Gabriel Clark had begun The Light in Detroit over fifteen years ago. The relatively short biography of the founder spoke of Gabriel Clark’s personal calling to The Light and his willingness to share his journey with those in need. His picture was the stereotypical promotional picture showing a smiling, handsome man in his late forties or early fifties. His slicked-back blond hair and expensive silk suit reminded me of a television evangelist. However, neither Gabriel Clark nor The Light offered sermons through social media. To hear Father Gabriel, as he was referred to on the site, a prospective member was required to attend a visitors’ assembly at one of the church’s campuses or informational hubs. The website mentioned that there were campuses throughout the country, but the locator page indicated only the one in Detroit. There were no local informational hubs.
Out of curiosity I clicked the form one was required to fill out to attend a visitors’ assembly. It didn’t give a time or date for an assembly; instead it was more of a questionnaire, pretty straightforward at first, but as I scrolled the questions became more personal and intrusive. It went from name, address, sex, age, marital status, number of children, and religious affiliation to essay-type questions. These had unlimited space for answers that were to include the personal background, triumphs and challenges, and even employment history of prospective members and spouses. Near the bottom was a statement I’d also seen on the website that discussed the applicant’s willingness to participate as a full-time committed believer.
What does that even mean?
The more I read, the more the hairs on the back of my neck came to attention. At the very bottom the form said that upon receipt, a Visitor Specialist would contact the applicant.
My thoughts went to the women I’d seen crossing the street. It was difficult to say because of how far away I’d been, but I couldn’t remember anything distinguishing about them. I couldn’t even remember what they were wearing. I seemed to recall slacks or maybe jeans. They hadn’t been wearing handmade dresses such as I’d associate with more conservative groups or cults.
That word cult sent shivers down my spine. I opened a new tab and typed it in the browser. The definition I found said it was a system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object.
Is that what this church is? Or am I reading too much into it? What does “full-time committed believers” mean, and why are they crossing the Canadian border daily?
I checked the website again. There was nothing to indicate that The Light was an international church, and the site said only that there were multiple locations within the United States. That was when I noticed the Outreach tab and clicked. Preserve the Light was at the top of the screen, with pictures of jars of jams and jellies. The blurb said that the church’s homegrown, homemade jams and jellies helped support its outreach. A testimonial from a member of The Light read as follows:
“I was lost in a world of darkness, using my body to support deadly habits, when I found The Light. Today, I only use my body to create Preserve the Light, serve my husband, and follow Father Gabriel. I’ve never been as content and fulfilled. The Light and Father Gabriel saved me. Please purchase Preserve the Light so others may be saved.” The testimonial was attributed to “Follower of The Light, Sister Abigail Miller.”
Serve her husband? My skin crawled.
Well, at least this woman wasn’t out selling her body anymore, and the location in Highland Heights made sense, if the ministry was about helping people who were dependent on drugs or alcohol. I wasn’t sure why or if I believed there was a connection, but I wanted to learn more.
I started with Preserve the Light. Clicking on the Order Here box, I filled out my request. Ten dollars was a lot to pay for a jar of jelly, but I reasoned that it was for a ministry. After entering my shipping information, I selected strawberry. With the weather turning colder and the leaves changing, the fruit reminded me of summer.
The other agreement that Dylan and I had come to was that I’d stay out of Highland Heights. Maybe it wasn’t so much of an agreement as it was him telling me to stay out. I didn’t want to argue about it, but if my work took me back there, I couldn’t say no . . . or more like I wouldn’t say no. It was Bernard’s informant who had led me to The Light, so I owed it to Bernard to be sure there wasn’t a connection between The Light and the drug smuggling we were trying to uncover at the border. The idea that there was a connection between this church and missing or dead women came to mind. Just as quickly I dismissed it. That was ludicrous and likely a result of my vivid imagination. Besides, nothing about those women set off my radar. Then again, I was a ways away.