ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Thursday, July 4, 1996 TAG: 9607050117
SECTION: NEIGHBORS PAGE: N1 EDITION: HOLIDAY
SOURCE: DAN CASEY STAFF WRITER
MEMO: NOTE: Also ran in July 7, 1996 Current.
NEARLY ALL preachers are intent on saving your soul. At Walter and Marjorie Wilson's ministry, they're after that - plus your heart, your lungs, your biceps and your bank shot.
In place of an altar, there is a pool table. No pews, but half a dozen exercise bikes. You can't walk up a center aisle for communion - no communion, here, and no center aisle - but there are plenty of treadmills.
Welcome to the Revs. Walter and Marjorie Wilson's ministry: the Christian Crusade Exercise Center, at 3527 Melrose Ave. N.W. The Wilsons take literally the New Testament teaching that the body is a temple for the Holy Spirit.
The couple, both transplanted New Yorkers, opened their storefront church in the old Passport Motors dealership last fall.
Since then, hundreds of folks have passed through their doors, sweating off inches, hanging out for Christian fellowship, shooting a little eight ball, reading the Bible, taking in some preaching. Some, no doubt, were lured by the catchy little slogan pasted to the windows and doors: "A dollar a day takes the pounds away."
The Wilsons moved here in 1991, after watching a soup kitchen they started in New York grow from three clients per day to more than 120. Although their ministry there was successful, they realized over a series of five visits with Marjorie's brother here in Roanoke that New York City wasn't where they wanted to stay.
"The mountains caught us," Marjorie says.
Walter puts it in more biblical terms.
"We came out of Egypt - New York City is Egypt as far as I'm concerned - to the Promised Land," he says.
At first, they joined a church here, but yearned to lead their own ministry. So they set up a small one based in their home on Westside Boulevard. Over a period of time, however, they looked for a way to do more outreach work in the community.
At the same time, both began noticing their increasing waistlines. She was tipping the scales at 196; he was up around 310. (Practicing their own preaching, they're now down to 150 and 288, respectively).
"It was the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, realizing that we had to have a ministry that was somewhat different from everything else," says Walter, 57. "The body, the mind, the spirit - one can't do without the other. We need all our faculties to develop as spiritual beings."
"Most people, in their mind, they say, `Well, I go to church; well, I pay my tithe,''' he adds. "But eating too much is a sin also - that's gluttony. Here you can exercise and lose weight in a Christian atmosphere."
The exercise center is currently open noon to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday and closed on Saturdays. For a while, the Wilsons had been opening it at 9 a.m., but had to cut back the hours to care for Marjorie's mother, who lives with them and recently suffered a stroke. They've also temporarily moved Sunday afternoon services back to their home.
Furnished with equipment that Marjorie Wilson scavenged from thrift stores or bought new at Sears, the exercise center is far more than a gym.
"This place is intended to be a community center," says Marjorie, 56. "They didn't have a place like that around here when we moved here."
Used clothing in good condition and at bargain rates hangs from several racks in one part of the old auto showroom.
Over in another corner is a shelf crammed with Bibles and religious texts, surrounded by comfortable chairs and a sofa.
"People come by and they say, 'I don't feel like exercising,'" Walter says. "And so I say, `Well, exercise your mind. There's a Bible right over here.'... I don't need a pulpit. Jesus didn't need one, I don't either."
The exercise center is a second career for both Wilsons, who were each married before. He retired after 27 years as a New York City transit supervisor; she spent 21 years working for the post office in New York.
But both felt a higher calling. They ended up meeting after enrolling in the New York Theological Seminary in 1985.
"We met while we were doing a two-year theological program, and after the class we departed. After that, we met again in 1988 or 1989 and that was it," Marjorie says. "If we didn't go there, we would never have met. We were both doing what God wanted us to do and we met the perfect mate." The Wilsons married in 1990.
Side by side, they're an odd couple but an effective team.
Walter is big, beefy and seems to be almost bursting with a contagious joy. He talks loudly, laughs louder, and positively roars when he's praising God.
"I preach extemporaneously, as the spirit gives me utterance," he says.
Marjorie, by contrast, is small, soft-spoken and circumspect.
"She's the cool one, the calming influence over me," he says. "Every now and then she'll say, `Now wait a minute. Let's calm down.' I'm Peter - she's Paul."
Their blessings, they say, extend beyond preaching or watching exercise center patrons slim down.
On a trip to California in 1992, they were last in line for the game show, "The Price is Right." But Walter's name was one of the first called, and he went "on down," as they say in Bob Barker-speak.
Walter admits he doesn't know the price of much, but "I was getting my inspiration from above." And in the Lord's mysterious ways, it worked: He won a Les Paul guitar and an all-expenses-paid trip for two to Singapore.
They loved the trip, but Asian cooking isn't exactly Walter's bag.
"I'm a meat and potatos guy," he says, rubbing his stomach and laughing. Good thing for him they have plenty of American fast-food joints there.
"Can you believe it?" Marjorie says, the disbelieving tone climbing in her voice. "Here we are, half-way around the world, where they have all this wonderful food, and he's eating in Kentucky Fried Chicken and McDonalds."
The exercise center hasn't been overrun with customers lately. On one recent weekday afternoon, the Wilsons were the only ones in it. To bring in more folks, they hope to expand hours and add a soup kitchen at a later date.
Walter Wilson says it costs about $1,000 a month to run overall. But "we don't even bring in $200 a week," Marjorie adds. "Our savings are dwindling."
"We're not in here to make ourselves rich," Walter says. "You can't get rich on something like this. Doing God's work is our gain."
LENGTH: Long : 112 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: STEPHANIE KLEIN-DAVIS STAFF The Revs. Walter andby CNBMarjorie Wilson opened their storefront church in the old Passport
Motors dealership last fall. color