04/26/2024
SHUT UP!
By John Houston
Sometime in the late 1980s I discovered a televangelist while channel surfing. He was a well-known Bible teacher and big-time prosperity preacher named Doctor Fred Price. He had a weekly TV program that was broadcast from his mega-church in Los Angeles, California. He had a worldwide following and a number of fans in our church. One day, one of our members came to me and asked if I might be able to get Fred Price to come to the Cathedral for a prosperity seminar. I have always been rather suspicious of most prosperity preachers because most of them basically teach that God will bless you so long as you bless them first. They usually don’t come right out and say that, but that underlying message is almost always present. Having said that, let me tell you about another prosperity preacher named Kenneth Copeland. Kenneth is by far the most popular of all the TV preachers who focus on that subject.
I had watched Copeland for a few years and was particularly impressed with the fact that unlike most of the other guys, he never asked for money for his ministry. He taught that one should tithe to your home church and any giving beyond that should be done as each believer is felt led by God. He was always vigilant to point out that, while God can not be bought, he could be impressed. The Bible is full of scriptures that point to the fact that God has a special place in his heart for cheerful givers, and will always bless those who bless others.
Kenneth was recording my song “Rose Anna,” and the studio pianist was having trouble getting the right feel for the style, so In 1988 Kenneth called and asked me to come to Dallas to record the piano track there at Eagle Mountain Recording Studios. He sent a round-trip airline ticket so I flew down to Dallas. I was there for a week and Kenneth gave me full use of the studio for an entire week. One morning after breakfast, as we sat talking in the cafeteria at KC Ministries I said. “ Brother Copeland, I have noticed over the past few years while watching you on TV that you never ask for money. You’re the only TV preacher I know that doesn’t, and I’m wondering how you can avoid the temptation. What gives?” I had made a pun and didn’t know it. He laughed and stood up. “Come with me and I’ll show you what gives, and who.” I could tell he was having a fun with me.
Kenneth drove a big, red, Ford F150 pickup truck and we climbed in. I don’t know just how many hundreds of acres there are at the Eagle Mountain facility but the place is huge. The first stop was at the large, private airstrip. He told me that it cost millions of dollars and not one penny came out of the ministry. “Some years ago,” he said, “ the US Army contacted me and said that they were in need of a piece of land in this area to put in an airstrip large enough to land those big, Aeritalia G.222 transport planes. They needed a place to launch two-week training maneuvers once a year and if they were allowed that privilege, the ministry would have full use of the airstrip all year round, and the US Government would pay for everything including all maintenance.
He then drove me out to a large lake. He brought the truck to a stop in front of what he called a pumping station. It was a small, fenced-in area with an odd but impressive array of pipes and gizmos protruding out of the ground. He explained that several years ago a man came to him claiming that he had developed a method for removing oil from underground shell deposits and needed a place to put a prototype well. The man told Kenneth that he was convinced Eagle Mountain sat on top of an enormous oil field and if Copeland would allow it to be placed on church property, the ministry would receive all the proceeds from the well. “This little hole in the ground provides us around five million dollars a year. That’s what gives.” He smiled and then said, “One more stop. We drove back to the main building. He took me upstairs and into a room about one thousand square feet in area. There were boxes, upon boxes, upon boxes, stacked to the ceiling and all around. There was barely enough room to walk and there were three people at a table at one end of the room. They were going through what was obviously the contents of the boxes. “This is the mail-room,” Kenneth said. “These folks work full time just going through each envelope. There are prayer requests that go to the prayer room, praise reports and general questions that go to administrators who answer as many as possible, then there are letters with biblical questions that come to me and the other ministerial teaching staff. About sixty percent of all the letters contain checks, money orders, and in many cases, cash money. Several Million dollars a year come through here. So you see brother John, I don’t have to beg for money. All I do is bless as many people and ministries as the Lord directs me to and he takes care of our needs. In all the years we have been here we have never been able to out-give God, but we keep trying.”
OK, so back to Fred Price. I had watched him on a few occasions and was just turned off by his style of ministry. I have no idea whether he was one of the many, "give to me first" guys. I never got beyond the way he treated people in his audience. On live TV mind you, he would walk up to someone and ask a question about scripture, and if the victim wasn’t Johnny on the spot with an answer he would say something degrading to the poor soul and move on. If he saw someone dozing off he would walk up and yell at them, "Wake up!" If he saw someone talking to a neighbor he would tell them to, "Shut up and pay attention!" He did this regularly and on live, national television. So for that reason, I refused to even entertain the idea of making contact with his people to bring him to Greensboro. He would not minister at the Cathedral as long as I was in charge of booking guest ministers. I also determined that I would certainly never attend a Fred Price meeting. I don't have all the Bible answers he's usually looking for.
Now, fast forward a few years. No longer working at the Cathedral Of His Glory, I am now in full-time ministry thanks in no small measure to Kenneth Copeland who was kind enough to write a personal letter of recommendation for me which opened doors to churches and ministries all around the world. So, I received a call one day from Prince Bishop Hampel, a Pastor/Teacher in London, England. We had met at a Full Gospel meeting in Burlington, NC a few months before where He spoke and I ministered in music. He was blessed and impressed by my ministry and told me that he would be calling. You will learn in ministry that if everybody who tells you they are going to call actually did, you would be on the phone most of the day, every day. So when I did get the call from the Prince I was surprised and excited. He began to tell me that they were planning a three-day seminar to be held in a very large auditorium in London, and he wanted me to come and provide special music. I loved London in those days, before the Islamic invasion. It was my favorite city in the world and the opportunity to return was as welcome as a summer watermelon. “So, who is your guest speaker?” I asked. He answered, “I’m not sure right now but we have made contact with a brother whose name you would recognize, but I don’t want to say until we get a confirmed commitment. That’s all I can tell you right now. Just set the dates aside on your calendar and I’ll be back in touch with more details and travel arrangements as soon as it is settled.” I was overjoyed and gave him my word that I would be there. I guess you know where this is going.
Two weeks later the Prince called again. “Everything is settled. We were able to get the man of God to come. We are all so excited to announce that Doctor Fred Price will be the guest speaker.” I didn’t say the first thing that jumped into my mind and although I longed to see England again, I started trying to think of some excuse why I could not go. This was a spiritual conflict because My pastor, Doctor Paul Willis, had once told me that a man, and particularly a Minister of the Gospel, should always do what he says he’s going to do even if it becomes no longer convenient or desirable to do so. He would say, "It’s all about integrity." I had already marked the dates on my calendar and committed to being there. There would be no excuses. I was mortified. I could just see my worst fears unfolding in my mind. There I would be, put on the spot, embarrassed and humiliated by the meanest man in the kingdom before thousands, because I was unable to answer a simple Bible question, or not knowing the correct address of a specific scripture, or talking to my neighbor, or even worse, nodding off from jet-lag in the middle of a service. For the next few weeks the fears and woeful visions plagued my thoughts and even my dreams. In one dream I was sitting on stage in a large auditorium and Doctor Price turned to me and asked me to quote John 3:16 and of course, I drew a blank. Everyone began to laugh and suddenly I realized that not only had I forgotten the most important scripture of the entire Bible, I had also forgotten to wear pants that day. I woke up in a cold sweat. Anyhow, when I finally arrived at Heathrow Airport a few weeks later I was met by emissaries from Pastor Hampel’s church who took me to The Queens Hotel near Islington Station, where I spent the next two days praying for divine and supernatural guidance, and God's merciful favor. I even picked up a crucifix pendant in a little antique shop around the corner from the hotel. I figured, "If it works on vampires maybe it would help to fend off Doctor Price if it came to it."
The night finally arrived and the gigantic auditorium was packed with four thousand anxious and excited believers. There were two or three white people there as well. I was one. When the service started Doctor Price had not yet arrived. Prince Hampel welcomed the people, led them in an opening prayer, made a few announcements, and introduced the praise team who led praise and worship for about fifteen minutes. Still, no Doctor Price. I was glad. I hoped that he would maybe not show up till I had finished my two songs and could leave the stage. When it was time for my first song, I was introduced to a smattering of applause because people were more focused on the fact that the SUPERSTAR had not yet arrived. I decided to open with my hit song, "Soldier." I nodded my cue to the sound man and the music began. I was about halfway through the first verse when a large group of people began to file into the auditorium through the main entrance. There in the midst of this impressive entourage of fifteen or so people was the man himself. Every head in the house turned and people began to stand and applaud with great enthusiasm. I might just as well have been singing Dixie at that point. I was inwardly angered but made great effort not to sow it.
During my time as a nightclub entertainer I built quite a reputation for stopping in the middle of a performance and inviting people to leave who tried to carry on conversations during my show. On more than one occasion I threatened to come down from the stage and personally and physically remove the offender or offenders if the chatter didn’t stop. I even had a fellow tell me once that he liked my music all right, but the main reason he came in every night was in hopes that someone would start talking because he was more entertained by the way I enforced my rules than by my music. (Not at all unlike the way Doctor Price treated people who failed to keep his rules.) You might imagine how frustrated I was when the entire group of VIPs made their way proudly to the front and began walking onto the stage, up the front stairs and directly in front of me, then crossing to the other side of the stage rather than using the stairs on that side, all while I continued to sing my pointless song. No apologies, just a remarkably rude and self-indulgent entrance. I was humiliated and angry. I finished the song, received another smattering of applause, and returned to my seat. I could hardly believe this incredibly rude and thoughtless spectacle, especially by a man who demanded such respect for himself.
More prayers were prayed, a few more praise songs were sung. Finally, the time came for my second song, "Every Drop Of Blood." As the music began I stood there before the thousands of people, nodded to the sound man to start the track, and began to sing again. Within seconds I was shocked to my core to hear a loud conversation begin to take place behind me. Of course, it was Fred Price himself having a nice chat with Prince Hampel who was seated next to him and trapped in this new round of rudeness. It would be an understatement to say it was distracting. I was beyond furious. Had this been a nightclub performance I would not have delivered a warning, I would simply have walked over to him, je**ed him to his feet, knocked out a few teeth, drug him to the nearest exit, and tossed him out into the street. Instead, I began to back up slowly to where the two men sat talking. I continued to sing the first verse all the while. I was within three feet when there was a pause in the song lyrics, so I lowered the microphone to my side, turned quickly, leaned over to within a few inches of Doctor Price’s face, and said, “SHUT UP!” He did.
I was so angry I was trembling. I finished my song and left the stage fully expecting to be asked not to return. I was glad my round trip ticket had already been paid. Strangely, there was no repercussion at all. Not a word from anyone. Prince Hampel greeted me the next evening as if nothing at all had happened and he had been sitting right there, next to the little king when I blasted him. He saw and heard the whole, unholy thing. Again the service started and no Fred Price. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was going to be another grand entrance and there was, but not until I had finished my second song and left the stage. For the rest of the seminar, Doctor Price would not enter the auditorium until I was finished with my part of the proceedings. At the end of the evening on the last night, Fred’s wife approached me as I prepared to leave the building. She walked up to me, extended her hand, and said, “Brother Houston, I wanted to give you this offering and to say, thank you. It’s about time someone stood up to my husband. He can be a real pill when people don’t conduct themselves with respect for him. He needed a taste of his own medicine and you certainly gave him a good dose. You scared him so bad he hasn’t slept since. He needed to be brought down a notch. Thank you, Brother Houston!” She gave me a big hug, handed me an envelope, then turned and walked away. I was amazed. I was even more amazed to find a check in the envelope made out to me from Fred Price Ministries in the amount of one thousand dollars. O happy, happy day!
