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...