Heaven Help Helen Sloane by Jeff Lucas

Author:Jeff Lucas [Lucas, J. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-310-41333-2
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2012-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Just before Bed

My, what a night. I met Vanessa outside the school that Infusion rents for their meetings. She was carrying a “prophetic sculpture” that she’d made for the evening, which was basically an assortment of twigs that were plugged into a base of bloodred-painted clay, with a single daffodil atop them. It was very large, one could not ignore Vanessa’s work, even if one wanted to.

“It represents the leaves for the healing of the nations,” she said.

Okay.

There was a guest speaker — a rather odd evangelist chap with very strange hair who is planning to come back to Frenton later in the year to hold what he called a “crusade.” Wondered if this involved people dressing up as medieval warriors and then galloping along the boardwalk in search of heathens to convert, impale, or both. Mr. Hemming would like that …

The service, to be honest, was awful. Got the distinct impression that God was in dire need of persuasion to heal, seeing as this evangelist prayed at an earsplitting volume.

People who were prayed for were asked to immediately declare that they were healed, which was both embarrassing and heartbreaking. Weird Hair shoved a microphone in the face of a girl who’d asked for prayer for a stutter and gleefully announced that she’d be able to speak perfectly. Cue loud applause and cheering from the congregation. All went rather well, at least for a few words. Then she said, “I’m really grateful that Je-Je-Je-Je-Jesus has he-he-he-healed me,” which is when the clapping stopped. I wanted to cry for her.

Then the fiasco got worse. A chap with something wrong with his knees was prayed for, and then he was told to run up and down the platform. This he did without too much hobbling, which prompted more clapping, though it was more nervous applause this time. Thrilled that he’d finally got something close to a result, the evangelist demanded that the chap with the healed knees do a victory lap around the hall. He dutifully obliged, but unfortunately got excited as he came steaming up the centre aisle like a bat out of he … heaven. Sadly he didn’t notice Doris’s handbag, left in the aisle. He tripped, went flying, and broke his ankle, becoming perhaps the first person to be taken to the ER from a healing service.

But it was during the singing of the last song that the most embarrassing event in the history of the universe happened.

I noticed that Doris’s handbag had been kicked onto the platform by the sprinter with the knees, and she needed her glasses to be able to see the song words on the screen. Because she couldn’t see the words, she was singing “la, la, la, la, la” at the top of her voice like an elderly out-of-tune Teletubby. I thought I’d retrieve her bag for her, but I hadn’t noticed that the wooden floor had been liberally splattered with the olive oil that the evangelist had used for the praying …

I yelled

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