In The House Of Brian (Pt. 1)

It's one thing to take for granted all that you hear about something in the media and through word of mouth, and accept that whatever is being popularly said about that certain something is the truth. It's another thing entirely to actually go out into the field and attempt to discover first-hand, for yourself, the real nature of the subject under discussion, to create a solid and confident opinion on it on the basis of personal experience. The latter is, involving somewhat questionable logic, what Alison, Robbie and I engaged in on Sunday evening. After having the general idea of "it's not a church, it's a cult" quite solidly hammered into our intellects over the past year or so, we took a brave (foolhardy?) plunge and attended, yes, a Destiny Church sermon.

We had been quite aware beforehand of the fact that it was going to be a potentially difficult task to infiltrate and sit through the service without arousing any degree of suspicion. When we arrived, we realised that our job was going to be that much harder than we had first expected. It was clearly evident that the three of us were decidedly conspicuous, given the fact that the absolutely vast majority of people who are involved with the church are Maori and Pacific Islanders. At around six in the evening, the sun was low on the horizon and obscured by solid black clouds, reacting with our circumstance to produce feelings of intense foreboding. Grey-haired male church officials exchanged pseudo-hugs -- manhugs, here's-a-pat-on-the-back-because-we-can't-press-against-each-other hugs -- as they met in the carpark directly in front of the church. Shoddily-dressed children tumbled around in the wet, obstructing the slow-moving traffic, calling each other "gaybos." Orange-clad massive guys waved high-vis sticks, directing cars to parking spaces as if they were planes having just landed at an airport.

As we walked from the cold into the eerily lukewarm we were greeted fondly by two women standing on either side of the main doors. "Wow," was the first thing I said under my breath. Robbie followed shortly after, muttering "keep a straight face, keep a straight face..." or something along those lines, as we gazed upon a larger-than-life poster of Brian Tamaki dressed in a King Arthur-like costume, leaning on a five-foot-long sword which seemed to have gold-plated handles. We stroll into the merchandise store and have a brief look over what there is for sale, commenting on things that we find entertaining or disturbing, or freakishly both. I was considering buying a Destiny Church cap until I heard that Alison and Robbie were being greeted behind me. I introduced myself and we thanked the woman for the welcome, before walking into the main chamber.

Ever-increasingly conscious of our distinctiveness consequential to being present amongst several thousand dark-skinned Destinites, we took up some seats behind the main gathering. Young children scrambled around on the seats behind us, continuously taking great pleasure in repeatedly saying "Whakapapa." Ah, to be young again, I thought to myself. However, I was interrupted by Alison shakily whispering out the "slogan" painted in gargantuan lettering on the far wall:

EVENTUALLY EVERYTHING

WILL COME UNDER

OUR INFLUENCE

By now there was no doubt that the three of us were feeling decidedly disconcerted. Myself, I could actually feel the blood draining from my face. I believe I would have been growing ever-whiter at this time. There was a constant strange feeling that we were being watched because of how severely we stood out; our reactions gauged. Needless to say, our reactions to much of what we were seeing were a mixture of disbelief and noticeable disturbance. Robbie suggested that I use my phone to take a photo of the huge slogan, but I wussed out. As we sat in our seats, we were greeted again by a representative of the organisation, a seemingly friendly man who asked us where we were from among other questions. Robbie provided all of the answers in complete honesty. The man asked us if we had gone to the morning service, and explained that it had been a really powerful one. My interpretation of what he said was that there had been a huge anti-Labour ceremony, following the release of the provisional election results the night before, but I could be wrong. He then went on to comment about the bad weather, that his umbrella had blown inside out that morning and that his dog had wanted to jump on him.

I couldn't refrain from smiling wryly as the man walked away from us, and I was subsequently plunged into a state of pure fear as Alison told me not to smirk because a group of officials were apparently looking at us and talking to each other. I started to feel physically sick. I was not to regain the psychological composure that I had lost until over a day after the sermon had finished. Another official came over and asked to look in Robbie's bag. Cameras are not allowed to be used inside the church, but the official trusted Robbie because he willingly showed him the camera. He asked where we're from, and jested "You're not from the Labour Department are you? Just jokes!" Just before the man returned to his little huddle of black-suited brethren, he commented that Robbie looked like Jesus Christ. We all laughed nervously in unison. "And he should know," Alison said a few seconds later.

As the half-past-six sermon start time established itself as only a few minutes away, distinctly-unsettling, heavy, march-like orchestral music began to play through the barely-adequate speaker system, echoing around the converted warehouse that is the venue. I could feel my heart pumping in my chest. Alison, Robbie and I discretely reached the consensus that it was scary. The Destiny TV introductory sequence was projected onto the screens at the front of the chamber in all its corporate-esque CGI glory. Two sets of white words burst onto a black background: "The service is about to begin" and then "Please take your seats." A woman then appeared onscreen and began to advise us to take note of the nearest exits. The introductory sequence did indeed, as Alison was to comment later, make our circumstance feel like some scary ride. Frightening it most certainly was, as we were instructed to move ever-further forward, until we were considerably closer to the main crowd of devout followers, and made to take our seats.