by William Poe
I had realized, when I wrote about leaving home, that things might have turned out differently had Lenny said what I wanted to hear.
“If Lenny had said he loved me,” I conceded, “my life might have been different.”
“A different life, perhaps, but a different Simon?”
I wanted to say, Fuck you, Harris. This wasn’t psychoanalysis, after all. It was drug rehabilitation. In the end, I said what I thought he wanted me to say. “True, I still might have turned to drugs.”
Harris went to the window and leaned on the sill, looking at the view of downtown Little Rock. From my desk upstairs, I had watched the demolition ball pounding the building across the river until nothing remained but a pile of rubble.
“That used to be the Manning Hotel,” Harris said, “where Darsey took you to the Drummers Club.”
Hearing Harris say Darsey’s name gave me a shudder. “Yes, and where I felt utter disgust for myself.”
“You were pretty disgusting, weren’t you?” Harris said.
I almost thought Harris meant it until I saw the grin on his face. I reared back in mock indignation. “What do you mean?”
“You were a normal teenager, Simon. Lenny should have made sure you understood that.”
I always thought I was the one responsible. If only I had learned to play ball, do boy things, then Lenny would have loved me.
“I feel like a little kid waiting for his father to pat him on the head.”
“Give yourself a break,” Harris said as we neared the final minutes of our session. “You need time to piece yourself together.”
“One broken shard at a time, I suppose.”
Harris struck me as incredibly handsome as he leaned on the windowsill. I must have chuckled under my breath, thinking how ridiculous it was to find my drug counselor attractive.
“What?” Harris asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” There were some thoughts I simply would not share.
That afternoon was designated free time. I left Harris and went upstairs to write. While deep in thought, rain began to pound against the window. Lightning and thunder, seeming to come out of nowhere, quickened at an alarming pace. Joshua took a seat by the window opposite my desk and jumped with each thunderclap. What did he expect? That I’d come over and console him?
✽ ✽ ✽
Norman telephoned the Little Rock center and told Mary he needed a new member for the One World Crusade team. Jim had disappeared in the middle of the night, without a word to anyone. Mary decided that I would replace him.
I hoped that Jim had not left because of what we did together—and I hoped he had not spoken to anyone about it. Despite the apprehension, I looked forward to getting away from Little Rock. Remaining in my hometown after joining the church had been unsettling. At school, people quizzed me about what I was doing. They were shocked when I came to class with short hair and plain clothes. I had been so colorful before. Many accused me of “selling out to the establishment” and expressed horror once they learned that I had “gone religious.”
My anthropology professor invited me into her office and challenged my decision. She understood my interest in spiritualism and, as an anthropologist, encouraged me to think in evolutionary terms. She had given me high marks for my analysis of Carlos Castaneda and the Yaqui Indian way of spirituality. For my term paper, I had compiled evidence demonstrating how Shamanism provided tribal charismatics with a selective advantage by allowing them promiscuous mating privileges. Unable to penetrate my current mindset, she offered advice, which became a fallback position during my worst moments of doubt over the next few years. “You are a scholar,” she reminded. “If nothing else, remember your experiences as if you are conducting field research. You’ll come around one day, and then you’ll have important information to share.”
Vivian tracked me down shortly before Norman’s call. Disturbed that I had taken my paintings and drawings from the mansion, she spoke to my art professor, found out what group I had joined, and got the number from the phone book. Randall answered when she called. I said I didn’t want to talk, and he made an excuse for me. A few hours later, Connie and Derek appeared at the center. I was upstairs cleaning, but when I heard the doorbell, I went to the landing. When my sister and brother-in-law came inside, I wanted to jump out a back window, but I forced myself to go downstairs.
“You better pinch me to make sure I’m not dreaming,” Connie said, placing her hand on Derek’s sleeve as I approached. “Look at his hair!”
Derek, who had been talking to Randall, turned toward me with a look of astonishment. “My hippie brother-in-law cut his hair? And the clothes—no embroidery, no bell-bottoms?”
Having gone through similar reactions at the university, I was exasperated with people commenting on my external appearance without considering how I felt.
Mary escorted us into the sitting room. It was the only one with upholstered chairs, not metal ones. “I’m thrilled to meet Simon’s family,” she said.
Derek took Mary’s hand in a gentlemanly way. Connie nodded, but didn’t shake hands.
“You went by the house,” Connie said, heavy mascara emphasizing the menace in her eyes. “You didn’t even leave a note! That really upset Vivian.”
“Upsetting her wasn’t my intent,” I said, praying internally to remember that Connie was God’s lost daughter.
“We want to know that it was your decision to join this group,” Derek interjected, “that’s all.”
For the next hour, I did my best to describe the teachings of the Divine Principle, giving as much of a Christian interpretation as I could. After all, we believed that Jesus was the Messiah and that he forgave sin; he did so throughout his ministry. Christians assumed that Jesus had come to die—because he ended up dying. Divine Principle explained that Jesus had come to live—that his death was atonement for the failure of the people to believe in him. Jesus was the second Adam, and his wife should have been the second Eve. The Kingdom of Heaven should have already come to pass.
Connie and Derek needed to hear the entire series of lectures if I were to speak to them about the conclusion—that the Second Coming referred to a Third Adam and that he was the Korean Sun Myung Moon. Mary took over the conversation and taught them a truncated lecture on the mission of Jesus, expounding on the ideas I had merely suggested.
Probably the most difficult obstacle, when we witnessed to Christians, was getting them to see Jesus as a human being without preexistence.
One of the most poignant things I learned after joining was that Satan had co-opted Christian theology early on to ensure that what eventually became accepted orthodoxy downplayed the humanity of Jesus—precisely to make it more difficult for future Christians to recognize the true meaning of the Second Coming. It was the “mission” that was to “come again,” not the actual man Jesus. Satan had worked to make heresy out of ideas that were closer to the truth of Jesus’s humanity, whether Subordinationism, Adoptionism, or Arianism. Satan especially targeted Ebionite beliefs because they provided the best guidance for viewing Jesus as human, first and foremost. Any idea that promoted Jesus as an eternal aspect of God—whether through incarnated Platonic logos, equal member of a Trinity, or as a Docetic phantasm—was encouraged by God’s enemy because it removed the personal responsibility necessary to achieve oneness with God.
The family admired the Epistle of James most among Christian scriptures because it emphasized good works. Indemnity through personal sacrifice was the Divine Principle concept. The Messiah forgave original sin; the rest was up to the individual.
Mary took a break from the discussions and slipped out to get glasses of ice and bottles of 7UP, along with a tray of lemon cookies. Derek commented that he could not understand the premise that Jesus should have lived, but, anyway, found Mary’s talk interesting. Connie had become more relaxed and stopped giving Mary the cold shoulder. She smiled and said, “Thank you,” when Mary pried off the bottle cap and poured 7UP into the
glasses. Derek grabbed several lemon cookies off the plate.
“We’ve been concerned for Simon,” Connie said to Mary, flashing me a stern look. “We worried that he might be using drugs. I hope you people straightened him out.”
It was news to me that Connie and Derek, not to mention Vivian and Lenny, had paid enough attention to wonder about my drug use.
Mary, who never missed an opportunity to witness, suggested that they attend the lectures. “Learning what we believe will help you explain to the rest of your family what Simon is doing with his life.”
Connie scowled at Derek when he said, “We can do that. When do you give the lectures?” Connie clearly wanted to protest, but deferred to Derek.
“Whenever you can attend,” Mary said. “We’ll accommodate you.”
Connie looked as though she might implode. I asked her a pressing question to change the subject. “How is Lenny? Is he holding up okay?”
Derek answered. “Oh, you know Lenny. He was upset when Connie joined me at the Nazarene Church, but he settled down after a while. He’s happier since we became Methodists. Funny, isn’t it? Lenny hasn’t been to a Sunday sermon in years, but he still thinks we should be Baptists.”
I hadn’t known that Lenny had given Connie grief when she joined Derek as a Nazarene, but the expression on her face confirmed Derek’s comment. Lenny was probably most upset that Connie had not sought his approval.
“Vivian wouldn’t be so worried if you hadn’t taken your paintings,” Connie said. “Where are they, by the way?” She looked around to see if any were hanging on the walls.
“They’re in another place,” I said cryptically.
Derek rose to leave, saving me from having to explain further.
The visit left me feeling uncertain. I went to the prayer room and prostrated myself before the image of True Parents, praying fervently that Connie and Derek would at least come to understand my decision, even if they didn’t also join the movement. Married couples were instructed to abstain from sex for at least three years—an edict that Bob and Janine had accepted, but which I had a hard time imagining Connie agreeing to, even if Derek were willing.
Before leaving to join the bus team, I sat with Connie and Derek during the first few lectures. Mary spoke of Jesus at every opportunity. Derek would have to accept that the Second Coming did not refer to the original Jesus of Nazareth, but to a new man with the same mission.
Derek said that many of the teachings resolved questions he had set aside over the years, especially about the relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit described by the Nicene Creed—he could almost accept that the Holy Spirit descended from Heaven at Pentecost as God’s feminine aspect to complement Jesus in Paradise.
Connie hardly listened at all. During the Fall of Man lecture, she applied polish to her fingernails, making her disdain for the lecture abundantly clear.
I was astounded when Derek felt comfortable enough to reveal one of his deepest secrets. After the lecture about the purpose of history, he described a vision he’d once had, which went a long way toward explaining his curiosity about our teachings.
“I’ve never told this to anyone,” Derek began, watching Connie for her reaction. “Years ago, I had a dream—more a waking vision, really. I saw three men in white robes standing on the boundary between two countries. The first man held a baby, which he passed to the second. The second man passed the child on to the third. Then the first two men disappeared, leaving the baby with the one man remaining.”
Mary assured Derek that he was among God’s chosen, that through his vision, God had revealed an important message.
“The baby represents the great responsibility that God presented to Adam,” Mary explained. “Adam passed that responsibility on to Jesus, who partially fulfilled it. The final glory awaits the Son of Man—the third man in your vision—who will come from a divided nation. That is why the men stand on a border between two countries.”
“Christ will come again,” Derek said.
“That’s what Jesus tells us,” Mary confirmed.
“Is he on the earth today?” Derek asked.
Mary smiled. “You will have to wait for the conclusion lecture to learn the answer to that.”
Derek’s open mind surprised me, but then, perhaps his switching congregations had been part of the quest for knowledge that led him to us.
The day before Derek and Connie were to hear the final lecture, Norman gave the order that I should join the crusade in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. It seemed wrong that I would leave town at such a crucial moment, but I knew that if Connie and Derek were to join, I must have faith.
My actions on the first night spent in the church continued to disturb me. I worried that Jim had confessed or that Norman knew because of his advanced spiritual awareness. If so, then why accept me on the team? Had I adequately atoned—paid indemnity—by sacrificing my art? Was it possible that Satan couldn’t use my prior sins to prevent Derek and Connie from accepting Father?
Mary allowed me to stay in Little Rock for an extra day and arranged for Derek to hear the conclusion. Connie, pregnant with their second child, felt too ill to attend.
“I came from a meeting at work,” Derek said, explaining why he was dressed in a suit. But I knew him well enough to guess that he simply wanted to look his best if what he expected to hear turned out to be right.
“I’m not sure I’m prepared for what I might learn,” Derek said tellingly.
“Have faith,” I told him. “God doesn’t allow us more than we can bear.”
For two hours, Mary detailed the cycles of history described by the Divine Principle, which culminated in a description of the “End Times,” when the Messiah would appear to a divided nation whose description matched Korea.
“As you can see,” Mary announced, “these are the Last Days. The Messiah will come from the East according to Matthew 24:27, arriving on the clouds of Heaven, as foretold in Mark 14:62, and to a suffering people, even as ever eye shall see him, according to Revelation 1:7.”
I had never before heard Mary quote specific verses from the Bible like that.
“The Messiah comes from the divided nation of Korea and bears the mantle of Jesus,” Mary concluded.
Derek leaned forward in his chair, solemnly covering his face with his hands.
“This is what changed me,” I said, placing my hand gently on Derek’s back. “We no longer have to wait. Revelation’s ending has been fulfilled.”
“The Lord has truly arrived, hasn’t he?” Derek asked. He sat up, and I could see that his eyes were red from shedding tears.
“Our founder, Sun Myung Moon, is the Second Coming of Christ,” I confirmed.
Derek opened the Bible he had brought with him. He’d been clutching it throughout the lecture. “I keep thinking about Corinthians 7:29. It says that ‘From now on those who are married should live as if they were not.’”
“Corinthians also says that time is short,” Mary added. “We only have the Lord with us for a brief moment. Each person must take up Christ’s role and become savior to their family and their community. The first step is to prepare through celibacy.”
Derek held the Bible open to the passage in Corinthians.
“Another married couple joined our group recently,” Mary said. “They paved the way for you and Connie.”
Derek grew less emotional as the seriousness of the situation struck him. “Connie needs to hear this before I make any decisions,” he said.
I started to say something, but followed Mary’s lead and left him to his own thoughts. Derek wanted to hear from God through his own prayers.
“I understand your need to pray,” Mary said. “This is a startling revelation.”
Mary went beyond protocol and told Derek about a spot of land in Little Rock that Father had blessed during a drive through the United States in the 1960s. Father stopped in every state capital and mixed Korean soil with the local earth. The land Mary described was near War
Memorial Stadium. Derek said he would go there to pray.
The next afternoon, Randall and Mary drove me to the Greyhound bus station. Before departing, they gave me a leather-bound copy of the Divine Principle as a going-away present. Earlier in the day, I transferred the title of my ’55 Chevy to the Unification Church of Arkansas. The eighteen-year-old automobile was my last possession.
On the bus, I leaned against the glass as the flat delta drifted past—a landscape of soybean fields and rice patties, dotted with shanties that were as old as Reconstruction. When the bus drove across the Mississippi River at the Greenville Bridge, miles went by without a flicker of human presence. Mississippi seemed forsaken, except for the ghosts of the Confederacy. The occasional tornado, locals claimed, formed from the release of fury in the restless soldiers’ hearts.
A barely legible sign swinging between rusted poles marked the boundary between planted fields and Hattiesburg city limits. Dim streetlights fell on aged shop signs; every car in sight had a dented fender or a prominent scratch. The newest cars were ten years out of date. A mongrel dog followed the bus until it rolled under the awning of a white-tiled gas station, which served as Hattiesburg’s bus stop. I found Norman slouched in the driver’s seat of the One World Crusade van. It took a firm knock on the window to rouse him.
“Can that be Simon Powell?” Norman said, opening the door and unfolding his long limbs as he stepped out and stretched. “You’ve turned into a mature young man overnight.”
“It’s the hair,” I said.
“You’re right. That must be it.” Norman rubbed my head the way an adult does to a child. “I can’t believe the transformation.”
I was relieved that nothing in Norman’s attitude suggested he knew anything.
The first few days in Hattiesburg, I attended special lectures that Norman gave to new members. Stanley had already heard them, and left early each day with the other members. From the start, he preferred fundraising to witnessing. My memory of Stanley in Hattiesburg was of a brother loaded with a bucket of carnations. We never found a chance to talk.