raising the dead in cleveland tennesea

Round about the time of the second world war, the US in particular saw the revival of various charismatic churches. What they all had in common was enthusiasm verging on the fanatic, a very close and literal interpretation of the Bible and a belief that God passed on some of his own supernatural abilities to mankind. One church that immediately intrigued me was The Church of the Latter Rain.

This church still exists, of course, and everything I've read in its literature and on its website suggests that it is an entirely respectable organization, working hard to promote the messages of God's love and peace throughout the world. I want to make that very clear.

But when it started out - oh boy - could you get more gloriously weird?

Healing through fasting, driving out demons, levitation, a fascination with the zodiac, the sudden manifestation of supernatural fire and smoke, resurrecting corpses. Back in its infancy, the Church of the Latter Rain indulged in some very odd practices. And had some decidedly strange leaders. The Reverend Franklin Hall, to name just one, a bestseller author (of religious pamphlets) who claimed to be able to resurrect dead bodies.

In learning all about him - he features in Awakening - I came across the eerily sinister story of his fawn jacket. Rev Franklin, we are told by his followers, wore the same pale brown coat every day for years and although it was never cleaned, it showed no sign of grease, dirt or odour. This was taken as a clear and indisputable sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit in his life.

For the love of whoever is up there! A fawn jacket! Are we seriously expected to believe the power that can part the sea, rain down plagues of untold misery and destroy the world in flood, would choose to manifest itself in a fawn jacket bought at Kmart? I haven't heard anything so daft since my Granny started talking about Great, Great Aunt Alice coming back as a bluebottle.

Bringing back the dear departed though, that was a different matter, and Hall claimed he could do it. He wrote a book: 'Formula for Raising the Dead.' Do you know what? I sent off for a copy. All the time I was waiting for it to arrive, I was actually nervous. Would it be a dusty, leather-bound ream, inscribed with runes, as untranslatable as they were ancient? Would I be unleashing old and unspeakable powers just by having it in the house? Would the graves in my local churchyard start opening up?

It arrived. It was an orange and white pamphlet, full of misspellings and was (call me a basement-dwelling troglodyte, if you must, Rev) barely intelligible.

He defeated me in the end though, Rev Franklin. He was born in the early years of the 20th century. I desperately wanted to find the year of his death so that, in Awakening, I could make a cheap joke at his expense. You know the sort of thing: 'Reverend Hall died in 199x, my dear, one can only imagine he didn't get his followers up to speed in time.'

I could not, and cannot still, find any record of Reverend Franklin Hall's death. So - maybe I'll have to eat my words - maybe he did it after all