by Mark Tullius
senators, and two Supreme Court justices. Kenneth’s reign would forever reside in the shadow of his father.
The Reverend raised a golden book to the rafters. His amplified voice boomed, “The Only Way!” The congregation echoed his words, each member showing off his copy to the angels above.
“For too long we have allowed selfishness to poison this glorious land. But no longer will we turn our backs on our brothers and sisters. We will no longer stand by as this country falls into the hands of the few, while the rest suffocate in death.”
Kenneth joined in the applause. His father smiled for the cameras. “This book, inspired by the Almighty, shows us the Way, but a book cannot make our decisions. It is only a tool, a guide. It is up to each of us to accept our role, to take up the burdens of those in need, to elevate the least so we can all be given seats at the banquet of God. For how we treat the suffering souls of this earth defines our kingdom. And come election day we will usher in an era of prosperity for all, not just those willing to lie and cheat their way to the top, but for those courageous enough to play by the rules. For we are all in this together. One people. One Way!”
The crowd leapt to their feet, praising God and the Reverend, who made his way down to his flock.
“I look around this room and I still see the faces of fear. At least a hundred of you have over a million dollars in assets. Some of you even more. And you’ve worked hard for that money and you’re concerned. How can you trust it will protect the ones you love? How can you be sure it will care for those in need long after you pass on?”
The Reverend leaned against the second pew, just a simple man of the people. “I’m afraid I cannot take away those fears. But I know someone who might…” He looked to the rafters. “I suppose you might call it faith.”
The plump woman in a floral dress sitting three feet from the Reverend, held her heart with both hands, had the biggest smile. The Reverend smiled back at her then continued.
“When November 3rd comes around and you step inside that ballot booth, I want you to see beyond Proposition 867. I want you to see the faces of the children you’ll feed. I want you to see the roofs over families’ heads. See the shoes, the highways, the dignity and self-respect each of us deserves.” He turned his back to the crowd, returned to the altar. “Vote no and your family keeps ninety percent of your money when you die.” He spun back. “Sounds like a great deal, right?”
A few couldn’t help but nod.
“Sure. Who cares if children starve? Who cares if the whole country burns?”
No one moved.
“How much is enough?! Tell me!” He took out a handkerchief, dabbed his brow. “Proposition 867 isn’t about taking everything, and don’t let anyone tell you different. If you’re making more than a million, it’s half, not a penny more. And if you’re making over a million and you cannot get by on half, then you need an accountant.”
A sliver of laughter sliced through the tension.
Wayne, the lead usher and bodyguard, stood watch at the side door, his long hair slicked back in a ponytail. Kenneth could tell there was something going on outside. Shadowy figures seemed to be gathering on the other side of the stained glass.
The Reverend continued. “Think of the changes we can bring. The good we can accomplish if we’ll simply join together. Heaven on earth, where everyone gets a seat at the table.”
The applause came crashing and everyone was stomping and hollering hallelujah. Everyone except Wayne and a few other bodyguards.
The Reverend said, “Difficult decisions are part of life, but they will always be rewarded when the correct path is chosen. And today, God has blessed us with a special choice of his own. Before us is a young man who has been called to serve the Lord and His people.”
Kenneth’s cheeks grew warm. He needed to calm down. Having to approach the altar with his white suit and red hair was bad enough. He didn’t need a red face to match.
The Reverend began listing Kenneth’s accomplishments, but he was soon drowned out by the violent shouts outside the doors.
Most of the congregation swiveled their heads toward the back of the church. The Reverend spoke louder.
“As the Church of the American Way’s first youth minister, this wholesome young man will guide us through the Word and the Way…”
The voices outside grew louder and echoed through the building. Their angry message was clear: the Reverend was leading his flock toward damnation.
But the Reverend would not be interrupted in his own house. “It is with great pride that I call forth my son, Kenneth Murphy the Second!”
Nervously, Kenneth rose. He was greeted with a smattering of applause inside the church and angry chanting outside. He stepped toward his father, but not too quickly. He’d learned his slick white shoes turned the carpet into an ice-skating rink. Slowly, he knelt before the altar.
The Reverend placed his hands on Kenneth’s head and told the congregation to help usher this child into the light of the one, true Way.
Kenneth slid his thumb over his heart, stood, and took his place at the right hand of his father. He tried to look confident and strong, like his father wanted, but he couldn’t help but notice the congregation glancing everywhere but at him. No one admired his fine suit. No one noticed his hair parted to the right just like the Reverend’s. No one cared a single bit. They were focused on the rising chants from outside the doors.
Wayne and the other bodyguards shifted positions in the perimeter aisles, looked to the Reverend for the command to take action. The Reverend shook his head and said, “There is only one Way to salvation. The people outside are confused and bitter. They deserve our pity, not our condemnation.”
Kenneth had never seen his father show such restraint, but he knew it had to do with the cameras. The world was watching, and the Church of the American Way had developed a reputation for harsh retribution.
The Reverend reclaimed his flock by returning their focus to the special occasion at hand. Then from outside, a man shouted, “No! Don’t!”
The crash made Kenneth jump back, but he was still showered with pieces of stained glass. A tiny shard sliced across his right cheek, but the rest bounced off his sparkling white suit and the ridiculous shoulder pads.
Kenneth opened his eyes as the last bits of glass floated to the sanctuary floor. He faced the crowd, hands covering their mouths. He tried to stay calm, certain they could hear his ragged breathing. The Reverend brushed off his son’s suit, took out his handkerchief and wiped the blood from Kenneth’s cheek.
Through clenched teeth, the Reverend said, “Stop shaking. There is no fear in this house.”
The Reverend turned to the congregation. “Everyone, please take your seats.” He picked up the dirt-encrusted brick, grabbed Kenneth’s arm and dragged him down the aisle.
As they approached the giant oak doors, the Reverend motioned for the bodyguards to take position.
Kenneth said, “We should call the State. Let them handle it.”
The Reverend spun, pulled Kenneth close, their noses almost touching. “There is only one authority on this earth. Ours.” He pointed at Roger, a tall man with thick glasses. “Stay with the money.”
Roger slipped behind the counter piled high with signed copies of The Only Way as the Reverend threw open the double doors and burst out into the mid-morning sunshine, brick in hand.
The ushers surrounded Kenneth and his father as they headed for the protestors, only fourteen of them, not a real threat. Most of the protestors wore bandannas over their mouths or full-on masks. There were even a few rubber ones of the Reverend. They held picket signs: The Wrong Way. Five Minutes Too Long. The Fourth Has Been Forgotten. One Way to Hell.
Two men in skeleton masks stood by the broken window.
The camera crew followed, and the Reverend slowed down to make sure they didn’t miss this. An usher snapped out his baton, but the Reverend shook his head. They filed in behind the Reverend as he held up the brick.
“Who dares to throw stones at a house of God?”
A man in black, one of the few without a mask, whispered to a stockier, bearded man with clenched fists. The man in black turned to the Reverend and said, “We apologize for our actions. The window will be replaced.”
“The cost is not the concern. The glass cut my son.”
“Who gives a shit?” the bearded man said.
The man in black pulled back his friend. “I’ll pay for it myself, if I have to. It should not have happened.”
“Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into that creation?”
A voice from somewhere in the group called out, “Like you don’t have the money!”
Another voice said, “Yeah, you probably get that from one appearance.”
The Reverend inhaled through his nose and flashed that famous smile. “I do not deny my successes, and what I have made has been returned tenfold to those across this great land. But who among you can offer more than derision and scorn?”
The man in black unzipped his windbreaker, his white collar now visible to all. “I believe I can answer that challenge. I am Father Potter of St. Luke’s Church, and I am here as a voice of gentle opposition to this abomination.”
The Reverend held the brick to the cameraman. “If this is what they consider gentle opposition, I’d hate to see them angry.”
“I don’t condone what happened. I tried to stop it. But by His good name, this is no house of God. This is nothing but
