People in Glass Houses Read online

  Kenneth and Gloria Copeland were keen to share their brand of the health and wealth gospel which they aired on the Believer’s Voice of Victory every day in Fort Worth, Texas. Ken Copeland had already prophesied over Sydney in 1988 that ‘twelve months from today you will look on this city and say one of two things. “We are seeing the grandest outpouring of the Holy Spirit that we have ever seen or how many more disasters can we stand? And it’s more up to you than it is to me saith the Lord ’cause I’m ready.”’

  Whatever happened, the Copelands relocated their Australian office from Sydney to Brisbane in 1995 and ran a conference while they were there, which my parents went to. At the time, I thought it was good for old people to get out in the sun, and I didn’t know much about Kenneth and his lovely wife, Gloria, until my mother called me. The Lord wanted me to have a brand-new washing machine, she announced. The Lord, my mother and I all knew how much I needed a washing machine at the time, so there wasn’t much argument.

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ I told her. ‘I think he really wants me to have a car, as well.’ When the Lord is speaking to my mother, you never know what might happen. He ended up only wanting me to have a washing machine.

  My parents had been to a prosperity conference where they had learned that God wanted them to be wealthy. Jesus had come to give us life in abundance, hadn’t he?

  Among my friends, my parents were endearingly referred to as Fred and Elaine after the Nile family, who were the high-profile Christian political extremists of the time. No one at uni knew about the tongues or the demons; they thought Christianity was weird enough, especially for a Jew. Then again, when prosperity theology came in and my new washing machine arrived, some kids started wishing their parents would convert.

  I didn’t know my parents’ own church was saturated with the same ideas. I had no idea that the Treats and the Houstons were riding high on the Copeland trail, much as Brian denied the similarities. And I never guessed they could win with that approach. My Year 8 science teacher had told me Jesus was practically a communist. Not any more. Australia was in for a brand-new Jesus, one wearing Gucci loafers where his sandals used to be.

  Chapter 10

  EIGHT IS ENOUGH

  My little boy’s father is a gifted artist. Brought up in Sydney’s other bible belt, the Sutherland Shire, he was adopted out by his Maori parents as a baby.

  I have always had a soft spot for gorgeous Maori boys. They are the greatest diet you can ever go on. All you have to do is stand next to one and you look like Tinkerbell. This one had golden skin, big strong arms when I met him, a giant with a gentle voice and a dusty old Holden ute. It made me feel safe enough to go to dinner and actually eat.

  It was during the main course that he told me about his years on Ritalin as a boy, and his off-the-charts IQ score—not things I usually talk about on a date, but he was serious. In any case, it didn’t really matter. I’d been very hungry and my chicken caesar salad was extraordinary. He talked about art, and didn’t mind how much I ate.

  Being a complicated neurotic type, I have always chosen boys who seem simple. Nice Aussie boys who want nothing more than to check the surf. I figure they’re so happy, they can make my life simple as well. The problem is that Martin Bryant is the stereotype I end up with. Blond ringlets and psychopathic tendencies.

  And, true to form, the easygoing artist ended up having more personalities than Sybil. The twist with this one was that he admitted it. He was surrounded, he insisted, by seven spirits who had taught him his art.

  Maybe I should have paid more attention to this than to my salad. Perhaps the signs were there. Anyway, religion must have come up in conversation because after dinner he said, ‘I want to take you back to where I live and show you why I believe in God.’

  It was a unique pick-up line, I thought. Still, it made a change from ‘I just want to hold you’ so I decided, with my full belly, that I may as well go to wherever it was he lived. I had never been anywhere near Cronulla so I got in the front of the ute and imagined I was Daisy Duke all the way there.

  His house was a million miles away from the city and, as we stomped through his dark back garden to the shed, the novelty of this nonsense spiritual exercise was wearing off. The spirits, he said, gave him dreams. They had taught him to carve. And at the age of twenty-four, having never been to New Zealand, he began to create traditional pieces out of bone and jade and wood. At night the spirits would show him how, and by day he would teach himself.

  Finally, he said, the spirits had shown him whalebone on a beach in his dreams. For four months of weekends, he and his ex-wife had driven up and down the coastline until he found eighty kilograms of whalebone washed up. And there it sat in the shed.

  The work he showed me was beautiful, but all this spirit talk made me nervous. Weren’t they going to hell for voodoo like all the other natives? Was I even safe being around this stuff?

  All I remember is that I went to work the next day and I felt that nauseating falling-in-love feeling. A month later, right when the pregnancy test came back positive, I had to move house anyway. I changed my plans suddenly and moved in with him instead.

  The spirits, however, were not always noble and they weren’t often kind. Matt was terrorised by violent nightmares and would wake up with his spirits yelling at him that he was a failure, threatening him, berating him and humiliating him. It was an unusual predicament. It wasn’t something I felt I could chat about at the antenatal classes we attended. I tried my hardest to understand how he saw life and, just when I would get an understanding, one

  of the spirits would say something to him and I’d be back to square one.

  The spirits didn’t like me. They made fun of me to him. I wasn’t too worried in the beginning. Initially it’s difficult to imagine that this is going to be long-term. And I thought that, whatever they were, voices or fragments or imaginary, I could perhaps get them to like me. Maybe if I hung around and they got to know me, they might change their minds. I asked questions about them. It was me, after all, who had invaded their home; maybe I could decorate it to their liking, make some of their favourite snacks. But nothing made them happy. I was not who they would have chosen, he translated. He thought I was beautiful, they said I was ugly. Tell that one to Cosmopolitan.

  The nightmares were horrible. He slept badly. He was always sick or sleeping, when he wasn’t working or wrestling voices. I was also doing a lot of sleeping. I was pregnant, crying and sleeping. My first baby and I had not just a troubled boyfriend but his seven companions as well. Often, the gentle giant and I got along well. When the spirits went quiet, it was good. But we also spent a lot of time fighting, and he would go to the workshop and carve while I cried and slept. I wanted to run away from all of them, but the crying and the pregnancy made me so so tired. I had to do something.

  I hated it, but I had to do it. It was different this time: I was going to have a child. This time it wasn’t just me I had to take responsibility for. I hadn’t ended up at a really bad after-party; I was inflicting this on someone else.

  I had asked him if he wanted the spirits gone. He said that he couldn’t remember or in fact imagine life without them. They were as helpful to him creatively as they were debilitating with their torment. I didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t called them voices. He had called them spirits. This seemed different from mental illness, which I didn’t know much about then. He said it was spiritual. I was miserable and scared, and I was wondering whom one goes to to deal with such things. He refused to see a psychiatrist. I figured I had a choice between a dark, incense-filled room in the inner city, or I could go back to familiarity. Were these the wages of my sin? I didn’t care any more. I just knew I was stuck, more stuck than I’d ever been, and the baby kept growing bigger.

  If Michael Murphy hadn’t been the local pastor, I probably couldn’t have done it. But Mike, the wonderful Mike and Val, had been heading a large congregation in Sutherland not far from where we lived for years. If
I was going to drag myself back to church, it made it so much easier to contemplate with the Murphys there. Surely they would help explain what the hell was going on.

  I went into the church and I saw them. Theirs was a much smaller, plainer hall than Hillsong’s, much more intimate. I approached the Murphys and told them a bit of the story. I needed some kind of help. Was this a demon thing? I asked. It was my fault I was in this situation, I knew that, but I assumed that demon infestation was something that required immediate action. As an unwed, backslidden mother-to-be, I didn’t feel I had the authority to exorcise anyone.

  It was 1998. The days of the old church picnic might have been long gone, but I was still seriously naïve. I believed that if they discovered I had evil spirits at my house, then someone would be around right away to get rid of them. This was no reported sighting, or a hunch. I had dobbed in Legion himself because they were many.

  But nobody came over to cast out the demons or even for a cup of tea. This distressed Matt, who’d been listening to wonderings out loud I’d been having and was now open to having these spirits addressed. He still wasn’t interested in doing it via anti-psychotic medication. The last time he had tried that, the spirits had taken over and suppressed him altogether.

  Instead of Pastor Michael or Val’s guidance, I was allocated Jeremy, who was some sort of leader at their church. Jeremy was forty-two, recently married to a 21-year-old and had a baby girl. He would call every couple of weeks to check up on me.

  Jeremy was going to be it for pastoral care so I kept chatting to him, in case an emergency arose in the future. Maybe if Matt’s head actually started spinning they might say something to the demons. I had as much in common with Jeremy as I would with any house brick, and while I knew it wasn’t Mike and Val’s fault they were busy, I wondered what they’d been thinking.

  Since no one did ghostbusting at the church any more, Matt saw about forty spirits in the room when Sam was born, and later relayed that one reached down and with its claw released the cord that was wrapped around our baby’s neck. By this time, sleep was my national goal. I hated them. I wanted out. But not before a nap.

  Having a baby, especially a first-born son, is a big deal for a Pentecostal Jew with a Maori partner. With some downloaded prayers, my mother and I made sure the boychik got a minimal bris in the surgery of the Sutherland medical centre that was prepared to perform the procedure. For me, though, it wasn’t enough. I had always liked the idea of the Pentecostal ‘baby dedication’.

  Rather than a formal ceremony where an infant is christened, the fundamentalists teach that water baptism happens by choice following salvation. So they skip the water and pray a prayer that will see the baby born again before you know it. In my frightened newborn mother’s logic, I decided better safe than sorry. Instead of leaving him on the foothpath for Satan, dedicating him to God couldn’t be such a bad thing.

  This would have to take place at Hillsong. It was the only church I knew, even at the age of twenty-eight. Fred and Elaine still attended, having survived the usual judgement reserved for grandparents of illegitimate babies. I felt it was right to do what the Christians do, in the way my parents are Christians.

  I got sad and scared. A few days before the dedication I called up Donna, still a pastor, and asked her if my baby could possibly be accepted before God. Of course he could, she told me. Why wouldn’t any baby be? Do you think your children are different to mine?

  Was I stupid to stand on stage before all those Christians, their knowing that I was a relative whore? She said I was being silly, and was so kind and understanding I decided to enjoy the dedication rather than fear it.

  So we traipsed—Matt, Sam, them and me—all the way from the Sutherland Shire to the Hills Shire, from God’s country to God’s country, and stood on stage next to the other couples each with their bundles of joy, waiting in turn for the blessing. I prayed that the spirits wouldn’t go ballistic and embarrass everyone in some unforeseen way. They didn’t. They behaved. By chance, Brian was on shift that week, which was great. I’m one of those people that prefers being operated on by the head surgeon, and if my baby was getting handed over to God, if I was putting my hand up for this, I wanted the okay to come from the boss.

  Every year, Brian does a hundred thousand baby dedications and faces each couple one by one. When he came to us, he smiled with surprise. He hadn’t seen me for a long time.

  ‘Hello,’ he said warmly.

  ‘Hello,’ I replied nervously.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he smiled at Sam. We chatted briefly. After he prayed for Sam to have happiness, health and a determination to serve God, Brian gave a hearty Amen. He looked at Matt, whose eyes were black with psychosis and fear, and said, ‘May he play rugby for Australia.’ Brian smiled at the congregation. He looked back at Matt. ‘I mean, New Zealand,’ he said and laughed, and my dad and the whole football-loving crowd laughed with him.

  I had survived. Sam was safe from hell. I moved out six months later and went back to the Hills district to live near Jewels.

  Chapter 11

  FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST, THANK

  GOD ALMIGHTY, WE’RE FREE AT LAST

  And if anyone offends (Greek, skandalizo, to scandalise, to put a stumbling block or impediment in the way upon which another may trip and fall, metaphor to offend, to entice to sin, to cause a person to begin to distrust and desert one whom he ought to trust and obey, to cause to fall away, to cause one to judge unfavourably or unjustly of another) one of these children who believe in me it would be better for him to tie a millstone around his neck and throw himself into the sea.

  —Matthew 18:6

  A couple of weeks before it was announced at Hillsong, I found out about Pat. I decided to go and watch the proceedings. I figured I could sit through a morning service if there was something of interest at the end. It was a sin of a sexual nature that was to bring him undone, but the details were unclear.

  It was around then that I started catching on to the set-up, or so I thought. The way the service is put together. The music that day was particularly hopeful, upbeat, positive. The sermon explicitly laid a foundation.

  Pastor Robert Fergusson, from Hillsong in the city, speaks with a lovely Jude Law type of English accent and is very soothing to listen to. He spoke about the events of September 11, and how much fear was now in society. He relayed a scary incident on a plane that he’d been through, and was troubled that this was the world we were living in. It was a confidence-building message, delivered smoothly and generously to an audience of Sienna Millers.

  This was interesting, as I had heard the preaching right after 11 September 2001. I went along again back then, wanting to see if Hillsong took a stand, if they would realise the impact of the disaster and reassure the people. They didn’t. In those days, of course, Brian Houston did not show the support for Prime Minister Howard, and by extension for his good friend President Bush, that he does now.

  It was only in August of 2001 that Robert chose to speak of these things, coinciding with the foreboding announcement of Pat Mesiti’s removal. Finally, after nearly a year, I heard what I’d waited to hear. It was going to be all right. We didn’t have to worry about a thing. There was no need for fear; God was in control.

  Pastor Robert finished and, after a quick song, a smiling Brian took the stage. He complimented his crowd and, before saying goodbye, made a request.

  ‘If you’re a part of this church, we’d like you to stay behind for an announcement. If you feel you’re part of this church, please stay, otherwise have a great day, because this announcement won’t mean much to you.’

  I sat very still. I wanted to throw up. I had watched these men over the years, seen their intimate friendships grow, indulged them in their references to each other from the pulpit. When you hear someone’s voice over and over for years, you get familiar with the tones. When you listen to public speakers often enough, the sensing of genuine emotion becomes more acute. Having heard so much insi
ncerity, it’s clear when people are real. Brian’s voice sounded like this was hard and he was sad.

  The people who didn’t know or didn’t care shuffled out, possibly only to kick themselves a few hours later. Then it was quiet. If I wanted to throw up, how was everyone else doing? And where was Pat?

  Brian explained that Pat Mesiti, a pastor on the team and one of his oldest friends, had been caught by someone on staff engaging in ‘a pattern of immoral behaviour’. Pat recognised the problem and accepted that he should stand down from his role as a pastor, as is standard AoG policy.

  Brian turned to a waiting Bobbie and took her hand. ‘We want everyone to know that our marriage is still strong,’ he said. Who knew what that had to do with the price of fish, but with reassurance and a prayer request for Pat and his family, the big announcement was over.

  I didn’t know whether to throw up or ask for my money back. If that’s public acknowledgement and accountability from the men of God, if that’s what caused the emotion in Brian’s voice, well, I had not yet begun to feel sick.

  Outside the walls, I found it was no different. What happened with Pat? I wanted to know. He’d been friends with my dad, who didn’t know and refused to get engaged in the melodrama. And the Hillsong members didn’t really care either.

  I couldn’t understand it—this was Pat. We had followed him as a group on buses to youth rallies, supporting his dream of getting all the young people saved in Australia. He had drawn us to him and kept us close for years. Why hadn’t he put his face to this side of his life? This man was running family and marriage seminars. What had he actually done?