What Kept Me Away From Churches For Years

[statichaos]

Note: I've been to a couple of churches since the following experience, including the one I regularly attend now. However, someone was curious about a comment that I made on another thread, and I thought that this crowd might find the story entertaining, so here it is:


I was eighteen years old. On the streets for the first time ever after my family decided that they didn't know how to deal with my moodiness, lethargy, and seeming inability to get anything together on an intellectual or emotional level.

Through lying about my age, I'd managed to end up in the Storefront Shelter, a place for teenage runaways and throwaways. I'd even managed to attract a rather attractive if immature girlfriend named Kellie, and was seriously considering what I should do next with my life. Kellie and I were discussing options over dinner one night when our meal was interrupted by two clean-cut nearly identically dressed young men who had somehow managed to talk their way past the volunteer stationed at the door.

"Hey, kids!" they chorused. Not a good opening if you're trying to appeal to street rats, but they plunged ahead through a brick wall of blank stares. "We're from a local church. Now, we're having a free Christian rock concert tonight, and there'll be free pizza and soda for anyone who wants to come. Anyone interested?"

A couple of the residents immediately sprang into action, rushing outside to the waiting van. I looked at my spaghetti. It was made lovingly by volunteers, served out of compassion and a sense of charity, and probably contained a decent nutritional balance for my still-growing body. I'd also eaten it every single week for over a month, and was heartily sick of the stuff. Kellie saw my expression. I raised my eyebrows at her. With an indulgent sigh, Kellie (Wiccan) grabbed her agnostic boyfriend's arm and dragged me into the van. We settled back in the cheap vinyl seats. The van took off.

The Bobbsey Twins who had talked us into the van kept up a constant stream of chatter as we headed towards the freeway. Something seemed off behind the typical come-to-Jesus rhetoric. Something a bit sweatier than usual. It finally became clear once we hit the freeway offramp: One (Tom, the youth minister) made a big show of looking at his watch, then said to us "You know, we might be a little late for the actual rock concert," a short pause and reassuring grin, "But there's a wonderful preacher that you guys can listen to!": Jim (his exact role in this fiasco was unclear at the moment) nodded enthusiastically, staring straight ahead at the early-evening San Diego rush hour traffic.

Well, crap.

After an ominously silent ride to some place east of our original location, we pulled up to a large if nondescript brownish building. We were ushered inside, and given one moment to take in the sights of the church before being hustled down the aisle.

The first thing that I noticed was a loud and garish banner that hung above the stage, reading "R.I.O.T.: Revival In Our Time!"

The second was a preacher ranting and jumping around the stage in a manner designed to put both Billy Sunday and Elmer Gantry to shame.

The third was that the preacher was ranting about how they were going out into the streets to help homeless children find Jesus.

The fourth was that if clothing was any indication of economic status here, we were the only obvious street kids in the church.

The fifth was that the pew that we were being hustled to was the only empty one in the room, almost as if it had somehow been reserved for us.

I took a seat, half-listening to the preacher as i observed one more odd thing about the church. The "altar" that the preacher kept gesturing towards was actually a riser that went all the way from the back of the left wall of the church to around the front of the stage, curving again until it reached the back of the right wall. Again, I focused on the preacher.

"Now, everyone kneel and pray!" he cried, pointing a demanding finger around the congregation. "Kneel and thank the Lord!" Kellie and I looked at each other in a mutual determination not to give in to the pressure. Almost immediately, youth minister Tom strode over to our pew and stared at us like mischevious children.

"Why don't you just get down and pray?" he whispered as the eyes of nearby parishoners flicked judgement in our direction. "You'll feel so much better." Kellie and I shrugged as one, then knelt. The prayer ended. No sooner had we managed to become comfortable in the hard wooden pews than another command came our way from the stage.

"Lift your arms! Lift your arms for the Lord and PRAY! Shout it to the heavens!" Kellie and I froze. This went directly against her Wiccan background, and it conflicted with my undemonstrative WASP family history. We bowed our heads down, hoping that no one would notice. Naturally, this meant that we were immediately glared at by everyone around us, including our fellow street kids who were hoping to get through this mess with a minimum of attention. We stood.

"Now come down to the altar and pray!" the preacher nearly screamed across the room. People began to file out of the pews. Again, Kellile and I sat down, hoping that no one would notice. Again, no such luck. We were immediately surrounded by two gender-specific groups (women for her, men for me) who cajoled us into coming down to the altar. The worst was a single blond-haired nine year-old cherub.

"Won't you come down to the altar with us? It's so wonderful. You'll be able to talk to the Baby Jesus" Yes, folks, the Baby Jesus. Rod and Todd Flanders before those characters were ever developed. In the hopes of getting the droning sounds of serene religious arrogance to stop affecting my eardrums, I finally broke from the crowd and went to the altar, where I knelt.

Dear God, I don't know if you're there or not, but please find me a way to get out of this bullshit. Your p.r. people here really suck.

A voice came from behind me, one vaguely reminiscent of Pete the Puma from the old Warner Brothers cartoons. Pete with a hiccup.

"Hex-kyeewz me," the voice groaned.

I glanced over my shoulder. A man in his twenties with a military buzzcut stood behind me, dressed in the same short-sleeved button up shirt and black tie as Jim and Tom.

"Yes?" I asked, wondering if they all shopped at the same "Creepy Evangelists Discount Depot'.

"Wah-hut's your nay-yum?"

"Jeffrey" I responded, too stunned by the man's ability to stretch the word "name" into two syllables to find an out to this conversation.

"My nay-um's Joe. Jay-huff?"

Sure, close enough. "Yes, Joe?"

"Will huh-yew puh-raye with me?"

"Sure" I mumbled. So Depeche Mode was right. He really does have a sick sense of humor.

Instead of taking a spot to my side at the altar, Joe knelt behind me, grabbing my left shoulder and squeezing in a pose that I found reminiscent of rather nasty jokes about what goes on in prison showers. With a deep breath, he bowed his head and began to intone loudly:

"Ohhhhhhh LOOOOOORRRRRRRD! OH JAAAAAY-ZUSS! Praise...Praise you. PUH-RAYZE YOO-HEW!" I managed to sneak an embarrassed glance around the church to see if anyone had noticed. Fortunately (?), most of them were in the same state of Christ-induced hysteria, rollilng around on the ground or simply singing and praying. I bowed my head.

Joe trailed off in his prayer, then offered to teach me to stand and pray, as he'd noticed that I'd been having trouble with the concept. I accepted his offer, as I felt that it would give me a good opportunity to stretch out my bruised left shoulder. We stood. He shouted to the heavens in his unique manner, beckoning me to follow his lead. So it was when Jim found me, lifting my arms up, and shouting "Praise Jesus!" at the top of my lungs, a frightened grin plastered firmly across my face.

"Jeffrey!" Jim barked happily, jumping up on the "altar" in front of me. "How are you doing?"

"Great, Jim!"

"You're feeling good?"

"Yes, Jim!"

"You ready to accept Christ into your heart?"

"Sure am, Jim!"

"Great! Jeffrey?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"I'm gonna drive those demons out of you!"

"What?!" WHAT?!

Jim reached down, grabbing my previously-uninjured right shoulder with one hand, and placing the other over my heart. My head whipped around in panic. The entire church seemed to have taken notice, and was walking towards the scene. Kellie was nowhere to be found. The man began to whisper and mumble.

"Satan you have no power over this one the servant of Jesus Christ. In the name of our Lord I rebuke you you have no power. Begone from him. I rebuke you. I rebuke you. In the name of Jesus Christ, I drive you out...." I looked around again. The crowd had gathered in closely, inches from the two of us. My knees began to buckle. A couple of people behind me caught me as I began to fall. My breath grew short, and my vision faded. In short, I fainted from the stress, the claustrophobia, and low blood sugar.

"HALLELUJAH!" the crowd shouted, dancing around me (I learned this and the following from my fellow street rats after the fact).

Let's back up a bit: Shortly after we were separated, Kellie was taken down to the altar by a small group of women. They began to pray with her. At this point, Kellie thought of a plan so devious, so original, that I was in awe to hear it.

"I have to go to the bathroom" she said simply, and went to lock herself in a stall until the women found a new victim. As she exited, Corey (a mutual friend) ran up to her in a state of extreme agitation. See, Corey had lived on and off the street since he was very young. Therefore, when he saw a friend of his lying on the ground with a boisterous crowd gathered around him, he didn't think in terms of religious miracles.

"Kellie!" he shouted, out of breath. "They've killed Jeffrey!"

"What?"

"Let's tear this place apart!" he growled, and proceeded to rip a hymnal holder off of the back of one of the pews. Kellie looked over at where I lay prone, just as my eyes started to flicker open.

"No," she replied. "I'm not sure what this is, but he's not hurt."

"So he's okay?"

"I didn't say that." she replied grimly.

Back in the crowd, I awoke to find the parishoners still gathered tight around me as Jim stood above my form, shouting "Accept him into your heart! Accept! Accept!" The group was growing restless.

So...what am I supposed to do here? Levitate? I observed the gathered faces, and listened closely to the various sounds. From somewhere outside the huddle came a high-pitched garble of syllables.

"Mosh ai haroni. Hallah back no may ri. Mallach rach oshi ray"

Speaking in tongues. Okay, I hope there's no trick to this.

"Klaatu barata nikto, " I said, slurring my words in case there were any science fiction buffs or Latin students in the house. "Illegitimi non carborundum"

"HALLELUJAH!" they shouted again. I found myself suddenly lifted, lightheaded, onto the shoulders of the assembled masses, and paraded around the church twice as I shook hands and accepted pats on the back from the singing and dancing crowd. After the crowd died down, I was paraded in front of Jim, still raised high in the air. He grinned at me. I grinned back.

"Jeffrey, this is great! Do you know what just happened?"

"I'm...I'm not really sure!" I answered in all honesty.

"You just opened the door to a brand new life! You're among the saved! You've been forgiven for all your sins! Don't you feel lighter?"

Again, one that I could respond to in honesty. "I sure do!"

"Hey, Jeffrey, have you ever been baptized?"

"Yes!" I said firmly. Perhaps a bit too firmly, as some in the crowd looked at me suspiciously. The light went out in Jim's eyes, but his grin stayed firmly in place.

"That's great," he said. "Can I ask where?"

My mind raced as I tried to remember the name of the church that my mother dragged my little sisters to on Christmas and Easter. "Uh...St. James by the Sea" Jim looked confused, so I continued. "It's an Episcopal Church in La Jolla".

"Oh," Jim responded. The crowd lowered me gently to the ground, so Jim was once again above me on the riser. "Jeffrey," he said softly. "You have to understand, I'm not going to disrespect your parents. In fact, the Bible commands you to honor them. But, Jeffrey...the Episcopalians, they don't do it right."

"They don't?" My mouth went dry.

He shook his head. "No, they baptize you in the name of the Father and the Son, but not the Holy Spirit. They say "Holy Ghost", which is wrong. You need to be baptized in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit for it to be true. Jeffrey, would you like to be baptized in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit?"

The fight went out of me. I wasn't even unable to confront him on his theological hairsplitting between "Holy Ghost" and "Holy Spirit". Instead, I found myself mouthing the following words:

"Yes, Jim. I would love to be baptized in the name of the Father...and the Son....and the Holy Spirit"

"PRAISE BE!" the crowd shouted as one, dragging me upstairs to a baptismal pool. I was quickly taken out of my street clothes, shoved into a robe, dunked in the pool, and dragged out to a waiting room where a semi-frantic Kellie awaited me. Finally, using the excuse that I was going to try to talk her into a baptism, I managed to drag her outside to explain the situation ("Jeffrey, you've just committed a mortal sin" she giggled, showing her Catholic upbringing).

Yes, I finally got lukewarm pizza and warm soda, all the while trying to humor the same cherub who'd been pressuring me during the service as he chattered "Isn't it great that you have the Baby Jesus in your heart now? I'm happy all the time with God!" We were eventually taken back to the shelter, where I immediately told the counselors what had happened. They were banned from the premises for all time.

[Trolldor]

Part horrifying, part hilarious.

Thanks for sharing.

[charlou]

Holy shit.


My own mother used to drag me to places like that.

[Bella Fortuna]

Great writing - rather horrifying subject matter. Makes me feel very fortunate...