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his red wrestling trunks, holding a Bible. Bob didn’t even put it in the religion section, where no one would notice. He slapped it right on the front page, up in the left corner next to the weather, where everyone looked.
    On Thursday afternoon I went to the Coffee Cup and Billy Bundle was all they were talking about. They remembered watching him on Channel 5.
    â€œFor a little fella, he was some wrestler,” Bob Miles Sr. was saying. “He’d grab hold of someone at the knees and they couldn’t shake him loose. He’d hang on tight and wear ’em down. He was a real American, too. He’d spit out his gum before the national anthem. Not like these athletes nowadays.”
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    B illy drove into town later that day in his van with The World’s Shortest Evangelist painted on the side. I could see his head just above the steering wheel. He bounded from the van and shook my hand. He squeezed it hard, as if handshaking were less a greeting and more a contest.
    I took him inside the meetinghouse, showed him the pulpit, and asked what he would be speaking on.
    â€œThe Lord told me to preach on spiritual warfare,” Billy said. “You’re gonna love it. On the last night, I wear military fatigues—special made—and I march into the church to ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever.’ It’s a sight to see. People snap to when they see me come in. They know I mean business.”
    I asked, “Does this mean you’re not going to dress like Jacob and wrestle with the stranger at the river Jabbok?”
    â€œNo, that was last year’s gig,” he said. “This year I’m a soldier.”
    He stayed at our house, a minor detail Dale Hinshaw had forgotten to mention. I told Dale we didn’t have an extra bed.
    â€œThat’s okay, Sam,” Dale said. “Billy can have your bedroom. It’s only for three days. Our Lord slept in a tomb that long. Surely you can give up your bed.”
    So Billy slept in our bed while Barbara and I slept on the pullout couch in the living room, the metal bar gouging our backs. We could hear Billy’s snoring through the heat ducts.
    I was raised to believe I could do anything I put my mind to. I put my mind to liking Billy Bundle, but failed.
    On his first night of preaching, Billy revealed how liberalism had invaded the church through pastors who’d studied left-wing theology at fancy schools in the city. He looked at me as he spoke. He told how, when the Lord returned, there’d be some pastors getting set straight.
    â€œAmen,” Dale Hinshaw shouted.
    On Friday night, Billy brought to light a secret code he had discovered in the Old Testament book of Obadiah. Bible scholars had studied Obadiah for thousands of years, but God had seen fit to reveal this secret to Billy Bundle, the World’s Shortest Evangelist.
    â€œI know when the Lord will return,” shouted Billy. “The very date. I know where it’ll happen. I know how it’ll happen.”
    â€œBring it on,” Dale Hinshaw yelled.
    On Saturday night the meetinghouse was full. Word had gotten out that Billy had something special in store. He wore his soldier’s outfit and marched in to “The Stars and Stripes Forever.”
    Dale Hinshaw leapt to his feet and saluted.
    At the end of his message, Billy gave an altar call. He invited anyone who wanted to enlist in Billy’s Army to come forward for recruitment. Six people came forward, the same six who always go forward. If I had been their general, I’d have gone AWOL.
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    B illy left early Sunday morning, to my deep relief. I waved good-bye to him from the curb in front of our house. I watched as his van turned the corner and headed down Main Street toward the city. I prayed he would never return.
    When I preached that morning I spoke of how, when Jesus walked this earth, He warned of false prophets, of ravenous wolves draped in sheep’s wool. How He