“Do you two need some tickets?” The middle-age woman in a jacket that read “Juicy” in studded letters held out two printed Ticketmaster tickets, creased from the folding that fit them in her purse. A Night of Hope, Joel Osteen, Wells Fargo Arena, 7:30 p.m. July 18.
“What? No, we’re fine. We’re fine.” I was too uncomfortable to deal with her offer, so I hurried her away. Standing at the intersection of Third and Crocker near downtown Des Moines was a large, bearded titan with a sign and a neon-orange shirt that read: “Trust in, Cling to, Rely on Jesus,” and he was warning the masses of the dangers Joel Osteen brought to the world: “Tickle your ears tonight to tell you smooth things. Don’t tell us the truth; tell us smooth things.” Many of the well dressed, Midwestern Christians around us snarled in honest disgust, either in his direction or to their loved ones. Here? He’s doing that here?
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