Spellbinder

by Harold Robbins

  Old-Fashioned Gospel

  Saturday

  every Sat. night 7 P.M.

  The Man With the Gifts of Healing,

  Prophecy, Tongues and Faith

  Parker J. Willard, Pastor

  “This Pastor Willard sounds like quite a preacher,” Preacher said as he got out of the car.

  “Wait until you meet him,” Joe said, taking out his briefcase. “Parker Willard built this church thirty years ago. At that time his congregation was more than six hundred people. That’s down to about two hundred fifty now.”

  “What does he say the reason for that is?”

  Joe glanced at him. “Television. He says TV preachers make no demands on their congregations except money. He says that it’s easier for them to sit back and be entertained than to come to church where they have to participate in the services. He says TV religion is like take-home foods—may not be as good, but there’s no work to prepare it and cook it. Just put it on the table and eat.”

  Preacher looked at him. “He may not be altogether wrong.” He paused on the steps of the church. “How does he feel about our proposal?”

  “He’s interested,” Joe said. “That’s why he asked us to come down and talk to him. He’s quite honest about it. He says if nothing comes along to increase his congregation to somewhere near its original size, it will take a miracle to keep the church open until the end of the year.”

  Preacher nodded slowly. “In a way it’s sad. All those years, all that work, only to come to nothing.” He began to open the door to the church. “The Lord works in His own mysterious ways. Maybe we’re the miracle he’s been looking for.”

  Inside, the church was as bare and dilapidated as the exterior. The wooden floors and benches had not been painted for years and showed it. There was a crack in the window on which the cross had been painted behind the pulpit. Parts of the railing before it were broken and missing.

  “Pastor Willard lives in a few rooms in the back of the church,” Joe said, going to a door behind the railing and knocking on it politely.

  A small man with curly gray hair, dressed in a black preacher’s suit, white shirt and string tie, opened the door. His face broke into a wide smile, revealing white teeth in his dark face. “Brother Washington, come in,” he said. “I was beginning to think you were jiving me when it got to be so late.”

  “You should know better than that, Brother Willard,” Joe said. “Our plane got in an hour late.” He shook the old man’s hand. “I’d like you to meet Dr. C. Andrew Talbot.”

  “I feel like I know you.” Brother Willard smiled. “I seen you on the TV so many times. You’re a mighty talker. With that voice of yours you can sweet-talk the bugs out of the Lord’s vineyards.”

  “Thank you, Brother Willard. I hear you’ve done some mighty work in the Lord’s vineyards yourself.”

  “I try, Brother Talbot. The good Lord knows I try.” He led them through one room into the kitchen. “But I’ve been given a hard row to hoe.” He broke into a smile. “Maybe that’s the difference between workin’ in the Lord’s cotton fields instead of his vineyards.”

  “In the sight of the Lord we are all laborers together,” Preacher said.

  Pastor Willard smiled. “I think I hear something of the Corinthians in there, Brother.”

  “You have good ears, Brother,” Preacher said.

  The curly-gray-haired man gestured to the chairs around the kitchen table. “Won’t you be seated, Brothers? Mrs. Willard baked us a fine pecan pie before she left for work this morning. It will only take me a few minutes to have the coffee ready.”

  ***

  “That’s the most pecan pie I ever ate,” Joe said, pushing away his empty plate after finishing his second portion. “I’m goin’ to have to start dietin’ tomorrow.”

  Pastor Willard smiled broadly. “Mrs. Willard will be real pleased to hear that. She’s mighty proud of her pecan pie.”

  “She should be,” Preacher said.

  “You can tell her in person,” Willard said. “She should be home from work soon.” He sighed slightly. “I don’t know what I would have done without that woman. If she didn’t go out to work, I would have lost this church two years ago.”

  Preacher looked at him. “You’re a lucky man. A woman like that is hard to find. How long you been married?”

  “Be three years in September. I’d been a widower for two years before that and even when I asked her to marry me, I never really believed she would.”

  “Why is that?” Preacher asked.

  “I’m not a young man,” Willard said. “I’m sixty-three, and she’s only twenty-three. Life sure is strange. I remember holdin’ her in my arms and baptizin’ her when she was only a week old.”

  Preacher and Joe glanced at each other without speaking.

  A reflective look came into the old man’s eyes. “I’ve had this gift of prophecy and faith ever since I was a kid and my mother took me to church and I used to sit on her knee. I always had this feeling of being close to Jesus—that He would let me see things comin’ a long time before they happened, things that nobody else saw. Like I always knew that my work would be preachin’ his words. And when I was holding that squallin’ little baby and immersin’ her in the Little River out back of the church, I seemed to hear the voice of Jesus in my head jes as plain as you hear my voice right this moment.

  “‘Love this child,’ He said. ‘Because as you bring her to Me with love, someday I will bring her to you.’”

  He looked at them. “I didn’t know what He meant then, and in time I even forgot it. But then, on the morning we was to git married and I was on my knees prayin’ to Him fer guidance, askin’ Him if I, an old man, was doing the right thing and not layin’ too heavy a burden on a young child like her, somethin’ made me git up and go back into the church records. It was then, when I found the page with her name on it twenty years back, I remembered the words He spoke to me and I was comforted. It was His plan all along that we should be together.”

  The very simplicity of the old man’s words stirred Preacher. He reached across the table and pressed Pastor Willard’s hand. They sat for a moment without exchanging a word, then tears came to the old man’s eyes and he bent his head, kissing the back of Preacher’s hand.

  “Why do you weep, Brother?” Preacher asked gently.

  The pastor’s eyes were still moist. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe I’m jes tired. Or maybe I’m afraid that I’m too old and no longer have the strength to carry on. That I will lose both, my wife and my church.”

  “Why do you feel that?”

  The old man’s voice was husky with hurt. “I know she wants a child. But I have never been able to become a real husband to her.”

  “Has she complained to you about it?”

  Willard shook his head. “Never. She knows that I love her.”

  Preacher met his eyes. “What makes you think that Jesus will be less understanding than your wife? He, too, knows that you love Him.” He was silent for a moment, glancing at Joe, then back to the pastor. “I have to believe that is why He brought us together here today.”

  Chapter Five

  Pastor Willard was nervous. He looked at his watch. It was after six o’clock. “Ain’t nobody here yet,” he said in a worried voice.

  “People are still eatin’ their supper,” Joe said. “The radio commercials said seven o’clock. Stop worryin’. We know what we’re doin’.”

  “I pray to the Lord that you’re right,” Willard said fervently. He turned and looked down the aisle at the giant television screen suspended from the ceiling over the pulpit. “Man,” he said in a wondering voice, “who ever heard of a Monday Night Football prayer meeting?”

  Joe laughed. “If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em. If the bars and cafés do it because they’re losing business on Monday night, why shouldn’t the church?”

  “People should come to church because they want to hear the word of God,” Pastor Willard said.


  “The trick is to get ’em here,” Joe said. “After that it’s up to you to get them to listen to the message.”

  “Sure that machine will work?” the old man asked.

  Joe smiled. “It will work. We checked it all out. It’s really very simple.” He went down the aisle to the pulpit, followed by the old man. The video cassette player was mounted on the platform. “All you have to remember are those four buttons. They’re plainly marked. Videotape. Broadcast. Music. Talk. All you do is press each button according to the schedule on the typed sheet in the slot next to the buttons. And don’t worry if you forget to do one of them. The player is already programmed to make the changes.”

  Pastor Willard looked down at the machine. “That ain’t what I’m worried about. I practiced enough to know how to work the machine. But what if somethin’ goes wrong and it doesn’t work?”

  “Nothing will go wrong,” Joe said reassuringly. “But if it does—you’re a preacher, aren’t you?—then preach.”

  Willard smiled. “That I know I can do.”

  “The music is programmed to begin at six thirty,” Joe said. “At seven thirty you go to the pulpit and start the videotape. The tape will run five minutes, then you press to talk. You have twenty-five minutes. Exactly at eight o’clock the machine goes to broadcast automatically. At halftime you go back to talk for fifteen minutes, then turn back to broadcast until the end of the game. After that you go to video another five minutes, then talk again and to music when they begin to leave.”

  “This ain’t like no church I ever seen,” Willard said.

  “It’s today’s church,” Joe said smiling. “Someday all churches will be like this. God didn’t give us electronics for nothing but worldly purposes, but also to better serve Him.”

  “I hear you, Brother,” Pastor Willard said fervently. “Amen to that.”

  The first of the congregation began to enter. Joe looked at them then at the old man. “Might as well start the music, Brother Willard,” he said. “And then you can go to the door and welcome your parishioners.”

  ***

  The small church was filled to the overflowing. Every seat was filled and others were crowded against the wall at the back of the church. Joe sat on a small chair near the door to the pastor’s quarters and watched as, exactly at seven thirty, the old man took his place behind the pulpit.

  A moment later, the big screen sprang into life. A small gold cross at first, then growing larger and larger until it filled the whole screen. Title credits in black-shadowed purple lettering began to appear on the arms of the cross as the deep rich radio baritone of the announcer’s voice came through the speakers.

  ***

  “The Little River Baptist Pentecostal Church, Parker J. Willard, Pastor, in association with the Community of God Church of Christian America Triumphant presents The Monday Night Football Prayer Meeting. And now, Brothers and Sisters, your very own pastor, in person, Parker J. Willard!”

  ***

  The sound of applause came through the speakers and automatically the congregation began to join in. Smiling, Pastor Willard stood there for a moment, then, raising his hand for silence, pressed the talk button with his other hand. The screen went to black. He waited until the congregation finished with their applause.

  He placed both hands on the edges of the pulpit and looked down at them for a moment before speaking. His smile took the gentle reproof from his words. “Brothers and Sisters, there are many of you I have not seen in this church for too long a time. I want you all to know I am glad to see you.

  “And I’m sure that the good Lord is too. Because the important thing is not whether you came here to see a football game or not. The important thing is that you came here to His house for a prayer meeting.

  “What we will see here is a miracle of God. His miracle of electronics, His gift of love to make man’s life on this earth rich and fuller so that we may better appreciate the even greater miracle He has given us. The gift of His Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, who died on the cross for our sins and the sins of all, then and in the ages to come, who will acknowledge Him and be washed in the Blood of the Lamb.

  “Less than one month ago, I was on my knees in front of this pulpit. I prayed to the Lord to send me a miracle. A miracle to save my church, a miracle to bring my sheep back into His house, so that this church would not disappear from His sight.

  “As I rose from my knees, I heard the phone begin to ring. I went into my room and picked it up. A voice I never heard before came to my ear. ‘Pastor Parker J. Willard?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘This is your brother in Christ, Joe Washington, speaking. I’m calling you from Churchland, Texas.’ ‘What can I do for you, Brother?’ I asked. ‘No, Brother,’ he said. ‘It’s what I can do for you. I want to help you in your work for Jesus Christ.’ ‘Thank you, Brother. I need all the help I can get,’ I said. ‘But why of all the churches in the country did you call me?’ ‘I don’t really know,’ he answered. ‘But when I was lookin’ down at the hundreds of churches on the list in front of me, a mysterious power guided my fingers and the next thing I knew I was dialing your number.’”

  The old man paused for a moment and looked out at his congregation, then began again. “That was the first miracle. Jesus had heard my prayers.” He turned and waved at the big screen behind him. “And what you’re goin’ to see here tonight is only another one of the never-ending stream of miracles that can come to each and every one of us if we only get on our knees and pray to God.”

  He looked down at the pulpit for a moment, then back at them, a smile coming to his face. “And now, set back in your seats and enjoy Monday Night Football on our giant screen. I will be back to talk some more at half time.” He pressed the button marked broadcast and came down from the pulpit to the applause of the congregation and the voice of Howard Cosell coming through the speakers.

  He sat in a small chair next to Joe and leaned toward him, whispering, “It’s like the good old days. This old church ain’t been so crowded in years. I jes hope it’ll keep up.”

  “It will,” Joe smiled. “But it’s something we’ll all have to keep working at. We’ll see to it that you’ll get all our special programs during the week plus our fifteen-minute video sermon on Sunday, which you can put on before you speak. We also have a twenty-minute episode, ‘The Story of the Bible,’ for your Sunday-school class. You also receive all our literature plus our own special edition of the Bible to be given free to your congregation. We’ll even send in men to help fix up and paint the church so that it all looks better and you can feel proud of it again.”

  The old man looked at him. “You people are spending a lot of money jes to help a poor church like mine.”

  “We don’t intend for it to remain a poor church.” Joe smiled. “That’s why we have that franchise agreement between us. You become an affiliate of the Community of God and agree to give to us fifty percent of your collections over the first two hundred dollars a week you collect. That way you help bear the cost of this expensive work we’re doing.”

  “We haven’t collected two hundred dollars a week for two years now,” the old man said. “What if we don’t git more’n that?”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Joe smiled. “After all, money isn’t the only thing. The most important job we have is to serve our Lord and bring His people to Jesus Christ.”

  “Amen,” the old man said.

  “Then you’ll sign the agreement?”

  “Right after the prayer meetin’,” Willard said. He turned his head to look up at the big screen. “Look at that picture. Ain’t the Lord wonderful?”

  “He is. Praise the Lord.” Joe began to get to his feet. “Is it all right if I call Dr. Talbot to tell him that you’ll sign the agreement? He’ll be real pleased to hear that.”

  “The phone is in the kitchen. You go ahead,” the old man said, without taking his eyes from the screen. “And ask Mrs. Willard fer a cup of coffee if you want.”

  **
*

  Mrs. Willard was seated at the kitchen table. She rose to her feet when he entered. “Brother Washington,” she said in a soft Southern voice.

  “Don’t let me disturb you, Sister Willard,” he said quickly. “I just came to use the telephone.”

  She gestured to the wall. “It’s over there. Would you like me to fix you a cup of coffee?”

  “I would appreciate that, Sister Willard,” he said, picking up the telephone. He watched her while the call was going through. She was a tall girl, more than a head taller than her husband, slightly lighter in color than he, with curly hair that resisted attempts to straighten it. He looked with approval at the swell of her full breasts and buttocks straining against her cotton dress. Her body was exactly the opposite of Beverly’s, who was thin and delicately formed. Both had their points, but Sister Willard was a lot of woman. Not exactly the kind of woman he thought would marry the pastor. Preacher couldn’t be found. Joe left the message with his secretary and put down the telephone just as Mrs. Willard turned and placed the coffee on the table.

  “Dr. Talbot wasn’t in,” he said, sitting down.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She was still standing.

  “It’s all right. I left a message,” he said. He looked up at her and smiled. “Why don’t you sit down, Sister Willard?”

  Without answering, she took her seat across the table from him. He took a sip of coffee. “You make a good cup of coffee,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking at him.

  “It looks good out there, Sister Willard,” he said. “If this keeps up, pretty soon you won’t have to go out to work no more.”

  “I like goin’ out to work,” she said.

  “Even if you don’t have to?”

  She nodded. “It keeps me from thinkin’.”

  He sipped at his coffee. “Thinkin’ about what?”

  She hesitated a moment, then her eyes fell. “Devil’s thoughts,” she said in a small voice. “Sinful thoughts.”

  “We all think devil’s thoughts sometimes,” he said.