Sit down.”
On the screen Thomas Söderberg was addressing his congregation. Rebecka sank down onto a chair. She could feel Anna-Maria Mella’s thoughtful gaze on her.
“This is from the service before the night he was murdered,” said Anna-Maria. “Do you want to watch a little bit?”
Rebecka nodded. She was thinking she ought to say something by way of explanation. Something about not having eaten, or whatever. But she remained silent.
Behind Thomas Söderberg, the gospel choir was standing guard. Some of them shouted out in agreement as he spoke. His message was accompanied by shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Amen” from both the choir and the congregation.
He’s changed, thought Rebecka. Before, he used to wear a striped shirt with a mandarin collar from Arbetarboden, jeans and a leather waistcoat. Now he looks like a stockbroker in his Oscar Jacobsson suit and trendy glasses. And the congregation is made up of cheap H & M copies of this image of success.
“He’s a talented speaker,” commented Anna-Maria.
Thomas Söderberg was switching rapidly between relaxed jokes and intense seriousness. His theme was opening your heart to the spiritual gifts of grace. Toward the end of the short sermon he invited everyone present to come forward and allow themselves to be filled with the Holy Spirit.
“Step forward and we will pray for you,” he said, and as if they had been given a sign, Viktor Strandgård, the two other pastors from the church and some of the elders were standing by his side.
“Shabala shala amen,” Pastor Gunnar Isaksson called out. He was marching back and forth, waving his hands. “Step forward, you who are tortured by sickness and pain. It is not the will of God that you should remain in your sickness. There is someone among us who suffers with migraine. The Lord sees you. Come forward. The Lord says that one of our sisters has problems with a stomach ulcer. God intends to put an end to your suffering. You will not need tablets anymore. The Lord has neutralized the corrosive acid in your body. Come forward and accept the gift of healing. Hallelujah.”
A crowd of people surged forward. Within a few minutes there was a mass of people in ecstasy around the altar. Some were lying on the floor. Others stood like swaying grass, their hands stretched upward. They were praying, laughing, weeping.
“What are they doing?” asked Anna-Maria Mella.
“Falling under the power of the spirit,” replied Rebecka curtly. “Singing, speaking and dancing in the spirit. Soon some of them will start to prophesy. And the choir will start singing hymns to accompany the whole thing.”
The choir began to sing in the background, and more and more people surged forward. Many danced their way to the front as if they were drunk.
The camera frequently zoomed in on Viktor Strandgård. He was holding his Bible in one hand and praying fervently for a stout man on crutches. A woman was standing behind Viktor with her hands held up toward his hair, also praying. As if she were filling herself with God’s power.
Viktor went up to a microphone and started to speak. He began in his usual way.
“What shall we talk about?” he asked the congregation.
He always preached like this. He prepared himself by praying. Then the congregation was permitted to decide what he should speak about. Much of the sermon was a conversation with those who were listening to him. This had also made him famous.
“Tell us about heaven,” shouted someone from the congregation.
“What can I tell you about heaven?” he said with a tired smile. “Buy my book instead, and read it. Come on! Something else.”
“Tell us about success!” said someone else.
“Success,” said Viktor. “There are no shortcuts to success in the kingdom of God. Think of Ananias and Sapphira. And pray for me. Pray for that which my eyes have seen, and shall see. Pray that the strength of God will continue to flow from Him through my hands.”
“What was that he said just now?” asked Anna-Maria. “Ana…”
She shook her head impatiently before she went on.
“… and Sapphira, who were they?”
“Ananias and Sapphira. They’re in the Acts of the Apostles,” replied Rebecka, without taking her eyes off the television screen. “They stole money from the first church, and God punished them by killing them.”
“Wow, I thought God only struck people dead in the Old Testament.”
Rebecka shook her head.
When Viktor had been speaking for a while, the prayers of intercession continued. A man of about twenty-five wearing a hooded top and loose-fitting, well-worn jeans, pushed his