Short Stories
The Prince of Prey TV
By Patricia Backora, author of the book
Tough Love in Christ's Millennium
Which you can order online from: http://www.publishamerica.com
The Prince of Prey TV gazed out over his green harvest field and saw ripples of ripened money leaves out in Religionland, from sea to shining sea. But reports were coming in that people were not so naive as they had been at the beginning of the big religious Gold Rush. Decades of being bilked and bamboozled had bolstered people’s resistance to the reaper on their TV set. Jaded by a generation of hyped-up prosperity promises, their wits were just a bit sharper. Those stubborn money vines would not willingly yield their fruit.
So the overbearing lord of the green harvest bellowed so hard he made the pulpit shake like jelly. He wagged his finger in the camera and threatened all Religionland with fire and brimstone unless they rendered due tribute unto the man upstairs (namely, himself). God would plunge them into poverty, Reverend Lucre decreed. He would take his tithes out of their hide in hospital bills and medicine if stubborn saints refused to keep his ministry afloat. Unless they reverenced Jesus’ representative and met the need of the hour, they were no disciples of His!
The weakest, most gullible sheep were easily picked off by this wolf in sheep’s clothing. Little old ladies joined their cats for dinner. Only this time they all chowed down on Generic Cat Chow instead of Tender Vittles. A teenager or two sacrificed new tennies to help fund a trip to the Holy Land for the Prince of Prey TV. People rendered unto him their rent money and ended up with no place to lay their heads.
But still the barns of the lord of the money harvest were only half-full. "Go out into the highways and byways and find more knaves and fools to render their tribute unto me!" cried the pompous Prince.
“But Reverend Lucre,” said his top meida man, “we’ve already collected the cream off the cream of your TV audience. It would take a miracle to meet your high expectations.”
When he was alone in his study, Reverend Lucre paced the floor, cogitating over his problem. If his ministry went under, all the prestige and perks of his celebrity lifestyle would vanish like a puff of smoke. In his despair he lifted up his voice: “I would give ANYTHING for a miracle to save my ministry!”
That night Reverend Lucre took a sleeping tablet and dozed off. In the dead of night his room lit up, awakening him. He looked up at the ceiling light, but it was still off. He turned his head to the left, where the light was coming from. Beside his bed stood the most magnificent, glowing entity of light. He was powerfully built, and his finely chiselled face was framed by wavy tresses of shimmering gold. Reverend Lucre stirred, but the being said: “Stay where you are, Reverend Lucre. No need to get up. My mission will be brief, but it will fulfill your heart’s desire.”
“Are...are...you Gabriel?” gasped Reverend Lucre.
“No way, I outrank that dude by a country mile,” said the angel, who shrank back a little. “Only the best celebrity angels for you.’
“What’s your name?” Reverend Lucre asked.
“Promise you won’t laugh, Reverend?”
“No, I won’t laugh. So what’s your name?”
“’Morning Herald’, at least that’s what it means in English.”
“No offense, but it sounds like a newspaper,” said the Reverend.
“Be that as it may, Reverend, I am heralding glad tidings for you, a new morning of beginnings for your business...ah...ministry. I have come to bless you. All I ask in return is that you sign this document, and don’t sweat the fine print. All that’s just legaleeze jargon.”
“What’s this for?” the groggy Prince of Religionland asked., reaching for his trusty Scripto. He noticed that while the angel was shiny and bright, the paper he held out was shadowy and no light shone upon it.
“Before I answer your question, Reverend, I’ll tell you the great glad news: God wants you to prosper and always have the finest of everything, just because you’re one of His sons. Is it not written that God delights in the prosperity of His people?”
“Yes...” muttered Reverend Lucre. “I’ve taught that a long time, and your timely visitation only confirms it.”
“Good!” said the angel. “If you will sign right here, on the dotted line, you shall never want for money again. This is a written contract that you will be forever faithful to the Principles of Prosperity, and that all the powers of the universe, both high and low, recognize your right to teach it. In the coming days you will be shown a more diplomatic, successful approach to getting what you want out of stingy saints. After all, the Bible says the laborer is worthy of his hire. The Lord wants to make Religionland a more fruitful field for you.”
All Reverend Lucre could see was the softly glowing beauty of the being standing beside his bed. For the past few years, Reverend Lucre had found the Name of Jesus useful only as an appeal no self-respecting Christian could turn a deaf ear to . Otherwise, Jesus had been permitted precious little access to his personal life. So the reverend did not invoke His Name to test the spirit standing before him. After all, everyone knew satan always wore a red leotard with a black cape. While angels appeared with gossamer wings, golden curls and a halo, Old Scratch had horns, pointy ears, a long forked tail and a goatee beard.
Reverend Lucre eagerly seized this golden opportunity. A quick stroke of the pen, and the angel grinned and vanished from sight.
Ideas flooded into Reverend Lucre’s mind. Thundrous threats had only alienated some of his richest listeners, and made him look like a meanie to the poorer ones. Perhaps a subtler approach would entice the fish to bite. From now on he would bait his hook with milk and honey, not the gall of bitter pulpit vituperations. He shared his ideas with his Chief Chancellor of the Treasury.
"I have further suggestions, my lord,” the treasurer said. “Make yourself appear generous. Prime the pump with cheap baubles and the well never shall run dry. Make your serfs feel good about themselves, and the fish will fight one another to enter thy nets with rejoicing. And as for those stubborn money vines, they will gladly yield up their juicy green leaves."
"You speak wisely," said the Prince of Prey TV. "I appoint thee, O wise treasurer, to enact my royal decree: Let a special commemorative coin be minted in honor of every subject who renders tribute of $2,000 or more to my ministry. Fill those fools with with the sweet wine of flattery. Give just a little that we might gain a a lot."
So it came to pass that the Reverend’s craftsmen designed bait to bewitch the multitudes. Carefully crafted words were spoken from the studio of the reinvented Reverend: "Give and ye shall receive. This ministry has been under bombardment by the devil. Help God pay off the massive debt incurred in the purchase of better technology to reach more multitudes with the Gospel. Prove your faith by stepping out upon the waters. If you don’t have the money, borrow the money. Sell what ye have and give generously. The Lord needs a Silver Seed Miracle to bail this ministry out of troubled waters. All those who respond with $2,000 or more to help pay off the Lord’s debt shall receive a specially minted commemorative coin which bears testimony to you as a man or woman of faith.”
Instead of yelling and pounding the pulpit as in former days, Reverend Lucre held out his arms in a universal embrace. “This commemorative coin is crafted from a whole ounce of sterling silver. Your name shall be inscribed upon it unto all eternity. What greater legacy could you possibly leave unto your descendants, even unto the thousandth generation, than this precious heirloom of YOUR faithfulness as a child of God? " The Reverend held up the coin, which sparkled beneath the starry TV lights. The camera magnified the close-up to reveal a sheaf of wheat, overarched with the words: "Silver Seed Miracle". The Reverend turned it over. "And thus shall thy name be inscribed upon the border of the reverse side, whereupon ye see a star-spangled crown of glory suspended above a bejeweled cross. This shall be a perpetual reminder of the reward which awaits you in Glory.So give generously to God in faith, that ye may receive everlasting treasure."
And so it was that slaves in a far-off factory gang-pressed Reverend Lucre’s miracle coins by the tens of thousands, earning a paltry sum of fifty cents per hour so they could go home to their huts and rice bowls. It was just a job to them, churning out ‘love gifts’ by the hundreds of thousands.
A certain retired widow put off paying her mortgage arrears so she could be counted among the faithful. A week later, her bank threatened to foreclose, and her harvest still hadn’t come in. Alma regretted her "faith" offering, given on a tidal wave of religious sentiment instead of true faith. She begged the bank for extra time. Alma was given just three more days to meet her obligation. So she made haste and went to her pawnbroker’s. He laughed when he saw the coin and heard her explain how she got it. Tearfully she begged for at least $1,000 of the $2,000 back.
"So you got suckered in too?" the pawnbroker said, as if he were quite used to meeting folks like her. "Precious, eh?” He closely examined the coin through an optical instrument. “That TV preacher took you for a ride in his stretch limo of stretched facts. Why, junk like this is a dime a dozen! I’ll be blunt with you, lady. This coin ain’t even worth twenty bucks! Silver’s only $25 an ounce, and that’s stretching it! I’m an expert, and I’d bet a billion buck’s it’s only silver-plated nickel!”
Alma nearly collapsed onto the counter. “But I’ll buy it off you anyway,” the man said, “just because I’m a nice guy, and I feel sorry for you. I doubt anybody’ll want this, but it sure would make a pretty charm necklace. Tell you what, I’ll give you five. I’d do the same for my own mother if she was in your shoes. Go get yourself a hot coffee and chill out."
Later that morning, still in tears, Alma turned on the TV to see what other tricks Reverend Lucre might be up to. Today he had a guest speaker on his show, Brother Bankroll. The Prince of Prey TV graciously stood aside and let him take the pulpit.
“Child of God,” the beady-eyed preacher began, “Nothing works better to bring miracles into your life than the Principles of Scriptural Economics. The Bible says if you sow sparingly, you shall also reap sparingly. If you sow into in the bank of heaven, your investment will yield you a hundred-fold return.. Child of God, the same principle for prosperity works with a single grain of corn. Eat it and it’s gone. Plant it, and a great big stalk filled with ears of corn will grow from that single seed. Child of God, invest your money in God’s Kingdom and God will never fail to bless you. Child of God, you might have to do without a few luxuries every now and then, but the Bible says that he that sows in tears shall reap in joy.”
By the time Brother Bankroll rattled off his fiftieth “child of God”, Alma heard the postman stomping around on her front porch, and the rusty creak of her mailbox opening. Her heart raced. Had her windfall harvest for her $2,000 investment really arrived in time to save her?
Alma’s heart sank when she pulled out her mail. Just more glossy come-ons from grinning preachers hitting her up for more money, along with the phone bill, the electric bill... and a notice of foreclosure.
Even if the phone bill was sky-high, Alma felt like she had nothing to lose. She tried calling the offices of Religionland Network. No luck. They’d gone out to lunch. Alma called again at two, and got a busy signal. On her third try someone answered: “Religionland Network. Beth speaking, how may I help you?”
“Beth...” Alma choked. “You’re my last hope. You’vee got to contact Reverend Lucre for me. I’m desperate.”
“Reverend Lucre is in conference,” Beth said in her polished voice. “What is your name, may I ask?”
“Alma Davis. Reverend Lucre persuaded me to send God my mortgage money,” Alma sobbed. “He promised God would give me back a hundred times as much as I sent in. They’re going to take my house away from me and put me out on the street.”
“To whom did you address the envelope when you mailed the money?” Beth inquired.
“I addressed it to Reverend Lucre.”
“Then if you addressed it to Reverend Lucre, how can you say you sent it to God?”
“Well, I sent it to God in care of Reverend Lucre. I didn’t think the Lord had a Post Office box in heaven.”
“But was God’s name on the envelope?”
“No, Beth, Brother Lucre’s was. Beth, they’re about to cut off my phone service, so let’s don’t beat around the bush. Reverend Lucre said that if I sent my money in to God, He would repay it a hundred-fold.”
“Alma,” Beth said as gently as she could, “I’ve got a billion other calls coming in, but I’m going to ignore them all to make one thing perfectly clear: We have recorded evidence which proves that for the past few weeks Reverend Lucre has never once said: ‘Send in money to me, Reverend Lucre.’ Instead, he has specifically said: ‘Sow a seed to meet the Lord’s needs’ , or ‘send the Lord a love gift.’ If you sent money to Brother Lucre’s mailing address, he never specifically told you to send it there, now did he?”
“Maybe not, but Brother Lucre made promises on God’s behalf! He was the middleman who delivered God’s worthless coin after I sent in my mortgage money! I need Brother Lucre to send me back the $2,000 so I can hang onto my home.”
“I’ll take your name and prayer request,” said Beth. “And I’ll forward it to Reverend Lucre’s prayer staff. That’s the best I can do.”
“But I don’t need prayer!” Alma cried. “I need my money back!”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Alma. It’s already been deposited into our account. Just have faith. God will come through...even if you did send the money to Reverend Lucre instead of to Him. ‘Bye, now.”
Alma felt so devastated. Had God cheated her...or had someone else done that? Alma recalled the story of Satan tempting Christ in the wilderness, how the devil had even resorted to Scripture to try to get what he wanted out of Him. Prayerfully Alma retraced her steps back to that point in her life when she’d felt so low she was at her most vulerable; a time when her life was a tangled mess from problems. So great had been her confusion and her distress that instead of studying Scripture herself under the direct guidance of the Holy Spirit, she had allowed some character on TV to spoon-feed her the most bizarre lies. Alma prayed for fresh light to fall upon any Scripture of God’s choice. Better to have one Scripture anointed by the Holy Ghost to meet her need than a thousand Scriptures greased by the devil to make his lies slide down a gullible throat quicker. She flipped open her Bible to a verse she had never really noticed before; one she had never heard preached on by any expositor of “Scriptural economics”: Proverbs 22:16: He that oppresseth the poor to increase his riches, and he that giveth to the rich, shall surely come to want. Alma’s generosity toward rich preachers, far from prospering her, had ionly mpoverished her further.
The Lord directed Alma to Christians who had real, Bible-believing faith. He did not let her life fall apart. Through a series of small, practical miracles, not one big fictitious one, Alma was able to hang onto her house....and her dignity. She had wised up, though it had cost her dearly to learn her lesson: Preachers can be as crafty as politicians, and just as adept at speaking with a forked tongue to further their own ends.
One day Reverend Lucre cackled over all the profits he’d taken in from selling reservations on his lucrative Holy Land tour. He laughed in joy over the luxuries the extra revenue would bring him and his loved ones. But while he was packing for the trip, he got a sharp pain in his chest. It was then the golden-haired angel reappeared to collect his dues.
“I’ve come to escort you home, Brother Lucre,” the apparition said. “Remember the contract you signed...the bill of sale for your soul?”
“But you said it was only an agreement between me and God that I would teach about sowing and reaping!”
The beautiful angel dissipated into a sulfurous haze of darkness, then assumed the shape of an ugly serpentine monster. “I lied. That wasn’t in the contract at all. Lying is what I’m best at, and that’s what I taught you. I told you not to read the fine print, and that’s what I tell Christians all the time, not to bother to study the Word for themselves. Then when I come along and mesmerize them with a beautiful verse, they fall right into my arms like plums ripe for the picking. Isn’t that what you did with your dumb disciples, Reverend, encourage them to believe YOUR interpretation of Scripture and eat right out of your hands? Didn’t you sow lies into your harvest fields and eat the fruit of them? Just like me. How well you learned. Why do you think you got so rich, eh?”
It was then that Reverend Lucre realized it was true that satan can appear as an angel of light. ‘Morning Herald’...or was it ‘Lucifer, Son of the Morning’, spoken of in Isaiah Chapter 14? Hadn’t the Prince of Prey TV lived just like the Prince of Darkness, appearing as an angel of light by quoting the Word of God to sell souls into bondage for gain? Hadn’t Reverend Lucre used the Name of Christ for gain, but lived as a true disciple of satan, the way he lied time after time to get people to open up their hearts...and especially their checkbooks for him? And thus it was that the lord of the money vineyard sold overpriced tickets to the Holy Land, and bought his own one-way ticket to hell.
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