She answered immediately. “Preacher?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I’ve just finished speaking with my father,” she said. “He was ranting and raving so much that I could hardly make out what he was saying. He’s changed his mind completely. Now he wants me to start divorce proceedings right away and he’ll furnish me with all the evidence I need to prove you guilty of adultery in any court in the land before you turn the church completely over to the blacks.”
“Blacks?” Preacher asked. “Was that the word your father used?”
“No. You know the word he uses but because he uses it doesn’t mean that I have to,” she said. “What did you do that got him so crazy?”
“Did you see the program this morning?”
“No,” she answered.
“I put Joe on the air to give the sermon,” he said.
“I don’t see anything wrong in that.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “But apparently your father doesn’t see things the way we do.”
She was silent for a moment before she spoke. “Well, the reason I called was that I wanted you to know that I have no intention of filing for divorce at this time. No matter what else you may hear from anyone. Including my father.”
“Thank you, Jane,” he said humbly.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she said. “Whether you and I can live together is one thing. I still have to do what I believe is right. And, after all, you still are the father of my children and there is no way I’m going to allow any mud to be smeared over them.”
She put down the telephone before he had a chance to say any more. Slowly he turned to the window and looked out as he put his receiver down. Suddenly, he was very tired. He stared out the window for a long moment, then got to his feet.
He left his office and stopped at his secretary’s desk on the way out. “I’m going to the parsonage to take a nap,” he said. “Hold all the calls for me. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“But, Dr. Talbot,” she cried, “you haven’t returned Mr. Randle’s calls yet and now there are a half a dozen more. And what if Mr. Randle calls again?”
“You just tell the truth,” he said. “Tell them that I’m tired and I’ve gone to take a nap and that I’ll call them back when I return.”
Chapter Sixteen
He felt a weariness heavy within him. He turned restlessly on the bed, unable to find the elusive rest he sought. For a moment he seemed to doze, then a pinpoint of light seemed to penetrate the darkness of the room. The light seemed to be growing stronger and he opened his eyes, searching for its source. But it was nowhere to be found; the blackout drapes covering the windows were completely drawn. Still the room seemed to be growing lighter, bathed in a strange golden glow that appeared to be in the air of the room itself. A peculiar surge of power seemed to flow through him, carrying away the heavy weariness.
He sat up in the bed, his eyes suddenly wide, trying to see into the golden light around his bed. He felt himself trembling. “Father?” he asked.
The voice he heard was not a physical sound but words that seemed to form themselves in his brain. “My son.”
“I am lost, Father,” he said. “I have sinned and I do not know which way to turn.”
“I know, my son. The path you have chosen is long and lonely.” The golden light seemed to swirl closer around him. “But the way to truth has always been strewn with thorns and rocks.”
“I have tried, Father. But nothing seems to be the way I wanted it to be. I know I have committed many wrongs, Father. But I can’t seem to discover what they are.”
“Have you looked within yourself, my son?”
“Yes, Father. And many times have I prayed for Your guidance and searched for my answer in Your words. Still when I thought I had found what I sought, it was never all I had prayed it would be.” He felt himself still trembling. “Is it possible, Father, that the sins I feared have taken possession of me? That the millions I hid from the church were hidden not to preserve the church but my own power? That my children were conceived by my lust, not my love, and my marriage by my greed?”
The golden light seemed to swirl and ebb and flow with the words forming in his brain. “The answers you seek are not always to be found in my words alone. Sometimes they can be found almost anywhere. Even in the words of your enemies. Though they may give voice to the words of Satan, they may reveal to you the very fears of Satan himself.”
“I am too unworthy and too ignorant, Father. I hear in their words only the evil and the sin with which he seeks to entrap the world. I still don’t understand.”
“Listen again, carefully, to the words of your enemies, my son. And the innermost fears of Satan will reveal themselves to you. And when understanding finally comes to you, let your actions be according to the light you have within you and the love we bear for one another.”
The golden glow of light began to soften and fade into the dark of the room. A sudden panic rose in Preacher. “Father! Father! Do not leave me!”
The words in his brain seemed to come from a distance. “I shall never leave you, my son. We shall be together once again.”
Then the golden light was gone and Preacher sank back to his pillow, a strange and beautiful peace and strength inside him. He closed his eyes and slept.
***
His secretary looked up as he entered the outer office. “Mr. Randle and Dr. Sorensen and Dr. Ryker are waiting in your office.”
He paused for a moment, frowning. “Mrs. Hill, I would be very pleased in the future if you would be kind enough to remember that my office is private and that no one, absolutely no one, is to be admitted unless I have given my prior permission. We have a waiting room for just that purpose.”
She was flustered. “But, Dr. Talbot, Mr. Randle always—”
He cut her short. “I meant exactly what I said, Mrs. Hill. And that includes Mr. Randle.”
The two ministers jumped to their feet as he entered the office but Jake Randle remained seated. Silently Preacher walked behind his desk and sat down. The two ministers remained standing, awkwardly. He gestured to them to take their seats, and didn’t speak until they were seated again. He glanced at them. “Gentlemen,” he said in a cool voice.
“You didn’t return my calls,” the old man rasped.
He looked at Randle directly. “I had other things to do.”
“Like taking a nap?” Randle asked sarcastically.
“I always attend to matters in the order of their importance,” he replied quietly.
Randle flushed. “Why did you choose not to inform the board of your intention to introduce that nigger on the program this morning?”
Preacher met his eyes. “I presume you’re referring to Reverend Washington?”
“You know goddamn well who I’m talking about,” Randle said angrily. “That nigger is no more a minister than I am.”
“Mr. Randle,” Preacher said coldly, “Reverend Washington has been officially ordained by this church. That makes him a minister as far as anyone is concerned.”
“By whose standards does he qualify to be a minister?”
“By God’s standards, Mr. Randle. Our Lord Jesus Christ asked nothing of his disciples except that they have faith in Him and go forth to preach His Gospel. Reverend Washington’s faith in our Lord and his ability to preach the Gospel is second to no man’s. All of that plus the fact that he, personally, is responsible for bringing many souls to Christ as well as more than six million dollars in contributions to the church in the past two years.”
“That still does not explain why you chose not to inform the board of your intention,” Randle snapped.
“Mr. Randle,” Preacher said, his voice suddenly hard and cold, “I did inform you, but as pastor of this church I am under no obligation to inform the board about anything I may or may not do. Neither do I have the obligation to be bound by any action or recommendation made by the board on behalf of this church. If you will take the troubl
e to read the articles of incorporation and the by-laws of this church, you will realize that I, alone, have the sole authority to act on behalf of the church and that every appointee to that board as well as the board itself functions at my personal discretion.”
The old man’s face grew flushed and angry. “You seem to conveniently forget, Dr. Talbot, that it was I who made it possible for you to establish this ministry.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Mr. Randle, and I shall always be the first to acknowledge the great debt this church has to you. I have said so publicly many times.”
“And that the lease under which this ministry occupies these premises known as Churchland has a clause within it that allows for its termination without reason at any time at my sole discretion.” The old man drew a triumphant breath and glanced at the two ministers, whose silence throughout the meeting had been so absolute that they might as well have not been there.
Preacher came right to the point. “Mr. Randle, if you are suggesting that you would like the Community of God Church of Christian America Triumphant to vacate the premises all you have to do is to send us a letter to that effect and we will do so immediately.”
Randle was silent for a moment, staring at Preacher. He knew immediately that his bluff had been called. There was not another ministry with the financial resources available to take over Churchland and the property itself would soon become as worthless as the land on which it had been built. “I didn’t suggest that, Dr. Talbot. I proffered that information merely as part of the discussion of our mutual rights. I have no intention of terminating the lease.”
“I am pleased to hear that, Mr. Randle,” Preacher said quietly.
“I still don’t intend to stand quietly by, Dr. Talbot,” the old man said harshly, “and permit you to turn this ministry over to the niggers.”
“Mr. Randle, I think it about time that you joined the present century,” Preacher said in an annoyed voice. “I find your use of that word extremely objectionable, as do many of our ministry and viewers as well, and I am sure, as do my colleagues here in this meeting. I would prefer very much if in the future you will refer to the black people of our ministry in more respectful and acceptable terms.”
Randle glanced at the two pastors. They still remained silent. He turned back to Preacher. “I am sure, however, that they agree with me that it was not fair to them to bring the nig—I mean, the black man—on before them. You’ve placed them both in a very embarrassing position.”
Preacher turned to the ministers. “Do you agree with Mr. Randle, gentlemen?”
Dr. Sorensen glanced at Ryker, then spoke. His voice was smooth and conciliatory. “I do feel, Dr. Talbot, that if we all had had an opportunity to go over this matter a much more balanced presentation might have been made.”
“What do you mean by ‘balanced,’ Dr. Sorensen?”
“One that might have mitigated the shock a white audience might feel at seeing and hearing a black minister on a program as important as this one.”
Preacher nodded. “I see.” He turned to the other minister. “And you, Dr. Ryker, I would like your opinion.”
Dr. Ryker’s voice was professorial in texture. He sounded like a man who had spent years in a classroom. “One of the important parts of our work in Christian schools and colleges has been the study of what we loosely designate as cultural shock. This is a classic case of the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. Asking a basically white congregation to listen to a black man preach to them about God, who created man in His own image, is essentially a very difficult thing for them to accept because it is a psychological affront to the man he sees in the mirror every morning.”
Preacher was casual. “But the reverse does not create a problem?”
“Not at all, Dr. Talbot,” Ryker said. “It is a role that has been made acceptable by years of tradition.”
“Does that make it right, Dr. Ryker?” Preacher asked. “After all, in the Scriptures it does say that God created man in His own image. But nowhere in the Scriptures have I ever read that the man He created was white, black, yellow, red or green.”
“We’re trying to be practical, Dr. Talbot,” Sorensen said smoothly, “not theological.” He took a deep breath. “The fact remains that if we alienate a large portion of our white audience we may also suffer a sizable loss of income.”
Preacher looked at him. “Dr. Sorensen,” he said dryly, “this is a ministry, not the Harvard School of Business. Our principal concern is saving souls for Christ, not the accumulation of large bank balances.”
“Without those balances, Dr. Talbot,” Randle said, “you know from your own experience how much more difficult it is to reach those souls who are in most need of saving.”
Preacher looked at each of them in turn and then spoke slowly. “Gentlemen, more than seventy percent of the churches affiliated with the Community of God Church are black ministries. I cannot believe that the soul of any man is different from the soul of any other man because of the color of his skin. And as long as these people are part of the Community of God, I feel they are entitled to representation in our ministry.”
“You let them in now,” Randle said angrily, “and the next thing you know they’ll take over the whole church. You know how they are. Sell them one house on a street and in a few months the whole neighborhood is swarming with them. Dick Craig and Helen Lacey are already threatening to pull the support of their organizations away from us. That’s more than two million white people who will turn their backs on this ministry. These people are the backbone of the conservative Christian majority and in no way are they going to allow themselves to be seated in a pew next to a nig—a black person.”
“Then we are wasting time squabbling among ourselves, gentlemen,” Preacher said. “We really have our work cut out for us. In that nationwide Crusade for Christ that I plan for next Labor Day one of our most important objectives will be to make every Christian see that the God he loves is the same God who loves all men.”
“You don’t expect me to go along with that?” Randle snapped.
“Think about it carefully, Mr. Randle,” Preacher said. “In just one day we have the opportunity to gather a million souls for Christ. And, in that same day, the opportunity to raise perhaps as much as fifty million dollars to enable us to continue our labors for Christ.”
Randle stared at him for a moment, then settled back in his chair. “You never explained that.”
“It’s simple enough,” Preacher smiled. “If one championship prizefight can get twenty-five million dollars, try to imagine how many millions of dollars more one championship fight between our Lord and Satan will draw?”
Randle didn’t answer but Preacher could almost see the computer in his head clicking away behind the old man’s veiled eyes. “With the proper organization and planning we should be able to command a television audience of fifty million people via satellite relay as well as fill every major sports arena in the country.”
“It’s an extremely ambitious plan, Dr. Talbot,” Sorensen said, “and one I am highly in favor of. But I wonder, isn’t it perhaps too large a project for any single ministry to undertake? I feel our chances of success would be even greater if several of the other large television ministries could be persuaded to join us.”
“A point very well taken, Dr. Sorensen,” Preacher said. “I would appreciate it if you could form an ad hoc committee to approach other ministries about joining the Crusade. I think a fair share of the total proceeds could be arrived at for their participation.”
“If that approach is taken, I feel we have to offer the pastors of those ministries an important position on the program,” Ryker said.
“An excellent suggestion, Dr. Ryker. I would be honored to have many of those ministers whose work and devotion to Christ I have for so long admired join with me in this great Crusade.”
Ryker glanced at Sorensen. “I am sure that Dr. Sorensen will agree with me when I say that such great ministers as Je
rry Falwell, Oral Roberts, Rex Humbard, Bob Shuller and perhaps even Dr. Billy Graham would give this project their most attentive personal consideration.”
“And I wouldn’t forget Paul Crouch and Fred Price out in California either,” Preacher said. “They pack a heavy clout out there.” He waited for their reactions. The Reverend Price was the black minister in Los Angeles who was already on thirty-five stations and whose church in Crenshaw wasn’t large enough to contain all the well-to-do middle-class blacks of his congregation who began lining up in the street long before the church opened its doors every Sunday morning.
“Of course,” Sorensen said quickly. “It’s a most exciting project and the more stars we can get, the better.”
Preacher smiled. There was no mention of the fact that the Reverend Fred Price was black at all. Apparently money had the power to cut across all color lines. Something clicked in his head. Exactly what was it that the voice in his strange dream had told him? “Listen again, carefully, to the words of your enemies, my son.”
The smile left his lips. “I am listening, Father,” he whispered almost to himself. “I only pray that I’ll know the right use to make of them.”
“Were you speaking, Dr. Talbot?” Ryker asked.
Preacher shook his head. “Not really. I was just thinking aloud.”
Randle got to his feet. He was not about to be left out of this discussion. “I’m sure that my television station group can also persuade many television and motion picture stars to appear on the show. I can almost see it before my eyes right now. The greatest preachers in the world, all together, on one big show. It will make religious television history.” He paused suddenly as if struck by an idea. “We’ll have to go two hours,” he said. “There’s no way a show like that can be done in one hour. Maybe we’ll even have to go longer.”
“That’s entirely possible,” Preacher agreed. “But we’ll have to find the time.”
“That’s only money,” Randle said disdainfully. “What’s a million or two more when you’re shooting for the moon?”
Preacher looked at them and smiled. “Isn’t it better, gentlemen, to work together in peace and creative harmony than to meet with each other with bitter recriminations and destructive anger?”
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