The Church of C.R.E.A.M.

By brightening the lights only slightly, the house took on a glow. “It’s offering time!” Reverend Dr. Cullen Clarion showed veneers and a purple suit. He wore a black and gold robe over it. He stood at six feet six inches. He motioned for the musicians to play the standard “C.R.E.A.M.” The screens showed the QR code and options to use the envelopes on the back of the chairs.

“We’re looking to make the dollars wash the Lord’s feet. Dig deep into your digital devices,” Dr. Clarion intoned. The speaker sounded crisp, clear. “I know you can use that code on the screen and offer unto Jesus anytime, but it is important to come to this place and give God the praise through tithes and offerings.”

After everything had been accounted for, a large screen broadcasted the exact amount of money. In a shiny Helvetica against a blue screen with white letters, the total remained $17, 346.10. “I know the Lord has blessed you more than that this week. This month, this year. He made another motion for the security ministry to lock the doors. The clink of the hatches resounded around a stunned room.

“Now, I’m going to leave the emergency exits open, guided by the Holy Spirit, we’ll be here together until we get up to at least $250,000 as a sign of our giving.” “C.R.E.A.M.” continued.

People rushed towards the emergency exits and alarms screamed and lights flashed. At the same time, yet, people looked at their smartphones and emptied their savings and credit cards. They felt their duty to do this. They knew that there remained a sense of salvation through monetary exchange. Dr. Clarion looked out over thousands of people still in attendance. Hands waved and tears streamed down cheeks as dollars generated. Some people kept streaming out of the emergency exits, too. His eyes glazed over immediately. The praise team kept the refrain to the monumental rap song on their tongues. “C.R.E.A.M.! C.R.E.A.M!/ The more you make, the more you scream!”

“Alright,” the reverend said. “We just need a few more dollars.” The screen showed $157, 540.14. Grumbling arose among the rest of the congregation. Brixx Coleman stood up and when the count rose a bit more, he waved his hand for a microphone.

“I’ve been going to this church for eleven years with my wife and son. We know all of you. This seems to be the right thing to do. For a church to ask for more tax-free dollars based on ideas is part of the game. I have not seen anything like this. We should be honored to do this. But I suggest that we not teach false doctrine like the Bible but rational, Earthly thoughts. I am an actual financier like some of you already know. I have served God my whole life. I’m not sure I can continue down that path.”

“Alright. Alright,” Dr. Clarion tried to calm the remnants of his congregation. They remained stirred by Coleman’s words. People had continued to record everything with their smart devices. It looked like white fireflies floating around the room. This display between pastor and parishioner began to go viral across the various streaming platforms and social media sites.

“We have to remember that there is no God,” the audio ministry forgot Coleman still had a live mic. Gasps tore through the few hundred people still in attendance. People attempted to make a decision to either go with Dr. Clarion or Coleman.

“You see, the truth came out and this shows why we need more money to advance and build the Kingdom of God,” Dr. Clarion bellowed. “Mr. Coleman is not like us. He is presenting himself to be a heathen obsessed with his own ideas instead of God’s glory.” Coleman began to move to the exits with his wife Aneesa and six-year-old Rockmon. One of the ushers obstructed their path.

“I know you better get out of our way,” Coleman commanded. The usher looked at Reverend Clarion. The pastor allowed their passage. “You see that? That's what happens when the Devil enters your heart.” The congregation soon began to boo the pastor. The screen then showed $346,679.88. Applause and shouts of Hallelujah! lifted up from the auditorium. Some of them made movements to upset the dollar amount. Soon, the dollar total began to decrease to a complete zero. Dr. Clarion made his way to the back of the church and continued to gather his goods. His gold robe flung to the wall, slid down into a crumpled mass representing his entire life now. The congregation kept moving as well. The swollen rows began to empty.

“The doors of the church are open!” Coleman shouted and continued out of the house of worship. When Coleman and his family reached the outside, the people began to follow them to their car in support.

“Look, I’m not your savior and neither is Jesus, apparently. Don’t just swallow my words. Study them. Realize what just went on in there. Let that be your lodestone. Not loved ones or me. If you choose to be atheists, let that be your personal business.” Their faces looked like they had discovered some treasure map. They knew that he would not provide the gems but offered them a chance to discover the jewels on their own. As he drove away, Coleman looked at Aneesa. She looked back at Rockmon.

“It’s a shame that money evaporated like water on a hot stovetop,” Aneesa observed.

“No, it just funneled through various 501 (c) (3) accounts that support ideas of reason, individualism, and capitalism,” Coleman imparted with an even tone.

“I should have expected a fiscal wizard like you to be able to program something like that. What you had to do with Clarion was never personal though…right?”

“Of course not. Enterprise calls for trade to be transacted. That’s the whole entire point.”

“I know, and I’m glad you did what you did. We’ll see it on the news.”

“How about right now?” He motioned to her phone in her palm.