by M. R. Hall
Wrestling with these conflicting thoughts as she walked back to her car, she passed a fly-poster among the many plastered on the outside wall of the multi-storey. An attractive young black man pointed out of the picture above the caption, I’m on a mission. Are you? Beneath the caption, it said: Come to where the love is. Mission Church of God, 5 Fleetway.
She told herself it was purely idle curiosity that made her drive across town at the end of the day to see for herself. At the south-east edge of the city off a busy road through Bedminster, she turned into the vast and busy car park for what she had remembered as a multiplex cinema, bowling alley and pizza restaurant. Ross had had his thirteenth birthday party here. She and her ex-husband, David, had celebrated the occasion by yelling at each other in front of all the kids, ensuring Ross never invited any of them home again. The cinema and alley had now been knocked into one vast barn of a building, in front of which stood an illuminated white cross which reached higher than the peak of the roof. The former pizza restaurant, which occupied a separate chalet-style building opposite, had been re-branded ‘McG’s’. All the parking spaces near the building were already taken and the rest were filling quickly. Slipping into a zone reserved for employees and official visitors, she pulled up next to a sleek maroon-coloured sports car that made her ten-year-old VW look like a wreck.
She joined the horde of casually dressed families and groups of teenagers heading for the main entrance of the Mission Church, unable to stop herself becoming infected by the excitement in the air. Black and white kids, parents and infants, all mingled together, eager to join the same party. Loudspeakers set high up on poles relayed the sound from inside: a big congregation clapping and cheering as a choir and full band belted out a catchy gospel number. Jenny found herself alongside a group of lively teenage girls who swung their bodies in time with the chorus. Straight ahead was the entrance to the main auditorium. Grinning teenage boys wearing MCG T-shirts shook hands with the faithful as they went in, saying, ‘God bless you, brother,’ and ‘Welcome to God’s house.’ To the left was an open-plan retail area that resembled an airport mini-mall. Jenny’s eye was caught by a sign hanging over one of the aisles that said ‘Decency’.
Stepping out of the flow of worshippers, she entered the shop. One entire centre shelf was filled with Eva Donaldson’s scarred face staring calmly from the cover of Fallen Angel: How God Saved a Porn Star. Jenny picked up a copy and was leafing through the pages of simply written prose when she became aware of a TV screen further along the aisle on which an interview between Eva and a young pastor was playing. Dressed demurely in a dark suit and silk blouse buttoned up to the neck, Eva wore her hair back from her broken face, proud of the scars that gouged vertically through the left side of her face leaving her eye partially closed.
The pastor asked her how it felt to know that her films were still being watched by millions of people on the internet. Eva said, ‘Since coming to Christ and being born again in the spirit, I know that the person they are watching isn’t me. But aside from that, people should know that a lot of what I did was forced on me by contracts I was too frightened to break. Even in my state of sin, much of the time I wasn’t consenting, I was letting myself be abused, and anyone who watches those films is a party to that.’ Pausing to wipe away a tear, she collected herself and straightened her shoulders. ‘But my real message is that the dividing line is clear – if you’re watching pornography you’re not with God, and if you’re not with God, well, I don’t have to tell you whose company you’re keeping.’
‘Can I help you, madam?’
A slender, red-headed boy of no more than sixteen hovered nearby. His bright yellow T-shirt read: TEAM MCG: on mission for God.
‘No thank you,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m just looking.’
‘I can recommend Eva’s book. Lots of people say it’s changed their lives. She certainly changed mine.’
Jenny placed Fallen Angel back on the shelf. ‘Maybe I’ll call by on my way out.’
She turned to go.
‘Is this your first visit?’ the boy asked.
‘Yes,’ Jenny answered, more abruptly than she had intended.
Unfazed, the boy said, ‘My name’s Freddy. Pleased to meet you.’
He held out a pale, freckled hand.
‘Jenny Cooper.’
Freddy gave her a warm smile. ‘Welcome to MCG, Jenny. We’re a church, but not as you know it. You’ll find everything here’s very relaxed. There are no particular rules about how to behave, but if you’ve got any questions just ask anyone wearing a team shirt. Is there anything you’d like to know?’
Jenny asked, ‘Did you say you knew Eva Donaldson?’
‘She was one of the first people I met here. She was leader of my study group.’ A hint of sadness entered Freddy’s bright expression. ‘She was a beautiful person. We all miss her very much.’
Freddy’s sincerity ignited a feeling of maternal warmth inside her, and Jenny found herself wishing her son could be a little more like him. ‘Why don’t I take the book now?’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be able to move in here later.’
‘You know how many people we’re hoping for tonight? Five thousand.’
‘You’re kidding. Is it that many every week?’
Lighting up, Freddy said, ‘It’s usually closer to three but Pastor Bobby’s here – he’s on a world tour. He’s opening new churches in Amsterdam, Hamburg, Moscow and Sydney.’
A roar of applause issued from the auditorium as the choir reached the end of their number. The bookshelves shook with the vibration of stamping feet.
‘We’d better hurry,’ the boy said. ‘You don’t want to miss the start.’
The body of the church was the size of a small aircraft hangar and set out like an amphitheatre. Five thousand seats were arranged on a gently sloping floor facing a raised, semi-circular stage, on which stood a choir dressed in shiny purple robes alongside a twelve-piece band. Two big screens suspended on cables from the ceiling announced, ‘Bobby DeMont – World Tour’. Jenny found an end-of-row seat as the man himself jogged out of the wings, his startling image filling the big screens. In his late forties, slim, tanned and with thick walnut-coloured hair, Bobby DeMont wore a suit and tie and silver-tipped cowboy boots which glinted under the lights. The preacher soaked up the applause like a movie star, bowing to each section of the auditorium in turn before holding up his outspread hands and closing his eyes.
‘Dear Lord, I am truly humbled to be here today.’
‘A-men,’ the audience thundered in reply.
‘Now, as you all know,’ Bobby began, strutting to and fro across the stage, his homely southern accent picked up by an invisible microphone and relayed with perfect clarity through a network of speakers, ‘it’s been a little over fifteen years since a young country pastor from the back hills of West Virginia answered God’s call to set up shop in the big city. Bobby, the Lord said to me that evening in my itty-bitty tin-shack church in Oakville, much as you love these good people you grew up with, I’m gonna to take you on a journey. I’m gonna take you on a journey to a city you’ve never been to before, the seat of your government no less, to fish for souls.’ He grinned into the cameras. ‘So with nothing more than four hundred dollars and a suitcase full of hick clothes I learned the meaning of what it is to be a fool for Christ. When I stepped off that bus in Washington DC I literally did not know which way to turn. Everywhere I looked there was traffic and host’le faces, and I thought: man, you’ve lost your mind, this is crazy; this isn’t an act of faith, it’s an act of stupidity.’ Bobby stopped abruptly and stared out at the sea of admirers. The air crackled with expectation. He continued in hushed, dramatic tones: ‘And after I’d walked the streets for an hour or so I wandered into a poor black neighbourhood. There were kids on the corners dealing drugs, prostitutes giving me the eye, guys in bandannas who looked as if they’d shoot you down for a nickel. And I’ll be honest, folks, I was afraid – I’d never been to no big city befo
re. I tried to retrace my steps but I just got more and more lost and desperate. I was scurrying along a sidewalk that was all covered with trash and broken needles and I turned a corner and ran slap-bam into a group of bums outside a liquor store smoking what I took to be marijuana. There was four of them, all gang tattoos and gold teeth – you know the kind. Well, they took their time looking me up and down in my western boots and my cowboy hat, and then the biggest of ’em stepped toward me. I was so frightened I couldn’t even run; tell the truth, I could hardly breathe. Then this fella says, “Sir, you look like a man who’s lost his way. May I be of any assistance?” And in this squeaky little voice I said, “Sure. Can you point me the way to downtown?” And this fella smiled like I’ll never forget: a cross between a great white shark and Charles Manson. Then guess what, folks?’ Bobby smiled. ‘He pulled a gun, robbed my money and took my best hat.’
The crowd roared and, watching Bobby’s smiling face on the big screen, Jenny couldn’t help sharing their elation.
‘You see the moral of the story is, not even Almighty God can protect us from our foolishness.’
Amens and more laughter rang around the auditorium till Bobby raised his hands to call for silence.
‘Four years in college and a solid upbringing, I shoulda known better,’ he trumpeted, stamping the heel of his boot on the stage. ‘I shoulda known that God gives us the tools and it’s down to us to use ’em the very best we can. Well, fortunately, he gave me a second chance. When I’d done calling my mama and getting an ear full of I-told-you-sos, I volunteered myself at Mount Zion Church. Three weeks later I was promoted to a salaried position as an outreach worker and street pastor. My job was to pick street drunks and junkies out of the gutter and feed soup to the homeless. I worked hard and lived simple, but I’ll be honest with you, my friends, it was tough, thankless toil and my faith was sorely tested. Two unbroken years of service in the Lord later, I was sent out to take over a run-down old church in a neighbourhood so wild even the rats were scared to go out at night. How I longed for green fields the day I set eyes on that place. I swear, if I could’ve raised the fare I’d have jumped right on the Greyhound back to Oakville. But I didn’t have a penny. There was nowhere to run. Well, that beat-up heap of rubble was so filthy and depressing I decided the only thing I could do was to name it in such a way as to give me hope, because to be honest, people, right then I had none in my heart.’ Bobby turned his gaze to the floor and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I named it the Mission Church of God.’
A profound silence descended over the congregation, broken only by a single ‘Praise be’ from a lone female voice deep in their midst.
‘That was exactly twelve years ago next Tuesday. Friends, I’ll make a confession. Even a pastor forgets to read his scripture sometimes. There I was in a crime-ridden slum pining for the forests and creeks of my carefree youth when I should’ve been reading Luke 13:19. The kingdom of God is like a small—’
‘Mustard seed!’ the audience chanted in unison.
‘That’s right. And O hallelujah praise God Almighty how that mustard seed has grown. That first Sunday I preached to eight people, and three of them was asleep! Twelve years down the line there’s not a stadium been built could hold all the members of this Mission Church of God. Right now, ladies and gentleman, kids, this mighty tree that’s spreading across the whole wide world has more than two hundred thousand birds nesting in its branches. If that isn’t proof that God holds good to his promises no matter how incredible they seem, then you tell me what is.’
The crowd jumped to their feet, hands raised, hallelujahs ringing out.
‘Don’t thank me, thank the Lord,’ Bobby cried out and turned to the band, who struck up right on cue. The words to the worship song scrolled up the big screens:
Shine Jesus shine,
Fill this land
With the father’s glory,
Blaze spirit blaze, set our hearts on fire . . .
The song was hypnotic, rousing, and as it drew to a close Jenny felt the pent-up energy in the auditorium replaced with a strange and powerful sense of collective peace, as if five thousand people were united in love and goodwill.
Suspending judgement, she allowed herself to be carried along with the tide, laughing and applauding with her neighbours as Bobby stepped up again to preach on the subject of a Christian’s duty to live in the spirit, no matter where it might lead him. With a string of humorous anecdotes about his dealings with sceptical and corrupt politicians around the globe, Bobby showed his audience that speaking the truth, no matter how challenging, was the only way to walk with God. And the alternative to God, he said, was the devil.
‘Any of you going to walk with the devil?’ he challenged.
‘No!’ the audience boomed in reply.
‘Well, ain’t you lucky people – you’ve each got four thousand, nine hundred and ninety brothers and sisters here to hold you to your promise. Now I want you to turn to your neighbours, shake them by the hand and wish them strength in Jesus.’
Jenny found herself overwhelmed with outstretched hands, perfect strangers wishing her strength and offering ardent blessings.
‘And now,’ Bobby said, ‘I’m going to introduce you to two men who’ve been towers of strength to me and have helped build this wonderful church here in Bristol, England – Mike Turnbull and Lennox Strong.’
The two men joined him on stage to a thunder of applause. Michael Turnbull was a similar age to Bobby, casually dressed and with the same glowing countenance that radiated wholesomeness and prosperity. Lennox Strong was an athletic black man in his late twenties. A tight T-shirt hugged his muscled torso.
Bobby invited each of them to give their testimonies for the benefit of all those who still doubted the truth of God’s presence. Michael stepped forward first and told his story of being a wealthy, burnt-out ex-businessman who felt as wretched about his life’s work and his contribution to the explosion in pornography as that great evangelist John Newton had once done about his role in the slave trade. It was hearing Pastor Bobby DeMont, over three years ago, that had finally opened the doors of his heart and changed him for ever. It was Bobby who had led him to realize that, through the Lord’s infinite grace, even the most evil sinner can be made clean. He’d thrown open the doors and God rushed in as fast as daylight flooding a darkened room. But he hadn’t let him rest easy. No, he had presented him with the biggest challenge of his life. Not only did he charge him with raising a church in the parched sands of a spiritual desert, he asked him to make war on pornography. It was far more than one human being could achieve alone, but God had filled him with joy and a sense of purpose which carried him from victory to victory. And now the end was in sight – an earthly law to enact the law of God was only days away from coming into existence.
A huge cheer went up like the roar of a football crowd. Michael Turnbull seemed to radiate benevolence as he graciously acknowledged it and stood aside for Lennox Strong.
The young pastor received a welcome that made even that given to Bobby DeMont seem modest. The shrill cries of young women sounded out above the crowd, prompting Bobby DeMont to whisper playfully in his ear. Lennox Strong showed no hint of embarrassment at the rapturous greeting. He clasped his hands in front of his chest and waited for quiet.
He spoke with a pronounced Bristol accent, but with the ease and confidence of a true professional. The son of a single teenage mother, he was a drug abuser, a car thief and a member of a violent gang all by the time he was thirteen. At fourteen, he was sentenced to five months in juvenile detention for robbing a defenceless old woman at knifepoint. Far from reforming him, his spell inside introduced him to seasoned criminals he tried hard to impress and emulate. During the next several years he was in and out of custody as he went on a spree of burglary, car-theft and drug dealing. On his nineteenth birthday the police caught him carrying a gun.
‘And every day I thank God that I was arrested before I fired that weapon in anger,’ Len
nox said. ‘Another week and I would have to have proved to my so-called brothers that I wasn’t just a boy with a gun, but a man who’d used one. I’ll confess it openly, I had only darkness in my soul.’
The Lord found Lennox four months after his release from prison. He was just twenty-two, ‘an angry ball of testosterone and muscle spoiling for a fight’. It was late into a wild night when he took some cocaine on top of alcohol and amphetamines. ‘I thought I could take anything, but I went down like a felled tree.’ Lennox was rushed to hospital suffering a series of cardiac arrests. He was resuscitated five times in the ambulance. He couldn’t recall much of the journey, but he did remember suffering the final excruciating arrest which was to stop his heart for a full three minutes.
‘My friends, I’d never had a spiritual thought in my life. I believed that when you died the lights went out and that was it. The lights went out all right, but it wasn’t an end. I felt myself leaving my physical body and going down . . . and down, into a blackness I can’t even describe. The further I sank, the hotter and more stifling it became. I could feel my lungs burning.’ He paused to take a breath. ‘Was I terrified? . . . There are no words to express the fear I felt as I realized I was falling into hell. I may have known nothing about the Bible, but I knew what I was looking at, and it was more real than you are now. And then this scream came from somewhere within me, “Jesus, save me!” There was no answer, and this is God’s truth, my friends, I felt my flesh beginning to boil. I cried out again, “Jesus, please . . . save me!” And suddenly there was a rush of wind, and for a moment it was as if two strong men were pulling me in opposite directions, then bam!’ He clapped his hands. ‘I felt as if I’d split in two, but suddenly I shot upwards like a cork out of a bottle and I found myself standing at the side of the bed where the doctors were shocking my heart, and, very calmly, I lay down . . . The next thing I knew I was waking up in the ward with my mother and little sister looking down at me. And I’m telling you now, I’d never felt so much love in my whole life . . .’ Lennox’s voice clogged with emotion.