Ch. 6 | What God Built, Man Branded

Erik sat in the cozy auditorium of his church. Once a funeral home, the former director—Bart McCgill—had gifted him the building two years ago. What God had done since then was nothing short of miraculous.

“People will see clearly here,” Bart had said, voice steady with quiet knowing.

Erik remembered blinking in stunned silence. “But this is too much. I couldn’t take this for free,” he gently protested.

“Nonsense,” Bart chuckled, waving off Erik’s concern. “I’ve lived long enough and walked long enough to know when life flows through a place. Pastor Erik, I see your heart and what you’re doing for these people. I’m retiring, and with my children in other professions, there’s no one else to take over. I own the building and land outright. Please, take the gift.”

Erik nodded and shook the man’s hand, overcome by the weight of the moment.

But this story didn’t begin with Erik. It started in the back room of the funeral home. A small Bible study, no fanfare, no agenda—just Bart, his wife Helene, Gladys – his finance director – her husband Isaac, Dr. Brandon Moody, his wife, and a handful of grieving families who had recently laid loved ones to rest. It was quiet, raw, and holy. 

Life flowed here

After Lago Tierra was built, Jerry and Lynn Nichol came to bury Jerry’s mother. Through that heartbreaking process, they learned of the Bible study and began attending. Lynn, with her trained voice and appetite for significance, pulled three more voices together to form a modest acapella group. Soon, someone brought an acoustic guitar. The sound was imperfect but sincere. Word spread, especially among the nearby gated enclaves. Wealthy residents—desperate to affix their curated lives to something wholesome and legitimate—began to trickle in. Then came the rush.

The study swelled into a gathering. Not quite a church, not yet—but close.

During that early window, Gladys met Erik at a mobile clinic in North Las Vegas. She was struck by his humility, the weight of peace he carried without trying. She introduced him to Bart. Erik had only agreed to visit out of politeness, but when he stepped into the home that night and saw what the Lord had built from grief and reverence, he was undone.

He didn’t want to lead the wealthy. He had no stomach for country club sanctification. But his hesitation was a sign of the discomfort of growth. He had to do it.

And so he said yes.

Now, sitting in the same building once used to anoint the dead, Erik marveled at the strange beauty of it all—how the gospel had taken root in such unlikely soil.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, unholy cackle from Pastor JJ.

He, Erik, Victor, and Miguel had been meeting informally for years—long before Erik took up the ministry in Southern Highlands. In the early days, they encouraged and refined one another. But now? Something was off. The wheat and the tares were maturing, and the fruit was hard to ignore.

JJ, once a gentle soul dedicated to North Vegas, had become unrecognizable. Early on, his ministry had transformed neighborhoods: crime lowered, neighbors cared for each other, and dignity returned to the forgotten. But then came the mega-church contracts. Book deals. Speaking engagements. And with them, vanity and neglect. His flock grew wild while he strutted in thousand-dollar suits and wielded a cane like a ‘90s parody of a pastor.

Victor’s drift was subtler but no less severe. Based in Summerlin, he’d once served the Korean community with diligence, preaching in multiple languages and seeing miraculous breakthroughs. But now he traded “kingdom work” for favors—maid services, free childcare, yardwork—manipulating the innocent under the guise of serving God.

Only Miguel remained untouched.

His East Vegas church served a vast Latino population. He’d been courted by the same machine, but unlike JJ and Victor, Miguel declined. He chose the long road of faithfulness. His congregation supported each other with farmers markets, shared resources, and financial autonomy. They were rebuilding families and healing generational trauma—and not with money, but with mercy.

Erik clung to that example on days like this.

“Gentlemen,” Victor said, adjusting his cufflinks like a royal. “I’m so glad we’re able to get together. Truly I say the Lord has blessed us.”

“Blessed us indeed, brother TSU,” JJ responded eagerly.

They looked like foxes in a hundred-acre hen house. Erik had to suppress a wave of nausea.

“About that. We need to discuss where exactly these blessings are coming from,” Erik said, the weight of grief coating his words.

“Here we go, Captain Debbie Downer is in the house,” JJ groaned, rolling his eyes.

Victor snickered. Miguel sighed. The divide was growing.

“I’m serious,” Erik said, voice like stone. “We’re supposed to serve the people in our care, not have them fill our personal coffers.”

He didn’t want to rebuke them. Not like this. Not again.

But the ache inside was growing louder than the cost of their comfort.

God wasn’t asking him to be liked. He was asking him to be faithful.

Victor and JJ flinched. Miguel nodded, face drawn.

“Now, Brother Erik,” JJ began, his tone sugary and false, “is it wrong to enjoy the blessings of the Lord? Doesn’t scripture say he who sows bountifully shall reap also bountifully?”

“Where is Jesus in this?” Miguel cut in. “All I’ve heard is your platform and your profits. Not your people.”

JJ and Victor recoiled. Truth rarely coddled.

JJ sniffed. “It’s not like we all have the luxury of ministering to Waspy Island.”

Erik didn’t flinch. JJ’s church ran off the very support Erik’s people provided—mobile clinics, community centers, outreach programs. The irony was thick.

“Well,” Erik said calmly, “if those services are too much, perhaps we should change the arrangement.”

JJ visibly panicked. Bluff. Called.

Victor lifted his hands. “Now, now, Brother Erik—let’s not be hasty. We’re all here to help people, remember?”

“Gentlemen,” a voice interrupted. All four men turned. It was Eli.

The peacemaker. The friend. The fence-walker.

Eli had mentored Erik in his early days. And while his love for God remained, Erik feared he, too, was growing enchanted by the glitter of notoriety. He still hadn’t chosen a side.

“Always the voice of reason,” JJ grinned.

“Yes, thank you for being the cooler head,” Victor agreed.

Erik and Miguel shared a look. This was not good.

“Let me introduce Pastor Garrett,” Eli said, gesturing to a young man with sandy brown hair and the easy confidence of a marketing exec. He looked like a Hillsong press release.

Erik studied him. Another fox.

Pleasantries were exchanged. Garrett smiled for the room. JJ and Victor quickly launched into follower counts and online stats. Miguel fell silent. Erik, too.

What once began in mourning and prayer had become a stage for self-promotion.

Lord, where are You in this? Erik prayed silently. I could use some help here.

He knew God was near. But it was hard to tell in rooms where everyone talked like Him but moved like kings.

Help would come. But it wouldn’t look holy.