Strongs in the Lord

By Johnathan M. Carter

Strongs in the Lord is the religious parody that has, too long, been missing from the literary scene. A powerful television evangelist and his television ministry, both ran by a scheming, cheating wife, enjoy untold wealth and power after the tragic events of 911. Using fear, guilt and shame, as every religion does, this family pulls in millions of dollars. Until one day, Reverend Harold Strong has doubts about himself and his ministry, while religious terrorists of both the Muslim and Baptist persuassion, join together to destroy the American democracy and recreate the world in their own image... "this is a story ripped from todays headlines" "...more controversial than current popular religious themed books, and more accurate..."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 3, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462805723

Johnathan M. Carter

Johnathan M. Carter first wrote about being a juror in a high-profile murder case. His third book is an analysis of the entire trial process, based on the research skills he learned after taking a paralegal certification course at the University of Delaware.

Book preview

Preparing the Way

ITitus 1:10 and 11 For there are many unruly and vain

talkers and deceivers, specially they of the circumcision: Whose mouths must be stopped, who subvert whole houses, teaching things which they ought not for filthy lucre’s sake.

In the tiny, brightly-lit dressing room, the aging beauty stared into her tired reflection in the makeup mirror. The wrinkles, crows feet and dark circles under the eyes stood out starkly and sent a shiver down her spine. She was actually an attractive woman, but obsessed with having a look of perfect beauty for her day job. It was not enough to simply look attractive for her audience, she had to look beautiful, even glamorous. Her work was in the entertainment business and she well understood that the older and less glamorous she became, the more of an audience share she would lose to her younger competition. Worse yet, this was one of those times when her younger, prettier, self flashed across the mirror of her memory. A young, early twenties version, when she had smooth, perfect skin, long, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and a slim, perfect body. Long ago she had learned how to use those attributes to her advantage. Manipulating boys and men, with charm and her looks.

Yet, the closer she came to forty four years old, the further away those attributes seemed to be. A beautiful young woman could easily manipulate people, but as she grew older and her looks faded, she had to depend on more.

Pulling her out of a growing melancholia was a knock on her dressing room door. There were only a few people who could see her before she applied her makeup and no one outside of that group would even dare.

Come in, she said, thinking, god this had better be important.

Hi mom, her tall, slim son Thomas smiled as he walked through the door. Thomas was one of three children, his twin James and finally, slightly younger sister Brittany. Thomas was distinguished in his eloquence and his fastidious nature.

Thomas, she looked up, smiling brightly she leaned her head up to receive his hug and peck on the cheek, how is your little girlfriend, Kathy? She hoped the words and condescending tone in which they were delivered would send a subtle message to her son, yet she was not sure. His father was not all that bright and she believed her boy may have inherited some of the slow genes. Boys always looked like mom and thought like dad, she sadly thought.

She’s great, he said cautiously, she’ll be at the show later today. He knew his mother did not like his girlfriend, but more importantly, what she did not know was that his dating was only a cover for his homosexuality. He was not about to tell anyone that he was gay, after all, the gay shall not inherit one of the highest grossing televangelist television show and ministries one day. Still, he could have a little fun at his mother’s expense.

That’s just super honey, she sounded almost convincing, you know, you’re twenty one now, you’ll be meeting and dating a lot of women, so it’s important to be careful.

What do you mean? he asked in false bewilderment

It may seem hard for you to believe, she tried to keep a straight face, but there are some women out there who are just looking for a guy who has as much going for him as you do. Lots of money and fame, you have to be careful who you trust.

Kathy’s not like that, he insisted in false defensiveness, because Kathy was exactly like that. Most of the young ladies he met were very impressed by his name and money. He realized that and sometimes thought he could see the dollar signs flash in the eyes of young ladies he met socially.

I know dear, Stephanie cupped his face in her hands as she choked down the rage she felt, convinced that Kathy was looking to land her wealthy son, it’s just that now you are dating a lot and there are some unpleasant facts of life that we all have to deal with sometimes, now scoot dear, I have to get dressed. She dropped the subject, afraid that he would think that she was nagging him and tune her out altogether.

Thomas stood up, grateful for his ability to fool his mother, who was not a person to be easily fooled by anyone. She had the ability, which he regarded as a superpower, to read people like a book, rarely wrong in her assessment of her fellow human beings.

Even though he was only twenty one, he was shopping around for his beard. It was likely that he, along with his two other siblings would inherit a religious empire. If Thomas was found out, it would endanger his ability to market himself and could indeed, harm the earning power of the business.

His beard would be a woman who simply wanted the security of marrying a wealthy man in exchange for bearing his heirs and who also had the ability to stay in a loveless marriage for however long they both shall live. He was, in essence, interviewing candidates for an open position.

Stephanie Strong worried about what she erroneously perceived as her son’s, sensitive, nature. Most women would make a man like that miserable, worse yet, women like that would take over in a relationship. She and her husband would be leaving behind too large of a fortune one day, for a fortune hunting dominatrix to get a hold of. She leaned back, turned on the room’s exhaust fan, and lit a cigarette. A meditative thing to do on her part, yet her religious fanatic audience would be as horrified to see her do it as fanatical Muslims would be to see a woman driving a car.

The Strong Family Evangelical Ministries, was a multimillion dollar industry that catered to the frightened, superstitious and none too bright in the religious community. It was a show, very theatrical, very thrilling, very manipulative, playing on the base fears and superstitions of mankind. Naturally, it was very popular and very lucrative.

As she confronted the mirror once again, Stephanie thought that there was a time when putting on her makeup was a more feminine or even sensuous experience. At some point, it had simply become part of her job, like putting on a uniform. She began applying foundation, working hard toward a low thirties appearance. Soon the doors of the church would open and it would be time to herd in another twenty thousand people and she, along with her fellow performers would smile, act pious and try to shame poverty level, God fearing Christians into sending their hard earned money to a multi million dollar ministry.

Her greatest inspiration was her father. As a child, she watched that man in awe. He was a minister of the fanatical Baptist faith, whose congregation looked to him as a god like figure. Stephanie’s mother played a small role in her life as the young girl became more interested in her father and how he was able to draw people into a world of his own creation, where everything and everyone outside of his church, or sphere of influence was evil. She had learned the difference between real life and the life he preached about by simple observation. He was no different than other men, but his ability to convince people that he was, helped him to exert power over his flock and be revered by them. By the time Stephanie was fourteen years old, she knew more about the human psyche than most psychiatrists would ever learn in a lifetime of study.

After graduating high school, the next logical step for her was to go to a fanatical Christian College and then, to find the man that she would make into a superstar evangelist. She had to find a man. There was a deep, abiding hatred in the religious community, for a woman who dared to preach the word of God. She would have to find a good looking lump of moldable clay. A man to make into a star, with her right next to him, in a co starring role, of course. It had never occurred to her to be find a man to be actually love, or even like.

Harold Strong was one of the most powerful televangelists in the world. He knew that the only reason for that was because he listened to everything his wife told him to do. All of his expressions and movements, all of his catchphrases, his preaching style, the way he talked to others, the way he dressed, the way he walked and talked were all dictated by his wife. Reason being that she was correct in every respect.

He looked at himself in the mirror with some sadness. He was forty four, like she was, he also wore makeup, not as much as she did, but they were both marketing their image. He stood six foot five, was broad shouldered and had a head of thick, black hair, a thick, black, mustache and piercing blue eyes. Stephanie had taught him how to exude sex appeal and be very charismatic. There was a science to being noticed, to being wanted and desired. Celebrities learned how to turn themselves on and off for the lives they lived in front of the audience and their private lives when they had to live the same lives of quiet desperation as anyone else.

His roots were a little different from his wife’s. He had been raised in a fanatical Baptist Church but he had no clear plans for life and little or no ambition. He had entered a fanatical, Christian college, where he met his future wife.

Or future handler, as he had come to consider her. Not that he had any reason to complain. A multimillionaire, a star in his world that was as big as any secular celebrity. Still, he did not feel very much like a man. Not like the men he preached about. Men in the Bible who were brave, stoic, leaders. No, he was a creation. Who knows what he would have been or even where he would have ended up if it had not been for his beautiful, intelligent wife? In one way he owed her everything, but in another way, he was finally coming to grips with the fact that he did not feel the way he thought an independent, man of accomplishment should feel. Not like a man who had gone out and made his fortune. Stephanie had shaped him, then worked him like a puppet to make their fortune and empire. Three children in various stages of college and millions of dollars later, he could not shake a feeling of inadequacy. He casually reached into the drawer in his make up table where he stored the Chivas. Just a shot of that, or maybe two was usually enough to chase away his castrated feelings. He had never felt called of God, to the ministry, even though he had made up a good story. He had never even felt a twinge of guilt over his involvement in what was a gang rape he and several classmates committed in his senior year of high school. She was drunk and he and several of his friends had went into the bedroom where she was sick and barely conscious. They all took turns with her. Back then, he thought of it as just the stupid things kids did. Now, as middle age began, he was looking at himself in a whole different light. Wondering who he was and what he had been. Does my life have any validity, he wondered, or am I simply a meat bag, existing for the sole purpose of serving the blonde beast? His blue eyes looked at him from the mirror with fear and uncertainty. He was not on, yet, so his eyes were not piercing, nor looking very happy, they were staring into his soul.

Stage right looked like a news desk. It was not an objective news desk, if there were such a thing, there was a religious fanatic, posing as a newscaster, telling the faithful how all of the events happening in the middle east meant that Jesus Christ would return soon. This type of preaching had been going on for a good thirty years and had taken a great cottage industry for people who could put the best spin on the books of Daniel, Isaiah, and the most important one, Revelation, to a multi-billion dollar industry for the clever and the lucky. Any speculation that the book of Revelation was a thinly veiled attack on Caesar Nero and the oppressive Roman Empire was simply put down as the intellectual blasphemy of people who thought outside of the dogma box. Thinking was wrong, simply trust and obey, for there is no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey, or so they say.

The faux news reports showed clips from the middle east featuring riots in the streets, dead children (all women who saw dead children cried and sent money) and bombed out shops and apartment buildings. They were designed to scare and outrage. Jesus had to be coming soon, the phony news man insisted to his audience, look at how the prophecy is being fulfilled, he would proclaim in much the same way as he proclaimed in every show. From the moment that the ink had dried on the last book of the Bible, men had been proclaiming that the prophecies had all been fulfilled and Jesus was coming soon. After two thousand and five years, Jesus had not shown up, which did not dissuade the faithful.

Jesus Christ, a spiritual leader who had brought a halt to the intense, violence of Old Testament religion, and ushered in an entirely new philosophy in a way that was almost reminiscent of John Lennon, minus the heroin and the Yoko of course, had been turned into a politicized figure for the right wing, who, long contemptuous of civil rights and freedom in general, would gladly use the religious right wing nuts to further their political agenda. Their Jesus was now a European looking, tall, angry savior who hated abortion doctors, homosexuals (there was nothing gay about what they were doing, you understand), communists and Muslims and was ready and willing to bathe in the blood of the unbelievers.

Harold Strong kept that false image alive. Well, him and more importantly, his wife, Stephanie and the infinite number of televangelist monkeys who, pounding on a typewriter of hatred and fear, eventually pounded out the mass market propaganda that passed for religion. From many meager beginnings in the sixties to the slickly produced shows that were a billion dollar industry, all tax free, in the early two thousands, all for the masses who embraced religious fanaticism and ridiculed intellectual development while fearing medical research and advances.

The big money and high paying gigs only happened if the Man of God in question was a good performer or had a great gimmick or two up a crooked sleeve. Stand up comedian, dramatic actor, good storyteller, musician and singer were all traits of the successful, fanatical Baptist preacher, minister or televangelist. To be at the top of his profession, he had to be able to wield power over men and women, inspiring loyalty and devotion in the men and a type of lust in the women.

Now, spirits of the dead, broken souls, destroyed and cast aside casually by his kind called out to Strong from somewhere in his heart and soul. Harold Strong was not the man of God described by the Bible. He was a salesman, a politician, a prostitute and worst of all, a cold hearted mercenary who had learned his lessons from the best in the business. His ambitious wife had taken her all too willing subject and driven him to the top. He was more of a perfect corporate type than the spiritual man that he was supposed to be.

Hey sweetness, the effeminate makeup man said, stirring him out of his reverie, it’s almost time.

Thanks, Strong faked sincerity and enthusiasm, I think I got lost in thought for a minute there.

The makeup man laughed politely as he began making the television preacher look younger and manly.

Brittany Strong sat in front of her mirror, too young to see regretful moments in her life flash by metaphorically in the reflecting glass. All she saw was the reflection of her pretty, twenty two year old face, framed by long, flowing black hair. Corrine leaned down to study Strong’s face in the mirror.

You are definitely ready to face your public once again, the tall, slim redhead smiled at Strong’s reflection.

Thanks sweety, Strong giggled, turning to face Corrine, I could kiss you, but I’d smear my lipstick, she said with an exaggerated pout.

I can always fix your lipstick, Corrine assured Strong as she leaned down to kiss her best friend and lover hard on the mouth. They stopped for a moment, giggled, then gazed into each other’s eyes with a crazed, genuine love that only young, idealistic people know. Brittany pulled Corrine into her arms as they slowly kissed and whispered outrageous promises to each other.

His makeup finished, Harold was distracted once again by the desire for yet a third shot of Chivas. He would not have it because he knew his limit and was not about to do something that might cause him to make a fool of himself onstage.

Tell me, who are you? he demanded dramatically, pointing a finger at himself in the mirror, with his stage face on, his blue eyes now piercing, his voice firm and confident. He turned his face back and forth as he checked his reflection in the mirror. I’m the greatest televangelist in the world, he proclaimed in his stage voice.

Amen, replied the effeminate make up man, with secret love in his eyes.

Do I even believe in God, Harold wondered. He certainly believed in the business praise Jesus. They were pulling in obscene amounts of money, glory to God, but when the moments of grim reality set in, when he had to face himself, his beliefs and his demons, did he even believe in God?

Was he God? The faithful fans looked at him with eyes of wonder and awe, as if he had some wonderful enlightenment that made him so much better than they were. The audience liked it that way too. When the real world was brutal, cold and hard, they could turn to him for answers if hours on their knees yielded no results. He knew just what to say. He had learned it in Wrath of God Biblical University. He had learned the standard answers for the standard questions that all the standard people came to him with. They all thought their problems, and some things that they wrongly assumed were problems, were so unique, thinking it was probably the first time their pastor had ever heard of such a thing.

It was fairly routine. Every fanatical Baptist church had the same type of characters in their congregations. One congregation was virtually interchangeable with any other. The sheer monotony and predictability of the minister’s job was almost maddening. Many preachers who did not understand this suffered from stress related illnesses on a constant basis. Strong thought that there should be a course that taught ministers how to deal with those problems.

Focus dammit, focus, he said intensely to his reflection.

Naughty swears made Jesus unhappy, the effeminate make up man said, his face an over the top mask of disapproval.

Let’s save some souls for Jesus, Strong proclaimed, jumping up with his stage persona in high gear.

Praise His name, the make up man replied, high fiving the televangelist as Strong bounded out the door.

The Show Goes On

Strong immediately focused on the show and what he

would be doing. Four shows a day were filmed. During every break, makeup was redone and wardrobe was changed. This kept the Strong family running ahead of schedule. Which would mean that if for any reason, they could not film shows, there would still be fresh shows to run in the timeslot, keeping the cash machine going.

As an entertainer, Strong was a solid professional. Even saddled with self doubt, he could walk out on that stage and give the same solid performance that he gave for every show. Like any good entertainer, he could turn it on and off at a moment’s notice.

He and his wife approached each other on stage with wide, loving, smiles. The crowd applauded, augmented by the audio editors. The center stage had three seats; two throne like seats for the two hosts and a sofa for the guests. Stage left provided musical entertainment in the form of a robed choir. Stage right had the news station with many monitors and a desk for the journalist.

The audience saw two, powerful, tall, attractive people ascend unto their thrones. In their seats, the Strongs looked out into a brightly lit auditorium, full of hopeful, worshipful faces. From the true believers, crazed fanatics and ruined lives full of shame, hope and prayerful optimism, came the standard audience mix. Men and women who were frightened of themselves, the savage, brutal world they lived in or simply afraid of everyone and everything. Some women in the audience and watching at home actually experienced intense orgasms as they watched, which some chalked up as a visitation of the Lord. The Lord was not thrilled about it either.

Even though he had told himself to focus, Harold realized that Stephanie had just asked a question with his name attached. For the first time in the history of their television ministry, he had lost his focus. In that desperate moment with continuity failure imminent, he drew upon the drama skills he had learned in Bible College.

Stephanie, he said with his evangelist voice, turning to look at her, seeing her angelic face but also seeing her eyes, blazing with anger because she knew what had just happened, I have just felt the need to say the name, ‘Carolyn,’ to let her know that the Lord has just cured her of cancer, he raised his arms high, his eyes closed in what he knew looked like the rapture of the true believer.

Oh, Stephanie placed her hands on her face, which was a mask of concern, praise His name, she oozed. As one of the best in any field that dealt with the public, Stephanie was able to fake sincerity very well.

I want to lift up Carolyn’s name in prayer right now, he said as the organ began playing in the background. He said an amazing prayer, winging it the way only a true professional could, describing a type of woman that most people could relate to. He prayed earnestly for her as if she were a real, sympathetic character. He was out of a jam.

Now Is The Bedtime

of His Discontent

At eleven p.m., he laid in bed, thumbing through the

latest issue of Popular Photography and Imaging magazine. He had been waiting for Stephanie to say something to him about his lapse in attention. He felt like a little boy dreading being hollered at by his mother. How sick was that, he wondered. She was an authority figure, the boss, his boss.

As he looked at her in bed next to him, he wondered when he first began feeling intimidated in the bedroom. He loved her, inasmuch as she was all he had and she had made him wealthy and famous. Yet he could not even begin to think of her as a romantic partner. The thought of touching her was frightening to him, he would not know how to start or where to begin.

He did fall in love with her when they were both in college. Looking back, he wondered if he had chosen her, or if she had chosen him. He thought he had pursued her, maybe he had only been a type of man that she was looking for. He could have been any tall, good looking man with a little charisma. He was getting depressed so he turned away from her and turned his attention to his magazine, even though he had not held a camera in his hands in years.

It was only a few moments later when he felt her eyes upon him. He turned, looking into her intensely staring, blue eyes.

He tried a charming smile, which he knew was a useless gesture because she had taught him those tactics, but he gave it the old try and it only looked like a frightened smile on the face of a large, frightened man.

Your mind wandered tonight, she stared hard at him, her voice firm what the hell was that about?

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid her blazing eyes.

Are you having some kind of mid life crisis or something? she asked with annoyance and perhaps, great accuracy.

No, he said quickly, turning away from her, Christ, it’s only the first time that ever happened to me.

Do you know what happens after the first time? she asked, knowing that he could feel her eyes on him even though he had turned his face away, There is a second time and a third. She abruptly finished, feeling only slightly guilty about attacking the man in his own bedroom. Usually conflicts about the show were dealt with in meetings. She had to walk a fine line between controlling him while keeping him fairly content and not step over the line of mentally castrating him and making him miserable. A miserable performer does not perform well.

What could the simple fuck be unhappy about, she asked herself. He had everything; money, fame a hot looking mistress that he probably thought she did not know about. The mistress was Stephanie’s twenty two year old assistant who she paid to seduce her husband. Which was for his own good. She had started this business, with her brains and good looks and using his good looks and charisma, they were able to build an empire. Stephanie could tell her husband was feeling unmanly due to the power and influence she wielded. His unmanly feelings translated into sub-par performances on the show, so she sent him a cute girl to make him feel in charge and manly. He still felt inferior to his wife, but at least he had someone he could be in charge of, a woman that he could feel manly with.

She rolled her eyes as she looked at his back, lying there in bed. Pretending he had gone to sleep, she thought. He was probably too upset to sleep now. Don’t cry Boo Hoo, she thought sarcastically and almost laughed out loud. I should have listened to daddy, she reflected. Her dad never did think highly of Harold, he just did not think that the man could handle the responsibility of the job. He had been right, but then again, Stephanie needed someone she could dominate and mold if she were going to have the power, the glory and the kingdom for ever and ever, amen.

Now she was restless. She got up and walked to her closet. All of those poor people barely making a living, sending in their hard earned money had made it possible for the Strongs to have an incredible lifestyle. She had to wonder sometimes, what did these people think their money was going for when they sent it in? Families who lived in cramped, tiny homes with median incomes made it possible for her to have a huge mansion built, just because they actually believed that their money was needed for Jesus or, out of guilt, fear and shame. Or a mixture of all four. She chuckled slightly the way she did whenever she thought of her flock as she stopped in front of her massive closet. She really hated the pretty dresses, nylons and shoes that she had to wear daily, but the look was very important. Women were supposed to dress like women, according to her backward, simpleminded flock. Which meant, dresses that went below the knee, blouses that buttoned up to the collar, outfits that left everything to the imagination.

In her world, the thinking was that women who wore pants or low cut tops were