Pastor Denies Persistent Steroid Rumors

SAN FRANCISCO--The accusations echo in his brain. “He must be taking something. No ordinary human being could do those things.” “He wasn’t that big earlier in his career.” “He won’t talk about it; that proves he’s guilty.”

He knows that for some people, none of his accomplishments will ever matter. They will always be tainted by the suspicion that he used steroids or other illegal performance enhancing drugs.

Now, for the first time, John Moody, senior pastor at Bayside Presbyterian Church in downtown San Francisco, addresses all the questions, all the accusations, in a candid interview with The Aldersgate Gazette.

AG: Let us begin by remembering some of your more remarkable accomplishments: you performed 4 weddings and a funeral in one weekend; one Christmas Eve you preached 3 different sermons at 5 different candlelight services; you shattered the old record for sermons preached in one year; you are approaching the career record for sermons in a lifetime. Those are amazing statistics, and precisely because they are so astounding, you can understand why there would be questions.

Moody: Of course. God has given me the strength to do some wonderful things in ministry. I don’t deny that, but I have always been clear that it is the power of the Holy Spirit--not steroids or anything else--that has enabled me to be so successful for so long.

AG: People have said that you are much bigger now than you were in your early years. We’ve gone back through old photographs, and that seems to be correct. Your vocal cords are huge now, but in your first church you had a rather svelte neck. How do you explain that?

Moody: First of all, it’s too many potlucks. [laughs] Seriously, though, I have a trainer. He has got me working hard on speaking exercises, especially in the off season. Plus, I’m eating better, too. I’m eating leaner protein and more vegetables. I haven’t had a beer for 6 years.

AG: Other people have remarked about how suddenly your productivity increased. For example, in 1996, you preached 48 sermons, but the very next year, you preached 112. How do you explain such an extreme jump?

Moody: That’s pretty simple. We added a second worship service that year, and I also accepted a volunteer position preaching at a nursing home once a month.

AG: A reporter for Christianity Today wrote that you had already been preaching 3 times each Sunday before you added the second service.

Moody: That’s ridiculous.

AG: So you deny that.

Moody: Yes, of course.

AG: Tell us a little about what it is like to chase the great Harry Emerson Fosdick and his career sermon record. The media frenzy would be tremendous even without the accusations of steroid use, but now it must be unbearable. How do you crowd out all the distractions?

Moody: I wish I had a big secret, but I simply take a few moments before I step into the pulpit to focus my energy, to concentrate on the task at hand. It was hard at first, especially with all the flash bulbs popping in my face, but I have learned to take it all in stride. It feels almost normal. I think after I break the record, the sudden lack of attention will seem odd, too quiet.

AG: Let’s turn to the grand jury testimony now. I know that must be an uncomfortable subject for you. When you were on the stand, you absolutely denied that you ever received the substance called “preacher’s coffee” from the Jesus Seminar, a substance, by the way, that has been categorically banned by the National Council of Churches. But later, a member of the Seminar contradicted your testimony. How do you explain that?

Moody: It’s the age-old story. When you’re in the public eye, when you’re near the top, everybody wants to tear you down. The media always has to feed off of some rumor, regardless of truth. Unfortunately, I’ve been the Rumor of the Day for the last several years. Eventually, it will be someone else.

AG: What do you want people to know about you that they don’t know now? What would help them understand John Moody better?

Moody: First of all, I’m just a regular guy. Yes, I have been called by God for a unique task, and I have a wonderful gift. I’ve never said it was anything else than a gift from God. But I am just a simple, ordinary human being. I like taking my Jaguar out on long drives up the coast like your Average Joe. I love to fly with my kids out to the south of France for the weekend, just like everybody who sits in the pews in front of me. Just because I can preach more sermons than any other human being in history doesn’t mean I’m anything more than an ordinary man.

AG: And finally, what about your legacy? What will people think of you and your records in 50 years?

Moody: It won’t be long before the accusations die down. The media will have another pastor to attack, and people will see only the record. They will no longer be biased by the ridiculous statements made about me. In time, people will truly respect me for what I’ve accomplished. And, of course, I hope my work will be seen for what it really is--a monument to Jesus Christ.

AG: Thank you for answering some very difficult questions. Thank you for your candor.

Moody: You’re welcome.

Maybe "Jesus" Isn't the Answer

Ruth Fox, Staff Writer

Jesus is the answer, and Guy Flanders discovered that the answer will get you thrown in the slammer. Flanders, the pastor of Calvary Presbyterian Church in Gainesville, Florida, was sentenced to 10 days in jail after the only response he would give to a judge was “Jesus.”

Three months ago, Flanders was deep in prayer when he saw a vision of Jesus hovering above the local Publix Super Market on a red-and-white checkered blanket. “Jesus looked right down at me,” Flanders wrote on his blog, “and said, ‘I am the answer to all your questions.’” Since then, he pledged to answer “Jesus” to every question. Flanders ended his blog address with a challenge to his flock: “This is the way to spread the holy name of Jesus across this land. I encourage you to join me.”

Although Flanders’ new policy annoyed his family and friends, it did not create any insurmountable obstacles. Then Flanders received a notice for jury duty. Consistent with his pledge, he wrote in the word “Jesus” for every answer on his jury questionnaire. He arrived for jury duty on a Monday morning.

“When Guy called me that morning and asked me to call a lawyer,” remembers his wife Susanna, “I could immediately tell there was something wrong. I tried to ask what was happening, but all he said was ‘Jesus.’”

Before Flanders’ lawyer could arrive, the pastor was brought before a judge. “What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Flanders?” the judge asked.

Predictably, Flanders answered, “Jesus.”

“You’re in serious trouble here, sir. You had better start giving me straight answers. Do you understand I could charge you with contempt?”

Flanders’ next “Jesus” got him 10 days. He is 8 days into his stay, and does not regret a moment. “I would do it again,” he wrote to his wife, “and the next time I get a jury summons, I probably will.”

His church’s deacons were not pleased with Flanders’ stunt. “We’re law abiding citizens around here,” said Pete Sturgess. “Guy has done some silly things before, but this time, the church’s name got dragged through the mud. That’s not right.”

Even Flanders’ wife is concerned. “I told Guy he should consider selling insurance. He’s not really a very good preacher.”

And Guy Flanders? What does he have so say about it? No one really knows because he just keeps saying “Jesus.”

Pastor Finds Empty Church on Easter Sunday

Gerald Calvin, Staff Writer

As she does every Sunday morning at around 9:00, Joanna Terry was putting the finishing touches on her sermon. This Easter sermon was to be a mixture of joy and sorrow for the pastor of St. John’s Presbyterian Church in Seattle. The church is an old one and has been serving downtown Seattle for 82 years. Like many other downtown churches across the land, however, the congregation of St. John’s has experienced a steady decline.

The sermon Terry was to preach this Easter morning was the one to announce the death of the church. She would tell the people that their service to the community was laudable, but the time had come to let go. There was no more life in the church.

Terry never preached that sermon. She arrived about ten minutes before the service--her usual time--in order to avoid the inevitable distractions of parishioners telling her about burnt out light bulbs or dirty restrooms. Something seemed odd, however, as she approached. There were even fewer cars than usual in the parking lot. She did not see the car of the head usher, and wondered if anyone had even opened the front door to the church.

Terry pulled on her robe as she entered the sanctuary. She stopped immediately, stunned. She checked her watch, and indeed, it was nearly 10:00am, the start time for worship. But no one, not one soul, not even old Mrs. Parker, a woman who had sat in the same pew every Sunday for 73 years, was present. The building was completely empty.

The 47-year-old pastor looked around and finally saw a well-dressed man standing near the piano. He said to her, “I’ll bet you are looking for your people. Well, they aren’t here.” He nodded toward the front door and said, “They all left. I’ve never seen a bunch of folks with so much energy. They were alive.” Terry said that the man emphasized the word “alive” so sharply that a chill went down her spine.

The man continued, “Don’t you remember how they told you they were going to leave this place? At that last meeting they said they were tired of waiting around for the leaders to do something about the Gospel, and they were just going to go.”

Terry says she did remember something like that, but, as she went back to her office, she tried to figure out what to do next. Her seminary training never prepared her for anything like this. She called her good friend and colleague, Carl Goodrich, a pastor in a nearby suburb.

“I told Carl he would never believe what had just happened,” Terry said in an interview later that day. “And, of course, he didn’t believe it. He came right over to see for himself. We walked around in that big empty sanctuary. Nothing was left but Emma Townsend’s sweater.”

Mondays are Terry’s days off, and when Tuesday comes, she is not sure what she will do. “I suppose I’ll go back to the office,” she said. “I’ll just do what I know how to do. And there is a report I need to finish.” She paused, and her eyes misted over. “Maybe they’ll come back and see me.”