It’s 1927 and you’re a megachurch pioneer, something of a Southern California entertainment mogul, somebody who has enough juice with God to heal the lame and the halt. 1926 had been something of a strain — you’ve either just survived a bizarre kidnapping that dragged you through the California desert or you got caught up in an elaborate hoax to cover up your extramarital affair. A grand jury gets involved. The press is having a field day.
What do you do to restore your good name?
You compose and publish an ersatz Negro spiritual* that concludes with the stirring lines, “Oh! some of these days, When judgement comes, (when judgement comes,) My Lord’s goin’ to stop, (my Lord’s goin’ to stop,) All these gossiping tongues.”
(This sheet music makes a nice example of Aimee Semple McPherson-branded merchandise from the heyday of her media presence. The attractive portrait vignette perhaps anticipates Elsa Lanchester’s Bride of Frankenstein by some seven years.)
* “Can’t you see that sun, See how she run, Nebber let her ketch you, With your work undone,” etc.