"Well, I'm not sure about it being 'freaky;' It'll be fun. They're lots of kids there your age, I'd think!"
My mother's office coworker, Maggie, on me attending a church function for teens with her two children.
"Perhaps 'freaky' was too strong a word, I'll admit this. But I'm not quite convinced that I'm into such things... I'm more of a pragmatist." I responded.
"I'm not sure I even know what a pragmatist is... is that of Anglican or Lutheran ideology?"
"Neither." I said, "You see, I find that religion is more of a burden upon society rather than...
"I think is a MARVELOUS idea, Maggie!" My mother interrupted, grabbing me by the arm in attempts to shut me up. "He's a tad assertive but VERY open-minded. I'm certain he'll have a great time!
"I'm open-minded to a degree, Mom; however, I'm not into the idea of..."
"Derrick, honey," my mother said, giving me "the look of death," "this sounds like a real opportunity for you to interact with a group of kids who are charismatic about something other than Henry David Theroux and Elvis."
"Leave Elvis out of this, Mom!"
"He'd be glad to go, and he'll have a blast with your kids, Maggie."
"I think so too!" said Maggie in full smile.
I was beat. At only 15, I was still a victim of concepts-of-fun forced upon me by my parents. My folks were in no way religious and certainly wished not for me to become spiritual; in contrast, this opportunity seemed to promote none but my mother's status in the eyes of her kool-aid-drinking colleague.
*
"I don't feel good; my stomach hurts; I think I have a ulcer."
"Derrick, get out of the car dammit," my mother instructed, reaching over and unlatching the door, "they're suppose to be inside waiting for you. You'll have fun!"
Within seconds I was standing on the sidewalk in front of the warehouse-looking church watching my mother's station wagon pull off. I felt the same feeling in my gut that I once had when my folks mistook for a numbers prodigy and dropped me off at Math Camp: Abandonment. I sighed heavily and turned to face the church. It was colossal... the type of place where fans would likely "tailgate" if Jesus had such a following. The type of place that would host an AC/DC concert if there weren't the whole conflict of interests thing.
I made my way to the double glass doors fronting the entrance rotunda. Two teenagers a little older than I stood on either side with pamphlets and bottled water. As I approached, I was handed a leaflet entitled "Slugs from Snails: Shedding the Shell of Sin from your Life." Great.
"Slugs?" I asked one of them.
"Ya," she giggled, "it's sorta harsh, but very figurative. You'll see!"
"And the water?"
"Oh, well, there's lots of dancing and singing, so the water's just in case the 'holy spirit' gets you moving a little too much - there will be more refreshments around 7:00pm" She responded.
I acknowledged, hesitantly, and went inside the rotunda of the church. A group of teenagers brushed past me, laughing about a "Pastor Devin" and his apparent choice in shirt color. Another trio jogged by me, nearly running me down. The last one, a tall, pock-marked teenage boy of about 15, skidded to a stop and accosted me.
"Derrick? Are you Derrick, my mom's coworker's son?" He asked.
"I am. How'd you know it was me?" I replied, lost and unsure how he could have known.
"Well," he chuckled, "my mom told me you had tortoise shell-rimmed 50's glasses and that you'd have a purse."
"It's a book satchel."
"Oh, what do carry in it." He said, clearly not getting it.
"Books." I said matter-of-factly.
"Oh. Neat. Ya." He said, "So, where does your family go to church?"
"I'm afraid we, uh, we don't go to church."
"Oh! So, do you, like, just do bible studies at people houses or?"
"No, I mean, we don't do anything... we're no religious."
"Ooooookay," The boy said, drawing out the word, "Well, this is the place for you then! Everyone's welcome! Especially at a teen revival, man!"
He introduced himself as Brandon and explained to me that he had attended the church for as far back as he could recall. He informed me that his little sister was with him but that she was with the younger kids elsewhere in the church. He mentioned that he also attended a private Christian academy nearby and that he wanted to be a missionary in the Middle-East when he graduated from high school.
"... I think it'd be a great way to really spread 'The Word' to all the Muslims and Buddhists in, like, Syria and Iraq and stuff."
"I suppose it would; though, I wasn't aware there were many Buddhists in Iraq..." I asked with confused eyes.
"Oh. Ya. Well. You know." He said, again in periods. Brandon said that the "prayers were about to start" and that we should make our way in if we were to get good seats.
Through a large set of large, wooden doors was a lecture hall or auditorium of area-like proportion; however, all the teenagers sat concentrated in just the first three or four rows of a single section facing the stage. Brandon skipped down the aisle to the front; and I, trying NOT to skip, simply followed behind. He re-grouped with the other two teenagers that I had seen him with in the rotunda. The first, an all-too-boyish female named Molly and an overly-dressed, crew cut-type boy named Ezekiel. After exchanging handshakes, I was gestured to a seat between Molly and Ezekiel.
Just as the few dozen teenagers took their seats, the lights dimmed, and a shaky spotlight beamed upon a banner hung on the stage that mirrored the pamphlets: "Slugs from Snails: Shedding the Shell of Sin from your Life." I sighed heavily again as if I were about to start a bad movie or commit to digging a great hole in the dirt with a small shovel for no real reason. In the darkness I heard a mic click on and a radio announcer-like voice asked the group of teenager if they were "ready to shed the shells of sin for Jesus." Everyone clapped and yelled out agreements and amens I, however, reached for my cell phone to check the time's progress.
As the kids continued to clap an overly dub-step-bass rock song started to play, it's lyrics suggesting that Jesus "only sits in the VIP room at the club" and that his "ride sports 26's tainted with the blood he shed." I swallowed down hard, trying to do-away the uneasiness. Just then, a man in his early forties ran out onto the stage and danced with his hands raised in obvious praise. He wore baggy kaki pans, leather flip-flops, and a pink polo shirt with a white collar turned up. His hair was cut in a short crew cut, and his bangs were highlighted blond, a rather obscure choice against the backdrop of the rest of his brown hair. His eyes squinted behind his frameless, square glasses. He resembled a man who, at one time, may have indeed been "cool," but now he looked as if he just came from an Old Navy shopping spree with his middle-school-aged son. Pastor Devin, I presume.
I could go no further without taking a picture of this priceless moment. But as I looked around, I noticed that no one had their phones out. As I replaced my cell in my pocket Van Halen's "Jump" started to play; only, David Lee Roth's voice failed to deliver the first lyric... It was the young pastor reliving his high school days with an cliché top hit from the 80s. I wondered if his apparent mid-life change-in-style also included an original Firebird with a T-top.
"You've got to be kidding me." I said at not quite a whisper but not quite at full speaking volume.
I started to blush in embarrassment as the pastor replaced Van Halen's lyric "can't you see me standin' here? I got my back against the record machine" with "can't you see me praisin' here? I'm thankin' Jesus while I'm down on my knees."
"Oh my god." I said, this time at full speaking volume. Molly and Ezekiel heard me but didn't pick up on the utter sarcasm.
"I know! It's incredible," Ezekiel said, "Pastor Devin's the frickin' bomb." He said in smiles. "The frickin bomb" was not the designation I would have chosen.
As soon as Pastor Devin's full helping of 80s metal with a side of Jesus was over, he gave an hour and a half lecture on the danger of premarital relationships, the importance of male-to-female marriage, the assurance of a fiery death, and the importance to steer clear of something he referred to as "wacky tobacky."
"...If you're engaged in an act of wrong-doing, and you know in your heart it's wrong, it's a sin! We're all, everyone of us, slimy, sin-filled snails in the eyes of the Lord Almighty, and you need to shed that shell of sin and live a life as a mere slug.. one slithering low in constant humility in the eyes of the Lord. A fearful, unworthy slug servant to God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." He concluded.
I was uncomfortable, completely uncomfortable. Not as a result of threats to my well being in the so-called afterlife (okay, that did creep me out a little bit), but rather as a result of both the sheer nonsense that was spewing from the mouth of the young pastor as well as the sheep-like head nodding and "Hallelujahs" delivered back in response from the small crowd of teenagers. I eyed them, young men and women - no different than I really. They were hooked! All of them sat and listened intently at the fabricated ethics and cheap hypothetical rhetoric; all of them stood and clapped their hands and sang along to the rehearsed "Jesus" songs soaked in secular flavor; and, all of them displayed cloudy eyes, glazed-over as if staring into the glow of a flock of golden gooses floating down a chocolate river!
With the extravaganza over, I tried my best to slip out without being noticed. I failed.
"Dude! What'ja think? The 'Spirit' was letting; loose tonight, man. I think Pastor Devin is a real prophet! "Brandon again.
"He's good, no doubt," said Molly interrupting me, "but he's no prophet. I do, however, completely agree with his words on man/woman marriage. 100%"
"Well, no matter. The 'Spirit' moves within him for sure" Brandon shot back, "What'd you think, Derrick?"
"I, uh... I'm speechless. I have nothing."
"It's cool man, it's cool! God's presence was here tonight, and 'He' does have a way of taking your breath away sometimes!" Said Ezekiel.
"Um, no. That's not quite what I meant. Look, I don’t mean to sound unenthusiastic here, but I just have to question things like this, you know? Like, you all don't actually believe-believe this stuff right?"
"Of course we do!" They all seemed to say in unison.
"... Slugs? Brimstone? And the guy didn't even read anything from the Bible - he just paraphrased a bunch of miscellaneous script written thousands of years apart from one another, trying his best to construct a thesis. Again, I mean no disrespect, but what evidence or substantiation have you that can qualify such idiocy?"
They all stared at me. All three of them and, apparently, a parent that had happened by during my speal. Ezekiel put his hands up and look at the floor as if suggesting he was not getting into it; Molly huffed away to the adult passersby; and, Brandon just maintained a facial expression of headache mixed with perplexity and stomach gas.
*
In hindsight, I suppose I shouldn't have been so sarcastic throughout the night, so outwardly skeptical to my hosts. But, c'mon! Let's face it! All of them were slated to graduate in a couple years; Molly would likely come-out to her friend and family in her freshman year of college; Ezekiel would probably end up as dirty pot head living on a Co-Op in Vermont; and, Brandon would almost certainly drop-out of missionary school and free himself from the chains of religion only to fulfill his dreams as a bassist in a Black Sabbath cover band.
The night air was a pleasant relief from the stuffiness of conformity and mindlessness inside the church. I looked up at the stars and envisioned Pastor Devin's future in the afterlife floating among them, perhaps in his Firebird with 'Jesus' riding shotgun. My phone chirped in my packet, alarming me that I had a text. It was from my mom:
"Molly texted me... I don’t know what happened tonight, but YOU'RE GROUNDED, PAL! Dad will be there in ten minutes to pick you up. Be on the curb!"
Oh well. I was 15, religion-free, and ready to prove to the world that my bigotry was far superior than anyone else's bigotry.
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