MacDonald, another minister. They asked him to open up his heart to them, and he did, confessing his loneliness and lack of spiritual direction. The bullshit worked. Evans was invited to more prayer meetings. He shared the details with Holloway.
Whaley was a micromanager, controlling everything in the church from the finances to the curriculum in the K–12 Christian school. Her followers were afraid to make a move without her approval, for if they did, they could be rebuked from the pulpit.
Evans hadn’t seen Robert Tilton, but he’d heard a few people mention his name. Meanwhile, Jane took an interest in Evans. She’d invite him to her office to chat. She said God hadn’t told her if he could join the church. Not yet. That’d take more time. But she was encouraged by his progress. He was “dressing more godly.” If Evans became a congregant, the Lord would find him a “righteous woman for a bride.”
He smiled and continued doing everything possible to fit in—attending every service, Bible study, and group meeting. The church’s practices were stranger and darker than he’d anticipated. He planned to use his backpack to prove it.
He carried his backpack everywhere, even though he knew it made the church security guys suspicious. Evans left it unattended a few times during services, and when he retrieved it he could tell it had been inspected. He was careful. At first, he carried nothing but a Bible and notebook. Over time, people got used to seeing him with the bag.
Now he was ready to take the next step. He started carrying a video camera in his bag. He cut a small hole for the lens.
At church he casually put the bag on the floor in front of him during blasting sessions, moving it with his foot to scan the room. Sometimes he’d keep it in his lap, shifting his knees to move the lens. He shot footage of the sanctuary facilities.
The nursery was striking. There were no toys. Children were not allowed to play. Evans saw fussy children taken into a tiny bathroom to have their demons exorcised. Shouts and crying echoed down the corridor outside.
During one Sunday service, Evans watched as the entire congregation blasted a six-month-old baby. The screaming was so loud and up close that Evans feared the terrified infant would suffer hearing loss.
One Sunday night in November 1994, as Evans was getting ready to film a service, a ripple of excitement passed over the sanctuary. When the grand entrance music blared, Robert Tilton strode into the sanctuary with Jane Whaley, followed by dozens of the televangelist’s followers.
Evans rushed to a bathroom stall to make sure his video camera was ready. He popped in a fresh tape and jammed the camera into his backpack.
By the time he got back, the sanctuary was filled, and “the spirit had fallen” on the assembly. The congregation was whipped into a frenzy by Whaley’s preaching. Tilton was there on the stage, but Whaley had the upper hand. Tilton had strayed, she shouted. He’d come to her for help, and everyone in the auditorium were going to expel the demons that had brought down this fine man of God.
Evans eased closer to the front of the room so he could get clear shots. Whaley and the leaders surrounded Tilton and began blasting. The audience of more than six hundred prayed along, screaming, shouting, and punching the air. Evans ran back and forth to the bathroom several times to change batteries and tapes.
When Evans got back to his tent that night, he realized his camera had malfunctioned. It hadn’t recorded anything.
Evans opened his notebook and began writing details about the service. At the very least he’d been an eyewitness. He added to his list of “findings” about the church. Jane controlled every aspect of her followers’ lives. They were told where to work, where to live. They were warned not to have contact with their families on the outside. Congregants were told they couldn’t go on trips or vacations because, in the church, there is no “vacation time.”
Evans wrote up a report about the Tilton service and the following morning Holloway picked up the documents and videotapes.
But it wasn’t enough to film hysterical worship. They needed more. Late at night, they began rummaging through church dumpsters, looking for letters, receipts, or notes...anything that could help in their investigation.
Evans knew there was always a risk of getting caught, but he was careful. He made sure he wasn’t being followed and always had an excuse