been converted into a church. Most of her followers were associated with Rhema.
They were single women, some who attended the Bible school, alone on the weekends, women like Brooke McFadden. Some had experimented sexually with other women and were overwhelmed by guilt and shame. In their religious world there were few things worse than being gay or a lesbian. Jane Whaley could identify with the rejection they felt.
Jane had no formal religious training, but she had a natural gift. She was passionate, teaching “spiritual warfare,” a belief that Christians share the world with supernatural beings, and the battle between good and evil is played out in each of their lives. Demons cling to humans, she preached, especially Christians, leading them to sin and sickness and blunting their spiritual effectiveness. It took special prayers to expel them, and Jane knew how. In an evangelical world dominated by men, her confident personality and message—strong prayer and dramatic deliverance to turn around troubled lives—resonated among women.
In her early forties, Whaley had become a mother figure to women struggling with their sexual identities, single mothers grappling with alcohol and drug abuse, and women whose marriages were falling apart. She had a way of making them feel they were God’s beloved daughters, despite their rocky lives.
Jane had a complete makeover. She had her teeth fixed, began wearing expensive clothes, and practiced elocution and delivery for hours in front of a mirror. The impassioned shriek she used to cast out devils was part Jimmy Swaggart, part Billy Graham. She went from being “Sam’s wife” to a minister with a faithful flock, followers who showered her with praise. And gifts. They looked after Robin after school. They put money in the collection basket. Soon the Whaleys moved into a big new house near an exclusive Tulsa country club.
Sam had an important job, but Jane was the rising star. When questioned, Jane said, “God spoke to Sam, and told him, ‘Jane is the pastor.’”
“Jane was going to show everyone that she was important,” Nolan recalled.
Jane’s Friday night prayer services started at about 8:00 p.m. and often went on past midnight.
During the service, groups of Whaley’s followers seated those who asked for special prayer in a “deliverance circle.” They surrounded them, placed their hands on their heads or shoulders. Then they’d pray until they “had a breakthrough,” confessing to sin and crying out to God for forgiveness.
The services were noisy and wild. By the end of the night the congregation was drained, their ears ringing like they had been to a rock concert.
As Jane’s congregation grew, so did word of her practices. Rhema officials were worried that she was “corrupting” Hagin’s teachings. Hagin’s words and services were uplifting, with a focus on healing and salvation. Jane’s message came from a “dark place.” Her all-night services included shaming, exorcisms, and blasting, but the sessions weren’t yet violent—just very loud.
It all reflected poorly on Rhema. During her sermons, Jane often invoked her husband’s association with Rhema and “Brother Hagin.”
The Bible school gave Sam an ultimatum: keep his wife under control, or they’d have to let him go. By this time, Sam knew the score. He resigned his post, and in 1985 the Whaleys moved back to North Carolina. They brought along twenty-two disciples, including Brooke, Jayne Caulder, and others who would become key ministers.
Jane liked to tell people she did not want to be the leader of a church, but she had no choice: it was God’s will. “If we don’t hate sin, we don’t love God,” she shouted out frequently. “If we don’t point out sin in others, the same sin is in us.”
The message resonated. Under her leadership, the Fellowship grew from a handful of people in an old steak house to hundreds of loyal followers and a manicured ministry complex.
Jane Whaley finally had the luxury cars, jewelry, and expensive clothing she craved to prove that she was chosen by God for success.
And now, with Tilton’s help, she had a chance to take the next step, to become a household name. Even with all his troubles, Tilton was still one of the most famous preachers in America, and he was asking for Jane’s help.
She had to win over Evans. She would use her “spiritual gift” to pull him inside, to stop him from doing anything that could hurt her church.
When the Wednesday night service ended, an usher asked Evans to wait in the sanctuary. After about an hour, a dour forty-something man with gray hair summoned him. It was