by William Poe
Randall and Mary both laughed. “You are so weird sometimes,” Randall said. “I won’t even ask what you mean by that.”
“No one has called me weird in a long time,” I said. “Anyway, I don’t mind being weird for God.”
The dining room in the Tudor House was set for a banquet. Entering, we bowed according to custom and waited until Father motioned for us to take a seat. Father had changed from the Armani suit he wore at the speech to a pair of polyester slacks and a loose-fitting Caribbean-style shirt. Mother wore a simple pink satin dress, accented by a pearl necklace. Hyo-jin, the oldest son, about twelve at the time, bounced around the room in slacks and a pullover shirt, playing with a yo-yo.
The advanced fundraising team had purchased furniture—a cherrywood table with twelve cane-back chairs and a china cabinet with buffet. Hyo-jin banged the china cabinet with his yo-yo from time to time, seemingly on purpose, but no one stopped him.
When Father spoke, his voice conveyed such kindness that I forgot how unworthy and sinful I felt. As Sergeant Choi translated, Father looked directly into my eyes.
“As the one member born in Arkansas, you represent the state,” Father explained. “Because you are a righteous person, God will forgive this community.”
I smiled weakly. Father appeared to be making a veiled reference to Lot seeking a righteous man so God would spare Sodom.
Mother spoke heavily accented, but comprehensible, English when she asked, “Are you from Little Rock?”
Randall answered for me. “Simon’s from an old Arkansas family.”
Mother nodded. Right at that moment, Hyo-jin’s yo-yo crashed into her chair. Mother said something in Korean. Hyo-jin held the yo-yo in his hand for a moment, but when Mother turned away, he grinned mischievously and did a walk-the-dog trick. Father saw Hyo-jin disobey but didn’t scold him.
“The evening was a victory because of your faith,” Father said, addressing me.
From my point of view, the night had been a disaster. My confused expression must have looked comical. Father laughed heartily.
“We confronted the strongest resistance in the smallest city on our tour,” Father said. “Much of the audience showed reverence—but those young people!” Father laughed as Sergeant Choi translated.
Mortified, I didn’t join the merriment.
“Did you know anyone there?” Father asked.
Randall choked. Mary turned pale.
“Those hippies were my former friends,” I said sheepishly. “My sister and her husband were the two Christians who tried to reach the stage.”
Father burst into a belly laugh that made him look like a living Buddha. His sense of abandon finally made me laugh as well.
Sergeant Choi conferred with Father and then explained that I should not feel badly.
“Your story is like mine,” Father said. “My family rejected the Divine Principle. Friends told me I was crazy. God loves that kind of crazy.”
“Do you understand, Simon?” asked Sergeant Choi. “You are much loved by God.”
Though I tried to hold back, my eyes filled with tears. Amazingly, Father’s eyes also watered. His powers of empathy struck my heart.
“Let’s have our meal,” Father said, lifting the solemn mood. “One day, those same friends will sit with you at the Lord’s table. God will work wonders through you, Simon. Have faith.”
The Messiah, the King of Kings and Lord of Hosts, had mentioned me by name and proclaimed that I would do great things. Is this what Peter had felt when Jesus told him that he held the keys to the kingdom? I must never betray Father’s trust.
Korean sisters from Father’s entourage brought in plates of beef called bulgokee and bowls of pungent cabbage called kimchee. The room filled with the aroma of strong spices. Halfway through the meal, Father reached out with long chopsticks and placed some particularly spicy kimchee on my plate.
“You said ‘former friends’ when you spoke earlier,” Father said, motioning for me to try the kimchee. “They love you, or they would not have come tonight. Someday they will know the Truth. Do not give up on your friends. They will be among your spiritual children one day.”
“I will work hard,” I said, placing a sizeable piece of Father’s kimchee on my tongue. It was so strong that my nose started to run.
Father smiled.
Hyo-jin banged my leg with his yo-yo. He hadn’t meant to do it and stopped in his tracks when he realized what he’d done. When I turned around to let him know it was all right, he giggled. Mother took the yo-yo away from him. So full of innocence and joy, Hyo-jin’s ease around his parents contrasted with my feeling of unworthiness.
At the same time, I was proud to be a disciple at the Lord’s banquet table.
The next morning, Randall, Mary, and I drove to the airport. We wanted to spend every moment we could in Father’s presence. Reverend Moon and Sergeant Choi sat together at the gate, studying their itinerary. Mother had corralled Hyo-jin in her arms. Only two bodyguards stood watch. Randall and I instinctively scanned the concourse every few minutes. If protestors appeared, we were ready to fight with our lives.
All too soon, we heard the departure announcement.
Father and Mother walked down the jetway with Hyo-jin between them, holding their hands. The aircraft taxied onto the runway. I went to the window and watched the plane disappear into the overcast sky.
He will come on the clouds of Heaven, and every eye shall see him.
That night, while fundraising inside a sports bar, I watched as the ten o’clock news came on the television. Father’s picture appeared on the screen. I asked the bartender to turn up the sound as a local anchorman interviewed some of the Christians who had stormed Robinson Auditorium. They vilified Reverend Moon, calling him a “charlatan” and referring to him as the “anti-Christ.” Derek and Connie stood next to the minister who spoke for the group. Their grim and angry look telegraphed deep contempt for me and for my beliefs.
“Our brother’s mind was taken by that man,” Derek said to the interviewer.
Connie chimed in. “He was a college student studying art. Moon turned him into a brainwashed zombie.”
My graduation picture appeared on the screen, but it barely resembled me anymore.
The bartender looked between the image on the screen and me. Others in the bar perked up as he asked, “You one of them Moonies?”
I half expected a cock to crow as I replied, “Not me.”
CHAPTER 21
The Unification Church of Arkansas moved from the Depression-era white frame house where I had heard the conclusion lecture into the Tudor House. The master bedroom became a shrine to Father and Mother. We set a white linen cloth over the dresser to transform it into an altar. Personal assistants had cleaned the room before Father and Mother departed, but I was determined to find evidence of their presence and eventually discovered a few strands of hair in a brush that had been forgotten at the back of a dresser drawer. I wondered if, two thousand years earlier, Mary and Martha had preserved anything belonging to Jesus after he visited their home and dined with Lazarus.
One afternoon, with lesser ancestors evidently in attendance, I struggled to sell a single bag of peanuts as I worked the parking lot of an Albertsons drugstore. Taking a break from my efforts, I spotted a young man with lush brown hair and a shy, passive demeanor. I walked up and asked if he knew the Lord.
The fellow looked at me with something like awe, his dark eyes opening wide as if in recognition, but I was sure we had never met. An inner voice urged me to risk speaking Truth to this stranger.
“Christ has returned,” I said.
“This is strange—last night, I had a vision that someone would announce such a prophecy to me.”
“The Bible says that, at the End of Time, ‘your young men shall see visions and old men shall dream dreams.’”
“Are these the Last Days?” the young man asked.
“You’ll have to hear our lectures to know that,” I said. “W
hat’s your name?”
“Bruce Peterson.”
I paraphrased the words of Jesus, saying with a smile, “Come, Bruce, put down your package and follow me.”
Bruce grinned at the oblique reference, immediately placing his shopping bag on the seat of his pickup truck and hopping into the driver’s seat. I led him to the Tudor House, parking on the street and motioning for Bruce to pull the truck into our driveway. Mary opened the door, holding the telephone cord fully extended.
“Randall is on the phone upstairs, talking to New York,” she said, pressing the receiver to her ear to catch Randall’s conversation. “There’s a fundraising competition planned. Father wants the best members from each state to leave for New York right away.”
I was the primary candidate; they would surely send me to this competition.
Bruce approached, asking, “Is everything all right?”
“Mary, meet Bruce. He knows the Messiah has returned and wants to hear our lectures to find out who it is.”
Mary nearly fainted at my words. There were prohibitions against revealing that much to a person who hadn’t heard a single lecture. But I felt perturbed by the realization that I would probably be away while Bruce heard the lectures. This was like the situation when Derek had attended the lectures and I was told to leave for Mississippi.
“Glad to meet you, Bruce,” Mary said.
“Bruce is ready for lectures this afternoon,” I pressed.
“Why don’t you go in and speak to Randall?” Mary said to me. “I’ll teach Bruce the first lecture.”
Bruce frowned. “Aren’t you going to be with me?”
“You’ll be fine,” I said, taking his hand. “Mary knows the Bible. She’ll guide you.”
“I heard something about New York. Are you leaving?”
“Not my will,” I said, “but His will be done.”
My statement of faith impressed Bruce, though I had not said it with much conviction.
Mary led my potential spiritual child into the front room, where we had erected a blackboard along one wall. I found Randall upstairs in the office. The phone call had just ended.
“Aren’t you supposed to be fundraising?” Randall asked. He’d never challenged me like that, but he had been fending off creditors for days and was at the end of his rope.
“Mary mentioned something about a competition.”
Randall looked worried. “Each center is supposed to send their best people to New York.”
Usually a man of strong faith, Randall looked at me with deep concern in his eyes. “You’ll be taking the van,” he explained. “I’m told you should pick up members in St. Louis on your way.”
“God is testing our faith,” I said. “I met a spiritual son this afternoon. Mary’s lecturing him now.”
“Incredible,” Randall said. “Maybe this is God’s way of working things out. Sacrifice in one area reaps rewards in another.”
“Well, don’t send him out fundraising until he’s heard the conclusion lecture.”
Randall tried to smile. “Mary and I will do our best with him.”
I cleaned the van and packed as much fundraising product as I could fit. When everything was ready, Mary and Bruce came outside. She had progressed as far as the lecture about the fall of Adam and Eve.
Bruce beamed with joy at the Truth he had learned so far.
“You sense it, don’t you?” I said, hugging him like a brother. “This is the new word of God.”
“I can’t wait to tell my family,” he said. “We belong to the Holiness Church, and a lot of our members have prophesied.”
A flood of cautionary words came to mind. “Take it slowly, Bruce. First, gain understanding on your own.”
Bruce countered excitedly, “Our congregation is waiting for Christ to reveal himself.”
“One lecture at a time, Bruce,” I continued to caution. His enthusiasm thrilled me, but Derek had taught me how easily one can misread spiritual events without the proper foundation.
“Remember that God singled you out from the congregation,” I said. “You were chosen. Learn all you can before speaking to others.”
That was the best I could do. The situation was in God’s hands. Randall wrote out the address of the St. Louis center and gave me enough money to buy gas. Mary handed me some carefully wrapped sandwiches.
“Good-bye, Bruce,” I said, placing my hands on his shoulders. “I’m off to New York.”
Bruce wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you,” he said, kissing my cheek. “God bless you, Simon Powell.”
CHAPTER 22
The St. Louis members lived in an imposing three-story house that had once belonged to a brewing magnate. My first reaction was to consider how much money the members had to make through their fundraising efforts to pay the mortgage, not to mention the monthly payments on the fleet of new vehicles parked in the long driveway. Though I knew that such thoughts opened the door to satanic invasion, I couldn’t help being upset that Randall and Mary would be without a van while this center had an embarrassment of riches. Success protects its own, I supposed, even in a group professing such egalitarian ideals as the Unification Church.
Marshall Cummings, the local director, sat among dozens of members. I listened while he explained the importance of the upcoming church celebration called the Day of All Things—World Day, for short. The fundraising competition in New York was to commemorate its significance.
“When Adam and Eve fell, the universe ‘groaned in travail,’” Marshall explained. “When we collect money and use it for God’s purpose, we restore the creation to Heaven. Fundraising is a holy act.”
Marshall introduced me to one of the St. Louis members named Alfred, a swarthy fellow about twenty-five years old. “Alfred will lead the team from here on out,” Marshall said. “You’ll fundraise on behalf of Arkansas, but Alfred will be the team captain.”
Until that moment, I had assumed I would be the captain since we were using the Arkansas van. Pride goeth before the fall, I reminded myself.
The Divine Principle taught that Lucifer’s promise of equality with God was central to Eve’s temptation. Still, whenever I heard the Fall of Man lecture, I couldn’t help wondering if Lucifer hadn’t been like Hyacinthos, Apollo’s lover, the most beautiful creature ever imagined. Was Adam attracted to the beautiful Lucifer in the same way Apollo had lusted after Hyacinthos? Was that reason for despising homosexuality?
That Adam had been attracted to the angel and had sex, then realized Eve was his intended spouse and subsequently seduced her was, for me, a more believable telling of the Genesis story than the Divine Principle’s heterosexual version, but such notions were pure heresy and I knew it. I dismissed the thought.
Following Marshall’s pronouncement that Alfred would be the team captain, I prayed for humility. I also should have prayed for protection from desire and never have thought about sex and angels.
Laying out my sleeping bag for the night, I noticed two exceedingly handsome brothers watching me as I stripped to my undershorts. Though I had tried to find a corner away from everyone, the brothers took their sleeping bags from the closet and rolled them out beside me. One of the brothers lay on his back, folding his muscular arms on his chest. He released a deep sigh as he closed his eyes. The other brother lifted his arms over his head. His sexy-sweet aroma filled me with desire.
I awoke during the night sandwiched between the two brothers. The one to my right still lay on his back, but the sleeping bag no longer covered him. My hand seemed to float from my side and hover above his shorts, which were tented against an erection. My hand lowered and my fingers slipped through the fly to caress the brother’s hard flesh.
Sex with Jim had not felt as ruinous as touching a brother without his acknowledgment. Too troubled to go back to sleep, I spent the remainder of the night praying for forgiveness. Had I not sinned with Jim, Derek’s experience with the family might have been different. Now I sinned again, just when I needed to have fai
th for Bruce’s sake.
The fundraising team gathered early for a breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup. Afterward, Alfred directed us to get into the van with our belongings. The St. Louis members, seventy-five or so, stood on the front lawn and shouted a Korean cheer for victory: “Mansei! Mansei! Mansei!”
My sleeping companions had not been at breakfast, nor were they among the crowd bidding us farewell. I thought about the story of Sodom, when Lot entertained “angels unawares.” Perhaps God had arranged the incident last night to bring humility. I struggled to distinguish remorse from genuine repentance as I prayed for forgiveness.
During the long trip, I dozed to unsettling dreams. One dream in particular caused me to awaken in a sweat. Father is holding a mass wedding ceremony. Participants wear blue capes with long hoods that hide their faces. Arriving at the front of the procession, with my spouse beside me, I pull back my hood and raise my eyes. Instead of Father and Mother, I see the angel Lucifer glowing as bright as the sun. I lift my spouse’s hood. It’s Bruce!
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay, my oh my, what a wonderful day!
The cheerful singing of the team roused me. It was near daybreak when we approached Father’s residence in Tarrytown, an estate called Belvedere. At the gatehouse, a brother checked our names off a list. He said something into a walkie-talkie, and a metal gate opened.
Belvedere was God’s abode on earth. Great care had gone into maintaining the grounds. Rhododendrons and Chinese maples lined the driveway, which passed through well-groomed lawns of zoysia grass. After navigating a hard turn, we pulled in front of a five-car garage that had been converted into a lecture hall. We called it the training center.
Members tumbled out of the van, stretching high and leaning back to restore circulation. A brother and sister escorted us upstairs to the dormitories. From one of the windows, I could see a stone path that led to Father’s mansion, which stood atop a small hill. As I watched, a light flickered in an upstairs window—Father awakening to greet the day. I thought about my experience with Father and Mother in Little Rock and felt homesick.
