Jacob had one hand up, Pastor Divine had them both up. Pastor Henschell kept his arms close to his sides, though he sang on, one foot tapping out the rhythm. Penny and Barbara held both hands up over the crowd, but they were the only ones, other than Harry Kuss, from the home congregation. Will didn’t join her. Several women from the worship team stepped into the aisle and danced, hands in the air. The old floorboards thumped out their praise. They sang the chorus over and again, a song Job had never heard before but could not pry from his head for days after.
The song wound down. The dancing women went back to their seats. The bobbing men quieted. Pastor Divine stepped to the microphone. He didn’t bother to introduce himself. “We’ll sing some more praise songs later,” he said.
They all sat, Job taking his place between Liv and Dithy Spitzer. Dithy shook her head and muttered, “Praise songs.”
“Tonight we’re going to heal some bodies,” shouted Pastor Divine. “We’re going to heal some souls. Tonight you will see miracles in this church.” He thrust a finger at the audience. “Miracles! The Holy Spirit is going to bring miracles on this church tonight! Do I hear Hallelujah?”
Members of the worship team called out “Hallelujah!” A second later Harry Kuss echoed them.
“God wants you to be healthy. God wants you to be wealthy. Did you know that? God wants you to be healthy and wealthy. If you are ill, you’re going to leave this place healed. If you were hurting financially, you are going to leave this place rich. I guarantee it. Tonight I’m going to tell you about how faith can heal. About the anointment of the Holy Spirit. I don’t know I’m anointed by feeling. I don’t wake up with my hands on fire! Faith isn’t a feeling. How many of you are married?”
Hands went up, nearly the whole crowd.
“Do you wake up each morning thinking, Gosh I feel romantic? Men, do you hand your wife roses every day and serenade her all night long? Are you lovey-dovey every day?”
Laughter across the crowd, a warming.
“But you stay married, don’t you? You know love isn’t about those big rushes of emotion you might still get from time to time. Love isn’t always a feeling, it’s a commitment. Faith isn’t a feeling, it’s a commitment. It’s saying, God, I’ll believe in you when things are bad, and I’ll believe in you when things are good. If faith were an emotion, most of us would feel like God asked us out on a date and then stood us up. Am I right?”
Job sat up. Yes.
“But God is never unfaithful. He’ll never stand you up. And we can’t afford to stand him up. Faith is a decision. If all of us made that commitment, we’d never want for anything. There’d be no need for doctors. Doctors are for people who haven’t made that commitment, who don’t have enough faith.”
Liv choked out a laugh. Mrs. Schultz turned to look at her.
Dithy muttered, “Not enough faith,” and shifted in her seat.
The pastor pinched his nose and grinned. “Let me tell you a joke. A chicken and a bull were talking about what to offer their master for breakfast. The chicken said, ‘Let’s give him eggs and sausage.’ The bull says, ‘Well for you that’s an offering. For me that’s commitment.’ ”
Laughter across the crowd.
“Which are you? A chicken or a bull? Are you ready to die to yourself? If you’re not, you’re a chicken. You’re a disciple of convenience. There’s lots of so-called Christians out there willing to make an offering, but you won’t see them making a commitment. They’ll give that egg but won’t die to themselves. They follow God’s laws when it suits them. But if you’re ready to make a commitment to Jesus, then you’re a bull. You’ll give up your needs and desires to Jesus. You’ll die to your own desires. You’ll die to yourself.”
“Die to yourself?” whispered Liv.
“Um, give up yourself in service to the Lord,” said Job.
“What do you mean ‘give up yourself’?”
“You know, give up your wishes, desires, give up your self interests, give up your self, become an empty vessel, so God can work through you.”
“You mean like take possession of you?”
“Sort of. Yeah, like that.”
“This is a good thing?”
Pastor Divine spread his arms wide. The gold on his fingers caught the overhead lights. “Being healthy, being wealthy is all about getting your faith, your money out there working for you. You seed, what? Two bushels to the acre when planting barley? And don’t you get seventy, a hundred bushels back? That’s God’s prosperity. That’s his abundance. It’s the economics of nature. You put a little into the farm, you get back tenfold.”
“Always worked the other way around on my farm,” Steinke called out. “I gave tenfold, got nothing back.”
Laughter, fluttering petals of pale yellow, rose over the heads of the crowd. On previous Sundays, the laughter had been a deep sunflower yellow. Job put his pinkie in his ear, worked it, and looked again at his pinkie to see if there was wax.
“You don’t have to take my word for it,” Divine called over the laughter. “You can try it out for yourself. Ask the Lord to tell you how much to put in that offering plate, then name your seed, and you’ll get it. The Lord will provide.”
“Name your seed?” whispered Liv.
Job shrugged. It was new to him.
“Rod here can tell you all about it.” Divine stepped away from the mike, waved up the young man in the Hawaiian shirt.
Liv leaned towards Job, whispered, “You know that guy?”
“He came down from Edmonton with Pastor Divine.”
“Hi. I’m Rod. I did like Pastor Divine said. I listened to what the Lord was telling me to put in the offering plate. And he told me to put more than I had in, more than I had in my bank account. But I wrote the cheque anyway, and put it in the offering envelope, and I named my seed. I wrote what I wanted on the back of the envelope. I was thinking my cheque would probably bounce, but because the Lord told me to do it, I figured I better have faith.”
“Does he really believe God spoke to him?” whispered Liv.
“Yes. No. It’s more like an expression. It sort of means he got an idea. But from God.”
“How does he tell it’s from God?”
“He just knows.”
“What if it’s from the devil, pretending to be God. Or what if it’s like you said, just an idea that popped into mind. Why credit God for an idea you had yourself? I mean, how would you know the difference?”
“If it’s a good idea it comes from God. If it’s a bad idea it comes from the devil.”
“So you don’t have any ideas of your own?”
Mrs. Schultz turned, shushed them. Job lowered his voice further, leaned closer to Liv. The smell of oranges. “If they’re bad they may be your own ideas. Or if you have doubts. The devil could plant those. Or they could be your own doubts. Either way, they didn’t come from God.”
“So you never have any good ideas of your own?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Rod jammed both hands in his front pockets. “Then this friend of mine turned up with the money he owed me, and it was the exact amount of the cheque I put in the offering plate. Then a few days later, another guy I knew was buying a new leather jacket and he asked me if I wanted his old one, because it was still in really good shape, and I couldn’t believe it, because that was what I asked for on the offering envelope, a leather jacket. I named my seed and I got it.”
Pastor Divine stepped back to the microphone as Rod took his seat in the front pew next to Penny. Penny smiled at him as he sat down, and leaned over to whisper in his ear.
“Thank you, Rod,” said Divine. “The Lord will provide. Name your seed and plant it. God will give back tenfold. Give what God tells you to give. Amen. At this point we usually hand buckets around, but tonight God is telling me to help you plant that first seed. He’s telling me to get the heads of the household to bring their offerings to the front.” He picked up a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket from beneath the po
dium and held it up. “Men, as heads of the household, bring your offering, hold it high in the air so God can see it, bring it up front and put it right in this bucket I’m holding, so God and everyone in this room can see you are investing in God’s financial system.”
“That’s a good tactic,” whispered Liv. “Forcing everyone to show what they’re giving. He’s sure to get more that way.”
“It won’t work here,” said Job.
“Come on down,” said Pastor Divine. “Don’t be shy.”
Job looked around, along with everyone in the congregation, embarrassment rippling across the room. No one discussed money here and no one, except Dithy Spitzer and the children who made offerings of quarters and dimes, put his offering in the plate without having first wrapped it in the clean white church envelopes with God loveth a cheerful giver printed across the bottom. Years before, Abe had put a motion before the board to have the members’ yearly contributions published along with their names in the last church bulletin of the year, to encourage more enthusiastic giving, but was firmly voted down six to one.
“Come now, people,” said Pastor Divine. “What you give tonight will come back tenfold.”
Dithy snorted, muttered, “Tenfold.” Clacked her dentures against the roof of her mouth.
Jacob stepped forward with a fifty dollar bill, held high for everyone to see and placed it in the bucket. But no one else came up. Not even members of the worship team. Perhaps they felt they were making enough of a contribution to the event.
Pastor Henschell whispered in Pastor Divine’s ear.
“All right,” said Pastor Divine. “Pastor Henschell has suggested we hand the buckets around. So, attendants?”
Steinke and Solverson passed the Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets row to row, starting at the front. The offering bucket made its way down the row. Liv handed it on to Job without contributing. He put in an envelope he’d prepared at home and handed the bucket to Mrs. Spitzer, who made change from a five.
“All right,” said Pastor Divine. “Let’s have a few more praise songs!”
The congregation stood, sang.
“I feel the Spirit in this place,” Pastor Divine boomed over the voices.
Many church members stopped singing, uncertain of what to do. But the worship team went on singing, and some spoke in tongues quietly.
Pastor Divine took the microphone off the stand, carried it out to the front pew and waved a hand in front of him. “I feel the Holy Spirit here. It’s very thick here, over this section of the crowd. Do you feel it? The Holy Spirit swells on our song, on our praise. It’s very thick here tonight. Here it comes. I can feel it swelling!”
The music swelled, and the singing and the speaking in tongues swelled with it. Then just as it started, the din subsided into gentle singing, whispered glossolalia. “Feel that?” said Pastor Divine. “The Holy Spirit’s like the wind, comes and goes. Here comes another gust!”
The cacophony rose again. A woman from the worship team shouted out as if in pain. The music quieted. “That was just a breeze,” said Pastor Divine. He pointed at the ceiling. “Somebody turn off these fans so we can feel the breeze of the Holy Spirit.” Steinke flicked off the switch, the fans slowed to a stop. “Here comes another gust. Feel it!”
The noise rose yet again and Job could almost feel the breath of the Holy Spirit on his face. He felt Liv’s, for certain. “You believe this guy?” she said.
“Who feels the Holy Spirit on them?” Hands shot up, eager children with the right answer. “Come forward.”
A line of fifteen formed down the aisle, all city folk. Some from the worship team, others as neatly dressed but without the air of professionalism. Likely they had come down from Bountiful Harvest as well. Volunteers to spread the fire. Or out for a night’s entertainment. Job could see the fun in it, the excitement of meeting God head-on, touching the divine on a Saturday night.
“Catchers!” said Pastor Divine. “I need catchers!” Men from the worship team stepped forward, braced themselves to take the weight.
Pastor Divine talked into the face of the first woman, waving a hand gently back and forth in front of her. “I see the Holy Spirit over you, enveloping you. It’s like a bubble. Nothing else can come inside. No germs. No bacteria. When the Holy Spirit is over you, you are clean!” The woman swayed back and forth in response to his hand, as if she were a puppet. He made a sizzling sound, touched her forehead and yelled, “Fire!” The woman fell back into the catcher’s arms. He laid her gently on the floor and moved on. The woman convulsed on the floor as if suffering from an epileptic fit.
“He’s doing a stage hypnotist’s show,” whispered Liv.
When the pastor had finished knocking down the row of people, he climbed over them to get back to the front. “I should mention that if you’re too shy to come forward tonight, or if you have someone at home who is sick, bring a cloth handkerchief to me and I will anoint it for you. Cotton or linen handkerchiefs work best, but don’t bring me man-made fibres like nylon or Saran Wrap or aluminum foil like some people have. It doesn’t hold the anointment. Though in a pinch, toilet paper works quite well.”
Liv’s laugh high and clear across the congregation, a tumble of silver balls. Job inched closer to Mrs. Spitzer.
Pastor Divine glanced at Liv before carrying on. “All you have to do is be open to the healing that Jesus has already given you. I’m just the doorman. I open the door so God’s healing can take place. All you have to do is be willing.” He held out a hand, picked his way between the bodies of those slain in the Spirit. “The Holy Spirit is blowing through again. Feel it! It’s thicker down here. You!” He said, pointing at Dithy. “The Spirit’s in you.” He pointed at Liv. “But not in you! You are empty of the Holy Spirit!”
Liv laughed.
Pastor Divine stepped into the pew, put a hand on Job’s shoulder. “But the fire’s on you! Stand up!”
Job stood.
“The Spirit of healing is thick on you. You’ll feel it in your hands as heat. Are your hands hot?” He kept command of the microphone, didn’t point it at Job.
Job felt the heat in his sweaty hands. Nodded.
“You can heal, did you know that? Anyone can heal if they’ve got the Holy Spirit in them, anyone.”
He took Job by the arm, led him to the aisle, shifted the foot of one slain in the Spirit to the side. “Who needs a healing?”
One of the slain jumped up, took her spot at the front of the line, others from the city behind her. A big woman, in a shapeless green dress. Swollen ankles.
Pastor Divine asked, “Where are you hurting?” and tipped the microphone to her.
“I’ve been clinically depressed for a year. I’m on medication.”
“You believe you can be healed?”
“Yes.”
“Then be healed!” He took Job’s hot hand, placed its palm on the woman’s forehead. The woman fell back, into the arms of a catcher.
The next woman in line said she had arthritis, and fell backwards before Job touched her. “It’s your proximity,” explained Pastor Divine. “When you’re filled with the Holy Spirit, you can just walk into the room and everyone in it will be drunk on the Holy Spirit. All right. You’ve got the hang of it. Touch their forehead and command them to be healed in Jesus’ name.”
“Is that what I say? Be healed in Jesus’ name?”
“Sure. Whatever the Holy Spirit lays on your heart. That’s what you say.”
Job’s hands shook. He cleared his throat, coughed. “What’s your ailment?”
The woman in front of him was in her late fifties, heavy-set. Her dark eyes followed Pastor Divine as he made his way over bodies, and she boomed into the microphone. “Diabetes,” she said. “Borderline. I’m on a restricted diet. Miss my chocolate.”
Job coughed into his hand, saw a momentary look of disgust flit across the woman’s face. “You got a cold,” she said.
“No. Just a tickle in my throat.”
“
The last thing I need is a cold.”
He rubbed the cough onto his pant leg, reached for the woman’s forehead. She ducked. He waved his hand in the air around her head, hoping it appeared authentic. “In Jesus’ name,” he commanded, “be healed!” But lost his voice, trailed off into a squeak. Coughed.
The woman didn’t fall backwards, and instead looked him in the eye. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“The Holy Ghost has moved on,” said the catcher behind her. The woman stomped back to her pew, and the others in line drifted off.
Job, let off the hook, fled through the sanctuary doors to the foyer and poured himself coffee. His hands shook. He felt like he’d run a marathon. His heart pumped; he smelled the stink of anxiety from his pits. He drank, staring through the window of the sanctuary door, resolved to stay in the foyer until the service was over. He didn’t know how he’d face Liv.
Inside the sanctuary, everyone, save those lying in the aisle or dancing, was fanning themselves with the pamphlets for the evangelical workshops Pastor Divine and Rod had placed on the pews. With the fan off, the combined heat of their bodies was stifling. Almost everyone had the wilted look of week-old tulips. Harry Kuss slumped in his seat and let out a snore loud enough for Job to hear in the foyer. Laughter scattered across the room.
“There’s another manifestation of the Holy Spirit,” Pastor Divine said. He carried the microphone down to the first row. They all listened to Harry snore. “It’s as if he’s saying amen to what I’ve been saying.”
He carried the mike back to the pulpit and threw a hand in the air. “Jesus is going to heal you of that demon you’ve got riding on you. You got the demon of cancer? He will cast that demon out! You got the demon of arthritis? He will cast that demon out!”
“Demon?” Dithy called out. The congregation turned to look at her.
“Yes!” Pastor Divine jabbed a finger at Dithy. “Demons! Now I’ve got a word of caution for you. Not every illness is caused by a demon. Sometimes God’s got a plan for you. Sometimes God has something to teach you. Yes, God teaches through misfortune. Let me say that again, God teaches through misfortune!”
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