Journey To Redemption

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Almost immediately things went downhill. We initially moved in with her parents, in Denmark, South Carolina. It was degrading. We went to church Sunday after Sunday. Each Sunday, I was in the prayer line. I stood there in front of the Pastor.

“Young man, what are you asking God for?”

Each Sunday I would reply, “Pastor, me and my wife need a house.”

Pastor Prangles presented himself as Lord over his congregation. Somehow, asking him to pray for you always felt like you were asking him to release your blessing. His presence made you feel as if he was the hand of God. So, we all waited for him to reach for the olive oil and recite his redundant prayer opening

“Father God in the name of Jesus.”

Each Sunday, I would close my eyes and squeeze Tanya’s hand tight. I wanted a house so bad. I wanted to feel like a man so bad. I wanted to feel some measure of success. So, I focused on every word the Pastor said. I believed him and believed in him.

“In Jesus name, we pray…Amen.”

I would leave church filled with anticipation. I believed with all my heart that I would get a house…any house. I had worked hard in the church. I felt like somebody owed me something. I felt like I had the inside prayer line to God because I was the Pastor’s right hand. As Deacon Terrell, my life was supposed to be spectacular. Every Sunday after prayer, a strong feeling of joy would overwhelm me. The church would begin clapping, the drummer would grab his sticks, the organist would tickle the keys, and the bass player would grab his guitar. We would dance all around that church. The entire church danced with us. Everybody was happy for us. Each Sunday, we went back to her parents’ house with a renewed type of faith. This routine went on for months, and then one Monday I went to work and found a house to rent. I immediately called the Pastor.

“We’re moving sir. God has blessed us,” I cried with joy.

He asked, “Where is the house?”

“Sir, we are renting a little house in Blackville, South Carolina,” I said.

He laughed. “That’s good. Now that you’re blessed, don’t forget God.”

His sentiment guised his real meaning. We had been blessed, now it was our turn to bless the church. Unusually that meant putting a little something extra on the plate.

“Oh, yes sir Pastor,” I said. “I’m going to remember God, Sir.”

We went to church that Sunday and danced again. It was the same pattern. Sunday after Sunday, shout, jump, dance, pay your money, then leave. Shout, jump, dance, pay your money, then leave. Sunday after Sunday. We had a form of Christianity based on a cult like ministry. Pastor Prangles was the new Jim Jones. He was another Charles Manson, instilling fear and condemnation in anyone that didn’t praise God and thank HIM.

By the time Tanya and I moved into our new home, she was focused on someone else. She loved the spotlight of the church, but the routine and pattern was growing old to me. She wanted me to follow all the “prophecies” that I was going to be a minister. I couldn’t see it. I wanted out of that fish bowl, but she didn’t. So, she began confiding in Minister Lawrence. Lawrence was a young minister from another church. “On fire for the lord,” but he was also on fire for my wife. Tanya didn’t have a job, so while I was at work, Minister Lawrence was working on her.