Her face was still expressionless. “Maybe.”
“When does the rent start?” he asked.
“It already has,” she answered. “We owe him a quarter of a million dollars already.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s run it up to a million before we pay him anything.”
“How can we do that?” she asked. “There’s almost three hundred thousand dollars of collections in from the first three mailings already and we haven’t even opened officially yet.”
He looked at her. “You’re the church treasurer, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Who gets to count the money first?”
“I do.”
“It’s no different than when we were traveling around with the tent,” he said. “Whoever counts the money decides what and who to pay.”
She stared at him. “That’s not what you used to do then.”
“This is different,” he said. “I’m sure the money can be used better for God’s work than to make my father-in-law any richer.”
“Okay,” she nodded, beginning to pick up the papers on the desk in front of her.
His secretary’s voice came from the speakerphone. “Mr. Woden called from the control booth. He says it’s one hour to showtime and wants to know if you want the makeup girl to come up now.”
“Tell him fifteen minutes,” Preacher said. He gestured to Beverly, who was getting to her feet. “Just a minute.”
She stood there looking down at him.
“Do all our receipts go into the computer?”
She nodded.
“Is there any way we can fix it so that some part does not go into the computer?”
“It won’t be easy,” she said. “That is Jane’s department. And your wife knows her business.”
“I’m sure she does,” he said dryly. “But I’m not asking her, I’m asking you. Is it possible?”
“It won’t be easy,” she said quietly. “But it’s possible.”
“You work it out then,” he said. “I want ten percent of the receipts in an account that only you and I know about.”
“Okay.” A brief smile flitted across her face. “You’re getting very Chinese.”
“No,” he answered. “Just cautious. Too many churches have been taken over by unscrupulous people. I just want to make sure this doesn’t happen to us.”
He watched her leave, then picked up the telephone and tapped out a number. Charlie’s voice came on the line. “How are the kids doing?” he asked.
Her voice was filled with excitement. “Just fine. We just finished dressing and we’re going down to make-up.”
“Good,” he said. “You all straight?”
“Sure,” she answered. “We’re not taking any chances.”
“Fine. I’ll see you all downstairs. We’ll get together after the show to have a smoke.”
“That will be lovely.”
“God bless,” he said, putting down the telephone.
He punched the button down on the speakerphone. “Get Brother Washington for me.” A moment later the telephone buzzed. Joe was on the line.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Got my Sunday go-to-meetin’ suit on,” Joe said.
“Then come on up here,” he said. “I got the makeup girl coming.”
“I’ll be right up,” Joe laughed. “But I won’t need any. I’m tan enough already.”
***
Forty-five minutes later he was standing on the small elevator platform below the stage that would bring him, as if by magic, to his position behind the pulpit. He watched the screen of the small monitor built into the shelf before him. He heard the choir over his head as the screen flashed into life.
The first visual was a pan shot from a helicopter over Churchland. The camera zoomed in close on the church entrance with the throngs of people entering, then panned up to the giant cross suspended between the two towers of the building, then abruptly cut inside the church and began to sweep the congregation as the rich mellow baritone of the announcer began to boom overhead.
“From Churchland, Texas, on this two hundredth birthday of the United States of America, the Community of God Church of Christian America Triumphant welcomes you to the grand opening celebration of its first Festival of Faith.”
Slowly, the camera began to pan across the dais on the stage, hesitating for a fraction of a moment at each guest so that they could be recognized by the audience, as the announcer’s voice continued. “Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, the Community of God Church of Christian America Triumphant is proud to present its pastor…”
The tiny radio earphone in Preacher’s ear crackled into life as the small elevator shuddered a moment and began to rise slowly. Jim Woden’s voice came through. “Hold on, Dr. Talbot, you’re on your way to heaven.”
Preacher smiled to himself at the faint humor, then as the elevator cleared the stage behind the pulpit, the announcer’s booming voice drowned out every other sound. “…the Reverend Dr. C. Andrew Talbot!”
The congregation began to applaud. Looking out at them, for the first time, Preacher felt the power that was in him, the power to touch and to reach all these people, the power to change their lives, the power to bring them closer to God. Slowly he looked around the giant auditorium. There wasn’t a vacant seat, and each seat was filled with someone who looked toward him for the faith and hope that he would give them.
He raised both hands over his head, palms out until the applause died down and they were quiet in their seats. He turned and looked at the dais behind him for a moment, then back to the congregation. His voice was gentle and reverent but strong with conviction.
“Brothers and Sisters in Christ, let us begin with a prayer.” He clasped his hands and looked down, giving the congregation a moment to follow him.
“We thank thee, O Lord, for making all this possible. And we dedicate ourselves and this ministry to Your service and worship in accordance with the Gospel of Your only begotten Son Jesus Christ. And we pledge our minds, hearts and bodies to bring His holy message to all the world.”
Book III
JESUS FOR POWER
Chapter One
“Sorry to be late,” Preacher apologized as he entered the board room and took his place at the head of the table, “but when we heard the news of President Reagan being shot, I canceled the program under way and turned it into a straight prayer meeting for his recovery and the recovery of his assistant, James Brady, and the Secret Service man who was shot at the same time. We’ll be on the air with that program at seven o’clock in the evening Eastern time and four o’clock Pacific. We’ll be the only television ministry with it. All the others run their programs anywhere from one day to a week behind recording. We’ll make them all look sick.”
“What happened?” Jake Randle asked from the foot of the table. “We’ve been watching the TV up here. All we know is that the President has been taken to the hospital, but nobody knows how bad he is hurt.”
“It may not be too bad,” Preacher said. “One of the reports said that he walked into the hospital but that hasn’t been verified.”
“We could be in luck,” Randle said. “If everything turns out all right our P.R. people will make sure that the whole country knows that our prayers were the first to bring Jesus to the aid of the President.”
Preacher looked at him without speaking.
The old man met his gaze. “Right now, I’m glad you were friendly with the Bush people even though at the time I thought you were nuts. If the President dies, Falwell’s got to be kicking his own ass for tryin’ to talk the President out of pickin’ Bush.”
“I thought you were in on that,” Preacher said pointedly.
“I just gave the committee some money, that’s all,” Randle said uncomfortably. “Personally I thought Haig should have been the man. Proves just one thing though. We got to make sure that we get control of the House in the ’82 elections. If they get the Presi
dent, then Bush, we got Tip O’Neill and the Democrats are back in the White House.”
“The ’82 elections are a year and a half away,” Preacher said.
“Can’t start too early,” Randle said. “We got to protect ourselves, elsewise we might lose back everything we’ve gained.”
Preacher nodded without comment and looked around the table. “Time we got the meeting under way and tended to our own business.” There was a general assent and nodding of heads. He picked up the gavel and rapped it on the table. “The meeting of the board of directors of the Community of God Church of Christian America Triumphant is hereby called to order.” He turned to Beverly, seated at his right. “Will the secretary read the roll call and then the minutes of the last meeting.”
Beverly rose to her feet. She ran through the names automatically. “Mr. Jake Randle, Mr. Richard Craig, Mr. John Everett, Mr. Charles Michaels, Mr. Marcus Lincoln, Mrs. Helen Lacey, Mrs. Jane Talbot, Dr. C. Andrew Talbot.” She paused for a moment, then picked up a black-bound loose-leaf book. “A copy of the minutes of the last meeting is in the folder in front of each of you. I will now begin to read them.”
Randle spoke up. “I move to dispense with the reading of the minutes and approve them as written.”
“Second the motion,” Craig said.
Preacher got to his feet. “The motion is before us and will be voted upon. All in favor say Aye.” The motion was carried unanimously. He nodded to Beverly. “You may now read the financial report covering the last quarter.”
Beverly took up another printed folder. “A detailed copy of this report has also been included in your folders. With your permission I will give you the highlights contained therein.
Income from collections and contributions:
12.1 million
Income from dividends, interest and other sources:
4.7 million
Total income:
16.8 million
Less: All operating expenses:
10.5 million
Net excess of income over expenses transferred to surplus:
5.3 million
Current total amount in surplus account invested in bonds, securities and on deposit in various banks:
41.4 million
“I would like to add,” she said, looking up, “that the operating expenses of the two months of this quarter that fell within the current fiscal year have increased by approximately one million dollars a month due to the increased cost of television and radio time, mostly based on the new rates charged us by the broadcasting companies since January first.”
“What about our income?” Randle asked. “Has that gone up too?”
“Collections and contributions seem to remain at approximately the same level as last year, about four million a month, sir,” she answered. “Of course, investment income from the surplus account will rise proportionately but not enough, I’m afraid, to offset the current rate increases and the additional rate increases due to take effect in the middle of the year.”
“What you’re saying is that we can look forward to a twelve to fourteen-million-dollar rise in expenses this year with no real compensating offset in income. Is that right?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you,” Randle said. He waited until Beverly sat down. He looked around the table. “That ain’t very good news.”
No one spoke. They all knew he wasn’t finished yet. He looked across the table at Preacher. “It seems to me that it’s up to you to find a way to increase our collections.”
Preacher met his gaze. “Maybe. But do you have any ideas how I can do that?”
“You can do what the others do. Set up special drives for contributions. Jerry Falwell, Oral Roberts, they do it all the time. They ain’t ashamed to get up there themselves and ask for money.”
“I’m not either,” Preacher said. “With all due respect to the good pastors, I’m not in the business of building monuments to myself in the form of colleges and hospitals. The only monument I want to build is to God.”
“Amen to that, Dr. Talbot,” Randle said. “But how do you expect to do even that if costs go up and up until they eat away all the money you take in? You have to increase your audience as well as your collections.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Preacher said.
“Falwell’s doing it. He brags that he reaches twenty-five million viewers. He didn’t do that by sittin’ back there on his ass and waitin’ for them to come to him. He got out there and made them pay attention to him.”
Preacher turned from him to Marcus Lincoln. “Mr. Lincoln, did you bring that Arbitron Company report I asked you about?”
Lincoln nodded and took a folder from his briefcase. He passed it to Preacher, who opened it and looked at it.
“This is a report on the total audience of all syndicated religious programs since 1975, the year before we opened Churchland. In ’75 it was 20.8 million. In ’76, the year we opened, it was 22.8 million. It stayed like that for two years, then in ’79 it dropped a million to 21.4, then another drop of a million in ’80 to 20.5. And that’s for all of us, including Falwell, who is only one out of a total of sixty-six television ministries.” He closed the folder and placed it on the table in front of him. “In that report there is also an audience breakdown which shows that the TV ministries appeal to an audience of fifty and over and a much higher percentage of women than men.
“In view of those circumstances I feel that our maintaining our rate of collections is remarkable. And we have one thing going for us that none of the others have. We don’t owe anybody any money. Every bill we get is paid on time and up to date and we still have a large surplus. That’s something we can thank the Lord for.”
“Amen,” Jake said. “So you think we ought to sit still and see what happens?”
Preacher looked at him. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what do you say?” Jake asked.
“I say that money sitting out there in banks, stocks and bonds don’t do the Lord no good at all. I think that money should be put to work bringing this church, His church, closer to the people.” He paused. They were all silent, even the old man. Preacher took a deep breath.
“When I traveled with the gospel tent we used to visit only those towns where the local church would welcome our ministry and help make our stay there a cooperative effort in which together we would bring more people to Jesus Christ. And whatever moneys we collected we shared with the local churches and the money remained in that town for the benefit of its parishioners.
“The television ministry does not do that. We have begun to measure our success in dollars instead of souls saved and brought to the Lord. We can keep track of the money but who among us can keep track of the souls? What follow-up do we have that tells us the souls we brought to Christ remain with Him? The TV ministry doesn’t do that. There’s no way it can.
“But there is one place that can do what we can’t. The local church or churches in all the places our programs reach. What I propose is that we use some of the money we have collected and plow it back into those local churches, many of which are barely able to keep their ministers alive, and bring them into partnership with us in bringing and keeping the message of Jesus Christ alive in the hearts of their congregations.”
“Sounds to me like we’d just be throwing away our money,” Randle said.
“It’s not our money,” Preacher said. “It’s the Lord’s. Maybe if we hadn’t taken it, it would have gone to that local church.”
“If we didn’t get it, it would have gone to Pat Robertson, Jimmy Swaggart, Ernest Angley or Paul Crouch,” the old man said.
“You forgot to mention Bob Shuller, Billy Graham and Jerry Falwell among the sixty-six or more ministries that are on the air with us right now,” Preacher said. “But the fact remains that we did get the money and it is in our banks. The question is, what do we do with it? Keep it hidden and safe in our vaults? Or do we listen to what we were told by St.
Luke?”
He opened the Bible before him and looked down at it. “Chapter Sixteen, verse thirteen. ‘No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.’”
Chapter Two
“Daddy wasn’t very happy about today’s meeting,” Jane said as she came from the bathroom.
Preacher was sitting in the bed watching a videotape of one of the most recent Ernest Angley meetings. It was near the end of the taped portion of the show and he was just finishing his healing session and turning toward the camera.
Preacher watched in fascination as Dr. Angley spoke.
“And now, for all of you out there in the television audience who are watching me on your set, do you or one of your loved ones suffer from a problem? Any problem, physical or mental? Have you been unable to expel the demons of drink, drugs, tobacco, lust or the demons of sickness from your body? Remember that Jesus can heal you. Believe me that you can be healed just as these people you just saw were healed, through their faith in Jesus Christ. Remember that He is our sweet Jesus and that He died on the cross for all of us, for all our sins, and our faith in Him will cure all our ills, solve all our problems.
“I will hold out my hand to the camera. You place your hand on the television screen over mine and repeat this prayer with me.” His hand covered the screen. “I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and that He died on the cross for my sins and in His name I command the demons that cause my ailment to leave me.”
Angley’s face appeared behind his hand on the screen. The fierce scowling determination on his face was matched only by the strident commanding sound of his voice. “Heal! Hee-all! In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, hee-all!”
The camera pulled back as he lowered his hand and moved in on his now smiling face. “Thank you, sweet Jesus. Thank you for making me well again.”
The screen went to black for a moment and opened on him again. “Join us next week when the Ernest Angley mission appears in Charlotte at the Civic Auditorium, Wednesday night. Meanwhile keep those love gifts and tithes coming in and any extra money you can spare because without your help we cannot bring this ministry to the people. So until that night may the good Lord bless you and in the name of our Savior Jesus Christ, I thank you.”
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