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The Televangelists' Hall of Shame!
"Jesus wept."
-- John 11:35
Next to disco, the game show, and the Energizer bunny, the most unforgivable American contribution to world culture has been the common televangelist (cockroachus Evangelicus everbrokus). While this slippery creature's normal habitat includes Mercedes Benzes, exclusive vacation spots, and Republican Party fundraisers, he can at times be found in gay bathhouses, massage parlors, and cruising through your local red-light district. This page honors those who have taken so much to contribute to the immaculate reputation of this ignoblest of species.
Gentlemen (and ladies), we salute you!!!
NOTE: This page is still under development, and deserving inductees will be added as time and space permits. If you would like to nominate an evangelist for induction, please see our induction criteria listed below.
"Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker, step
aside!" That was how TV legend David Frost introduced TERRY SMITH
on Inside Edition. The pastor of Canyon Creek Baptist Church in Richardson, Texas, Dr.
Smith refuses to ask local businesses for a pastor's discount ... as he appears to prefer
the five-fingered kind. The good reverend was actually convicted of shoplifting
condoms from a local grocery store -- and he certainly had a need for them.
According to a 1989 ruling by Texas District Court judge Catherine Crier, he was having
extramarital affairs with church members who came to him for marriage counseling. It is
therefore no surprise that Smith has been a long-time director of BOB LARSON'S
ministry.
NOTE: For a local pastor to earn "urban legend" status, he has to do something pretty spectacular. If you know of a local pastor who deserves recognition on this page and can document your charges, contact me at Ranger57@concentric.net. If the scandal in question hasn't gone public yet, also contact Trinity Foundation at tfi@flash.net; they are the experts in bringing these scandals to the attention of the major networks.
We must start by paying homage to the living legends: three men who have done more to demolish the reputation of the modern American evangelist than Madalyn Murray-O'Hair could have done in her wildest dreams: Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, and Oral Roberts.
Jim BakkerRoom 538 of the Sheraton Sand Key Resort in Clearwater, Florida will go down in history -- not for the view or ambience but rather, for the historic union which took place there. It is there that, in December of 1980, an attractive twenty-something church secretary named Jessica Hahn got to know Jim Bakker and John Wesley Fletcher -- in a Biblical sense. And that close encounter of the threesome kind defined American televangelism. The ambitious, high-living, wild-spending Bakker has truly became a American icon.
Oral RobertsOral Roberts' claim to fame came from what he didn't do, as opposed to what he did. He
showed the heathen what Christian salvation really meant when he locked himself in
a tower and tearfully proclaimed that, if his ministry didn't get $8 million in donations
by a specific date, God would "call him home." As you know, Oral got his money,
and when you think about it, that was a damn shame. If God had called him home in dramatic
fashion, Oral would have saved more souls in that one day than Billy Graham, Campus
Crusade, and the entire Catholic church have saved in the last thirteen generations.
Jimmy SwaggartWhen you look at it objectively, Jimmy Swaggart's most famous transgression doesn't quite measure up to those of many of his counterparts. But what it lacked in substance, it more than made up for in style. Swaggart was immortalized by his tearful televised confession ... but some time later, he was stopped while driving in his rented Jaguar with yet another "lady of the evening." At last report, Bro. Jimmy is enjoying God's anointing on his life, and a veritable blizzard of blessings (including a fleet of Mercedes Benzes) -- irrefutable evidence that God endorses legalized prostitution.
Here, we pay respects to those aging stars of televangelism who might not have achieved legendary status, but have made significant and lasting contributions to their profession's lawyer-like reputation.
Pat Robertson Marion G. "Pat" Robertson is the undisputed Michael Jordan of
televangelism. Speaking of lawyers, Pat is a graduate of Yale Law School, and most of the
time, he plays the part -- but he also seems to suffer from an Evangelical version of
brucellosis (foot-in-mouth disease). When the game is on the line, and you need to
count on someone to say or do something incredibly stupid, there's no one you'd rather
pass the ball to than good old Pat.
Pat's accomplishments -- including use of his Operation Blessing hospital ship to
visit his diamond mines in Zaire, and his sale of The Family Channel to that godly Rupert
Murdoch -- and statements (e.g., calling Muslims "insane") have already earned
him borderline legend status, and his recent Orlando-area "weather forecast"
will do nothing to jeapordize it. But unless he gets into the White House (or, gets caught
in bed with co-hosts Ben Kinchlow and Terry Meeuwsen), Jim Bakker has nothing to fear.
Bob Larson Denver-based radio shock jock Bob Larson is the Dennis Rodman of televangelism.
He doesn't get the stats or recognition he deserves, but he has more than made up for it
in balding hypocrisy. Never fearing to push the envelope, Larson bears the distinction of
being the only ordained minister ever bleeped on The Phil Donahue Show for the use
of "colorful metaphors."
Larson's specialty is in making excuses, for which he has shown a truly
Rodman-esque flair. When he was caught in his money, ghost-writing and sex scandal, he
insisted that he was the victim of the same grand Satanic conspiracy that brought down Jim
Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, and Robert Tilton. He later opened new vistas in the excuse field,
claiming that demons have physically impersonated him. This means that if you see Bob
walking out of a gay bathhouse or arm-in-arm with a boy toy named Bruce, or taking yet
another secretary on an unchaparoned junket to the Disney Yacht Club Hotel, it was really
his demonic double -- the REAL Bob was at home listening to Vivaldi, reading Scripture,
and having milk and cookies.
When Larson fell from grace, he started having visions -- like the one where God
told him to raise $1,890,000 to "revive Christian radio." And in the most
remarkable leap of faith ever taken by an American televangelist, he had his
chief financial officer check God's math! Beggin'Bob has blamed
everyone in sight for his downfall, but his primary target has been the Christian media:
in a 1995 appearance in Peoria, he proclaimed that "Satanists are more to be trusted
than Christians in the media." And ever since he has been relegated to heading up the
Trinity Broadcasting Network's prime time lineup in the Kingdom of Tonga, he has had to
service the $1,000,000 mortgage on his vacation mansion in Vail as a more-or-less
full-time exorcist.
Truth be known, we're starting to worry about Bob. The latest (and as yet unconfirmed!) report we have out of Dallas is that his dementia has become so severe that he actually suffered a sudden bout of honesty. One attendee of his '1998 Ectoplasm Tour' reported that Larson held up his wallet and proclaimed, "This is the most sacred aspect of this ministry!"
Robert Tilton "Komo badde soto ha!" If Bob Larson is televangelism's Dennis
Rodman, then Robert Tilton is its Magic Johnson. Before his unfortunate 1991 dumpster-diving
accident involving ABC's Diane Sawyer, the tongues-wagging Tilton was THE definition
of "over the top." According to Trinity Foundation's Rev. Ole Anthony, Tilton
had ordered prayer requests sent to him thrown in the trash -- before they were even read.
And he ought to know: he dug some of them from the dumpster of Tilton's Tulsa bank.
Tilton distinguished himself with his innovative response, which probably had the
virtue of never having been tried. Adamantly denying PrimeTime Live's accusations,
he even went so far as to claim that the prayer requests were planted in the dumpster, and
that he had prayed over them so hard that the ink on the requests had invaded his
bloodstream, causing several small strokes. The treatment: plastic surgery to fix
the bags under his eyes.
Billy James Hargis "One sacred chicken to go...." He's still going ... but
remarkably, is all but forgotten. The Wilt Chamberlain of televangelism, in the Seventies
Hargis stood head and shoulders above the crowd. This fire-breathing, commie-baiting
one-time soda-jerk pioneered direct-mail begging, the use of books as premiums, the
"send money now or we'll be forced to go off the air" fundraising pitch, and
other staples of American televangelism.
Hargis' rather spectacular downfall came in 1974, when two of his Summit Bible
College students got married. On their wedding night, they confessed to each other that
they were no longer virgins ... and that Rev. Billy James Hargis was the one that
deflowered them. Hargis stepped down from the pulpit, and this whole sordid affair was set
to be swept under the rug in customary Christian fashion ... were it not for the fact that
Hargis tried to mount a comeback, and one of his male victims took his story to Time
magazine.
This section honors those televangelists and supporters who have done enough to deserve recognition, but whose transgressions have insufficient magnitude, pervasiveness, and/or style to merit more than associate membership in the Hall.
W.V. GrantGiven how easy it is to loot a Christian ministry, Grant is probably more deserving of an award for stupidity than he is full membership in the Hall. Granted, he lives in a multi-million dollar mansion, and he and his third wife drive his-and-hers Ferraris, but that pretty much seems to be par for the course for televangelists. His recent stay in "Club Fed" for income tax evasion is thus unremarkable, but his photogenic pose and haunting resemblance to Marv ("wearing a garter and panties, exposed and aroused") Albert are worthy of mention in and of themselves.
Mike Warnke Claiming to be the former high priest of a 1500-person Satanic coven, Warnke did
more to shape the Christian view of Satanism than any Christian leader of his generation.
But his multi-million dollar per year gravy train came to a screeching halt when Jon Trott
and Mike Hertenstein of Cornerstone magazine actually checked out his claims,
finding them to be totally fraudulent. Tales of unbiblical divorces, extramarital affairs,
and enormous compensation packages didn't help matters, but friends like Bob Larson came
quickly to his defense.
Warnke bears the surprising distinction of being the last Evangelical leader (1992)
to fail to survive a scandal of this magnitude. According to the folks at Trinity
Foundation, Robert Tilton was still milking his mailing list, Larry Lea moved on to start
a church in San Diego, and W.V. Grant was somehow able to run his ministry while in the
slammer. Tilton has returned to cable television, and Bob Larson even got promoted
to a prime-time slot on TBN (he was later demoted, evidently for poor ratings). Only the
legal profession has done less to police the rogues in its card-carrying ranks.
Paul CrouchAside from some allegedly garden-variety fraud in an application for an FCC license, Crouch has for the most part kept his nose relatively clean. But he deserves special recognition for his tireless work in preserving the species, providing a profitable habitat not only for senior citizens like Bob Larson and John Avanzini, but up-and-comers like Casey Treat and Creflo Dollar. Without great men like Paul and his Trinity Broadcasting Network, this page might not have been possible.
This section honors those who don't meet the criteria for induction, but have otherwise distinguished themselves in the religion business through particularly notorious acts. But we'll have to draw the line at people like Herff Applewhite and David Koresh, or this page could go on forever.
This section honors those who don't meet the criteria for induction, and haven't been caught in compromising positions, but have made lasting contributions to the weird world of televangelism in less tangible ways.
Gene Scott"You will add Gene Scott to the page, AND YOU WILL DO IT NOW!" Occasionally mistaken for Beggin'Bob Larson on account of his incessant high-pressure fundraising appeals, the irascible, disheveled-looking, cigar-chompin' "Doc" is televangelism's best entertainment value. Whether he is cavorting on-screen with curvaceous cuties, showing off his(?) Arabian horses during breaks, or just letting loose one of his trademark rants, "Doc" is clearly the people's choice.
Ernest Angley Picture Liberace as an evangelist. It's a frightening mental image ... and a
good first approximation as to what Ernest Angley looks like. The barrel-chested,
pastel-suited Angley prances around the stage, speaking with a noticeable lisp, while
repeating simple phrases with the intensity of a stage hypnotist. In contrast to Bob
Larson, who prefers drawn-out Technicolor exorcisms, Angley can cast out two score of
demons with a touch of his hand. Just put your hand on the computer screen, and you will
be HHHEEEAAALLLLLEEDD! ... or at least, thoroughly entertained.
Angley goes especially well with cheap distilled spirits; a Guinness Stout may be
too heavy. Johnny Profaci had put together a thhhpecccial Angley page, but it has
been taken down, and the address now contains a Wonder Woman fan site. And again, thanks
to Craig Barnhart for the tape. I might even get a picture up one of these days.
To earn induction into the Hall, a candidate must: (1) achieve national prominence (2) either as a radio or television evangelist, or in a directly related field, and (3) engage in a pattern of immoral conduct (4) which tends to bring Christendom into disrepute. What's more, he or she has to do it with style.
The Hall is NOT about theology. It doesn't matter whether
you're pre-trib, post-trib, or simply read The Daily Planet; all that matters here
is that you present yourself to the world as a Christian, and are generally regarded as a
Christian. (Since Mormons aren't into televangelism, we don't have to delve into that
potentially thorny question.) Nor is it about gross incompetence or stupidity, as
incompetence alone doesn't translate into the level of mental culpability necessary to
earn induction.
Avarice or tackiness alone won't cut it, either; if that were a consideration, we'd
have to call it the Paul and Jan, honoring today's undisputed living legends. The
antics of the "blab it and grab it" crowd may be a just cause for scorn, but in
the wacky world of religion, there is almost nothing that will stop separating fools from
their wallets. When Jesus called his followers "sheep," it was not a
compliment.
Finally, the award will not awarded posthumously. It would defeat the purpose of
the award -- to rebuke and reprove.