What Child Is This? by Cynthia MacGregor – Chapter 1
Chapter One
The rainbow’s curve nearly kissed the ceiling. The vibrantly hued arc swooped eagerly up from its starting point, where the baseboards of the converted storefront didn’t quite jibe with the scrubbed but worn floorboards. From there, the painted rainbow aimed gracefully toward heaven, though it stopped at the ceiling. It curved downward again from there, covering most of the wall in the course of its Technicolor trajectory.
Newcomers to the storefront church usually noticed the rainbow first. Their eyes, drawn to the vivid, hopeful colors, were distracted from the ricketyness of the collapsible chairs, which looked as if they planned to collapse before they were intended to. Visitors focusing on the rainbow also might miss noting the rough-hewn condition of the altar, which had been constructed completely of cast-off lumber and plywood rejects.
But even when they finally noted the church’s patched-together appearance, few first-timers were put off. After all, they knew they were coming to a storefront church. They hardly could expect stained glass windows or staid elegance. They knew, too, that this was the Life Force Spiritual Path—not a name that conjures up the image of a grandiose cathedral or even the steeple-crowned, matronly edifice of a mainstream Protestant denomination.
California has no copyright on fringe religious groups. Though that state may have more of them per square mile, may have churches whose beliefs or practices are more esoteric, they don’t have a monopoly. The Life Force Spiritual Path made its home in a different warm state—specifically, south Florida, and more specifically, the town of Flamingo Cove.
Adam watched the worshippers arrive for the Sunday service. Their garb ran the gamut from traditional church dress-up, through business clothes, down to jeans that looked like their occupants had slouched into them one last time before cutting them up to use for car-waxing cloths. It was in every respect a mixed congregation, but they all were open to Adam’s admixture of religion and philosophy, spiced with learn-or-burn prophecy, and leavened with ecological teachings.
He’d been preaching his beliefs for nearly a year, now. Born Roy Schimmel, he’d been a landscaper before becoming a preacher, but when he founded this church he so passionately believed in, he’d taken the name Adam Josephson. Adam after the first man, “Because, as of today, we are starting over—and this time we’d better get it right.” Josephson as homage to the Virgin Mother’s husband, whom Adam viewed as the most under-appreciated and under-reported figure in the Bible. “If Jesus were born today, you can bet Joseph’s role in raising him wouldn’t go so unnoticed,” the new Adam often opined.
Now, watching the worshippers file in, Adam saw that the chairs were nearly filled. “Do we have a few more chairs in the back room?” he asked his assistant, Aaron. (Aaron’s name wasn’t adopted; he’d been named that from birth. Adam viewed it as perhaps prophetic, saying, “You were born to be my right-hand man.”)
Aaron strode into the back, returning a couple of minutes later with four folding chairs under each arm. “These seem to be in the best shape of what we’ve got,” he reported to Adam. “But there’s a good twenty or more chairs still back there if we need them.”
A pleased smile crept across Adam’s face at the prospect of his flock growing large enough to need those twenty chairs. His hand clamped to the circular pendant around his neck, the symbol of the Life Force Spiritual Path. He clutched it tightly, as if by holding it he could transfer his strength, his will, to this church he had founded. His eyes glazed, seeing not the blue-gray walls before him but a sea of faces occupying every chair in LFSP’s possession and a good number more besides, which he mentally conjured up for the occasion.
Aaron saw the enraptured look take hold of Adam’s face. The corners of Adam’s mouth migrated slowly toward his ears. That familiar glow, brighter than the light that burned over the altar, lit up his eyes till it blazed as fiercely as the end-world fire with which Adam threatened his congregants. Aaron knew what Adam was seeing: a sea of faces joined in solemn prayer and in righteous determination. A sea of believers come to worship at LFSP. A sea of followers who believed as Adam did and were ready to join with him to change the world . . . before it grew too late.
“Pretty picture?” Aaron gently teased Adam. “When I see that look on your face, I know what’s on your mind.”
“I was picturing a swarm of new worshipers, a tide of people pouring in the door. A crowd so large they wouldn’t even fit in the storefront. We’d have to get a bigger church. Oak Street Baptist is building a new church . . . we could buy their old building.”
“Whoa!” Aaron laughed. “You sound ready to run out and sign a contract. Hadn’t you better wait till the crowds show up first?”
“What did that movie say? ‘Build it and they will come’?” Adam countered, caught up still in his dream.
Aaron looked at the glowing face of his leader and hero. “It’s going to take a miracle,” he warned.
