"Purge the Evil" - a novel

by Bill Dunn

(Note: this is a work-in-progress attempt at writing a novel. Feedback, critiques, plot suggestions are more than welcomed.)
 

CHAPTER 3

Sunday, October 24th, 12:15 p.m.

On this bright, sunny fall day, the parking lot of the Faith Cathedral, as usual, was filled to overflowing. During his long ministerial career, the non-denominational church’s founder and senior pastor, Rev. G.W. Morton, never had a problem gathering large crowds to listen to him preach. And the people who came from far and near to listen, never seemed to mind that the services often lasted more than two hours.

Just seven years ago the Cathedral itself, a gleaming steel and glass building with comfortable seating for over 1,500 people, was nothing more than a vision in Rev. Morton’s mind. But with a fervent zeal and a seemingly endless supply of personal energy, he raised over $4 million to convert an abandoned industrial site in the Elmwood section of West Hartford into one of the largest evangelical Christian communities in New England.

The Faith Cathedral was not actually a cathedral; it was more like a performing arts center with stained glass windows. Although the building was not as large as some of the mega-churches found in other regions of the country, it was certainly quite impressive for a part of the nation that generally looks down its nose at loud and boisterous “old time religion.” Similar to Midwestern and California mega-churches, the Faith Cathedral presented Broadway quality productions each week, complete with professional musicians, singers, and actors. Attendees always received a good dose of the Gospel message and a great dose of entertainment.

Not to be outdone in entertainment quality, Rev. Morton himself was a one man show. His sermons always evoked the full gamut of emotions in his listeners: joy, anger, shame, repentance, laughter, hope, and determination. He was considered by most observers to be the most inspirational preacher in the Hartford region in at least 30 years. Rev. Morton had a knack for bringing people into a closer relationship with Jesus, and for motivating them to be “faith warriors” not just on Sundays, but also every other day of the week. Besides supporting the Faith Cathedral’s sizeable monthly budget, Rev. Morton’s flock generously donated to area charities, including the donation of countless hours volunteering at soup kitchens, homeless shelters, and crisis pregnancy centers. Many in the flock once were on the receiving end of those very same charitable services. Hundreds of people in central Connecticut are quick to credit Rev. Morton for the dramatic change in their lives. Many broken marriages and shattered lives were healed by the care and compassion offered by Rev. Morton and his church. No doubt about it, the community of believers at Faith Cathedral were on fire for the Lord and the cause of virtue and decency, and taking their cue from Rev. Morton, they didn’t mind saying so to everyone they met.

Rev. G.W. Morton was born to be in a pulpit. Except he never actually was in the pulpit. He was incapable of preaching while standing still. He had too much energy to park himself in one spot for an hour. G.W. was a pacer. He strode back and forth during his sermons, sweating profusely and rarely looking at his prepared notes. To Rev. Morton, delivering a sermon was an athletic event, an aerobic workout. By the time he was done preaching at the 10 a.m. service, well after noon on most Sundays, his cheeks were bright red, his thick shock of wavy silver hair was matted down, and his formerly immaculate three-piece suit and tie were rumpled, drenched, and often tossed aside. Some church members noted that you could always tell when Rev. Morton was just about finished with his sermon: the only article of clothing that hadn’t been loosened or discarded were his trousers. And, of course, a virtuous, straight laced man of the cloth like Rev. G.W. Morton was not about to drop his drawers in public.

On this particular morning, Rev. Morton was in fine form. “And again I say to you,” he thundered while thrusting his worn Bible into the air, “can a society survive if lawlessness and chaos are allowed to reign supreme? Does God Almighty wish to see this nation—a nation He created and blessed—slide into complete anarchy?!”

Before Rev. Morton could answer his own rhetorical question, many in the congregation yelled, “No!!”

It was a reasonably enthusiastic response, especially for a crowd comprised mostly of Connecticut natives. But it was nothing like ol’ G.W. remembered from his days back in his home state of Missouri. In the foothills of the Ozarks, a church with 200 people easily could out-shout 1500 stiff Yankees sitting on their hands.

“The good Lord commanded his people what to do in this situation,” Morton continued. “In the book of Deuteronomy, chapter 21, God said to the Israelites:

If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his father and mother and will not listen to them when they discipline him, his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town. They shall say to the elders, ‘This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a profligate and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of his town shall stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.

Looking up from his Bible, Morton exclaimed, “The word of God is true, yesterday, today, and forever! If this divine command was good enough for Moses and the ancient Israelites, it’s good enough for us today!”

The crowd stirred with approval. Some said, “Amen.” Others clapped briefly. Everyone in attendance knew exactly what Rev. Morton would say next. It was the topic Morton mentioned virtually every week for more than a year: the ghastly triple murder in the nearby suburban town of Wallingford.

The state of Connecticut rarely makes the national news. But during July of the previous year, satellite trucks from all the major news organizations descended on central Connecticut to report a horrific story. The wife and two daughters of a prominent Yale University professor were brutally raped and murdered inside their upscale home. Two suspects were immediately apprehended, each possessing extensive arrest records. When it was discovered that both of the career criminals had been given early release soon before the murders, simply because the parole board was concerned about prison overcrowding, the citizens of the state went ballistic.

Candlelight vigils, letters to the editors, and “get tough on crime” speeches by politicians occurred with great frequency in the wake of the tragedy. But then, slowly but surely, the public outraged subsided. Within weeks the satellite trucks packed up and left Wallingford. Within months the state legislature, after promising to crack down on repeat offenders walking free, forgot all the passionate rhetoric and ultimately did nothing. Only two lone voices continued to bang the drum about the lax criminal justice system: Rev. G.W. Morton, and a Hartford media icon, the inflammatory radio talk show host Dave “Pit Bull” Peterson.

“When dangerous convicted criminals can walk our streets freely,” Rev. Morton proclaimed, “when we as a society allow evil in our midst and do nothing to stop it, then our society soon will dissolve! If the duly elected and appointed officials will not lift a finger to protect us, to purge the evil from among us, then we…”

Rev. Morton paused. He was rarely at a loss for words, and he was not at a loss now. In his passion and fervor, he was about to conclude his sentence by shouting, “…we must take matters into our own hands!” But in the instant before he said that, he quickly thought, No, Captain Bradford said not to say or do anything that might raise suspicion.

Finally, after a short pause that seemed much longer to Rev. Morton than it really was, he finished his sentence by saying softly. “…then, uh, we must do all we can to elect and appoint new officials who will do their jobs. And most of all, we must continue to pray.”

Then Rev. Morton gathered up his suit jacket, led the congregation in a brief prayer, and nodded toward the music director, the signal to lead the 16-piece band and 40-voice choir in a lively closing hymn. While the congregation rose to its feet and sang joyfully, Rev. Morton, who usually sang along with gusto, seemed lost in thought.

When the third verse of the hymn began, pretty near everybody in the building looked in their hymnals, since even passionate, dedicated Evangelicals don’t have every word of every song memorized. Rev. Morton took this opportunity to glance up casually and look toward Tom Wilkins and his family, who were located is their usual spot, the fifth row on the far right aisle. Wilkins was the owner of Wilkins Ford-Nissan, the largest car dealership in West Hartford. He was an enthusiastic supporter of the Faith Cathedral, giving generously of both his money and his time. Wilkins was one of the many who credited Rev. Morton for turning his life around. A spiritual renewal transformed Wilkins from a high living, “booze and broads” businessman into a sober and devoted family man. Regardless of any past gratitude, Wilkins now returned Rev. Morton’s glance with an icy stare, a stare that seemed to say, We have to talk—right now!

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