That T-Bone Religion

No other country quite matches the U.S. in the razzle-dazzle, freewheeling preaching of its religious pitchmen, and perhaps none of those preacher-salesmen is more bizarre than the Rev. Frederick J. Eikerenkoetter II, better known as "Reverend Ike." One trait especially distinguishes Ike from the others: his clear-eyed, unabashed love of money and other things material. TIME Correspondent Timothy Tyler heard that note loud and clear as he recently followed Reverend Ike from Los Angeles to Houston. Tyler's report:

Eyes shut, up on stage, Reverend Ike is having a vision: "I see myself . . . successful--prosperous--with money--and now, in my imagination, I open my . . . bankbook. Wowwwww! Gee. I paid all my bills and still I have that . . . terrific balance. Boy . . . that's a sharp car . . . It rides so easily: zooop! And now, here I am . . . on a . . . vacation. Here I am, on this beautiful beach . . . the water . . . coool . . . and later . . . room service? You have any good steaks down there? Yes . . . send up a nice T-bone . . . and a nice salad . . . and . . . a strawberry shortcake . . ."

Bosomy ladies and men wearing carnations pass big red buckets around as the service ends. All those buckets of money march down front and Reverend Ike takes one of his quick, practiced glances at his diamond watch. While the people file out he climbs into his favorite Rolls, the two-tone rose one with a rose painted on the trunk, and heads for his next stop.

Blessing Plan. Ike has done it again: taken in another $20,000 or so to stoke up his flourishing evangelistic operation. He claims 1,400,000 followers, to whom he sends a weekly newsletter and a full-color monthly magazine relentlessly pitching his "Blessing Plan" ("Pledge at least $100!"). He does radio broadcasts on 80 American stations and occasional television specials. Almost every week he conducts live services somewhere in the U.S.

Tawny, twinkly eyed, Johnny Mathis handsome, Eikerenkoetter is 37 now. Until he was 30, he was just a doomsaying, fundamentalist black preacher, a Baptist minister's son from Ridgeland, S.C., trying to make good in the world of black storefront religion in Boston and New York. But in 1965, he adopted the style that was to set him apart. Instead of preaching humility and meekness, he began to preach a pride bordering on arrogance. "Say it after me," Ike tells his listeners. "All that God is, I am." He also stopped talking about hell. "I discovered after analyzing the whole thing that people are already in hell. They want some practical ways of getting out." So Ike invented the money rake: "The money rake is your good, positive belief about money. If on the inside you have a right, positive feeling about money, this feeling will rake money to you."

He began telling his congregations: "Don't be a hypocrite about money. Say, 'I like money. Money is not sinful in its right place. I bless the idea of money in my mind.' " So many people liked this approach that by 1966 Ike was able to buy a $600,000, block-sized movie theater in Manhattan's Washington Heights. The theater became the headquarters for his new United Church and Science of Living Institute. Now Ike's ads pointedly trumpet that his church "is NOT located in Harlem."

At home or on the road, Ike hammers on his favorite theme. At a service in Houston's Convention Center recently, Ike heard a man testify that he had participated in Ike's giving plan and developed the right idea about money. In return, the man prospered sufficiently to get a new house and "a Cadillac car . . . I have the Cadillac car home right now . . . parked right outside." The audience of 5,000 cheered, and Ike breathed, "That's . . . style. Enjoy your new brick home and ride your Cadillac!" Over the amens and right ons from the audience, Ike reiterated his philosophy: "Don't wait for your pie in the sky, by and by. Get youah paaaaaiee no-ow! With ice cream on top!"

Beyond Ike's message of the power-of-positive-greed is the ego-building, instant-divinity trip he offers his followers--far from the traditional admonitions to repentance. "The Bible says, 'with God all things are possible,'" he explains. "It also says 'all things are possible to one who believes.' Therefore the person who believes in himself is God." No soul-saving nonsense for Ike. "One thing even Jesus didn't do," he preaches, "he didn't save the world." As for prayer, Ike issues a warning: "When you kneel down to pray, you're putting yourself in a good position to get a kick in the behind."

Of course Ike would not get away with any of this if he did not have his own immense style. He stands there glowing in his tan jumpsuit and ocher-print blazer and patent leather boots and says, "I want you to be proud of the way I look, because you spend $1,000 a week* to buy my clothes. I go down to Tiffany's, and these rings and things [he is wearing two big gold rings plastered with diamonds, a watch to match and an oversized topaz] just crawl up on my hands." Then it's donation time again, and Ike stresses, "I don't want to hear change rattling; it makes me nervous in the service." The buckets go out, and Ike, waiting only long enough to hear the rustle of the bills, grins and makes for the airport.

*Much of which apparently comes under the heading of expenses. Ike's salary is $40,000 a year, but the church pays for his traveling expenses, owns his Hollywood and New York residences, two Rolls-Royces, two Mercedes and a Bentley.

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