Peter was good at techie stuff, but it helped that Erika was able to provide a list of all the social media accounts of people who lived in the town. He had no idea how she’d generated such a list, and he felt no need to ask. Sometimes all you need is faith.
It was the same when she said her web site would be www.ErikaSabo.god, which was ridiculous until it worked.
Peter Smythe was Erika’s first disciple.
After having the online ministry for a couple weeks, Erika had gathered several hundred people who would check out her sermons every time she posted them.
It was time to move to an in-person church.
She knew she couldn’t expect everyone who followed her online to show up in person, but she figured some would.
That’s when she started speaking in parks and anywhere else she could.
She called the local movie theater and found that they didn’t start showing their features until after noon on Sundays, so she rented the largest room and had Peter set up a PowerPoint deck he hooked up to the projection system.
In the lobby, the theater staff wouldn’t be around, so Erika set up free coffee and juice, pastries, and a basket of mixed fruit.
The first Sunday, forty-six people showed up. She entranced them by telling them that they were the people she was most excited to meet: God’s chosen followers.
She said publicly for the first time, “I am the daughter of our Lord. The Bible prophesied that one day the Messiah would come to show the way, and now I am here.”
Nobody left the room. How could they? She was a riveting speaker who connected with each and every person in the audience.
Peter hadn’t known she was going to claim to be God’s daughter, but neither was he surprised. Somehow, deep inside himself, it seems he’d known.
Erika’s congregation grew into a fully-formed church almost immediately. It was like she’d been running it for years. Volunteers organized the morning drinks and snacks, while others set up a kid’s section in one of the other theater rooms, so children could play Bible games and learn bits about Erika while their parents sat in the main room.
Her messages were always consistent and heart-warmingly simple. She wanted people to love each other.
Some of her congregation couldn’t help thinking of John Lennon whenever she spoke. His songs were often about love.
At the third Sunday session in the theater, Miles Insa and several other people opened the ceremony with live music. Miles played the keyboard, while other volunteers played guitar, bass, and drums. They played rock gospel songs, which brought the audience to their feet, clapping their hands, singing along with the band. The songs were an introduction for Erika.
Everything went perfectly.
Also that third Sunday, a woman named Chris Spinnie walked into the theater. She was thin, about five foot six, and her hair was matted down and dirty. She hadn’t bathed in some time.
Spinnie’s eyes were laser-focused on the bowl of fruit set up for people to take. There were apples, oranges, and a large bunch of bananas.
She had no interest in the sermon or the crowd of people gathered to wait for the service to start. All she wanted was the food.
“Can I help you?”
Chris stared at the twenty-something guy handing out programs at the theater entrance. “No,” she muttered and walked to the fruit. She greedily grabbed two apples and took a bite from one.
The soup kitchen a couple blocks away never had fruit. Chris was able to get a meal once a day there, but it’d been years since she’d had an apple and a banana.
A woman at the food kitchen had told her about the church that sprang up each Sunday in the movie theater. “And they have snacks. You should check it out.”
Chris had no interest whatsoever in the church. But she sure wanted that fruit.
She wore a light sweater, full of holes, but she didn’t mind. Who would ever care if she wore tatters? Not her.
“Welcome, friend.”
Chris Spinnie turned, wanting to shout, “You don’t know me, and I’m certainly not your friend.”
She hesitated, though, when she saw a young black woman smiling at her.
“Please, take as much as you like.”
Chris glanced at the banana she’d hidden inside her sweater. She felt guilty, like she was stealing it.
“I don’t go to church,” she blurted out.
“It’s okay. Really. My name is Erika, and I’m the pastor here. Please, take more.”
Erika grabbed another two bananas and handed them to Chris. Then she pulled out a plastic grocery bag and placed two apples and three oranges inside. You can have as much as you like.”
“Really?”
“I promise it’s totally fine.”
Erika handed over the bag and pointed at the fruit. “Please add more if you like.”
Chris was suspicious but took a third banana to add to the bag.
“Why would you do that?”
“You need the food.”
“You know I’m a just a worthless heroin addict? I don’t care about your church.”
“God loves all his children.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. And so do I. Please come back next week and enjoy some more fruit.”
Erika hugged Chris briefly, smiled, and left to talk to other people in the crowd. Chris hurried out and had eaten all the fruit within a few hours.
The following Sunday, she did return to the church. She again helped herself to the fruit and again had a short conversation with Erika, who never tried to convince her to join the service.
The following week, the same thing happened, but Chris decided she wanted to see what this unusual pastor taught in her church.
After listening to the band, she almost lost her courage and ran away. She was in the back row of the theater, surrounded by people who didn’t seem to care that she was a homeless drug addict. They welcomed her and sang along with her.
She knew she stank, but nobody moved away from her.
When Erika took the stage, it seemed like she spent the entire sermon talking to Chris. The story was about how Moses led his millions of Israelites through the desert for forty years, and how their faith eventually led them to the promised land.
“Imagine what it would be like to wander aimlessly for so long. What kind of damage would that do to people? How could they keep going?”
Erika was looking right at Chris. She knew it.
Her words shook Chris deep inside, and she became one of the wanderers, lost in the desert. After all, isn’t that what she’d been doing for the past half-decade? Wandering aimlessly, wasting her life without knowing if she would ever give a shit about a destination?
She’d been a druggie for a decade, and it slowly destroyed whatever bits of humanity she had. She sold her body for money, stole, and even attacked random strangers to steal their money. Any way she could get money for drugs, she would.
She didn’t care about anybody or anything. She had no reason to live, and sometimes spent a lot of time thinking about that. If she was dead, though, she wouldn’t be able to take the heroin she needed.
After the sermon, Chris stayed in her seat. The final prayer brought her to tears, but she didn’t know why. All she knew was that she didn’t want to leave.
“I’m glad you stayed.”
Chris blinked as Erika sat beside her.
“I am too.”
“Let me buy you some lunch.”
Chris knew if she agreed to have lunch, Erika would talk about her poor life choices, how she could choose to stop taking the drugs, stop her criminal acts, make something of her life.