The Voice

A Few of my very earliest memories was that of what transpired at the Feast of Tabernacles - when I, as a toddler, had my very own luxurious space during the Feast of Tabernacles - on a cold, cement floor surrounded by legs, shoes, and the bottom elements of grey folding metal chairs. Yet these physical elements were not the substance of my memories. The substance of the memories was a booming, authoritative, and strongly echoing voice that filled not only the Tabernacle - or metal warehouse - that I, along with 14,000 others, were inhabiting for hours per day for eight total days in that Fall. It was that voice that I remember most clearly.

It was that voice - the live, and deep bass voice - of Herbert W. Armstrong - that penetrated my head with the force of a clap of thunder and the peal of an angry drill sergeant. Sleeping was a necessity for a person of my age at that time - two, three, or even four years of age. Sleep, however, in the audio presence of a certain Herb was not as the effect of Chamomile. No, sleep was not to be had when you were a baby in the Worldwide Church of God when Herbert Armstrong was speaking. For the very moment that you began to be lulled by a more distant rumble - a strike of lightning would punctuate the Arena - activating the emergency wails of miniature alarms no greater than 20 pounds in weight and 2 feet in height. Also activated were the transporter units of mothers who would take these tiny alarms and rush them to the silencing room, as distractions were frowned upon - and that's putting it mildly.

Herbert Armstrong to the youngest of the Armstrong Era alive to remember it was not the Apostle. He was not the gentle grandfather. He wasn't even "nice" in the memories of us. Herbert was a force. A power - not benevolent in appearance, but violent and fierce. A malevolent being that could change from light to dark in the flash of a heartbeat.

I remember as a child looking up at Herbert on the Big Screen at those Feast of Tabernacles. Literally - I had to look up and between heads and shoulders when I was standing up on a seat and not trying to sleep on blankets, cradled with an Etch-A-Sketch and a "Little Professor". I remember his animatd motions. His lean in the chair. And the one time I did what I wasn't supposed to do - I laughed at him when he knocked a lamp over with his dramatic and far flung hand gestures. I didn't look up to him - now in a more emotional sense - as a religious figure. I looked up to Herbert Armstrong as someone to be very, very afraid of.

That element of fear - a pervasive, far-reaching element - was an emotion that Herbert Armstrong crafted to a science for not only those of us who were babies within the Church, but for all who were a part of the brief, yet powerful, movement - for those of us who were seduced into it. That element of fear was in the single man and woman being told how their marriage would be arranged. That element was in the baptized member afraid to upset the minister for fear he or she would be disfellowshipped for trivial mutiny. That element was in the father and husband who was just told to quit his job because it violated either Church rules or the minister's order. That element was in the wife who was told to submit to the husband, the minister, and every command of the Church. That element of fear was something that we simply called "Submission to Government". It was a part of our culture, ingrained into us from day one of Herbert's regime pounded into our psychological crevices, cemented by threats of eternal damnation should we rebel, and use common sense or critical thinking. That element of fear was called "Unity". That element of fear was called "order". Those not submissive to such unity and order were the "World" - and the "World" was what you did not want to be a part of, because then you were, you were told, subject to great loss - and great affliction from physical and spiritual forces. The element of fear is what held you in. It encapsulated, suffocated, and paralyzed you - yet was calming and familiar enough to lull you into a sense of security. Reality became unknown, traded for the narrow and false visions of lies and deceit from one man who convinced you he was sent by God to take you where no man had gone in 1900 years - to truth. Except every aspect of Herbert's ministry was founded on lie, after lie, after lie.

It has been a long time since those days of sitting on the cold, gray, unfeeling cement floors of those warehouse buildings used as Tabernacles. A few of those buildings still exist, such as at Wisconsin Dells, Lake of the Ozarks, and Big Sandy. Time, however has changed those buildings, and time has changed those who used to fill it's cavernous coldness (in some cases, literal coldness!). The Ozarks building only houses boats now. The Wisconsin Dells building belongs to another group altogether, as does the Big Sandy Tabernacle. And for most of us who grew up under the shadow of an abusive, dominating, greed-filled bully - there is no longer any reason to fear him or Armstrongism in general. For the movement that created such fear has fizzled out in a most spectacular dud you could ever imagine.

That voice? That resonant, powerful voice? Silent. Yet the voice that continues to persist and penetrate - that Voice - the voice that says, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life". That Voice that says "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." That Voice that says  "I am the Resurrection and the Life." That Voice that is gentle as a whisper and timeless as the Alpha and Omega. That Voice that searches our hearts and minds. That voice of Truth - yes, that Voice remains, and has remained from the Time of His Birth, to now, and to forevermore. He was never silenced. He was always there. That's the Voice. That's the One. That's the Truth. He's the Wonderful Counselor, the Prince of Peace, the Everlasting Father. And HE - Jesus - is far more powerful than that other voice of lies that came, spoke, and has been silenced so we could finally hear and know The Voice of Jesus Christ, our Lord.