A NIGHT WITH THE HOT GOSPELLER

Evening Post, Issue 86, 11 April 1936, Page 21

A NIGHT WITH THE HOT GOSPELLER

.My fingers still tingled from the touch of Sister Aimee McPherson's hand, as I walked home, and in my ears still rang the words from the voice that was hoarse from thrilling millions, writes Mr. H. W. Seaman to the "Daily Chronicle," London.

I was only one of moire than 4000 who had seen and listened to' Aimee McPherson,_the. former woman' evangelist, and hot gospeller, in the Angelus Temple that night; one of 2500 who had filed through her drawing-room to exchange a word with her.

I was wondering whether she could count on this sort of. reception in Britain, whither, I understand,. ,she is going soon.

Angelus Temple, in California, is like only a quarter-section of the Albert Hall, London. The audience—or. congregation if she likes—is fan-shaped, facing a raised stage.

A fifty-piece brass band in front of the stage strikes up a Sousa march, during which lantern slides exhort the faithful to do business with the tradesmen who advertise in "The Crusader" and "The Bridal Call," Aimee's newspapers. Then the lights go ■ up, men ushers in orange and purple capes go swiftly up and down the aisles.

A choir of 200 men and girls in Puritan costumes make their way along runways to the space in front of the stage, while the band plays another march.

The screen rises, disclosing a tinsel stage setting'of the Holy City, which Aimee has lately visited. A spotlight reaches out and picks up Aimee herself, frames her in its beam.

She, too, is in Puritan.dress, for this

is Mayflower Night, and she is going to preach about the Pilgrim Fathers. But her dress is satin, with frills, while the choir are in cotton.

Can, this ten-stone, angel be the veteran of three romantic but disastrous marriages, who,' when tongues assailed her, walked into the sea at Ocean Park, California, one afternoon, and appeared again, as if by miracle, months later, in the Mexican desert?

"Praise the Lord!" she cries, in a husky voice that reminds me of Mac West.

Men, then women, then children, praise the Lord at her bidding. The choir bursts into the Temple anthem, "Smile, Brothers, Smile, Sisters," . and Aimee beats time with a tambourine.

Vivid, dynamic, she is as busy as a night-club hostess warming up a party. She swings her arms and shouts. "Everybody shake hands, with his neighbour."

She speaks of the Pilgrims, and two bands of men and women in costume —about 200 in all—line the decks of two painted ships representing - the Mayflower and the Good Ship Four Square. ■* • , - ■ „

■She speaks of- Elijah, and a longrobed figure crosses the stage; of Noah, and he and his large family appear; of the menace of Communism, and two boys bearing a red banner march before her. Every sentence, every thought, is dramatised.

"Next Sunday," she ia saying, "I am preaching on Little Miss Muffet. Little Jack Homer will be there, and all. the dramatic 'ifs' of history." <

I shall not be there. I think I'll go: to church. ■