A Rhinestone Button (15 page)

Pastor Divine stepped back to the microphone as Rod took his seat in the front pew next to Penny. Penny smiled at him as he sat down, and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Thank you, Rod,” said Divine. “The Lord will provide. Name your seed and plant it. God will give back tenfold. Give what God tells you to give. Amen. At this point we usually hand buckets around, but tonight God is telling me to help you plant that first seed. He’s telling me to get the heads of the household to bring their offerings to the front.” He picked up a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket from beneath the podium and held it up. “Men, as heads of the household, bring your offering, hold it high in the air so God can see it, bring it up front and put it right in this bucket I’m holding, so God and everyone in this room can see you are investing in God’s financial system.”

“That’s a good tactic,” whispered Liv. “Forcing everyone to show what they’re giving. He’s sure to get more that way.”

“It won’t work here,” said Job.

“Come on down,” said Pastor Divine. “Don’t be shy.”

Job looked around, along with everyone in the congregation, embarrassment rippling across the room. No
one discussed money here and no one, except Dithy Spitzer and the children who made offerings of quarters and dimes, put his offering in the plate without having first wrapped it in the clean white church envelopes with
God loveth a cheerful
giver printed across the bottom. Years before, Abe had put a motion before the board to have the members’ yearly contributions published along with their names in the last church bulletin of the year, to encourage more enthusiastic giving, but was firmly voted down six to one.

“Come now, people,” said Pastor Divine. “What you give tonight will come back tenfold.”

Dithy snorted, muttered, “Tenfold.” Clacked her dentures against the roof of her mouth.

Jacob stepped forward with a fifty dollar bill, held high for everyone to see and placed it in the bucket. But no one else came up. Not even members of the worship team. Perhaps they felt they were making enough of a contribution to the event.

Pastor Henschell whispered in Pastor Divine’s ear.

“All right,” said Pastor Divine. “Pastor Henschell has suggested we hand the buckets around. So, attendants?”

Steinke and Solverson passed the Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets row to row, starting at the front. The offering bucket made its way down the row. Liv handed it on to Job without contributing. He put in an envelope he’d prepared at home and handed the bucket to Mrs. Spitzer, who made change from a five.

“All right,” said Pastor Divine. “Let’s have a few more praise songs!”

The congregation stood, sang.

“I feel the Spirit in this place,” Pastor Divine boomed over the voices.

Many church members stopped singing, uncertain of what to do. But the worship team went on singing, and some spoke in tongues quietly.

Pastor Divine took the microphone off the stand, carried it out to the front pew and waved a hand in front of him. “I feel the Holy Spirit here. It’s very thick here, over this section of the crowd. Do you feel it? The Holy Spirit swells on our song, on our praise. It’s very thick here tonight. Here it comes. I can feel it swelling!”

The music swelled, and the singing and the speaking in tongues swelled with it. Then just as it started, the din subsided into gentle singing, whispered glossolalia. “Feel that?” said Pastor Divine. “The Holy Spirit’s like the wind, comes and goes. Here comes another gust!”

The cacophony rose again. A woman from the worship team shouted out as if in pain. The music quieted. “That was just a breeze,” said Pastor Divine. He pointed at the ceiling. “Somebody turn off these fans so we can feel the breeze of the Holy Spirit.” Steinke flicked off the switch, the fans slowed to a stop. “Here comes another gust. Feel it!”

The noise rose yet again and Job could almost feel the breath of the Holy Spirit on his face. He felt Liv’s, for certain. “You believe this guy?” she said.

“Who feels the Holy Spirit on them?” Hands shot up, eager children with the right answer. “Come forward.”

A line of fifteen formed down the aisle, all city folk. Some from the worship team, others as neatly dressed but without the air of professionalism. Likely they had come down from Bountiful Harvest as well. Volunteers to spread
the fire. Or out for a night’s entertainment. Job could see the fun in it, the excitement of meeting God head-on, touching the divine on a Saturday night.

“Catchers!” said Pastor Divine. “I need catchers!” Men from the worship team stepped forward, braced themselves to take the weight.

Pastor Divine talked into the face of the first woman, waving a hand gently back and forth in front of her. “I see the Holy Spirit over you, enveloping you. It’s like a bubble. Nothing else can come inside. No germs. No bacteria. When the Holy Spirit is over you, you are clean!” The woman swayed back and forth in response to his hand, as if she were a puppet. He made a sizzling sound, touched her forehead and yelled, “Fire!” The woman fell back into the catcher’s arms. He laid her gently on the floor and moved on. The woman convulsed on the floor as if suffering from an epileptic fit.

“He’s doing a stage hypnotist’s show,” whispered Liv.

When the pastor had finished knocking down the row of people, he climbed over them to get back to the front. “I should mention that if you’re too shy to come forward tonight, or if you have someone at home who is sick, bring a cloth handkerchief to me and I will anoint it for you. Cotton or linen handkerchiefs work best, but don’t bring me man-made fibres like nylon or Saran Wrap or aluminum foil like some people have. It doesn’t hold the anointment. Though in a pinch, toilet paper works quite well.”

Liv’s laugh high and clear across the congregation, a tumble of silver balls. Job inched closer to Mrs. Spitzer.

Pastor Divine glanced at Liv before carrying on. “All you have to do is be open to the healing that Jesus has already given you. I’m just the doorman. I open the door so God’s
healing can take place. All you have to do is be willing.” He held out a hand, picked his way between the bodies of those slain in the Spirit. “The Holy Spirit is blowing through again. Feel it! It’s thicker down here. You!” He said, pointing at Dithy. “The Spirit’s in you.” He pointed at Liv. “But not in you! You are empty of the Holy Spirit!”

Liv laughed.

Pastor Divine stepped into the pew, put a hand on Job’s shoulder. “But the fire’s on you! Stand up!”

Job stood.

“The Spirit of healing is thick on you. You’ll feel it in your hands as heat. Are your hands hot?” He kept command of the microphone, didn’t point it at Job.

Job felt the heat in his sweaty hands. Nodded.

“You can heal, did you know that? Anyone can heal if they’ve got the Holy Spirit in them, anyone.”

He took Job by the arm, led him to the aisle, shifted the foot of one slain in the Spirit to the side. “Who needs a healing?”

One of the slain jumped up, took her spot at the front of the line, others from the city behind her. A big woman, in a shapeless green dress. Swollen ankles.

Pastor Divine asked, “Where are you hurting?” and tipped the microphone to her.

“I’ve been clinically depressed for a year. I’m on medication.”

“You believe you can be healed?”

“Yes.”

“Then be healed!” He took Job’s hot hand, placed its palm on the woman’s forehead. The woman fell back, into the arms of a catcher.

The next woman in line said she had arthritis, and fell backwards before Job touched her. “It’s your proximity,” explained Pastor Divine. “When you’re filled with the Holy Spirit, you can just walk into the room and everyone in it will be drunk on the Holy Spirit. All right. You’ve got the hang of it. Touch their forehead and command them to be healed in Jesus’ name.”

“Is that what I say?
Be healed in Jesus’ name?
”

“Sure. Whatever the Holy Spirit lays on your heart. That’s what you say.”

Job’s hands shook. He cleared his throat, coughed. “What’s your ailment?”

The woman in front of him was in her late fifties, heavy-set. Her dark eyes followed Pastor Divine as he made his way over bodies, and she boomed into the microphone. “Diabetes,” she said. “Borderline. I’m on a restricted diet. Miss my chocolate.”

Job coughed into his hand, saw a momentary look of disgust flit across the woman’s face. “You got a cold,” she said.

“No. Just a tickle in my throat.”

“The last thing I need is a cold.”

He rubbed the cough onto his pant leg, reached for the woman’s forehead. She ducked. He waved his hand in the air around her head, hoping it appeared authentic. “In Jesus’ name,” he commanded, “be healed!” But lost his voice, trailed off into a squeak. Coughed.

The woman didn’t fall backwards, and instead looked him in the eye. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“The Holy Ghost has moved on,” said the catcher behind her. The woman stomped back to her pew, and the others in line drifted off.

Job, let off the hook, fled through the sanctuary doors to the foyer and poured himself coffee. His hands shook. He felt like he’d run a marathon. His heart pumped; he smelled the stink of anxiety from his pits. He drank, staring through the window of the sanctuary door, resolved to stay in the foyer until the service was over. He didn’t know how he’d face Liv.

Inside the sanctuary, everyone, save those lying in the aisle or dancing, was fanning themselves with the pamphlets for the evangelical workshops Pastor Divine and Rod had placed on the pews. With the fan off, the combined heat of their bodies was stifling. Almost everyone had the wilted look of week-old tulips. Harry Kuss slumped in his seat and let out a snore loud enough for Job to hear in the foyer. Laughter scattered across the room.

“There’s another manifestation of the Holy Spirit,” Pastor Divine said. He carried the microphone down to the first row. They all listened to Harry snore. “It’s as if he’s saying amen to what I’ve been saying.”

He carried the mike back to the pulpit and threw a hand in the air. “Jesus is going to heal you of that demon you’ve got riding on you. You got the demon of cancer? He will cast that demon out! You got the demon of arthritis? He will cast that demon out!”

“Demon?” Dithy called out. The congregation turned to look at her.

“Yes!” Pastor Divine jabbed a finger at Dithy. “Demons! Now I’ve got a word of caution for you. Not every illness is caused by a demon. Sometimes God’s got a plan for you. Sometimes God has something to teach
you. Yes, God teaches through misfortune. Let me say that again, God teaches through misfortune!”

Dithy stood. “No!” she said. “You’re wrong!” She worked her way out of the pew. Liv clapped her hands and laughed. “What did I learn from losing everybody I ever loved?” Dithy cried out. “You tell me!”

Jacob and Pastor Henschell jumped up to intercept her. But before they could reach her, Dithy pulled the water pistol from her vest and aimed it at Pastor Divine. “Oh my God!” he screamed. “She’s got a gun.”

Those slain in the Spirit scrambled on all fours into nearby pews and huddled at the feet of members of Godsfinger Baptist, clearing the way for Dithy. She aimed and fired. A stream of water hit Pastor Divine between the eyes. He stumbled back, touched his face to find there was no blood there, only water. Took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, mopped his face.

Jacob and Pastor Henschell pulled Dithy down the aisle. “The bumper stickers are right!” she called out.

Job stepped aside as Jacob and Pastor Henschell pushed open the sanctuary doors. Dithy struggled there a moment, braced herself against the door frame, turned her head back to glare at Pastor Divine. “Shit just happens!”

Job stepped out onto the church steps, rolling his shirt sleeves down, his fingertips puckered from washing the revival crowd’s dishes. He’d slipped downstairs to the kitchen with a pan of cups and plates during Pastor Divine’s wrap-up prayer, embarrassed to face Liv after the show he’d put on. Hoping, too, that she’d come downstairs to find him. But she was gone with the rest, and he was left to lock up the church. The sun had just set. Under red-tinged clouds, a ribbon of brilliant yellow, the colour of an egg yolk taken from a chicken allowed to run the yard.

Jacob was waiting for him in the truck, sitting in the passenger side with the windows rolled down. Mosquitoes buzzing around him. He slapped his arms. “Mind giving me a ride home?” he said. “Lilith took Ben home in the car.”

Job got in, pulled the door closed behind him. “Why you got the windows open?” he said. “Aren’t the mosquitoes getting to you?”

Jacob slapped a mosquito on his neck. “Just hot, I guess,” he said.

But Job smelled a fart. Jacob had opened the windows to air out the truck, so Job wouldn’t notice he’d passed
wind. It was a thing Job himself might have done. He held his farts in until church was over, or until dinner was done if he was eating with Jacob, Lilith and Ben in the kitchen. He took his gas outside. But Job had always imagined Jacob had the confidence to weather such trivial embarrassments, in a way that Job himself did not. A surprise to find he didn’t.