by Dave Jackson
* * * *
The next morning, Nicole did the usual hurry-scurry to get the kids and herself ready for church, but to be honest, she didn’t feel much like going. The messages had been easier to swallow while Pastor Hanson was away on his Holy Land tour the last couple of Sundays, but the Victorious Living Center still seemed so far removed from the church she’d grown up in . . . though she had to admit, her greatest complaint as a teenager had been that it was boring.
Greg went on ahead to their regular seating area in the balcony while she checked Nate and Becky into the children’s program. It took longer than usual, and when she finally hustled up the stairs, someone had already taken their usual seats. Looking around, she finally saw Greg waving to her from the next section over.
The congregation of nearly four thousand was on its feet while the full, hundred-voice choir and praise band belted out a thunderous new song. Laser beams swept through the auditorium, colorful spots throbbed with the music, and fog from machines snaked across the platform, spilling down into the front rows of the congregation. She knew all the hoopla was because Pastor Hanson was returning, but she was glad she wasn’t down there on the main floor.
The house lights dimmed while the giant overhead screens showed video clips of the Holy Land tour—Pastor Hanson baptizing people in the Jordan River, praying at the Western Wall, riding a camel, teaching on the Mount of Olives, preaching from a small fishing boat in the Sea of Galilee, silhouetted on the brow of a hill with his arms outstretched as though he were a cross, serving communion at the Garden Tomb, and then boarding a private jet at the Tel Aviv airport.
The next scene was of a silver Cadillac Escalade stopping in front of the church, followed by a black Tahoe with darkened windows. Four men in matching black suits and wraparound shades got out of it, looking like Secret Service agents with coiled earphone leads curling over their ears and into their coat collars. Two stood stiff-legged, facing the church, while the camera followed the other two to the silver luxury vehicle, its smoked windows hiding whoever was inside. But when they opened the back doors, Pastor Hanson emerged, followed by First Lady Sheila in a slinky, black-sequined gown.
Oh, brother!
On the screen, the pair walked briskly toward the church entrance, led by the first two “agents” and followed by the other two. The camera stayed ahead of them, wobbling a little as they came through the main doors, into the church vestibule, and finally down the center aisle to the screams of the congregation.
It was then that Nicole realized the video presentation had transitioned seamlessly from the Holy Land report to live views of Pastor Hanson’s grand entry into the Victorious Living Center. Over the edge of the balcony she could see him now as he stepped through the stage smoke and climbed the four riser steps onto the platform and made his way around behind the massive pulpit. The four men in black—wraparound shades and all—positioned themselves across the front, standing at parade rest, facing the congregation.
“Amen, amen, amen!” Pastor Hanson called above the music and cheering. “It’s so good to be home.” He waved with his arms for the music to subside until it was quiet except for background riffs from the Hammond organ. “Thank you so much for such a joyous welcome. You know I love you all, each and every one of you. And I want to thank you for that generous gift of my new Escalade. Did you all see that silver ride I came up in?” A rousing trill from the organ. “And how about my new armor bearers?” He gestured to the men in black. “You know, I met with some security experts in Israel, and there’s nobody in the world who knows more about security than the Israelis. And they gave me some important advice. How many of you know, when you’re leading a ministry as powerful and important as the Victorious Living Center, the enemy doesn’t like it. He’ll bring every weapon against you. But the Bible says, ‘No weapon formed against you shall prosper,’ and so, in spite of the threats—oh, yes, there have been real threats against me and my family—” He gestured toward his wife, sitting in the front row. “We are not afraid. But we are also ‘wise as serpents.’ So when you see these brothers around, don’t mess with ’em, or you might not find them to be so brotherly, if you know what I mean.”
He laughed, a wide grin spreading across his tanned face as he clapped his hands. That broke the tension that had come over the congregation, and everyone, it seemed to Nicole, applauded him. But she didn’t clap. What was going on here? A welcome like a rock star, an entourage like a king, guards, and talk of threats? Were those men armed . . . right here in church?
She sat down, and a few minutes later everyone calmed down and took their seats as well.
“My text this morning is brief but powerful. It comes from Jeremiah twenty-nine, eleven.” The words appeared on the big screens.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV).
“Hear that, people? Plans to prosper you . . .”
Nicole knew that the pastor had quoted that verse in other sermons to support his emphasis on prosperity, but she didn’t recall him using it as his primary text. She flipped in her Bible to the reference to see if her New Living Translation said the same thing. Instead of “plans to prosper you and not to harm you” it said, “plans for good and not for disaster.” Hmm. In one sense it meant the same thing: God had a good plan for us. But her version certainly didn’t suggest that plan primarily involved financial wealth.
She glanced back up at the screen, but the verse was gone, replaced by a close-up live feed of Pastor Hanson, his blue eyes glinting with enthusiasm. She leaned over to Greg. “Let me borrow your Bible a moment.” His was a New King James Version, the one the pastor usually used. She found the verse in it, and it said that the Lord had “thoughts of peace and not of evil.” Hmm. Again, basically the same sentiment of goodwill toward us, but without a promise of wealth.
“Psst, Greg. What translation was that verse the pastor put up on the screen?”
He shrugged and put a finger to his lips.
No help there.
Nicole frowned. Could it be that only one version used the word prosper in translating this verse? If you weren’t thinking just about money, the word prosper was in general agreement with the other ways of translating the concept. God does have our welfare at heart, good plans that won’t lead to our harm but will give us a future and a hope. But by pulling out that one word from one translation, Pastor Hanson seemed to be making his case for living large.
She tuned in to what he was saying again. He was really getting into it.
“You see my Escalade, and you want my accolades. You see my glory, but you don’t follow my story!” The man wiped his glistening brow with a white hand towel. “You know, when you get to be my age, you ask, why not have a little fun? Well, my story is, you can. You can have it all! All you’ve got to do is seed into God’s ministry, and he will reward you twenty, thirty, a hundredfold!”
Much of the congregation was on its feet, cheering and clapping, but Nicole looked down at Greg’s Bible. She turned back to the preceding chapter. Maybe she should read straight through to get the context.
What she discovered shocked her.
In chapter 28, a prophet named Hananiah had showed up promising that within two years God would break the yoke of Nebuchadnezzar and return all the exiles in Babylon to their beloved city, Jerusalem. He would restore everything that had been stolen from them, including the throne, upon which Jehoiachin would be crowned as king of Judah.
But Jeremiah had responded in effect, “Great, I hope it happens, but you’re a liar, a false prophet. Things are going to get much worse, and before the year is out, you, Hananiah, will die.” In the seventh month of that year, he did die.
Then Jeremiah sent a letter to the exiles in Babylon telling them to settle down and make the best of their captivity because it was going to last for seventy years. Only when that time was up would God restore them to t
heir homeland.
Nicole hardly noticed that Greg and most of the congregation had taken their seats again as she came to Pastor Hanson’s text in chapter 29 and read beyond it:
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart. I will be found by you, says the Lord, and I will bring you back from your captivity; I will gather you from all the nations and from all the places where I have driven you, says the Lord, and I will bring you to the place from which I caused you to be carried away captive.
Nicole blew out a breath and sat back, staring straight ahead without seeing the big screens or hearing what Pastor Hanson was saying. In context, the Scripture was clear: God loved his people and had not abandoned them. He would listen to them when they called upon him, and they’d find him when they got serious about seeking him. But the promise of restoration wouldn’t be fulfilled to the individuals who received the letter. They would all die in captivity. The “future hope” in which they could take comfort was that their grandchildren would return to Jerusalem.
Her mind raced as the story sank in. God had been implementing a larger, long-range plan. If the people to whom the prophecy was directly addressed couldn’t cash it in for their personal “prosperity,” what right did Pastor Hanson have using it as a get-rich-quick scheme for today?
As her eyes finally focused on the pastor’s video image on the screens, a wave of heat rose up her neck and enveloped her head with sudden dizziness. Were his days as numbered as those of the false prophet Hananiah?
She had to get away, get the kids out of this building before something tragic happened. Nicole swallowed down her panic, knowing she couldn’t explain it all to Greg. But the service was almost over. No one would notice if she left a little early. She handed Greg’s Bible back to him and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to pick up Becky and Nate. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Chapter 35
Greg found his family sitting in the Cherokee waiting for him when he came out of church. The windows were down, and from two cars away he could hear Nate whining as Becky teased him about something.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on?” He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.
“She said my picture of Peter walking on the water looked like a LEGO Ninja in the desert.”
“Yeah, that’s because the water should be blue.”
“Water can be brown.”
“No it can’t.”
“Yes it can. Besides, somebody else had the blue crayon.”
“Kids! That’s enough.” Greg put the key in the ignition. “Nicole, you here with us? You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”
She blinked and turned toward him, eyes wide. “What? What’s the matter?”
“The kids! They’re going bananas, and you’re just sitting there.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“I can’t believe—” He stopped himself. He was sure the service this morning had upset her. Probably why she left early. Even he had to admit the drama of Pastor Hanson’s “triumphal entry” had been a little over the top. But Nicole looked like it’d put her into a catatonic stupor.
Whatever! He put the car in gear and joined the stream of cars pouring out of the parking lot after the second service so there would be room for third-service people. But he was learning how futile it was to argue with Nicole about Pastor Hanson. He always felt inspired by the pastor’s sermons. She was always upset. He gritted his teeth. They couldn’t go on this way! But trying to resolve their differences while driving home from church hadn’t worked either. What he really needed was some prosperity in his own life. That would show her it worked. And he knew she would appreciate the rewards. As they say, nothing succeeds like success.
And he was pretty sure it was beginning to happen with TopOps.
He said nothing, and that afternoon he walked up to the Jaspers to ask about Destin and his brother. It would help to know how seriously Destin was hurt—the kid still had cases of SlowBurn sitting in the Singers’ garage. Greg rang the doorbell several times, but no one seemed to be home.
Well, at least he’d tried. Hopefully Nicole would give him some credit for that.
* * * *
Nicole kept to herself most of the afternoon. She still felt shaken by the sense of fear that had overcome her during church that morning, fear of God’s righteous anger at false prophets. Weren’t there a lot of references in the Bible that mentioned the “fear of the Lord”? Even the times when God’s messengers had to assure people, “Don’t be afraid!” underlined how important it was not to provoke the God of the universe.
God has our good in mind, she reminded herself as she absently loaded the dishwasher after lunch. Otherwise he wouldn’t have embarked on a plan to save us. But you don’t trifle with God.
Kinda like that old vintage lamp beside her bed when she was a teenager, she mused, glancing out the window in the back door to check on the kids in the backyard. She’d rescued the thing from a garage sale, but it had a short, and twice she’d gotten a jolt before her dad made her throw it away. “You don’t mess with electricity,” he’d warned her. At the time she didn’t think it was such a big deal. But one day she’d gone with her mom to take her dad’s lunchbox to him where he was working with a Commonwealth Edison crew on a junction box at a small electrical substation. Signs on the high fence surrounding the substation warned, “Danger, High Voltage!” but the box the men were working on got more specific: “7,200 volts.” The men stood several feet back as they opened some kind of a switch using a long wooden pole. Enormous gloves like huge oven mitts covered their hands and arms. Everybody wore helmets and shields over their faces.
That was power, Nicole thought, remembering the fear she’d felt for her father. Electricity wasn’t malicious, but you didn’t mess with it! Maybe God is a little like that. She shuddered. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Pastor Hanson if the sparks began to fly.
She heard the front door open and close. Greg must be going up the street to see the Jaspers—he’d said he would that afternoon. She was glad he hadn’t asked her to go with him. Her mind was still spinning. Dishes done, she sank onto the living room couch, hugging a throw pillow. She’d seen through Pastor Hanson’s misuse of Jeremiah’s prophecy, and trite as her electricity analogy might be, she congratulated herself on recognizing the importance of a healthy “fear of the Lord”—something the pastor seemed to ignore.
“But what about you?” The words filled her ears as if God had spoken them aloud.
Me? The question bounced around her mind like a pinball, ringing up points as it ka-chinged off the good things she did all the time—loving her kids, homeschooling them, managing a household, putting up with an unemployed husband in this trying time, visiting her lonely mother. There were lots of points up on the board, but then the pinball disappeared into a hole labeled “Lincoln Paddock.”
That didn’t count. She’d just been earning a little extra money to help with the family finances . . . to help her husband. Besides, she argued with herself, one doesn’t earn salvation by ringing up points for good deeds.
But she also knew this wasn’t about her salvation. It was about the fear of the Lord. She felt the heat rise up her neck again, and a slight wave of dizziness caused her to put her hand to her head. Was she catching a virus? A summer cold? The images of Lincoln Paddock she’d savored while making love to Greg filled her mind unbidden. She tried to shake them away, but they lingered a moment more. Sweet and rich . . .
Rich and private! She could never tell Greg! He’d be so angry. He was already jealous of Lincoln when he had no right to be. After all, she hadn’t done anything. It had just been a harmless fantasy and hadn’t hurt anyone. In fact, hadn’t she given Greg a good time that night? So why not have a little fun?
“Why not have a little fun?” . . . wait. She’d heard someone else say the same thing recently.
Out of the corner of her eye Nicole saw Greg coming back up the walk toward the house, and she scurried down the hall to the bedroom. Shutting the door and leaning against it, her breath came in short gasps as she remembered.
Pastor Hanson had said the same thing in his sermon that morning.
* * * *
Greg hit the TopOps trading site with enthusiasm Monday morning, and it began to pay off. Of course, he didn’t win every bid, but his balance climbed steadily throughout the day until by closing time that afternoon, he was over a thousand dollars ahead.
He blew out a breath of satisfaction. This was the time to explain what he was doing to Nicole. He transferred five hundred from his TopOps account to his credit card account, bringing down the balance owed on their credit card. She’d be happy about that.
He strolled into the kitchen. “Hey, Nikki, what’s for supper?”
She just kept cutting up sweet red peppers. “A pasta dish with chicken and veggies. Should be ready in about thirty minutes.”
“Mmm. Sounds good.” Should he tell her now? No, he’d wait till she wasn’t busy. “Hey, mind if I drop in on the Jaspers for a few minutes? They weren’t home yesterday. Still need to find out how the boys are.”
Nicole shrugged. “Just be back in time for supper.”
Greg stared at her back a few moments before leaving. She was hard to read these days. Oh well, he’d keep doing what he could, and maybe it’d finally melt the ice.
He waited several minutes after ringing the Jaspers’ doorbell, but this time Michelle opened the door. She looked pretty tired. “Hey, Mrs. Jasper. We, uh, heard about the boys. Nicole and I are so sorry. I wanted to check in and see how they’re doing.”
