixteen. She did not run away as we had been told.
"You all know what happened here a year ago this past fall. Jimmy James was coming to town to hold revival meetings, and he almost made it. The revival was a delayed reaction. It arrived this past week.
"Revivals for us evangelicals have come to mean a series of special meetings, a guest speaker, and an intensified emphasis on what we call spiritual matters. Following most revivals, things usually settle back down to normal in a week or two. This game, along with others we have played for so long, is sick. It does not glorify God because it does not change our hearts. We draw near to Him with our songs and sermons, testimonies and prayers, but that is where it all stops. Our judgmental and sectarian attitudes remain untouched, and our faith stays poisoned.
"Brother Jesse and I have met together for prayer every day since last Monday. The results have been phenomenal for both of us. We have become real and honest with each other. There will be no more hiding behind invisible cloaks of self-righteousness – just straightforward, heartrending truthfulness.
"Jesse and Rebecca are going into evangelistic work. Our two congregations will merge, coming together to try to learn how to love each other. We are going to work at understanding the purpose for our different gifts and insights, instead of judging. We are hopefully going to draw strength from our differences, and we will attempt to listen to everyone. Each one of us will have the responsibility to hear from God. We know there will be some difficulties in this experiment; but by the grace of God we are going to try our best to become part of the solution, instead of continuing as parts of the problem.
"I am going to turn this microphone, for the first time ever, over to my brother in the Lord, Pastor Jesse Brown. Here he is."
"Thank you, Harry.
"Last Sunday night I had a dream, but before I tell you what it was, I am going to back up a bit. For the past several weeks, since I first read that issue of TIME, I have been under constant duress. At first I called him a heretic, but something began to gnaw deep inside of me. I became very troubled. It began to hit me that I was wrong…terribly wrong. At first I did what I have always done: I rebuked the accuser of the brethren. I demanded that Satan get behind me, but the more I struggled, the more intense my anxiety became. I could not get away from thinking that I was in error.
"Throughout my entire life I have always repudiated whatever I considered an accusation of the devil. Any suggestion that I might be in error, or anything that went amiss in my life, had to be Satan. My problems with my daughter were the devil's fault. Her running away was the devil; her death was the devil. Everything that did not happen the way I thought it should was the devil's fault. Anything that did not agree with what I believed was true had to be a trick of Satan. I think many of us have played the same game. It's amazing how blind we can be in our own conceit.
"Well, not anymore for me. Satan is God's problem. If God can't handle him, we are all in big trouble. I have re-committed myself and my whole life to truth. I am going to trust God to work in me, rather than trying to figure everything out with the Bible. After all, the people in the Bible did not have the Bible to guide them. They had to hear God directly. I think we have lost that, and I want it back. I want to learn what it means to be a man of God. I don't think it means being God's defender. I am sure He can handle His business just fine. I don't think it means being Satan’s enemy either. When I have tried to fight what I could not see, I ended up seeing what I was fighting in everyone else. I have no business fighting others. I have enough of a problem just being me. Being me is what I'm going to do from now on. If anyone has a problem with that, it's your problem. I want to be me!
"Having said all that let me recount the dream to you. In the dream I died and went to a strange place. It was a beautiful garden, but there was something wrong. Everyone, except me, was naked. I was embarrassed and tried to keep from seeing all those beautiful women. I was ashamed as I peeked between my fingers. I thought someone made a mistake and sent me to hell. I cried out for the Lord.
"A massive, glowing entity materialized. I thought it was an angel. I complained about the nudity. I told him I had never looked at such things. I wanted to see God so I could be sent to where I belonged. I had no intention of remaining in that wicked place, if it could be helped.
"He told me that, judging from my appearance, there did seem to be an error of some sort. I was so relieved, but he went on to say that I arrived in vestures made because of sin – coverings that were unnecessary in that place. He told me that evil was unknown, there were no divisions, and everything was honest and open there. He asked me what my God was like. Was he a God who liked hiding, or did he prefer openness and honesty? I told him my God taught separation and forbade touching any unclean thing, and I obeyed what I was taught, bringing God only my best fruit.
"Boy, did he get upset. He asked who told me God wanted fruit. He said my fruit was tainted, and my separation was uncleanness painted. He asked me if I realized God had declared that the way one judges others, that one would be judged. If a person would not forgive others, that person could not be forgiven.
"Yes sir, I told him, informing him that I was the preacher from the First Church of the Holy Law in Ichabod, Mississippi. I said I judged by the Holy Bible and fought all kinds of sin. I went on citing my accomplishments, but he didn't seem impressed.
"He told me to look around. No one had anything to hide, and no one was ashamed. He said love was the only rule of conduct in the whole place and reminded me that if I was on earth I would be calling the naked ones evil. He said I had always built walls to keep them out, but the walls had fallen there to demonstrate what life was all about. Then he read God's verdict to me.
"'You were a phony preacher, who injured many people, saying you were my man, as you hid behind your steeple. You built on that which had its birth at the good-and-evil tree, and you would not listen when I said to set my people free. You maintained your arrogance of always being right, and hid behind the scripture with which you liked to fight. I told you in that very book that the letter always kills, and truth with grace was the remedy that restores, and yes, fulfills. But you, Oh, man, continued wearing masks and playing roles; now the place you came prepared for is a place of burning coals. These, whom you rejected, have pleaded with me here, to let you stay awhile and face those things you fear. In mercy I consented, for here one's kindness grows. The only thing that I require: is that you must take off your clothes!'
"When he finished reading the verdict, before I even had an opportunity to do or say anything, a naked lady came and hugged me. 'I heard you were here,' she said. 'I love you, Daddy.'
"I leaned back and looked at her face. It was Sarah Ruth. Instantly my eyes filled with tears. I asked her how she came to be there. She seemed surprised, replying, 'Daddy, don't you know this is heaven? Everyone who loves comes here to be with God. Daddy, I am the happiest I have ever been. Nobody hurts me here.'
"I stepped back, keeping my hands on her shoulders. She saw that I was embarrassed. 'You aren't ready for heaven yet, Daddy. Go back to Mommy and the people on earth. Learn to be open and honest. That's what being naked means. When you're naked, it is impossible to be judgmental, and you have to get naked before you can love right. Go back, Daddy, and tell everybody what you have seen here. I love you, Daddy.' She turned and walked away with tears in her eyes.
"I woke up and looked at Rebecca. She looked back at me as if she knew my dream. We stared at each other without speaking for a few minutes. Finally, we both said at the same time that we had seen Sarah. She took the words right out of my mouth. I told her to tell me first.
"'Well, I was lying in bed and all of a sudden Sarah was standing at my feet. She just stood there looking down at me. I asked her what she was doing there, and she told me she was visiting from heaven. She said, "Daddy came and saw me earlier, but he was not ready to stay. I told him to come back and tell the people what he saw and heard. He is going to need your help. I love you, Mom." With that she disappeared, and you began to stir. Honey, I was wide awake. It was no dream.'
"I related my dream to her, and wrote it down as soon as I finished telling it. It was probably the most unambiguous dream I have ever had. I remember every detail distinctly. In my heart, I knew it was from God. I still believe it.
"When I shared it with Brother Harry, after confessing the sins God told me to, we agreed to hold a second memorial service for Sarah. At the first one we were so judgmental and full of hatred that we didn't give her a proper burial." Tears flowed down Jesse's face at this point, and his voice was broken as he continued. "We already know she is in the Lord's care, and we are becoming increasingly aware of the positive and loving impact she made in her short life. Let us pray.
"Father God, your ways are mysterious. You sent Sarah Ruth into our lives. We did not understand her and ended up sending her away. In mercy you prepared a way before her. I thank you for Angel and Janice and the other girls who were her friends in New Orleans. We are glad that through them You loved her and taught her to become loving, instead of what we were. We don't understand how prostitutes can be vessels of honor, but because of these extraordinary girls, we are beginning, at last, to see.
"Our whoredoms were much worse and more damaging than hers. Sarah's were merely of the flesh, but ours were of the spirit. Thank you for giving us this understanding. You do, indeed, look on the heart and not on the outward appearance. The flesh is of no spiritual value, other than to allow us to learn, I guess. It is neither good nor evil, it just is. We know now that nothing done in or to the body can contaminate the spirit, but a bad spirit – well, my bad spirit caused a lot of pain and grief.
"Because of Sarah Ruth, millions will now learn to love and show mercy. She has brought down strongholds by the sacrifice of her life. May we always be able to see Christ in the living and in the dying of those around us. Bless us even as You have blessed Sarah. Let her know how much we love her and that we are going to love one another the way Jesus loves us – just as we are."
The real meeting then began as the people intermingled with each other, crying, laughing, hugging, and filled with great joy. A new day had dawned in Ichabod, and the second part of Sarah's dream had come to pass. The hateful and sad faces of the people in the town had been turned into the happy countenances of joyful people.
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The preacher was working on his manuscript when the guard told him he had visitors. Jesse and Rebecca Brown were escorted to his cell. Jesse's gaze was solemn, until he broke into a wide grin.
"We love you, brother," he said as he extended his hand to Jimmy.
The preacher grabbed his arm and pulled his old friend into a warm embrace, turning next to Rebecca with another. "And what brings the two of you to my humble abode?" he asked.
"A lot has happened to us," Jesse said. "God has unusual ways of working to get us blind bigots to start seeing."
"That is an understatement if I ever heard one. After the accident and trial, who would have thought God would so transform my way of thinking that I now find friends and supporters among groups of people I used to consider my avowed enemies. I have had confirmed atheists write supportive letters to me. It's like the Bible says: ‘When a man's ways are pleasing to the Lord, he makes even his enemies to be at peace with him.’ Can you imagine it?"
"Well, yes, but it also says: Woe unto you when men speak well of you, for that's how they spoke of the false prophets." He laughed. "It's another paradox. After what has happened to us the past two weeks, nothing seems too incredible for me to grasp. I've even given up my church, you know."
"No, I didn't know. Tell me about it."
"That's why we are here. My church merged with the Baptist Church. It is truly a miracle. Jesse related what had been happening to him since TIME hit the streets. He told of his dream, and Rebecca told of her vision.
"Out of curiosity," the preacher asked, "was Sarah naked when she stood at the bottom of your bed?"
"No, I don't think so. I really didn't pay much attention," Rebecca said.
"I'm just trying to get my symbols straight. Go on, Jesse."
Jesse told of the meetings with Harry Glendenen and what had happened in the first joint service the past Sunday night. He was getting near the end of the story when more visitors arrived. It was becoming another red-letter Saturday for the preacher.
As soon as he laid eyes on them he began to cry. She ran up and threw her arms around him, giving him a big kiss. All five had tears in their eyes. Even the guard standing at the door wiped back a tear from his cheek as he was walking away.
"Please forgive me for turning my back on you," Mary James said as she wept. She was a good woman, firm in her resolve, and dedicated to the principles she believed were of God. Like her old friends, Jesse and Rebecca, it was not easy to allow new perspectives to break into the consciousness, but once they did, she, as they, followed through with full determination to continue on and obey fully. It was like Peter on Cornelius's rooftop in the book of Acts.
"Oh, honey," the preacher said, "of course, I do. I love you with all of my heart. Please forgive me for hurting you and the kids so much. It must have been terrible for you."
"It was, but the wounds are being healed. David and Susan Elizabeth said to say Hi. Susan would be here with us, but she couldn't get away from school. She graduates this May, you know."
"Yes, I know." He looked at Jeremy with a big smile. "Boy, look at you. You've become quite a good-looking young man. It must be in the genes." They all chuckled. "I really appreciated your letter. Thank you." He gave him a big hug.
"I'm sorry I didn't write more, Dad."
"Hey, look, no more apologies, you hear? That goes for all of you. God has been so good to us in ways we never would have guessed. Jesse and Rebecca were relating some of the things that have been happening in their lives. Would you believe that a real revival came to Ichabod? Jesse's and the Baptist churches have merged."
Jesse said, "Let me tell you, brother, I know there will be pockets of resistance, but I don't think we have seen the tip of the iceberg yet. This thing is so big, bigger than religious experiences, bigger than doctrines, bigger than denominations, even bigger than Christianity as we have known it."
"I believe it," Mary said. "At the Living Saints Church it was like a dam had burst. Nearly everyone stood in awe as the truth started breaking through, and it all started when Jeremy's rock band played at the night service last Sunday. Jeremy and Steve had written a song, and – you tell them Jeremy."
"Well, Steve had this vision that Jesus walked into the church during one of the services. He went up and down the aisles, up onto the platform, everywhere in the whole building. The people just gave Him funny looks, as if to ask who He was. Not one person recognized Him or welcomed Him. With a sad look on His face, he finally went outside.
"When Steve told me about it, I suggested we should write a song. We have never done much song writing, but Steve was really moved. I figured we had to find a way to communicate what he had seen. It took us several days to get it where we believed it was good enough. When we were finished we showed Pastor Williamson and asked if we could sing it in the church. I guess he is going soft or mellowing out a little. He made us promise that it would not sound too much like rock-and-roll. We told him it was a really mellow song, so he gave us permission.
"The whole band was set up on the platform as Steve began to share his vision. When he finished, I read Jesus' words about forgiveness in the Lord's Prayer, and then we started singing. Dad, we must have sung the chorus thirty or forty times. The pastor never even got to preach. God began opening people's eyes and everybody was crying and getting all emotional. There were even quite a few prophesies. The last one was given about you, Dad, by Sister Johnson."
"You must mean Louise, but before you tell me what she said, do you have the words of the song with you? I'd like to see what you young rock-and-roll heretics wrote."
"I just happen to have them right here," he said, reaching into his shirt pocket. He handed the paper to Jimmy. "We began with the prelude, then the chorus, then each verse, followed by the chorus again. Then the chorus over and over, like I said."
PRELUDE:
He made the heavens
He made the earth
Nothing's made that He didn't make
Once He lived
Became a man
Shed His blood for all our sake
Yes He came again to visit
His own who turned away
And as He was walking out
He had this to say
CHORUS:
I stood and knocked
Outside the door
Of the building with my name
But no one paid attention
Inside was just the same
I walked the aisles
Searched the pews
Surely one would see
But all they gave were funny looks
Not one knew it was me
VERSE 1:
We may have our morning worships
We may preach and say our prayers
We may come two times on Sundays
But God sees that no one cares
Our judgments tear asunder
All the hurting broken men
But He wants to see forgiveness
And He waits, He's asking when
But Jesus said . . . chorus
VERSE 2:
We say we wear the white hats
We sure think that we're okay
We go up there to the altar
Where God can see us pray
Oh thank you, God, I thank you
That I am on your team
I praise you for your holy word
And your law that I esteem
But Jesus said . . . chorus
VERSE 3:
I'm not like all the sinners
The wicked and the vile
And I have been on your side
Yes, Lord, it's been a while
I sing your praises from my heart
And I glorify your name
I shun the evil do the good
Wish all would do the same
But Jesus said . . . chorus
VERSE 4:
Please don't think I'm proud, Lord
I'm humble don't you know
I hide all of my bad thoughts
I never let them show
I'm really glad you saved me
By your most amazing grace
And keep them in their place
But Jesus said . . . chorus
"That is beautiful, son," he said, handing the paper back to Jeremy. "Now tell me about Louise Johnson's prophecy."
"She told everybody God didn't want the church to be against you anymore. God had not only restored you, He had called you to a special task, anointing you to lead His people on to victory. She reminded everyone that Brother John's mantle had fallen on little Sarah to bring down strongholds. What she brought down was you. She told everybody the mantle was on you to help the people of the whole world gain a greater understanding of love, grace, and openness. I don't recall all of her exact words, but I do remember her saying we had spent too much time condemning others and hiding from ourselves. It was time we move on again."
"Honey, Jeremy, Susan, and I did not leave to go home until after midnight, and there were still a lot of people remaining who were forgiving and seeking forgiveness. I think that had to be the best service I ever remember. Last Wednesday night it was more of the same. The whole spirit of the church seems to have changed. Before this we could not see how wrong we were, but once we were able to see the difference – well, there was just no comparison."
"Praise God. It looked like Satan had the upper hand, right, Jesse?"
"It sure did. You know what I see though: when we thought God was in control of our lives, we were actually living a lie. We were calling ourselves Christians, thinking of ourselves as people of faith, but when God actually started moving, we thought it was Satan. We didn't like seeing our walls crumble around us. Now we see that it was God all along."
"We don't have to fight Satan anymore," Jimmy said.
"What do you mean by that?" Jeremy asked.
"Jesus said Satan was defeated. If we believe that, then the only power he has is what God allows or what we give Him because of our unbelief. When we do not believe God reconciled all things to himself by Christ, we play right into the hands of the master liar. If all things are reconciled, then divisions are merely illusions based on lies. As long as we put restoration off into the future, as we have always done, we maintain a false kingdom in the present.
"I'm certainly not going to say that I can see it all clearly, but I don't believe Christ will return to this earth when even His own people promote the lie. Judgment must begin with us. Jeremy may be right. Why would God rapture all the so-called believers, like we were? We were full of self-righteousness and spiritual pride, blinded in the darkness we called light, unable to love those who weren't perfect, like we thought we were. Look at it. It's no joking matter.
"How many professing, born-again Christians do you think there are who think I used to be a man of God, and now see me as a heretic? I'll bet there are hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions. The vision Steve had was quite accurate, I'm sorry to say. Many Christians would not know God if He walked right into their midst. We have been so brainwashed and have done a pretty good job of spreading our diseased perceptions.
"Look at the call girls who worked with Sarah in the French Quarter. I've received letters from all except one, as far as I know. I am convinced in my deepest being, even though they worked as harlots, they were true saints."
Brother Jesse said, "If Sarah had knuckled under to the pressure I was putting on her, she would have been no different than that demon-possessed woman who followed Paul and Silas all over shrieking: These are the servants of the most high God. She would have grown up saying Jesus is the Christ, while having the same kind of righteousness the Pharisees had. Of course, she would not have seen it anymore than we saw it in ourselves. As it turned out, she learned a better theology from those harlots than she did from our lousy examples, especially mine."
They all thought about what Jesse had said. Then the preacher said, "You all realize, I hope, that we are now heretics. The true saints, and I use the term to signify the way we were before, will see us as their enemies. I don't know." He paused. "They said Paul turned the world upside down. There were a lot of people who didn't like that, especially the Jews who were the most religious. They were convinced that God gave their belief system to them in the scriptures. I guess it was good they kept him in jail. It probably prolonged his life and enabled him to write the New Testament.
"Well, I have my new evangelistic headquarters, too. We are, by the grace of God, also going to turn the world upside down. We are not going to treat the symptoms by putting peroxide on the cancer until it bubbles. Our job is to turn up the lights, and see who scrambles for cover like the cockroaches do. Those who hide from the light will die of their own choice, in the darkness. Continuing to eat the fruit that was long ago forbidden poisons them. Jesus said: The Light shines into the darkness, but the darkness does not grasp it.
Here we are, heretics born of the prayers and works of harlots. I wonder what other strange saints will join in the shining?"
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July 24, 2009: I had planned to self-publish this in 2005 after Dr. Mary died. In fact, I had written an afterword on May 29, 2005 indicating that it would be published that year. Little did I know then that a lawsuit would be filed against me less than two months later. Needless to say, things did not work out as I had planned at the time; and I almost completely forgot about the novel. Why I did not post it long before now is unknown to me. Perhaps now is the RIGHT time? Who knows?