Jesus Saves to PUSH headstones

Across from the hull that was once Six Flags Mall, stand two humble sanctuaries, side by side against the fetid odor, the pure evil emanating from that rotting corpse of commerce.








I'm not sure just what "P.U.S.H" means, but they're here to deliver you. Whether it's deliverance from evil or into the arms of scary crackers, I can't say. But you should be warned: The Holy Ghost may take over!



To the west of PUSH (the doors face south), sits the International Christian Fellowship Center, who wants you to know that Jesus loves, saves, and heals, in case you hadn't heard anything about that before. The name isn't anything that would normally catch one's attention. What does give one pause, however, is its location. This fellowship is situated between a church offering deliverance and a shop selling headstones. Deliver me here, mark my grave there.






Note the sign in the momument shop's window:

[sic]
Senior citizens: Retired??? Bored??? Need extra income??? Come In Lets Talk

What do they want the seniors to do? Is this work, or are they hoping to pay the seniors for body parts? Maybe they want the seniors to tap their friends as potential clients. It's all so gruesome.

Basic Trucking Science

A trip to that office park during the day rendered both pictures and new information. We'd no idea that, although their doors are on opposite sides of the park (Basic Church facing north), the two churches share a hallway and are only one door apart! One wonders if there is much friendly, Christian discourse between the congregants.







A stroll east along the inner hall revealed the back door of the North Texas Branch of NOAA. Yes, that NOAA. So, on one side is fire & brimstone & literal interpretation of the Bible, and on the other a government-sponsored scientific organization. If I worked at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, I'm not entirely sure that I could resist the temptation to inundate the churches with fliers and packets reiterating that global warming is real, that people caused it, and that the earth is not just 6000 years old.

Dearfriend

I showed this page to my mom (Dearfriend) the other day. I hoped she'd enjoy it, but worried that she might instead find it all to be in poor taste. (I would have continued the project either way.) I fretted for naught. Mom was tickled. She's even keeping her eyes peeled for future subjects!

More than that, she's shared stories with me. She recalls that once in a literature course she took when she was a student at North Texas (now known as UNT), there was a lively discussion about church (especially tent) revivals. With all that hollerin' and screamin', praisin' the Lord, and casting out of demons, the men so worked up that ecstatic frenzy would run home to beat their wives within inches of their lives, and then rape them. Gee, I can't think of any better way to honor the Lord. I'm sure it wasn't called rape . Back then (and still by many who still hoot & holler and speak in tongues) wives were considered property, and her consent was thus unnecessary.

I look forward to hearing (and sharing) more of Mom's stories.

(My dad, unfortunately, is somewhat mortified by this project, finding it altogether disrespectful. He's not buying my assurances that we will do some research and indicate whether the parishioners are sweet people, crazy people, or horrid people.)

Brothers Trucking, early evening

The time was not right for us to snap a pic of the sign in the back that says "Brothers True Trucking...". The businesses with access to that hall were closed for the day, the church wasn't open yet (though I imagine that it is as I type now, especially considering how special Wednesday night revivals are for holy rollers), and thus the outside door was locked.

Our (we are Scooter, & I) early evening mission yielded the discovery of yet another name for this church, and then another church altogether. Who would have thought that the office strip in front of the Fantasy Ranch Cabaret would have two churches in it? Not I.

If you don't want all that Yashua stuff (which is a sort of transliteration of the Hebrew equivalent of the Greek name Jesus [Latin Iesu], which in English is usually rendered "Joshua"), this office park offers "The Basic Church". Both of the churches can boast proximity to a titty bar for protesting of vice, a radio school to learn to broadcast the word to any who couldn't make it to the evening's services, a bank for easy tithing, and a private loan office catering to the typical demographic of these office park parishes.




Not until we attend service or bible study at the Basic Church incognito (disguised as believers, or maybe sheep) will we be able to establish which Christian flavor the Basic Church has chosen. In general, I'm somewhat loathe to attend anything that lists the end time as "UNTIL". Until what? That almost always means that they'll go on ad infinitum.



Addendum: Fantasy Ranch, the aforementioned strip club adjacent to the officechurchpark is no longer a business of ill repute. It's just a grill, simply called , "The Ranch". However, when Scooter first showed me Brother's Trucking, Fantasy Ranch was busier than a bookie joint.

Brothers Trucking Infallible True Church

Written by dear Scooter and originally posted to our Uncharitable Thoughts blog, this church was the inspiration for the project. -Robyn

I work nights making sales calls to the west coast and Hawaii in a generic, one-story office building located on a generic freeway next door to the Fantasy Ranch strip joint. Working in the office as late as midnight by myself I see some pretty interesting people. One would assume they were from the strip club, but no. Starting around six or seven at night three to four nights a week the Brothers Trucking Infallible True Church convenes for their tongue speaking, demon casting, rocking out sessions. I have never seen snakes but I would not be surprised. I have learned to tune out most of the noise coming through the very thin walls, but last night they topped themselves. I am not sure just what went wrong but for over thirty minutes from about 10:15p to 11p there was a man wailing, SCREAMING crying in the next suite. So loud I could not hear myself think. It was so bad I called my mother.

Had I not been subject to these people's shenanigans for the past few months I might have had sympathy. Had I not encountered church members rolling around on the floor or being berated by one woman in particular in the hall when trying to walk to the community bathroom I might have wondered if he needed help. But no. All I could think was "I wonder if they were casting out Satan and finally went to far". I thought maybe I should call the police. It also crossed my mind that he could just be doing it for attention or some sick form of fun. There was no way that anyone in that room could have heard themselves think let alone hold any sort of conversation. Not until much later did it occur to me that something really bad might have happened to him. What's worse is that even as that thought finally occurs to me I really don't care.

I write this as the band is warming up for this evenings service and I cannot help but dread what could be in store for me as I go for my 10 o'clock pee.