Chapter 1 - Paradise in the Village?

“Don’t do it!"

Pastor Tim Leitner heard the voice thunder out, and immediately stopped what he was doing – taking hold of the deep crown of his Montana hat, covered in snow.

"It's wrong, wrong. Don't!"

He froze, and flicked his eyes to the left and to the right. But there was no one in the hallway, after all. No one, that is, apart from his lover, standing right there in a pool of lamp light, straight in front of him.

And yet that voice had come from somewhere close by. Closer than his jugular vein. Puzzling...Tim thought to himself. Very puzzling.

Or maybe, just maybe, the voice was his conscience crying out, warning him not to waste his precious time on earth on the things of the flesh, he mused as he wiped away the drops trickling down his cheeks, so red it looked like he'd been crying.

And wasn't he, after all, a pastor? A man who was supposed to embody the moral force of God here on earth? A towering figure of authority that others looked up to for guidance?

He was, in fact, no less than the senior pastor of one of the biggest fundamentalist churches Colorado. So why wasn’t he studying his Bible right now? Down on his knees praying? Preparing his character for spiritual illumination?

The truth was he found studying his Matthew Henry Bible Commentary tedious; he wanted some excitement, some adventure, the thrill of paddling palms and pinching fingers, to lift his spirits. Who wouldn't, if they were honest?

His body was a raging fire and he wanted to roll around in a smoothe and silky bed, wallowing like a pig in the depths of pleasure. Who wouldn't if they could only let go of all the conditioning from authorities? The abstract, moral commandments, and the cold notion of God, were as dry as dust, as dark as a grave, compared to the hot thrill of flesh on flesh.

Tim took hold of the zip of his glossy brown leather jacket, steaming and quivering so much at the thought that he would soon be writhing in satin sheets with his lover that he forgot all about his wife, Cindy, of 26 years.

Bending his fingers at the joints, he pulled down the zip so excited at the thought he’d soon be high on crystal meth he forgot, too, all about his congregation.

The minute the meeting with FEMA officials on how what ways pastors should employ to pacify citizens and make them obey the government in the event of the declaration of martial law had finished at 3:25 that Thursday afternoon, he’d picked up his briefcase and left his Young Life Church, housed in a brand new steel and glass complex built for 35 million dollars on the outskirts of Denver, gotten into his car and had headed down the highway, where a storm of blizzard proportions was raging, to his home in Roche Heights, only to peel away from the straight and narrow road as soon as he was sure he was clear, and, putting pedal to metal, to head back into Denver.

In his black Chevy, equipped with built-in steel reinforced, shock absorbing bumpers, he’d powered through the icy streets, reducing speed only to reconnoitre his lover’s apartment block before parking in a side street.

Pulling down the stiff brim of his Montana hat against the snow, he’d walked, past a Chinese grocery store, plastered with the recruiting posters for a new Civilian Expeditionary Army, before turning left into an alley, which was covered with snow, puddles and trash, ducking only to hide from a Hell's Angel who emerged from a back door to stride through the snow, pulling on a cigarette, then scrambling through a back door, up five flights of step...until he finally reached his destination.

Glory, glory be! Tim felt such a thrill, such a high, such a rush of adrenaline when he set eyes on his lover that he swore he could hear a choir of angels singing out: “Halleluja! Halleluja!”

Dear Lord! Rob Owen was the most stunning man Tim had ever set eyes on.

Standing there in a navy blue T-shirt, jeans and plastic flip flops, he looked like Achilles. And that at 47 years old! Six foot four, he had Herculean biceps, narrow hips and long legs. His hair was fair and curly. And what a face he had! What a soft mouth he had! Apart from his razor thin upper lip that added a slightly arrogant touch to his otherwise good-natured, honest expression.

Not that Owen had much to be arrogant about however much the twilight might conspire to hide just how run down his two-roomed apartment in downtown Denver was, Tim thought to himself, as he blew onto his frozen fingers, and then smoothed down his short, brown hair, which stood up like a hedgehog from the top of his head.

Owen was one of the growing army of impoverished Americans, hit by the Bush years of deregulation, outsourcing, job cuts, declining real incomes, high fuel prices, high grocery prices, the subprime crisis, foreclosures, and astronomical interest rates on their 5 or 6 credit cards, and destined to end up in one of the many tent city or FEMA camps springing up around the country with the imminent implosion of the US economy and society, and the creation of a New World Order, Tim mused to himself, as he glanced at a poster of Iggy Pop.

Yes, guys like Owen would not be wanted in Denver when it became the western capital of a new nation controlled by the UN...

“Geez, it’s tropical in here,” Tim said, pulling off his jacket.

“Waddya expect? It's freezing outside,” muttered Owen, pointing at the snow, pattering down outside in the blue twilight.

“You could always put on a pullover. It'd keep down your bills.”

“I could always rob a bank," Owen shot back. "Or join a march on Washington DC and overthrow the whole gawddamn band of robbers."

Tim laughed.

“The crooks have been running the country since the Fed was privatised, Rob. Everyone knows that!” Tim said, lifting up his fingers and wiped his cheeks. "America's a corporation and everyone's working for the profit of the Rockefellers, the Rothschilds and the Bushes. That's the reality. Might as well accept it. Nothing anyone can do."

“Nothing anyone wants to do. Need a towel?" Owen asked, frowning.

Tim nodded.

Owen picked up a peach-coloured towel, muscles bulging underneath his short-sleeved T shirt, and held it out.

“Thanks,” said Tim, taking the towel.

Owen stood there, and looked down at him from his Mount Everest heights with clear blue eyes. Tim dropped his face to the ground, overcome with shame.

And to think he even paid with Owen for an hour of sex! Yes, he paid his idol, the love of his life, 250 bucks in cash for an hour of his company! And yet Owen couldn't even be bothered talking to him. How humiliating! Boy, was he a looser!

In the meantime, Owen had turned back to the TV. Hands on his hips, he stood there, watching a game of soccer. He was so absorbed, he seemed oblivious to everything around him.

Frustrated, Tim hold of the bottom of his shirt. He pulled it out of the waistband of his chinos which had two knifelike creases down the front.

“Who am I kidding?” he mused, unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m just another Joe to him!”

At that thought that there was no one in the whole world who really loved him, Tim felt a stomach churning, gut-wrenching feeling of abandonment. What a roller coaster of emotions he went throug every time he saw Owen! What agony and what ecstasy!

Tim dropped down to his knees, and untied his shoe laces, fighting back his emotions, trying to keep up the facade of being someone in control of his life.

“What the f**k! That was a free kick! Give it to him ref! Yess!” Owen yelled out.

“Didn’t know you liked soccer?” Tim remarked, forcing himself to smile as he grappled with a knot in his laces.

“Love it! Used to play all the time as a kid. At least soccer doesn't have an ad break every ten seconds like American football. Sometimes I think they invented that game just for the advertisers."

“Could be right! Mind you, soccer looks pretty boring to me. The players are just standing around on the pitch like some Dad’s army."

“They’re waiting for Beckham to take a free kick.”

“Who?”

“Holy shit! Look at that! What a goal! He just slammed it home from 20 yards outside the penalty box. Into the top corner!”

Owen pumped his fists in the air, walloped with delight. Smiling, he picked up an apple from a bowl beside a lamp, and bit out a chunk.

“Fucking hell! That goal was what I call skill under pressure,” he said between mouthfuls of apple. “Everyone wrote Beckham off when he started at LA. It just spurred him on. That’s what I call character, steel under pressure! I'm looking forward to seeing him play here."

“I thought you were broke?”

“I am! You think I’d be doing this if I wasn’t?” Owen said, taking hold of the bottom of his T-shirt and pulling it over his belt with a silver buckle.

He pulled his T-shirt over his abdomen and torso and head, and threw it aside. That same second, Tim caught sight of a gash on Owen’s arm.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing.

“What?”

“That cut there on your arm!”

Owen shrugged.

“Oh, some guys gave me a spot of trouble down at the pub,” he said, rolling on the "o" sounds in "spot of trouble" with a deep voice.

“They did?” “Came at me with broken bottle.”

“You mean they slashed your arm?”

Owen tossed his T shirt to one side.

“Down at Molly Malone’s.”

“That Irish pub round the corner that’s always jammed to the rafters?”

“Just got a few gargles down my neck when the mother of all smash ups started,” Owen said pressing down a bar on his belt and releasing the clasp.

“Three guys? You're goddamn lucky they didn't put you six feet under, Rob.”

“Yeah, you wouldn't plunk it,” Owen said, pulling down his trousers.

“You must have been on the lash, right? Said something to really annoy them?”

“If asking for a coaster is that annoying…?”

“Is that all you did?”

“Yep, that’s all.” Owen lifted up his eyes to the ceiling, and laughed out loud.

He stood there, arms folded, preoccupied with some thought of his own, apparently perfectly happy. For a second, Tim was sure he could even see a light shining around his head. A halo? Was that it? Was Owen an angel then? So pure in heart that he wasn’t afraid even of death? Or was he just plain crazy?

“So those guys just attacked you without any reason, did they?” Tim muttered, frowning, shaking his head, compressing his lips. “My, my! There are some angry folks around, aren’t there? Was it cos they knew you were gay?”

“Don’t know.”

“What else? If you’re gay, you might as well get used to abuse. Like I choose to be gay! I can’t help it Anyone must be crazy to think someone would chose to expose themselves to such hatred!”

“You’re pretty scared, aren’t you? Worried about what others think!”

“Who isn’t? They say America is a free and tolerant society,” Tim said, pulling down his boxer shorts. “Who are they kidding? It’s a fascist state! Full of clones, robots. Mind control. Conformity. Work, work, work! Perform, perform! Anyone who’s different has to hide…”

"Hide? I don't think anyone should change the way they are just to fit in with. So what if I’m gay? I have never done anyone any harm,” Owen said.

“Yeah, like I really want an early exit.”

“We’re all going to exit anyway. The question to is whether we’ve lived beforehand.”

But Tim was too busy peeling off his cayote brown socks to listen.

“Why is there so much hatred around, I wonder?” he muttered. “Everywhere you go, there’s so much discrimination, bigotry, prejudice. It’s race, religion, sexual orientation. How did it ever get so bad? Or was it always like this? What do you think, Rob? You’re a man of the world.”

“If you ask me, most people just hate themselves. That’s why they don’t value anyone else. No respect left for what it means to be human being.”

“Think so? Maybe you’re right. I meet so many people who think they’re worth next to nothing in our consumer society. They almost apologise for breathing. They feel they have to own a private jet and a yacht before they have the right to be taken seriously. And when their salary drops or they lose their job, they go away and hide. That's the way our Wall Street banks and media has conditioned them to think. And don't forget the Masters of the Universe follows the Talmud and according to that book non Jews are beasts, sub human, destined to be slaves and robbed."

Owen looked over in surprise.

"You're kidding? I never heard that."

"IT's true. As for Christians, they're to be exterminated. Read it in the Talmud! It's really there. We're called Goyims, sub human beasts."

"Sounds like Adolf Hitler."

"The Talmud tells the Jews to hide their true believes from the non Jews. Make believe and cunning are what's recommended."

"No wonder!" muttered Owen.

"Anyway, I certainly don’t have issues with self confidence!” Tim added, jutting out his chin.

"Good," Owen said and pulled down his boxer shorts, took off his hands and let them drop down around his ankles.

Tim observed Owen with hawk like eyes as he lifted a leg and stepped out from the tangle.

"Do you?"

“What?”

“Hate yourself?”

“You mean, cos I don’t fit in with some retarded advertiser's image? Sure. I absolutely detest myself!” Owen said, with laughing eyes.

“I can see that!” Tim snorted, watching Owen’s relaxed movements as he walked over to the double bed.

“I guess I've just learned to accept I'm just another dumb ass," Owen drawled. "So what if I love men more? Murder is worse. Robbery is worse. Complain to God, I say, if you find that a fault. I am as God made me, after all. Anyway, our world needs love, any kind of love, right?”

“Sure, sure, but does the world need paid sex?”

“I need it. This stuff pays my bills,” Owen said. “I'd be out on the street otherwise. Worst Depression since 1931 thanks to the bandits in the government and the banks. Hats off to the them for taking us to the cleaners with their bailout," Owen said and swung his body across the bed in a single, graceful athletic movement and dropped down onto the bed, crumpling the blue satin sheets.

He buried his face in the big, soft pillow.

"You could soon be fighting for Israel, Owen," Tim said, half joking. "I saw a recruitment poster for a Civilian Expeditionary Force hung up in the grocery store at the corner."

"No thanks. Until they kick down my door and throw me into a FEMA camp, I'm staying put."

"Sure, in my church, the pastors are being trained by the FEMA Zionists to get their congregation to accept martial law."

"That figures! They destroy our financial system, rob us, impoverish us and then they have to get rid of us."

"There's nothing anyone can do. It's too late."

“Anyway, it’s not like I'm forcing myself on anyone. It's all mutual, consensual adult stuff, right?” Owen mumbled, crossing his arms underneath the pillow.

“Absolutely! Anyone can see you're a good man. It's something we can all feel intuitively. It's their aura or presence or charisma or whatever. Imagine what the world would be like if everyone's aura was visible to the naked eye."

"I guess quite a few people might be ashamed to go out onto the street."

"I bet. The Emperor has no clothes!" Tim said, laughing, and sat down naked on the side of the bed, feasting his eyes on Owen’s back and shoulders.

Trembling from excitement, he placed his hands on Owen’s warm skin.

Oh, a glorious angel had fallen into those blue satin sheets, breathing forbidden life. A crown, a King's crown, encrusted with jewels, lay there for his taking!

"Are you going to take the meth?" Owen asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“The meth! Geez! I'd forgotten all about it!”

"Second drawer." Tim rummaged among tubes of sun cream and packets of cough drops.

“275 bucks a stash,” Owen mumbled.

“275 bucks. The price is going up… Got it from Sam?”

Owen lifted up his fist and punched his pillow with a right hook.

“No, hell, he’s catatonic.”

“Oh?”

“Drunk like ten men when I saw him at breakfast... In self destruct mode."

"What's up?"

"Lost his job, wife left him."

“Geez. Talk about a downward spiral. Why doesn't he pull himself together and pick himself up?"

"I keep telling him that."

"Anyway, 275 bucks isn’t a problem if it’s good, clean stuff. Got three thousand bucks in my wallet.”

"Say what do you do for a living? You always seem to be so flush," asked Owen, punching his pillow.

Tim froze.

"That's the first time you've asked me a personal question in all these two years,” he remarked.

"Just curious."

Tim smiled with pseudo-friendliness.

“I'm an air traffic controller.”

He couldn't tell Owen the truth, could he? Couldn't tell him he was an evangelical pastor, who preached against gay sex and adultery evry Sunday.

“Interesting job?” Owen asked.

“Good pay. That’s why I have to be so careful. A lot at stake. Job, family. If the folks where I live ever found out I was gay it’d be curtains for me.”

“So you're married?”

“Yes, but let's just say, I love men more.”

“Have you ever thought of telling your wife you have these feelings for men?”

“Are you kidding? She's got no idea I'm gay and we've been married over 25 years! I don’t want to hurt my kids either. The eldest are at college, but the youngest is still at home. No, this works just fine! I visit you and get it out of my system.”

“Isn't it hard living a double life?"

"It's not easy."

"What if your wife finds out?”

“She won't!”

“Are you so sure?"

“You’d never tell, would you?”

Owen snorted.

“You think I'm a two-timer, don't you?” said Tim. “Too spineless to confront my own wife and tell her the truth? An egotist who just wants his bread buttered on both sides, right?”

“Well, you are cheating on your wife, aren't you?”

“I know. But like I said there's a big taboo about being gay where I live down in North Carolina. There's zero tolerance for this kind of thing. To be gay is like being a supporter of Osama bin Laden!”

“I bet.”

“If anyone back home found out I was having gay sex, I'd be lynched. My wife and kids would be hounded."

"Terrible! I’m slowly falling out of love with creation. Especially the human being part of in it.”

Tim bit his lip, then said in a voice full of emotion. His eyes were trembling.

“Don’t think this is easy for me. I wish I could stop coming to see you, Rob. You don’t know how much I wish I could beat this addiction! And it is like I’m addicted to you. I can’t get enough of you. You give me this thrill, this high. Unbeatable. You don’t know how hard I try to fight it. But I feel like there's this hole inside me. I feel so down, so depressed so much of the time. I spend all my energy trying to look like I’m okay, trying to look like I’m on top of my life. But inside, I feel so empty. I guess it’s a mid life crisis, huh? Anyway, I feel like I've missed out on the most essential thing in life! I don’t even know what it is. I reckon it’s love. I come here, see you and take this meth, and for an hour, I can believe all my fantasies about love have come true….” Tim’s voice quivered.

“I imagine you love me and I feel ten foot tall..."

"I don't."

"I know. For you it's just a job. I pay you 250 bucks and you watch the clock. For me, it’s a high that keeps me going for the whole month. The hour with you is the only time when I feel really alive. Incredible, isn’t it? I pray to God and nothing ever happens. I see you and all the choirs of angels start singing! Explain that?”

"Hate to rush you, Tim, but the next client's coming..."

“Sure, I know the clock is ticking…” Tim muttered.

He dug his fingers into Owen's hair.

"You know if you were a figure in the Bible…"

"The Bible?"

“Do you believe in God, Rob?”

“I believe in a light.”

“In a light. What kind?”

“Just am inner light, a voice, a conscience, a light that never goes out.”

“Okay. Anyway, if you were a figure in the Bible, I'd say you were King David. He was good looking, a courageous warrior but also a great musician."

“Sure I'm Superman. Do you read the Bible?”

“I belong to a church like I said.”

“Baptist?”

“Yeah. It's pretty conservative. But that's the way churches are around where I am."

"That so?"

"Like pretty much everywhere else. Everyone knows the Illuminati have a secret agenda when it comes to the fundamentalist Christian churches."

"Really?"

"Sure. I know preachers funded to the tune of millions by the Israeli lobby to tell Christians their first obligation is to fight for Israel, arm Israel with nukes, give money to Israel! The Illuminati hate religion."

"Didn't that author Dan Brown talk about that bunch in his book?"

"Yeap. They're for real. Black masses. Esoteric stuff."

"Satanic?"

"They don't see themselves that way."

"I bet. But then these people never do see themselves like they are, do they?"

"They're powerful, mind you, and they've used the whole fundamentalist Christian movement as part of a system of mind control and social control. Smart!"

"You think so?"

"Hey, Christ didn't say anything about gay sex or abortion, did he?"

"No, he didn't say anything about sex at all come to think of it."

"But your average fundamentalist church talks about nothing except sex, gay sex, abortion and obedience.”

"Why do you stay in a church like that? I mean you blame it on these other guys. But if you go to a church like that, it's you fault."

"There's a lot of pressure," said Tim.

“Maybe you need to just learn to be more accepting about your sexuality, come to terms with who you are. Why let these people put you down? Your church doesn’t sound at all Christian anyway. I mean, God is the God of love, right?” Owen snorted.

“God? God is the God of good-cleaning living…,” retorted Tim. “But you’re right. Am I really that bad? I have a conscience, at least. I get upset when I don't live up to my own standards. I even kinda believe in God. A lot of people I know don't. They think he's just a cynical invention to make people feel guilty. I get upset when I, you know….I fantasise about orgies, too….”

“You do?”

“Sure, I fantasise about a night of sex with five, fresh young college guys. Needless to say, I can’t tell my wife. Sometimes I just wish I were straight. Why can’t I be?”

“Look, I'm not Sigmund Freud.”

“Sure, sure…. You know, I just wonder why I married in the first place. But there was so pressure…. Everyone was getting hitched as soon as they turned 21. My wife seemed ideal. I was sure I would grow to love her, but I never did. Mind you, she’s a great person. I respect her. Just my heart doesn’t go boom when she walks into the room. Know what I mean?”

"Personally, I think you should talk to her. It sounds like you got a good thing going. Maybe you can find a way forward. I think living in denial is not healthy, you know. You might be surprised at her reaction.”

“No way! I know she’d be shattered if she found out I was gay. She has all these prejudices, fixed ideas.”

“Why not talk to her?”

“Pointless. She's a total sheep. She believes September 9/11 was a terrorist attack.”

"Really? Even my grandmother of 92 knows it was an inside Israeli job!"

"That's Cindy! Hundred per cent sheep!" Tim pressed his thumb down harder onto Owen’s shoulder.

"Like most Americans. John Wayne was one of the last with a backbone. At least, he took responsibility for his actions. Nowadays, no one accepts responsibilities. It's the government's fault, the church's fault, the banker's fault. Heck, they need to get off their ass, march and change the system if they don't like it, not just moan!"

“Where do you start? Say, how did someone like you ever end up in this business?” he asked.

“I ask myself that same question every day…It pays the rent, you know. I dropped out of high school and it’s not easy to find a job that pays a living wage nowadays even if you have a PhD from Harvard. I worked on construction sites but my back gave in.”

“Why did you drop out of school?”

“Didn’t get on with my step father.”

“That so?” “He had a big fist. I was 15 when I moved out. This guy gave me a job in his lumber yard, next thing I know he’s trying to rape me.”

“Terrible. Didn’t anyone help?”

“Help? In America? You kidding! Hey, here you can really fall low. Our government offers their butt to any sodom-lover of a corporation who will pay them enough to rob us of our rights. I remember my Dad used to work in a factory and had a decent wage. We had our own neat house in San Fran and a car and all that and no debts. It was a good life, till he found another woman. My Mum left him and we ended up in a trailer park in Montana with the incredible hulk,” said Owen, wearily, plumping up his pillow.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Rob?”

“He calls himself that. I call him a ball and chain around my neck.”

“Known him long?”

“Too long.”

"What does he think about you doing this?"

“He knows it's just business. I make ten times more dough than I would stacking shelves in Wal Mart. Figure out the math. Anyway, most of the clients are okay.”

“Doesn't he ever get jealous?”

“No. Why should he? In fact, this helps him. He was in Iraq.”

“A vet?”

“Yeah. A marine, would you believe it? But he came back a drug addict, and there was f**k all help there for him, f**k all help from government. They just want cheap mercenaries for their oil and drug wars.”

"Like I said, the Talmud says non Jews are beasts, monkeys and slaves, and half the US government are dual Israeli citizens."

"I know. I mean, who the f**K rules us?"

"They do. Their Talmud also says Jews are permitted to lie any Christian or goyim about what's in the Talmud."

"No kidding! The Talmud sounds just as racist and genocidal as Adolf Hitler"

"It is! The Talmud says the Jews are the master race destined to rule the world and all the property of the world belongs to them."

"That explains it, then! That explains why the Jews killed Jesus Christ! I bet he must have got up their nose with his message of love. That explains our media today, too. 70 per cent is owned by the Jews. If lying is okay by them..."

“Believe me, I've studied the Talmud in Hebrew so I know what's in there."

"It's too easy to blame it all on the Talmud. Our own government is so corrupt, it's beyond belief! Americans are shallow, materialistic and stupid. Everyone seems to be up for sale!"

"Hey, so are you, Rob!"

"I can't make a living any other way."

"Hey, there must be some guys you like more than others?”

“A client is a client. They pay for a service, for sex, for their fantasies. I keep my private and business life strictly separate. ”

“Makes sense,” Tim said, smiling with fake cheerfulness, hiding a pang of jealousy.

“And your boyfriend? Did he go to college?”

“Hell no. He's scraping by with odd jobs like most average Joes in our out-sourced economy."

“But you help him out…”

“Like I say, we help each other out if and when we can. We’re going on vacation next month. Down south where there’s a bit of sun. My brother lives in the Florida Keys. Great fishing, great scuba diving and we don’t have to pay for our digs. We just have to get the gas money together."

Next, there was a bleep. He heard the cell phone in his jacket start to ring. He tensed up. Who was that? Cindy, his wife? Arlen Pierce from the church board?

Tim ignored it. He quickly shook out some meth onto the palm of his hand.

“Will you be around next month, Owen?” he asked. “Unless Santa Claus whisks me away to the North Pole.” Tim laughed.

“That’s not your destiny, Rob. What Santa Claus? Life is no fairy tale. It’s brutal, bruising stuff… Dog eat dog. No let up! And it’s getting worse.“

“Incredible but true….” Owen muttered, lifting his big fist and punching the pillow.

“All the rock singers and poets go on about love,” Tim said. “But I sure never come across much of it. Why is that? I mean, we all crave love. But no one can get it. Are we really such a rich country, if we are so poor in love and in happiness? Even the most corrupt, depraved kind of love is better than no love at all, don’t you think? I mean, if you have to scrape around in the mud for a nugget of gold, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? Wasn’t it Dante who called love la luce etterna? Eternal light! That’s what it is! That’s what we all crave and hunger for. Love! Light! Happiness! Money, power and all that is just an ersatz….If we can’t get love directly, we build up our power and money to get it indirectly by impressing others. There are some people who think gold makes the world go round. But isn’t love what we all crave?”

“Search me,” Owen mumbled and thumped the pillow, wearily.

Chapter 2 - Hell in the Village

Like someone reeling from a hangover when the cold light of day reappears after a night of binge drinking, Tim stood, pale and intensely quiet, in front of the mirror of his luxury bathroom adjoining his office suite, in the Young Life Church complex, getting ready to give his Sunday evening sermon.

His stomach turned over a dozen somersaults when he recalled his visit to Rob Owen and how he had taken crystal meth and...

Afraid he was about to be sick, he drew in a sharp breath.

He lifted up a trembling finger and poked the black circles that had laid siege to his eyes. How depressing! He looked like he’d just been run over by an eighteen wheeler.

What shocked him most of all about his appearance, though, was his smile. His smile was so forced, so stiff and so aggressive it made him look like a maniac who needed to muster every ounce of self-control to suppress the volcano of anger, hatred and frustration seething inside his soul.

It was the unnatural smile of someone who wanted to please others at all costs - and who was going to turn into a raging, axe-wielding lunatic if those other people refused to be pleased.

Tim tried to relax his muscles and stop himself from smiling that unnatural, frenzied, hideous smile. But the corners of his mouth remained fixed stubbornly upwards as if they suspected they were the only fragile dam stopping his feelings of shame, guilt, anger, frustration and loathing from bursting out, like a hurricane, and annihilating everything in his path.

“What is the matter with you?”

He jabbed his finger in accusation at the stranger in the mirror.

“Why are you such a feeble flip flop, Tim Leitner? Huh? Huh? Why can’t you stick to your principles? Why can’t you stay away from gay escorts and from meth? Oh, you pretend to be all holier than thou just so can get the limelight big salary!” Tim said, waving his arms about in contempt.

“Yes, you want to be the great Pastor Tim Leitner! That’s you, you fake! And behind everyone’s backs you’re paying for sex with Owen. You hypocrite! And the worst thing is. You’re going to go again to Owen, aren’t you?” Tim growled as he leaned on the washbasin, staring with menacing, bulging eyes.

“It’s wrong. It’s dangerous. But you can’t stop yourself, can you? You actually love him, love a male escort! How shameful! You actually love someone you pay 250 dollars an hour to for gross sex! How low can a human being get? Why can’t you get a grip on yourself, Tim? Why can’t you be the kind of man you always wanted to be? A hero! If you can’t measure up, then at least don’t lie to everyone! Yes, be a man, Tim. Go up there on the stage tonight and tell them all about your hour of sex high on meth with Rob Owen! How you love and adore him! Go on! Be honest for a change! Oh, but no, you won’t, will you!” Tim cried out in rage, slamming his fist down.

“You’re afraid of losing all the power and the money, aren’t you, Tim? Afraid of losing the adrenaline rush that comes with all the adulation! You’ve sold your soul!You fraud! You liar! You're worse than the New York Times, NBC, the Washpo or the WSJ put together! You're like the Beast of Revelation, subverting religion from within! You liar!”

Next, he heard a click. Someone had just opened the door of his office. Who would dare? His office was sacrosanct, off bounds. It was his kingdom, his fiefdom, his castle.

He spun round, eyes wide open, his fists clenched, ready for combat…. An intruder, an interloper, an enemy agent, a CIA or Mossad spy was coming into his inner sanctum, intruding onto his private territory, without permission, hoping to film him in a compromising position and blackmail him...

As he took a step towards the door, his feelings of catastrophe grew. A fierce pain like a dagger stabbed him in the chest, increasing his alarm and confusion.

Oh, he was sure someone had found out about his clandestine encounters with Owen, had sentenced him in absentia, and was now coming to carry out the punishment, sneaking up on him with a machette, a machine gun, a handful of grenades….For a split second, Tim felt like a lone marine in the barren mountains of Afghanistan surrounded by the Taliban, by religious fanatics, ready to kill anyone who stepped out of line - and especially anyone suspected of having had gay sex with a comrade behind a bush….

Adrenaline pumping, he was primed, charged, ready to fight off his attackers, his accusers with a rifle, a rocket propelled grenade... He was going crazy!

Tim slapped his forehead.

"Five minutes to go, Pastor Tim!" Adam Svenson, the soundman, shouted out, cheerfully.

Tim saw Adam hovering by the door of his office. Fresh faced, with black curly hair and big blue eyes, wearing a yellow polo shirt, white chinos and sneakers, he was scanning the office, uneasily.

"Pastor Tim? Are you there?" Adam asked, moving his head from side to side.

“Yes, yes,” Tim shouted from behind the bathroom door as feverishly tucked his shirt into his Khaki trousers.

“Pastor Tim? Is everything okay?”

"Yes! Yes!" Tim cried out in a pseudo cheerful voice. ”Just getting ready! Be with you in a minute!”

“The cameras are on, Pastor Tim. 10,000 people have come tonight. What a crowd! Unbelievable!”

“Good! Good!”

“Mary and the band are going on!”

“Good! Good! Be right there!”

Tim heard Adam shut the door behind him, and heaved a sigh of relief. He heard the band starting to play in the auditorium. He buttoned up his shirt. At the thought that millions of viewers would be watching him on NBC that evening, the butterflies started going. Oh, the pressure! The pressure of having to perform week in, week out! Next, he heard Mary O’Driscoll singing. How pure and clear her voice sounded! Amazing!

Morning has broken, like the first morning Blackbird has spoken, like the first birdPraise for the singing, praise for the morning

In just three minutes, Tim knew the band would stop playing. The auditorium would be filled with a hush and an anticipation. There’d be a drum roll; he would leap up onto the stage. Spotlights would bathe him in white light. They would orchestrate his elevation to the status of God, the second Moses! Leading his flock out of the fleshpots of Denver into the Promised Land! A General in the Marine Corps or an IDF commander leading his division in triumph into Baghdad, Gaza, Mosul, Moscow or Peking! A paragon of virtue! Flawless like a diamond! The focus of the intense hopes and dreams of the ten of thousands people gathered in the hall that night. He pricked up his ears and heard the music swell to a crescendo as Mary sang.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning Born of the one light, Eden saw play

Nauseous, Tim reached out a trembling hand. He turned on the taps, stood watching the water gush down into the sink swirl around the plughole, then vanish down into a void. He leaned over, cupped his quivering hands together, scooped up some water and splashed it onto his face.

Instantly, he sobered up. He straightened himself, plucked down a towel and dried his face.

Morning has broken, like the first morning Blackbird has spoken, like the first birdPraise for the singing, praise for the morning

Afraid he’d miss his cue, Tim took a deep breath and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and buttoned his cuffs.His heart was drumming away as he flicked up the collar of his shirt, starched, ironed and stiff as cardboard. He pulled down the nearest tie hanging on the rack, threw it around his neck and pulled it up into a knot, so tight he nearly choked.

Next, he took down a khaki jacket, tailored to fit to his six foot two frame, and slipped it on like a suit of armour. He looked into the mirror, he smoothed down his hair, standing up like a hedgehog.

He applied some light make up, though middle age had been kinder to him than to many, allowing him to keep his clean-cut sports-idol looks even at the age of 49. He inspected his reflection in the mirror. He was satisfied. He smiled.

What a transformation! Fantastic! He saw a clean-living prophet staring back at him out of that glass! He saw the CEO of a corporation or a banker from Wall Street who'd just got a bonus of a few million in the bailout and splurged it on a private yet!

Now all he had to do was give a great sermon and who would guess that all that glittered was not gold? Oh, America! Land of false idols, slogans and slick images! How easy it was to dupe the masses! How simple it was to control the sheep through the electronic mass media which mesmerised, misinformed and made dumb! September Nine Eleven had proved that any lie was possible as long as it was repeated often enough by the media, and as long as you had bribed enough members of congress an senate.

And where did he turn to whenever he needed inspiration for his sermons? Why, to mephampehtemines of course!

Tim opened the cupboard above the sink, reached up to the top shelf, and rummaged frantically around. He pushed aside a packet of aspirin and tube of antiseptic, and found what he was searching for - a medicine bottle made of brown glass with a yellow label.

"For flu, sore throats and coughs," the label declared.

Oh, lying label! Disguising drugs as innocent cough medicine! Tim thought to himself as he unscrewed the cap with rapid, jerky movements. He shook some pills onto the palm of his hand, then filled up a glass with tap water. He threw back his head and swallowed the pills together with a big gulp of water.

A thousand volts of electricity zapped his brain. Energy! His eyes started to bulge. Staring into the mirror, he saw Superman! He saw a second King David!

He saw a marine captain in desert combat fatigues directing his troops to fan out on either side of the road and take an enemy position battling outside a FEMA camp in Ohio or Oregon on the command of Tel Aviv! He saw a man of truly phenomenal power leading his flock to the Promised Land! Halleluja!

Tim shoved the bottle back inside and closed the cupboard. He staggered to the door, aware that time was passing….

He groped around for the switch, and flicked the light off. He lurched on out into his vast office, eyes wide open. A single white lamp shone on his desk, illuminating an ultra thin computer screen donated by a supporter of the Anti Defamation League along with a 250,000 dollar checque for his services in raising Christian's awareness of the vital importance of defending Israel, and for supporting calls to create a Greater Israel, extending through Lebanon to Iraq.

He blinked twice and tried to focus his eyes on the panorama window. Now that was a stunning view! The Rocky Mountains! Their silhouettes stood out against the blue-black evening sky. Eternal. Motionless. Still.

Ecstatic, Tim lurched on, tore open the door, and stumbled out into the corridor. The brutal glare of fluorescent lights exposed every Pepsi bottle in the trash cans beneath the glossy posters of happy couples, happy children, happy football players and happy choirs singing.There was not a soul about. Mind you, the huge complex -- comprising a dozens of study rooms, five prayer centers, four community worship halls, three libraries as well as an Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool and a sports center -- was always deserted on Sundays, apart, that is, from the auditorium.

Beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks. Tim stumbled on and reached the end of the corridor. Breathing fast, he pulled open a door and slipped into the back of the hall. In a pool of white light that floated in the darkness like an island in a sea full of danger and threats, he saw Mary O’Driscoll.

She was standing on the stage, wearing a brown, tweed skirt and an orange top with sew-on sparklers. She finished and made a modest bow. Faint clapping stirred the slumbering hall.
The band’s guitarist packed up his instruments with tame and then got up with insipid movements, and walked off the stage. The drummer followed him with a shrug of apathy.

Where was the passion? The raw emotion? Tim asked himself, wiping away a tear from his cheek. Yes, the lethargy of it all made him almost weep from frustration.

He saw Arlen Pierce walk across the stage in a slow and stately pace befitting his sixty-seven years. With snow-white hair, a noble face and a pair steel rimmed spectacles, Arlen looked like a benign Sunday school teacher. His voice was measured and solemn as he addressed the crowd.
"We, good Christian soldiers in the army of God, are gathered here this evening…,” . Arlen began and stopped, abruptly, to fumble awkwardly with his microphone, “….to worship God like millions of people in America. In fact, there is no nation on this earth with more right to call itself Christian than America today with our Christian Presidents, like the God-fearing patriot George Bush. That is why I join the call for our Constitution to be changed to end the separation of church and state….”

"How goddamn boring!" Tim thought to himself, gripping his knuckles so hard they turned white.

"Why can't he put some fire into his speech?
Where is the heart, the power, the passion?”

It was so dark beyond the stage, Tim couldn’t see the audience or make outhow they reacted to Arlen. But he could sense their boredom.

Yes, all these folks sure hadn’t come all the way t the church that evening just to hear a Thomas of Aquinas giving them a lecture on Theology and Politics. What they wanted was a dynamite performer like Elvis Presley or Buddy Holly to get them all buzzing and fizzling again after a week spent grinding away in their thankless, underpaid jobs trying to scrape together enough money to pay their mortgage and fill up their gas tanks. They wanted an escape, entertainment to lift their spirits after the stress of the week juggling the bills, struggling to pay their mortgage, college loans and credit card debts. The time had come to party!

Next, Tim felt someone touch his sleeve. He spun round and saw a woman standing close by. Her round, sweet face was surrounded by frizzy blond hair. She was about fifty and wearing a peach-coloured sweatshirt, pink leggings and sneakers.

"Pastor Tim,” she said, squeezing a paper cup with the coca-cola logo on it in her plump fingers.

Her glassy blue eyes flashed in the half darkness moist with adoration – or was it fear?

"I just wanted to touch you, Pastor Tim," she said, lowering her voice to a reverential whisper; she leaned towards him in the darkness with the intimacy of an old friend.

“I just wanted to thank you for all you've done for me! I’m a mother of three kids and I have a sick husband, and you are my anchor, my rock, my support. There is so much evil around in this Satanic world. You are the only one who gives me hope. You and God are my rock and my salvation in this crazy, crazy world.”

She squeezed his hand with her fleshy fingers. Tim withdrew his hand in disgust. His eyes bulged.

"What do you mean by Satanic world?" he shouted.“This is God's world!”

“Yes, yes, of course, Pastor Tim!" the woman said, her eyes widening in shock. „I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. But sometimes I look around me and wonder…“

Tim pursed his lips but his eyes darted daggers of accusation at this woman, this fool! He raised his index finger and jabbed it in her face.

“So you think this is a Satanic world, huh? You sound like one of those crazies who is going to go climb a clock tower with a hunting rifle and start picking off people.”

"No, no, Pastor Tim. I never meant it like that!" she cried, placing her hand over her mouth in sheer horror.

Tim’s eyes flashed with pure hatred.

“Well, you should learn to love God's world and all the people in it!” he shouted, raising his voice.

"Yes, yes, Pastor Tim!"

Tim lifted his trembling hand and wiped away the sweat trickling down into his eyes.

"Now leave me in peace, will you?"

"Sorry, sorry, Pastor Tim…"

"Can't you see, I'm about to give my sermon?" he said, pushing the woman back.

"Sorry, sorry, Pastor Tim!"

Tim turned back to the stage. He blinked twice in the hot lights: his shirt collar was so tight that he could hardly breathe. He fumbled for his red tie, and was about to yank it loose when he heard his cue.

"And now, here he is!" Arlen said, making an elaborate flourish with his hand.

There was a drum roll. Tap, tap, tappety tappety tap….Suspense.

"Here is the man we've all been waiting for. One of America’s most inspired servants of God! I give you Pastor Tim Leitner! Our brave Christian soldier!”

The hall erupted into cheers. Unbelievable! Dashing up the steps, Tim nearly tripped on some camera cables. A hop and he managed to untangle his shoes – cleaned and polished – and skip clear of the obstacle. One more bound and he was up on the stage. That same second, he heard a primeval roar rip the roof off. The noise was deafening. The atmosphere was so fierce, so emotional, he found tears coming to his eyes.

Overjoyed, he staggered up to the front of the stage. He stopped and looked out into the blackness that yawned beyond the perimeter, and then threw out his arms to embrace the excitement.

“Pastor Tim! Pastor Tim! Soldier of God! Lead us on! Lead us on!” the crowd shouted.

Whalloped with delight, Tim waved his arms around with uninhibited emotion. The spotlight slalomed through the hall, illuminating now a dozen young men dressed in suits and ties, now a group of young women looking beautiful in dresses and jackets.

“Pastor Tim! Pastor Tim! Lead us on! Lead us on!” the crowd chanted – and so loud it was impossible for Tim to speak.

Tim stood there, absorbing the atmosphere, the clapping and the cheering. Eager to get on, he raised his arm and pointed at a Crucifix hanging above the stage.

“Hey, I want to tell you something!” Tim shouted, making full use of his tongue and lips to enunciate the word "you” so it could be heard above the cheering.

“…Yes, I mean you right there! And you and you and you!” He pointed with his finger boldly into the crowd. “I want to tell you about your great adventure here on earth. I mean the journey to God! To our salvation! By being here tonight at this church service, you have already proved to the whole world that you are saved! You have demonstrated your faith that you are born again in Christ! Rejoice, Rejoice that you are saved and here tonight, my friends, because I tell you there is no better place to be than in a temple of God in our great Christian nation!!” Tim shouted, putting his hands to his mouth to project his voice to the back of the hall.The cheering, clapping and whistling became so loud he had to stop yet again. He waited, then put his hands to his mouth and shouted at the top of his voice.

“Yes, you are the chosen ones! That is why you should shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth, that he has shown you the way to salvation. I say to you, my fellow Christians: Get down on your knees. Worship the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful songs! Yes, I want to hear your joyful songs! I want to hear you celebrating that you are Christians! I want to see you dancing in the aisle that you already have a new relationship with God! I want to see you shouting for joy that you have been born again and are saved! I want to see your happiness that you have become a born again Christian!”

The cheers were deafening.

“Good! Good! Now I can hear your joy! I can hear it!” Tim cried, prolonging each syllable to express the force of his enthusiasm, and clapping his hands together.

“Pastor Tim! Pastor Tim! Soldier of God! Lead us on! Lead us on!”

Tim smiled at the mind-bending atmosphere that swept like a hurricane through hall. His mouth was dry, though. His throat felt parched. He yanked his tie. His shirt was drenched in sweat.Wiping away sweat from his forehead, he caught sight his own image. A 40-foot screen magnified his figure. He looked gigantic! Surreal! An inspired prophet in a smart khaki suit with a blue shirt and red tie, standing boldly before his people; an icon, bathed in spot lights; a higher presence, raised above the ordinary world full of difficulties, problems and disappointments, standing confidently, the focal point of the longings and dreams of thousands of people! He looked at his own image and thought his heart would jump out of his chest with pride!! O, the thrill of being the center of all that attention!

The screen magnified, too, his smile. It was the smile of a man revelling a little too much in the adoration of the crowds. He gave his face a solemn expression. Then he said...

Chapter 3 - A Sermon on Obedience

....“We, Christians, have no need to fear as long as we are obedient!" Tim shouted out, cupping his hands together around his mouth to project his voice into every part of the hall.

"We are safe! Nothing can touch us because we are God’s chosen people obedient to his commandments. You hear that? We are the chosen ones! God has chosen us and promised us his eternal protection as long as obey him and his church on earth and his representatives here on this on earth, his pastors, his men! It is the non Christians who need to fear slings and arrows. The disobedient should fear the valley of darkness, not us. Those who have disobeyed Christ, those who have left their church, turned their backs on their pastor have reason to fear. The sexual deviants, homosexuals, liberals and pot smoking athetists will go to an eternity of suffering in Hell! Those who are obedient to their pastor to the end will be saved. Now, I want to hear your joyful songs. I want to hear you celebrating that you are here in this church today, blessed by God, able to lead a clean life, faithful members of this Young Life Chruch. I want to hear you clapping joyfully that you will be saved for all eternity because you are born again Christians, God’s chosen people, chosen for salvation” Tim smiled and cried out, raising his right hand.

The hall erupted in cheers. Perspiring, Tim took off his khaki jacket and threw it to one side. Eyes blazing, he stretched out his hand in a command to be silent. The crowd grew hushed.

“Whatever our lives, our jobs, our hardships and our triumphs might be, we will always enjoy God’s special favour and power if we obey him and obey his pastors who understand his will and who lead his church here on earth…” Tim said waving his arms with bold and energetic movements.

“God has phenomenal power, more power than any army on earth, more power than the US army and the Israeli Defence Force put together. More power than the CIA and Mossad! God and our Christian nation and government is our fortress, our rock, our safety. Nothing can harm us when we obey his church on earth and follow the laws of our Christian nation! God looks after his own. The fate of the sinner, the person who disobeys God, who turns his back on his pastor, who leaves his church, who mocks government, scoffs at the soldier serving in America's Christian army, is suffering! We can read in the Bible about the terrible sin of disobedience and how it destroys us, ruins us. We can read how Eve and Adam sinned against God by their disobedience. Filled with sinful disobedience to rightful authority, Eve went and ate of the apple tempted by the Satanic serpent, that liar and deceiver. Disobedience ruined us!"

The crowd yelled out their anger.

“Through our disobedience, we are fallen, fallen from grace, far from God, so far, you can't imagine the distance. We are miserable worms. We are wicked sinners, black as hell, the children of Satan! Did you hear that? We are sinners? St Paul also says every human being has been disobedient and sinned. Hear that? Every human being is disobedient without exception. Guilty, guilty! All of us here tonight are unworthy, failures. Everyone of us is steeped in guilt and standing in the pits of darkness because we disobey God! We are materially minded consumers who think only about our careers and money, our SUVs and vacations, all day long. We are decadent pleasure seekers who want sex and drugs! Everyone of us is a disobedient sinner! Hear that? There is only one way out from our sin. Only one way to be saved. That is to be obedient. To obey this church and give your hearts to me, your pastor, God's beacon and leader here on earth. You have to serve, too, serve your Christian nation, serve in the army. The other religions say they know the way. They are lying! Yes, lying! The Church of the Young Life, this church, is the only place where you will find salavation. Yes, yes! We are saved because Christ died for our sins and gave us a chance to repent and come here to this church tonight and prove to the world by our committment, by coming here tonight, by supporting this church, by obeying the pastor, that we are his chosen people."

The crowd roared. Tim smiled.

"So let’s get down on our knees and beg to be forgiven. Christ is merciful and if we beg on our knees for forgiveness, if we repent, the Lord, the gracious Almighty, will forgive us. Our gracious Lord will always forgive us. But only if we repent our sins and change our wicked ways, and lead obedient lives!” Tim cried out, his forehead glistening with sweat, his voice trembling.

“Those out there who spurn church, who laugh at church and at pastors like me, who mock God, and disobey his commands, who go on sinning, the liberals, who have no feeling of patriotism, who go on having gay sex and taking meth are doomed. I tell you! Those who have gay sex and take meth to heighten the pleasure will suffer an eternity! “ Tim thundered.

He wiped away the perspiration trickling into his eyes. His face on the screen was magnified 10 times. With his jaw jutting out, he looked like Ulysses Grant leading his troops into victory battle.

“I tell you this: you have to learn obedience to higher authorities right now!” Tim boomed out, striding to the front of the stage, bathed in bright lights, feeling so hot, he yanked down his tie. “You have to give up your selfishness and your egoism and and give your lives to the Young Life Church completely now, right now, while you can. Understand? Completely, absolutely, without reserve you have to do as I, the senior pastor, says! You have to reach out to other sinners and bring them to this born-again Church. You have to vote for Christian leaders in the White House, too. I know there are many people who think that you can vote for a party that favours abortion and gay rights and embryonic stem cell research and still be a real Christian. There are people out there who think you can be a real Christian and not support our troops fighting Islamic terrorists out there in Iraq and Iran Pakistan, Russia, China, India and Latin America and South Africa. Hands up! Anyone out there who thinks that?” Tim asked, putting his hand to his mouth to project his voice to the furthest edges of the hall.

“Anyone here tonight who thinks that you can vote for abortion and gay rights and still be a Christian?”

Silence.

“Anyone here tonight who thinks that you can not support Israel in its Operation Cast Lead in Gaza, or in its divine mission to acquire its Biblical Lands, Greater Israel, and still be a Christian?”

More silence.

“I tell you, people who think that way are deluded! Or else they are sinners themselves who just want a free ticket to keep on sinning! It is time to change our culture of a free meal.“
Tim thundered.

“Politics and religion cannot be kept separate in America. That notion is false, false! No! no! no! At the best of times, government and religion are together. Our government is a Christian government, and we owe it our loyality. Ours is a Christian nation and we should be thankful we can enjoy the privilege of beings its citizens. We have the privilege, but also the duties. Our duty is to obey our Christian leaders, always, even when it is hard. They have our interests at heart. They know best. Every Christian has to obey their leader. We can all see the slide in America today and the decline of values that comes from having so many people turn their backs on the church. The attitude is "I know best!". The attitude is "I can do as I please." No you can't! A Christian puts their desires aside and does what their pastor wants. We see this egoism everywhere: we see it in family breakdown, divorce, domestic violence, guns at high schools, drugs, crime, sexually transmitted disease, women who chose abortion, women who leave their husbands, women who murder their husbands to get alimony. And what about the media? It's one horror show after the next. Pokemon, the Teletubbies, weirdoes of all kind. A never ending spectacle of evil is paraded before out eyes and the eyes of our children by the mass media run by left wing pot smoking liberals! Everywhere you go there is gay sex. Men are sleeping with other men in vile abomination! I for one am fed up with the laxity that is shown to men who are getting high on lustful thrills in bed with other men! I for one am fed up with the amount of perversion in America today. I have had enough of the non Christians who deny God and deny his truth and take meth and crave orgies!“ Tim cried, his eyes bulging.

„I’m bringing up this issue tonight because we all know the state elections are coming up. One of the parties stands for abortion and gay sex and same-sex marriage! And you? Are you going to vote for that party? Are you going to vote for abortion and gay marriage, murder and depravity?”

“NOOO!” the crowd yelled out.

“The other candidate is pro life! That is Senator Seth Wright, a native of Denver, a successful businessman, blessed with a beautiful family, a patriot who will defend for our nation and our freedom to worship the one true God and stop socialism and communism destroying our way of life. Yes, Seth Wright is not a flip flop. He does not pander to get the vote. He is for the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman. He is for low taxes so that we get to keep more of the fruits of our labour and not seem them swallowed up by liberal left wing social programmes that help the sinners when they don’t deserve any help. Or are you a flip flop who will abandon our troops fighting for us and for freedom?” Tim asked, putting his hand to his mouth to project his voice.

“Noooo!” shouted the crowd.

“Good! Good! I call on you all to mobilise, reach out to your neighbours, your friends and colleagues at work and vote to make sure flips flops don’t get into power and send out country spiralling down, taken over by socialists, freemasons, communists, sodomists, homosexuals, Satanists, murderers, sexual deviants, feminists, supporters of al Qaeda.If that lot had their way, they’d have us all rolling around in blue sheets with gay lovers. Disgusting! Disgusting! I don’t want to even think about it! Yes, these liberals want to ruin our country under the guise of offering us freedom! They are more dangerous than Al Qaeda! Get out there and vote and get all your neighbours and friends and relations to vote for the candidates who stand for Christian values. Will you vote for Christian values?"

"YESS!"

"Will you vote for God?”

“YESS!”

"Or will you vote for abortion?"

"NOO!"

"For gay marriage?"

“NOOOO!”

„For Satan!“

„Noo!“

“Yes, it’s got to the stage in America where to writhe in bed with another man is to be cool! It has got to the point where to take meth to blow out your brains so you can maximise the pleasure of lust with your gay lover is considered normal!” Tim cried, his eyes glistening and voice quivering with passion.

"Yes, there are some people who feel no shame. getting high on meth and other drugs! Do you do that? Take drugs?"

"NOO!"

Tim smiled, approvingly.

"There are some who cheat on their wives or their husbands. Hands up! Are there any of you out there who cheat on their spouses?"

No one put up their hands.

"LIARS!" Tim boomed, walking with an angry scowl up to the front of the stage. "You are all stained with sin! You are going to HELL to suffer for all eternity! Be ready to suffer for your disobedience!”

A frisson of fear ran through the hall.

"Obedient children do what their pastor says! They go to church and do as is written in the Bible, black and white. True or false?"

"TRUE!"

Tim drew a sharp breath.

"Obedient children have hearts for God and never disobey their pastors. And do you know what? God rewards those obedient children. He showers them with blessings because of their obedience. They are spared eternal damnation! HELL! DOOM!"

Trembling, Tim walked across the stage, firing more heavy artillery. Rockets were exploding everywhere. Boom! Boom!

There are some who say gay sex is not a sin? Not a sin? That is a lie! A lie!”

"You should be intoxicated only by the presence of God! Not by drugs and gay sex! True or false?"

"TRUEE!"

Stretching out his trembling fingers, Tim looked -- his eyes blazing with pure hatred -- at all these sinners before him, who were pretending now that they never had had sex with Rob Owen or takem meth! Liars and hypocrites! All of them!

“Disobedient, pot smoking liberal sinners would be better off reading the Bible than having gay sex high on drugs and making fun of their government and the US military!” he shouted, hoarsely. “It's written in black and white in the Bible that going to gay escorts is a sin!“

There was a gasp.

„It doesn't matter if you do it in secret. God will see it. He sees everything. He will judge you! The Bible says gay sex and sodomy are loathsome perversions in the eyes of God, the Almighty! Read about Sodom and Gomorrah in the Old Testament! The Bible tells us that anyone guilty of indulging in the unnatural pleasures of gay sex or sex outside of marriage will suffer for all eternity in Hell!“ Tim cried and jabbed his finger in accusation at these holier-than-thou hypocrites who drove into Denver in secret to flirt with gay escorts and take meth, and who then came to church on Sunday and feigned a clean-living lifestyle! The shame of them!

In the first rows, some people had started weeping, crying, hysterical. Others were standing, their eyes closed, holding their hands above their heads: a few were swaying back and forth as if in a trance. Two teenagers had thrown themselves prostrate on the ground.

“Read it in the Bible if you doubt me. Only God and God’s followers who obey God’s law can be saved! God is merciful! He loves his own!“
The hall erupted.

“Pastor Tim! Pastor Tim! Man of God! Man of God!”

Tim stretched out his trembling finger in accusation.

“I tell you,” he thundered. “Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to other Christians in brotherly love and not in gay, perverse love of two naked men writhing together in beds, drugged to the eyeballs with meth. Honor other Christians and our Christian government above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervour, serving the Lord and not gay sex idols as is right for a community of Christians. Brothers and sisters we stand together, always ready to respect our government and help each other ….”

Next, Tim dropped to his knees, dramatically, and pointed to the Crucifix.

"…because if you say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust, then surely you will be saved. You will be saved from the snare and the deadly pestilence of adultery, gay sex, abortion and drug abuse, disease and disgrace! Say this! I want to hear you all say together now: God is my fortress!”

“GOD IS MY FORTRESS!” the crowd shouted out.
Tim stood, blinking in the hot lights.

“Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners, non Christians, socialists, murderers, sexual deviants and supporters of al Qaeda and critics of Israel! Blessed is the man whose delight is in church, and not in gay sex and in crystal meth! He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. So, brothers and sisters, born again in Christ, let us stand here and sing praise to God. Let us praise Him for making us clean again, clean living people. Let us sing of our joy!!”

There was a drum roll.

The hall erupted. The applause was so loud Tim could hardly hear himself think.

“Pastor Tim! Pastor Tim! Soldier of God! Soldier of God! Lead us on!”

Tim looked around him, delirious. He heard the clapping and cheering and adrenaline rushed to his head. What a feat! He had left his office half an hour earlier, a broken man, reduced to a shaking mass of confusion and shame. But now he could stand up straight again. He had the crowd at his feet! He had won, a glittering victory with trumpets galore. He had his pride back. In the eyes of all the people in the hall, he was a great man of God! What else mattered? Oh, he was their hero! Their saviour! Their light in the darkness! The atmosphere was so intense, so passionate that all he could think was that he didn’t want this to end. But it did end.

Tim zig zagged across the stage, smiling and waving his hands while the crowd cheered and cheered.

When Mary O'Driscoll ran on stage, he turned and walked down the steps.

His heart had only just returned to a normal rate when he got another shock as someone gave him a slap on his back. Zack Montgomery was a thin, pale man of 31 with a mop of curly black hair. His brown eyes had a fanatical gleam.

“Wow! Tim. You sure are the King of the razzmatazz!!” Zack said on his way up the steps.
“Thanks, Zack!”

Zack ran on onto the center of the stage.

“More applause for the great Pastor Tim,” Zack shouted. “You see folks, here we do God – and we do God in a big way! Like our pastor, we are soldiers of God, Christians, chosen to do his work, to fight terrorists and defend Israel and support Bush!”

A cheer ripped off the roof.

Walking down the steps, Tim saw Arlen Pierce and Jude Chertoff, the youngest member of the church board, standing at the bottom. In his late twenties with strawberry blood hair, a clean-cut jaw and mild blue eyes, Jude could have passed for Robert Redford.

"A great sermon, Tim," said Jude, smiling.

"Thanks, Jude!" said Tim, giving Jude a slap on the back.

"Awesome, Tim," said Arlen. "You sure know how to bring God’s message across! Inspired!”

"Thanks, Arlen, thanks!"

Mary O’Driscoll started to sing:

“Let us break bread together on our knees.”

Loosening his tie, Tim stumbled on, tore open the back door and lurched down the corridor.
His throat was parched. His tongue was swollen. He needed a drink! A drink of water! Pure cold water to quench his thirst!Three men came up, all in their early twenties, good looking, with short hair cuts.

Off duty soldiers form the base close by? Could be!

"I just want to say a massive thanks to you, Pastor Tim," said a beaming, well-groomed young guy with neatly trimmed sideburns.

"Is this your first time at our church?" Tim asked, smiling and breathing fast. He smoothed down his hair and straightened his tie.

"It is, and I'll be coming back. Your sermon was one of the best I’ve ever heard! I like the way you tell it black and white, the way it is, sir. I'm not surprised yours is the fastest growing evangelical church hereabouts!"

"Me too, Pastor Tim! Awesome! So good to see someone who really has a heart for God!" said another young guy, wearing a white shirt collar outside a navy blue sweatshirt.“Good to hear you have such hearts for God!" Tim muttered, smiling.

In the heat of the moment, he forgot all about his visits to Rob Owen. Now it flashed through his mind, and he drew a sharp breath. But did he really have to tell everything?

A little bit of deception and no one need never find out, Tim thought to himself. And was it really that important, after all, for him to follow every single commandment himself? Were the principles he preached any the less valuable simply because he didn't follow them all the time?

Tim smiled.

"Hope to see y’all next Sunday!" he said.

"Yessir!"

“Our church is a real community. One big family. You’ll find a warm welcome here, plenty of people who share your heart for God! We have plenty of social events going on, plenty of opportunities for you to get to know other cool and clean living Christians like yourself.”
“We were looking for a church just like this, sir.”

Tim’s eyes glittered as he handed out his card.
“Ring me anytime,” he said. “One of the jobs I take most seriously as senior pastor is guiding young Christians.”

“Very honoured, sir!”

“Enjoy the rest of the service.”

“Yessir!”

Tim stumbled on, breathing heavily, desperate for a drink of water. A drink, a drink! A drink of pure, clean water to slake his thirst! Next, he heard someone call his name. Irritated, he turned round and saw a small, wiry, pale young man. His pasty blond hair fell over his eyes. He looked shy and nervous.

"Yes, son?"

"That was awesome, Pastor Tim."

"Thanks!” Tim paused a beat. “What's your name, son?"

"Tobias."

"A Biblical name!"

"Yes, sir. My parents are both Christians. They come from Kansas, like you, sir."

Tim glared at him. Why did this stranger have to spoil everything now by reminding him of his miserable childhood in Kansas? The memory of his father, a doctor, a disciplinarian and a perfectionist flashed before his eyes. Breathing heavily, he lifted his finger and stabbed it in accusation at the young man, who had dared to bring back the pain he had banished by a glorious sermon.

"How did you know I come from Kansas?” asked Tim.

Tobias smiled, bemused.

Everyone knows, sir, where you were born. You're like one of the most famous pastors in the whole of America!"

"And?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you something…ask for your advice, Pastor Tim."

"Fire ahead."

"I was thinking of bringing a friend of mine, here. He’s my room mate at college…”

Tim nodded absently. He was half listening to the clapping in the auditorium. His eyes glittered with ecstasy when he heard his name. Glory, glory, glory be thy name, Tim Leitner!

“…I wanted to bring him along next Sunday evening…”

"Yes, bring your friend along next Sunday, son!" Tim muttered with glassy eyes.

He gave Tobias a friendly slap on the shoulder, then made to go on. But the young man held him back by the arm, then stood there, his eyes lowered from embarrassment.

"But he's gay, Pastor Tim," he said after a moment.

Tim stopped, thunderstruck.

Gay?" he muttered.

His eyes blazed. His nostrils flared.

"That’s why I was wondering whether it’s okay to bring him. I mean, you said gay sex is a sin just now."

"It is!" thundered Tim, straightening himself.

“And sinners have no place in our church. We do not tolerate sinners here!”

"Is it such a sin? I mean, the main thing is to be kind and loving, isn't it? And he is! He's a real cool guy."

"Read the Bible, son! It says there in black and white: no sodomy, no faggots, no sex with gay lovers, no meth!" Tim was shouting now, jabbing his finger accusingly at Tobias. "And no lies to your wife either, son."

"I'm not married, sir."

"You should be at your age!"

"I've got a girlfriend, sir. We're thinking of marrying this summer."

"Well, don't lie to your girlfriend."

"No, sir. I don't lie to her."

"Don't cheat on her!"

"I don't, sir."

Tim inhaled. His nostrils flared violently.

"There is no sweeter fragrance," he stammered, his eyes blazing "than the fragrance of pure, clean thoughts turned towards God!"
Tobias bit his lip. He lowered his eyes. For a moment, he stood there staring at the carpet. Or was it the laces of Tim's boots that had somehow come undone in all the excitement?

"I know, sir," Tobias, finally, mumbled.

Tim took a deep breathe and lifted up his finger in admonition.

"The Bible says sodomy is a sin. Don't sin, son!"

"I'm not gay, sir. I swear, sir. It’s my friend. And I did read the Bible. I saw that Christ never mentions abortion or gay sex. He just says hardness of heart is a bad thing. He forgives the prostitute, too, sir.”

But Tim did not seem to hear. His blazing eyes were fixed on Tobias. They bulged with ire.

"All sinners and all sodomists must repent before they dare enter our church,” he cried out. “No homosexuals are welcome in the temple of God. Your friend should not dare to come here until he has repented his sins and changed his sick and perverted ways. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you for helping me clear that up, Pastor Tim."Tim smiled – or rather the corners of his mouth turned upwards. His eyes, though, remained hostile.

"Any time, son," Tim said.

He turned and stumbled on down the corridor. Water! Water! He craved a drink of pure, cool water.

A dozen people had gathered outside his office, hoping to get his autograph. Parents and their kids with their pens poised over pads, watched him with awe, wide eyed, like he was a baseball star. Tim stopped, scrawled a few autographs. Then lurched through the crowd, pulled open the door of his office drenched in the sweat of euphoria and slammed it shut behind him.