Winer, Marie, Benbow, and Augustine were asked a representative number of questions mainly because the Q and A lasted so long. From the beginning, the most popular figure on the dais was Klaus Krieg. It was as if the students could not believe that they now had access to a genuine television personality. And it was obvious that many in the audience were very familiar with his telecasts.
To Koesler’s observation, questions addressed to Krieg ranged from what seemed honest attempts to learn something about the publishing field, to the more celebrity-conscious queries regarding what life is really like in front of the lights and cameras and, most importantly, what Krieg’s celebrity guests were really like off-camera.
It was toward what turned out to be the windup of the question-and-answer session that the blockbuster query came.
The question came from a mousy woman who seemed almost reluctant to ask it.
“Reverend Krieg,” she began, “I’ve read a few of the books you’ve published, and there’s one thing I’ve been wondering about: They always contain something extraneous to the religious storyline. What I mean is, there always seems to be an awful lot of. . uh. . oh. . violence and. . uh … sex in your books.” She had not actually articulated a question. Yet the implication was clear.
Krieg did not immediately respond. Koesler had the impression he had fielded this or a similar question many times and was weighing his choice of approach.
Having decided, Krieg, adopting a more orotund tone, almost shouted, “We are sinners, sister, each and every one! Violence prowls our streets. You good people from this area should be well acquainted with that!
“And sex!” He passed the shadow of a glance toward his fellow panelists, but did not break cadence. “Sex is everywhere. And we have fallen. We are fallen! Violence, sex, both are part of our lives, part of our fallen lives. I say again, we are sinners, sister! We are sinners. Violence and sex are part of our sinful selves. If it’s part of our lives, it ought to be part of our reading. But, praise God, sisters and brothers! We have been saved. Washed in the blood of the Lamb! Praise God!”
Several in the audience repeated the doxology, “Praise God,” but somewhat self-consciously, as if unfamiliar with the participatory prayer of tent-preaching or the Black liturgy.
The dark-haired woman who had tried to pin Rabbi Winer spoke up, again without bothering to raise her hand. “Wait a minute, Reverend. I haven’t read everything all of the other panelists have written, but I’ve sampled something from each of them. You don’t find that sort of thing in the books they write … at least not in the prurient way your books treat sex and violence.
“What about it, Reverend?”
Krieg’s smile disappeared. This definitely was not the way he’d anticipated the program would flow. When he replied, it was in a more subdued manner. “Well, sister, I don’t know that I want to comment on the work of my distinguished colleagues. Comparisons are odious, as the poet says.”
The dark-haired woman smiled a victor’s smile. “Go ahead,” she urged.
“Really,” Sister Janet interrupted, “if Reverend Krieg does not wish to comment-”
“That’s all right, Sister,” Krieg broke in. “Praise God! If our sister out there wants to pursue the question, we’ll do just that!” His tone changed subtly from that of the preacher to that of the lecturer, but nonetheless confident.
“The answer, sister,” Krieg explained, “has something to do with the television ministry. Anyone here know how many people watch the Gospel of the Good News bein’ preached over the Praise God Network?”
The heads that shook in negative response belonged to Marygrove students; actually none in the audience knew.
“On an average program,” Krieg declared, “approximately sixty million souls!”
There was a shared gasp.
“Now, sisters and brothers,” Krieg said, “all these millions of souls starvin’ for the message of hope and salvation don’t even know they’re hungry! Praise God! Hungry for the Lord! Praise God!
“But they’re not findin’ Him in church. You take your average parish church-or synagogue, for that matter-of a Sunday or a Saturday. Attendance goin’ down all the time. Then you take the Praise God Tabernacle. Climbin’, everything’s climbin’. I’m not just talkin’ the souls occupyin’ the pews of the Tabernacle. I’m talkin’ viewers. Besides the sixty million or so. Our message is broadcast in 143 countries.”
There was a quiet but definite audience reaction.
“Now I ask you, brothers and sisters, what’s the difference? Why are we gainin’ while they’re losin’?” He paused to let the implications of the question sink in. Then he answered it himself. “Pizzazz!” Another pause. “That’s right, brothers and sisters: pizzazz!”
His audience clearly was at sea.
“Lemmee give you an example. ’Member Fulton Sheen?” Krieg looked around, smiling benevolently. “Nah, you’re too young to remember him. .”
The majority, who did recall the popular radio and television prelate, appreciated the gift of years.
Krieg proceeded. “Fulton Sheen-monsignor, bishop-drew a good crowd. But I think it’s clear he started with a premise, a hypothesis, an assumption. I think it’s clear he started with the assumption that people weren’t gonna watch him on TV, weren’t gonna turn to his channel instead of watchin’ Uncle Miltie just because he was a bishop. He had to give ’em somethin’ extra.
“That voice! Could mesmerize you. But there was more. That getup! Full cassock, piping and all those buttons, cummerbund; shoulder cape; big cross on a gold chain. All that went with that magical voice. And extra added attraction: an ‘angel’ to erase his blackboard. . ’member?” Krieg laughed and the audience laughed with him.
“Well, now,” Krieg continued, “that’s just about the same thinkin’ we did in the Praise God Tabernacle. We started out by askin’ some questions. Like: Are people gonna turn us on instead of dialin’ in Bill Cosby, ‘60 Minutes,’ or NFL Football because they’d rather see a religion show?” He continued without pausing for any sort of response. “’Course not. So we built us a temple the likes of which you ain’t gonna find anywhere else. People see the Praise God Tabernacle, takes their breath away.
“Or, suppose we’re gonna have a Crusade for Jesus-on the road, in a manner of speaking. Biggest stadium we can find. Beat the drums for weeks in advance. Make sure the house is full. That catch the eye of the viewer? Well, I should say!
“Then, how ’bout if we give ’em the best in country-western music? How ’bout we give ’em the biggest stars in Hollywood to entertain and give witness as well? How ’bout if we have experts to stage and pace all this? We’re givin’ ’em a show they want to see. And tucked in there kind of subtle-like is. . religion. The Good News Gospel of the Lord, Praise God!”
“Praise God!” This time enthusiastically from the audience.
Koesler marveled at the ease with which Krieg could segue from preacher to teacher to apologist. There was no arguing the guy had a talent.
When dispassion returned, the dark-haired woman who had started all this said forcefully, “Reverend, the books. .?” She was smiling, seemingly amused at his performance.
“The books; yes, indeed, the books.” Krieg, perceiving he’d won over the crowd, could afford to be amiable. “See, we at P.G. Press operate with an assumption. Just like Ol’ Fulton Sheen assumed people weren’t gonna tune him in just ’cause he was a bishop; just like our broadcast ministry assumes people aren’t gonna tune us in ’cause they’re in love with religious programming. Well, sister, this is it: We at P.G Press start with the assumption that religion is dull.”
He paused for evident dramatic effect. Then, slowly, as if carving the words in stone, “R-E-L–I-G-I-O-N I-S D-U-L–L.”
That was it, indeed, thought Koesler. He’d been very carefully following the structured logic of Klaus Krieg. This is what the preacher had been building toward from the beginning. As far as Krieg was concerned, religion was dull. That explained Krieg’s approach to evangelization-and everything flowed from that approach.