Find fellowship on the Path to True Wealth

“It happens all the time,” says Gary Fribald, short, chubby, and well past forty. “Maybe I’m reading a book, or watching TV, or eating. I can go for ten minutes, a half hour, not bat an eye. Then, suddenly, it’ll hit me: Gary, what you’re doing right now, do you realize? You’re not making any money.“

Gary Fribald, CEO of an anonymous marketing company in the Chicago suburbs, is not alone. Like millions of Americans, he faces a daily struggle to keep first things first.

“The planned part of my day, I can deal with,” says Gary. “I put in nine, ten, eighteen hours at the office. Then there’s my three-hour commute; I’m learning Yiddish and Tae Kwon Do by audio cassette. My anonymous marketing company hopes to branch out to Yidland, and I’m looking to give karate lessons on the side.

“But at home? My wife’s like, ‘Honey, at dinner, let’s look at each other instead of reviewing our stocks,’ or ‘Why don’t you take off your shoes and stay awhile? Maybe change those socks?’ Ha! Time sinks.”

Fortunately, people like Gary and you don’t need to pursue the Path to True Wealth in isolation. Since 1987, there’s been a place where anointed seekers can share their lives, hopes, and business cards: the Milwaukee First Church of Mammon. Gary commutes.

“Living for money is a difficult path,” explains minister Louie Lobotoy, a 6′11″ beanpole with frightening eyebrows. He shifts in his chair, readjusts a 6-inch thick wallet in his back pocket, and, still slightly askew, smiles. “In 1987, I realized that institutional religion in this country was doing nothing to help the common man live with an undivided heart. We were, in truth, an economic wasteland.

“Sure, everyone talks about striving after wealthiness, but how many of us really do it, day in and day out? Look at the vast herds who reject the high path of corporate affluence simply because they want a job they ‘like’. Or, worse, the hypocrites. Labor all day at the desk and give every appearance of a true heart, but at the first maudlin junk mail plea, they make a donation.” Louie trembles. “Whited sepulchers. I assume you don’t—you know—

I assure him I am steadfast.

Rev. Lobotoy smiles and strokes a quarter. “This church is a sanctuary, a place to find fellowship, renew your commitment. At our Sunday power service, we have a reading from How To Win Friends And Influence People or Think And Grow Rich, then discuss. I preach a modest sermon, but I’m really just a moderator. Once they get going, I find I can still cut a few online real estate deals in the back.”

And the parishioners?

“The membership fee is totally worth it,” gushes broad-shouldered, pigeon-toed Eddie Zet, longtime Mammonite. “What price education? I didn’t really need my house.

“See, I struggle with the whole wife and kids thing. But last Sunday, Louie said, ‘Eddie, what if you get hit by a car? In that last flash before you become another expensive tax-funded cleanup, do you want to think, ‘I could have worked another hour of overtime, but I came home early and made love with my wife?‘” Eddie wipes away a tear. “Louie puts it all in perspective.”

“For me, it’s the fellowship,” says Gary. Unfortunately, to cover his weekly flights to Milwaukee, his wife has had to take a fourth job (septic maintenance), but Gary is happy with their choice. “I recommend it to other husbands. You need this support. Alone, you’ll backslide into poetry and exercise, I guarantee it.

“Jesus put it so simply,” Rev. Lobotoy adds. “No man can serve two masters.” He shakes his head and grins. “It’s so true.”