His voice was as smooth as good Kentucky sipping whiskey, the southern lilt forceful yet refined. Among the crowd, a few responded, “Amen!” as the Reverend Ray Williams, his body six foot three inches of sinewy muscle, strode across the cramped stage on a mission to save and assessed his sparse flock. The set was tightly confined; on TV, the lighting, color, and camera angles would give the illusion of spaciousness.
“Remember what the Bible tells us in John, chapter eight, verse twelve. Jesus proclaims, ‘I am the light of the world! Whoever follows Me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life!’ Believe in Him and I tell you, brothers and sisters, all who accept Jesus Christ will have everlasting life!”
Rev. Ray had done this work long enough to know everything looked better on television, except the numbers. For five years, he’d courted an audience from a low-power cable TV station in St. Louis, confident his message would attract followers looking for salvation. A couple thousand worshippers invited The Road to Calvary into their homes, but it wasn’t enough. He had spent more of his own money than he cared to admit; however, expenses kept rising, and there was relentless competition for viewers, members, and revenue.
Even now, Ray was conflicted in his decision to close what had seemed a promising venture. He’d never lost his enthusiasm or the feeling he was indeed proclaiming the word of God and news of salvation. Ray knew everyone was a sinner, including himself. He hoped The Road to Calvary would spur people to rise above their sins, accept the Good News, and find the true meaning of Christ in their lives. The reverend smiled warmly at his audience and motioned for them to stand. “Let us share our belief in Jesus Christ by praying together our prayer of deliverance.”
The congregation rose to their feet and repeated the words they had come to know by heart: “Lord Jesus, I believe in You. I believe You died for my sins and rose again to save me from a world mired in sin . . .”
At the prayer’s end, a cheerful male voice yelled off stage left, “That’s a wrap!”
The prayerful opened their eyes. Ray bid his flock goodbye. “Thank you for joining us, and see you next week for another taping.”
The rented studio space had emptied out, and Ray steeled himself as he prepared to break the news to his miniscule staff. Jeff Jones and Buck Neal had worked with him since the beginning and, other than the cable channel volunteers, were his only employees. After Ray’s wife died, he’d needed a break from running a church, and low-power cable seemed the perfect avenue to reach a larger audience.
Although the pay was low, it was more than either Buck or Jeff thought Ray could afford, so they had risen to the occasion time and again, working long hours to produce the show. Jeff, a Gulf War veteran who had left the army with a medal for bravery, had taken the cable station’s courses on how to run the camera equipment, while Buck, with a background in TV production and IT, handled the lighting, edited the videotape, acted as stage director, and greeted audience members. But in the world of low-power cable, local religious programming was a staple. With limited resources, Ray had underestimated the toughness of that competition.
As he stood on the edge of the carpeted stage with his cohorts, he marveled at their vast differences. Short in stature, Jeff made up for it with his buffed physique that won area weightlifting contests, while, in stark contrast, Buck sported a mullet, a paunch, and a silver earring. He was a recovering alcoholic, and unlike Jeff who had never married, Buck had three failed unions behind him. As a team, they’d worked together in seamless tandem, and now it was going to end.
Ray cleared his throat. “I always promised you’d be the first to know the fate of The Road to Calvary, and unfortunately, that moment has come.”
“You’re ending the show?” Buck asked.
“I don’t want to draw this out, but yes. Even with the reasonable cost of low-power cable, we can’t pay the weekly rent for the space. We have a small, loyal following, but we can’t survive much longer. The money just isn’t there, and I can’t afford to keep subsidizing us. I’ll tell the congregation and cable station next week that we’re going off the air at the end of the month.”
“Guess it’s a good thing none of us quit our day jobs,” Jeff said.
“And I thought our faith in Jesus Christ would make this show work,” Buck added unhappily.
“Me, too,” Ray said, a sad smile across his handsome, character-lined face. “We gave it five years and put all of our energy into this venture.” He draped long arms around each man’s shoulder. “No regrets. We didn’t change the world, but we put our heart into every show, and I’m eternally grateful to the both of you.”
A woman’s voice startled all three men. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said softly. They turned and saw a slender woman dressed in a cream pantsuit with chestnut hair in soft ringlets framing a heart-shaped face. “I’m sorry to startle you,” she apologized, “but I’ve been standing in the back. Rev. Williams, could I speak with you for a moment?”
Stepping from the stage, Ray extended a hand. “Certainly, Miss—”
“Baker. Susannah Baker,” she replied, shaking Ray’s outstretched hand firmly. “But Susannah, please.”
“Susannah, it’s a pleasure.” He paused and recalled the very pretty face from previous tapings. “You’re one of our recent regulars, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I started coming around two months ago. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.” She smiled.
“You said you wanted to talk?”
She laughed nervously, gesturing toward Buck and Jeff. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But when you’re done, I wondered if we could talk privately.”
Ray turned to the younger men. “There’s nothing else to add, unless one of you has questions.”
“You do what you need to do,” Buck said, patting Ray’s shoulder. “Jeff and I will put the equipment away and lock up the building.”
“Miss Baker, did you want to talk here, or would you rather go somewhere else?” Ray asked. “There’s a coffee shop up the block.”
“That would be lovely,” she said, her eyes lighting up.
“I’ll see you gentlemen next week,” Ray said, offering Susannah his arm. They left the office building and stepped out into the warm, spring air, chatting casually as they walked. “Are you new to the area or just our show?” the pastor inquired.
“Both,” she said. “But you have a wonderful program, Reverend, and I’m sure it’s helped many people.”
“Well, not as many as I’d like,” he replied. If Miss Baker were asking for a sympathetic ear, Ray thought it best not to drive her away with talk of going off the air. His role for now was to be an attentive listener. At the diner, they ordered coffee and took a table near the windows.
She didn’t waste an instant getting to her point. As she fortified herself with a long sip, Susannah Baker’s dark eyes were bright with anticipation, as though she were going to impart a happy secret. “Not to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. I’m here to give you a message that ending this wonderful program is the worst thing you could do.”
Ray cradled the warm ceramic coffee mug in his large hands. “A message? From whom?”
Susannah Baker paused, searching the pastor’s handsome face. “God,” she said.
He stared at this mysterious woman. Her pronouncement was genuine and earnest, but a career in ministry had taught him some of the world’s craziest souls were absolutely sincere and committed to their own warped reality.
“I’m going to jump right in and hope you won’t think I’m crazy. Rev. Williams, you don’t know me, but I owe my life to you.”
As he observed her gulping a drink from her mug, Ray determined that most individuals who were bereft of reason didn’t know enough to acknowledge it.
“You helped me climb out of a bottomless pit and find our Lord Jesus Christ, but I know I’m not the only person you’ve saved. Last week, God spoke to me in a dream, with a clear plan to enrich The Road to Calvary and allow your message to be accessed by a much larger audience.”
As Susannah stopped for a sip of coffee, Ray posed a question. “What kind of direction, exactly, did God give you?”
Her penetrating eyes never wavered from his face. “God told me that He has chosen you to work miracles.”
His response, a surprised chuckle, wasn’t mocking her in any way, but the absurdity of a small-time preacher being called upon to work miracles gave him pause. “Miss, I’m just a poor preacher with a small flock. As far as miracles go, that’s up to God.”
“I’m not talking about walking on water, Reverend. Suppose you were in a position where you could see and hear the needs and prayers of everyone attending The Road to Calvary. Those followers need your help, Reverend, and here’s the perfect opportunity to give it to them. You choose the audience members with the greatest needs and, using the miracle of technology, lead them toward redemption, while giving others in the congregation hope.”
Ray sat motionless, astounded into silence by what he’d heard. Surely, she was joking, or she was completely nuts and masked it extremely well. His voice took on the tone of the Pentecostal preacher that he was, clear in his disapproval. “I think you’re confusing miracles with fraud, Miss Baker. And that’s not something I want to be involved in.”
He expected her to back down or at least sheepishly admit this was indeed an inappropriate plan. Instead, she plunged ahead. “I admit eavesdropping with hidden microphones may be an unorthodox approach, but God sees such methods as acceptable for the greater good. You’ll be able to help people with their specific problems, and they’ll be empowered to help themselves and improve their lives. And I ask you, Reverend, what is wrong with that?”
Before he could further explain his discomfort, Susannah was justifying the tactics. “There are so many other ways the program can distinguish itself. Envision a choir praising God in jubilant song and members witnessing the power of salvation in their own lives. It’s a means to accomplishing a much greater good.”
Still not convinced this wasn’t simply deception, he made his point a second time. “This would not just be unethical, but a breach of trust,” he said, crossing his arms.
Susannah Baker leaned back against the slats of the wooden chair, a slight smile on her full lips. “If you could hear the prayers of potentially every member of your congregation, what would you do?”
“I’d pray for them and hope those prayers are answered in a positive way,” he replied.
“Exactly my point,” she countered with equal force. “The technology is nothing more than an instrument, providing evidence you wouldn’t otherwise have. Being able to acknowledge the needs of the congregation, you help get the prayers of greatest consequence answered and set them on the miraculous path to redemption in our Lord Jesus Christ.”
Ray pondered Susannah Baker’s proposition and found himself very conflicted. On one side of the argument, he felt employing deception could be a huge risk, and members would surely feel betrayed if they ever knew. But on the other side, such an approach might be the very thing that could save The Road to Calvary from the television trash heap.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she asked.
“No, but I’m not convinced these ideas are right for us.”
“But you said you’re planning to end the program, so you have nothing to lose. And neither do I, so I’ll throw out another idea of how The Road to Calvary can set itself apart from other religious programming.” Elbows propped on the table, Susannah leaned forward. “I’ve always wondered why there is no such thing as Christian makeovers, because a woman who looks good improves her self-esteem and gives her husband something special to come home to. Tell me where it says good Christian women, especially on television, must have big hair, false lashes, and bad eyeliner.”
He chortled; this was certainly an idea that had never crossed his mind, particularly in the realm of ministry.
“Go ahead and laugh,” Susannah continued, not offended in the least, “but it’s another way to set you apart from the competition.”
“My apologies,” Ray offered. “I wasn’t laughing at you; it’s just not something I’ve ever considered.” He ran a finger around the rim of the mug. “You really believe God gave you these directions in a dream?”
“I don’t just believe it. I know it. God has great faith in you, Reverend, and he’s telling you not to give up.”
On some level, Ray realized Susannah Baker’s passion was reminiscent of his own, and it fired his spirit. But he needed time to process the core element of eavesdropping to save souls, a ploy he still considered unethical and shameful. He had no intention of turning The Road to Calvary into a Barnum & Bailey circus act, full of flamboyant miracles and tawdry sideshow freaks.
“I’ll consider it,” he said finally. “Give me a week to reflect on your suggestions and consult with Buck and Jeff. I can’t promise we’ll take you up on any of this.”
She smiled, clasping her hands together. “I understand your concerns. Do you think you’ll have a decision by next week’s taping?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll have an answer after the show.”
“Forgive me for being forward,” she ventured slowly, “but would you mind if I sat in on the discussion? I understand a lot of this sounds crazy, but perhaps it would help if I could clarify any questions you or your staff might have.”
“Well, there isn’t much of a staff. Buck and Jeff basically do this for the Lord.” He paused, tilting his head back slightly. “You sound as though you’ve done this kind of thing before,” he said, not as a question but an open-ended statement.
Her soft smile turned up the corners of a full, inviting mouth. “God has told me everything I need to know.”