By Evan O’Gorman
“So tell me,” he said. “How long have you guys been Christians?”
My illustrator and I were stuck for words.
The man in the large shirt looked down in anticipation at us.
“We’re in it now,” I thought to myself. “The shit’s hit the fan.”
Although only a couple of seconds passed, the time spent forming a reply was equivalent to what felt like a Keanu Reeves film on repeat.
My illustrator was faster off the mark than I.
“Pretty much our whole lives,” he said.
I nodded my head in agreement.
Were we lying? Well, we had both been Baptised, made our first Holy Communion and been Confirmed.
As outspoken atheists, the halls of the Irish Faith Centre were far beyond our comfort zone. We knew that in order to document the experience fully we needed to maintain our amateur charade, no matter what.
“I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake and will not remember your sins”
– Isaiah 43:25
I arranged to collect him from his home on the way to Phibsborough. His name was Conor. A friend of mine for many years and an artist with a very unique style – I figured it would be no harm in bringing him along. (There was also the factor that I did not know what to expect of this meeting and I did not want to attend it alone).
My attention was brought to the Irish Faith Centre the previous week when a promotional flyer came through my door. At first, I thought nothing of it. Before being added to the junk mail and placed in the recycling bin, I noticed some of the Bible passages displayed on it.
“Does the real power of all earthly governments truly belong to the devil as described in Luke 4:5-6?”
I knew that I had to uncover the reasoning behind such a theory.
I had heard of the Irish Faith Centre before. Everyone who has ever used public transport has. They’re the guys with the large black ads on bus stops and trains with the message “What think ye of Christ?”
Conor and I arrived five minutes late. The entrance was well hidden between a local bookies and a “Euroland” shop. However, the Centre occupied the majority of the second story of the red brick building above the surrounding shops on the corner of North Circular Road and Phibsborough Road.
We were both nervous as we did not know what to expect and were quite concerned by the theory raised on the flyer. We entered in single file through the narrow hallway. This was it. No turning back now.
“For all the promises of God in him are yea, and in him Amen, unto the glory of God by us.” II Corinthians 1:20
The interior was well furnished and smelt old. The same smell you get when you walk through an elderly relative’s house after a long absence. There were Christian images and paintings on the walls as you ascended up the first flight of stairs. We entered the hallway at the top of the stairs and were greeted by a man reading the Irish Independent. More Christian murals hung around the walls and an old TV showed static in the corner of the room.
“Here for the Faith Centre, is it?” the man asked. “Go on upstairs there lads.”
He held open another door and directed us through. What was that? Was he a gatekeeper of some kind? A security checkpoint? A bouncer? Whatever set-up we had just encountered did no favours to our already frayed nerves.
“Oh, and lads,” he interrupted our approach up the stairs.
“You’re going to have to turn your phones off.”
Halfway up the stairs was a glass cabinet containing several custom designed bibles and individual pieces of scripture. Gold leaf art work and ribbon finishing, well protected and clearly cherished. At the top floor was a main atrium with four or five different rooms extended onto it. There, friends and acquaintances chatted over cups of tea and custard creams. With the exception of certain individuals, most of the 20-30 people attending appeared very normal; suits, jeans, tracksuits, etc. One man wore a full outfit of rough baggy leather covered in medals and badges – his resemblance to a member of Hell’s Angels was uncanny. Another man wore a white shirt that was noticeably too large for him, a pair of black slacks with matching shoes and had long black hair unnaturally parted with an absurd amount of Brylcreem. He held an important role here, but I did not yet know what that role was.
We entered one of the rooms with eight others. The room was large enough and laid out like a church: they had office chairs for pews and a podium to substitute the alter. Conor and myself sat beside each other on the edge of the forth row of chairs (closest to the exit).
All of the curtains were drawn.
An older gentleman entered to room wearing a well fitted suit and a pair of round rimmed spectacles. He fiddled around with the buttons on the side of the 60 inch flat-screen behind the podium and inserted a DVD. He left the room as the DVD began to play.
I had many ideas and visions that morning of what the service would be like. Maybe it would be just like mass. Maybe it would be a group of people sitting in a circle like an AA meeting. Maybe we’d all be sitting on the floor in silence. I did not for one second imagine that I would be sat in front of a home cinema for the next 90 minutes.
The DVD was the footage of a sermon by the late Dr Gene Scott, a man whose ideologies and teachings were the fundamental ingredient of the beliefs of the Irish Faith Centre. They worshiped him.
“Dr Gene Scott was the founding Pastor of The Los Angeles University Cathedral. Dr Scott’s teaching style is characterized by a professorial approach to investigating, unpacking and presenting God’s Word through studies in languages, grammar, history, theology, sciences, psychology and other academic fields. Consequently, his work is exhaustively researched, and during his lifetime he amassed the largest collection of rare bibles in private hands. A staunch advocate for church freedom, Dr Scott helped write and fought for passage of the Petris Bill, and has been a steering voice for church leaders nationwide who are indebted to him for his research, advocacy, and clarity on the subject of giving.”
–http://irishfaithcentre.ie/home.html
The footage opened with a crowd of about 2,000 people cheering for their pastor. Dr Scott controlled the stage. The man was a natural. He opened his presentation with a pinch of humour like many public speakers do, followed by analysis of passages from the New Testament. The time passed surprisingly quickly. I did not pay as much attention to Dr Scott’s service as I did to my surroundings. As soon as Dr Scott began to talk, those around us produced bibles from their bags, flicked through the familiar pages and found the relevant passage. Some of these bibles were old and beaten up. Others looked like they had been purchased within the hour and there were those with customized covers and cases. Those were holstered by the real veterans.
Towards the end of the service, Dr Scott became much more animated and began shouting “the word of God.” He was cheered upon his departure of the stage – even the people in the room with began to applaud the late pastor. It was not long before the sharp dressed man reappeared and began again fiddling with the television. Another man emerged holding a tray of shot glasses and crumbs. Sitting closest to the doors, he came to Conor and I first.
“What the fuck is this?” I thought.
Conor and I drank the shot and ate the crumb. The man seemed frustrated by this. He continued around to the other members of the room, who upon taking the offering sat with it patiently in their hands.
Jesus Christ, we’d been here a little over an hour and already we had managed to offend them. What happened now? Would we be escorted out by the gatekeeper? Would we be struck down by God himself?
During the overwhelming internal panic, I noticed the collection basket making its way towards us.
“I have to make amends.” I took out a total of two euro (a very generous offering, I thought) and went to place it in the basket.
Within the basket were several notes, totalling to what appeared to be roughly €400. Our coins were the only change in the collection.
At this stage, the alcohol in the shot was beginning to react to the chemicals in my body from the previous night. This was not good. I had already insulted these people on two occasions in the space of 60 seconds. Projectile vomiting was not an option.
The man with the offerings re-emerged as the new clip of Dr Scott began. He was very generous, providing us with a second round of offerings, instructing us not to take them until Pastor Scott did so in the video. We obliged.
The second shot made its presence known.
Everyone stood up and made for the exit. The curtains were drawn and empty glasses collected.
Conor and I sat for a moment to gather ourselves. The man with the large shirt approached us where we sat.
“So tell me” he said. “How long have you guys been Christians?”
My illustrator and I were stuck for words.
The man in the overly large shirt looked down in anticipation at us.
“We’re in it now” I thought to myself. “The shit’s hit the fan.”
Although only a couple of seconds passed, the time spent forming a reply was equivalent to what felt like a Keanu Reeves film on repeat.
My illustrator was faster off the mark than I.
“Pretty much our whole lives.” He said.
I nodded my head in agreement.
The scenario began to feel like an interrogation and I knew my illustrator’s feelings were mutual.
“My father founded this place about 25 years ago” he said, pointing to the sharply dressed man.
“My mother and he have kept it running, I myself have only been involved in the last six years.”
“Are you guys in college?” He asked.
I told him I was studying journalism and the conversation declined rapidly. After some forced small talk, we knew our time had come to leave. The man in the large shirt accompanied us as we left, wishing us a safe journey home.
I am not a religious man, nor do I claim to be. I cannot tell you why people devote their lives to their religion, but those who do are a special type of people. They will stand by their beliefs no matter what, and they will protect with every ounce of strength they have.
“The message of a Person–Jesus Christ and Him crucified. It needs to be told from the Word, and it needs to be experienced, and it needs to be seen.” – Dr Gene Scott (1929 – 2005)
Evan O'Gorman 