Truth now: My weird career at the A/G Headquarters

SPRINGFIELD, MO — I worked at the Assemblies of God World Headquarters as a staff writer for a worldwide news magazine from the summer of 2000 until the end of 2001. You’ll be amazed to learn what it was like on the inside of a church-controlled workplace!

Hiring process asked odd questions

In the summer of the year 2000, I’d been a newspaper journalist in 3 different Missouri towns and needed work. I attended James River Assembly of God Church, which had just moved to its present location on US 65 and CC in Ozark.

The A/G World Headquarters featured glaring blue (now gray) square panels on the exterior on North Boonville Avenue south of Division Street in Springfield. Nicknames for the place included the “Blue Vatican” because of its ties to religious power (Catholic reference) and “Mecca” (obvious parallel to the Power of Islam).

I entered the side door facing Boonville. Immediately I felt like I was entering a prison. The receptionist regarded me with suspicion, almost as if I were intruding and she needed to hit a silent buzzer beneath her desk alerting armed security, or at least some Bible times temple guards with spears.

I pasted an awkward smile (my teeth don’t show when I smile, so it looks like a rotting jack-o-lantern), wearing my suitcoat and tie, and said, “I’m here to fill out an application for employment.”

I was issued a clipboard like they give you in the doctor’s office and expect you to fill out an exhaustive medical history before someone can decide if you’re worth tending to.

On my clipboard, I would have preferred questions relating to any vision, hearing, or pain issues. Alas, it was stuff like “have you been baptized in the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues?” If not, please explain.

It was like, “describe when and how you became a Christian. Are you a real Christian? Or are you just pretending so you can have the privilege of working in the Blue Vatican?”

Light from the windows blinded my application, so I moved to a shadowy space in the large lobby. The ceiling was high, accommodating the second floor and stairway. The plants were leafy, but I couldn’t tell if they were real or fake.

Come to think of it, I couldn’t tell if this whole place were real or fake. It smelled of oldness and newness at war.

Oldness in the sense of tradition, the smell of a pastor’s Aqua Velva, mixed with cleaning agent similar to a nursing home. Newness in the sense of the wind of the Holy Spirit whooshing around, looking for a place to land.

I got the job at the Pentecostal Evangel

I was hired, despite my lack of the infilling of the Holy Spirit. I remember walking outside the parking area near Campbell and Hovey behind Mecca, spelling “Eddie” over and over, trying to instigate the experience of speaking in tongues. (James Olson, an outreach pastor at James River Assembly, had recommended that in jest.)

I wasn’t sure how a guy who’d grown up Free Methodist could fit into such a holy, spirit-filled place.

My office was on the second floor. I even had a window. There was a half wall, allowing me to stay in my corner yet see my neighbor, Randy, a graphic artist.

I was to write news copy for a magazine distributed to A/G churches worldwide: 400,000 plus copies weekly!

Because of the high demand for space, our word count was everything! Kirk was a helpful news writer with advice to match his massive height. Scott was also good for a serious talking to about protocol in the building, as well as quirky side humor and a secret shared love for Clint Eastwood movies (shhhh, don’t tell).

Ashli was young and passionate about her writing. Jodi did advertising, but her joy had faded under the microscope of scrutiny. I felt bad for Jodi; she’d been a cheerleader at Evangel when I was there, a few years ahead of me. She missed the old days, I could tell, when she was more popular.

Ron, the sports guy, was all things baseball stats. He did advertising as well.

I had two bosses, which is more fun than one. Three, actually. My immediate supervisor, also named John, who was graying at the temples and fresh shaven. His soft spoken, mild behavior was enhanced by attention to detail. Every word counted. He was a journalist muzzled by a religious screen. He assigned me cool stories, like home births and depression among clergy, but after doing research, phone calls, meticulous word crafting, etc. those ideas were squished by the brass.

My other two bosses were the editor and the editor in chief. The editor in chief was none other than Hal, the leader and founder of Convoy of Hope.

Ken, the editor, was a dark-haired man with a detective mustache. He was all about the rules.

He complained about me standing to take a phone call at my desk. He poo pooed the picture of my wife and me in my office (her shoulders were bare in the picture…gasp!)

Staff meetings were stuffy. The dress code included a button shirt and tie. We hired a new girl who balked at wearing pantyhose. Until then, I’d never thought about how uncomfortable pantyhose could be under a dress in the summertime.

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