Essays

Bi-products of Springfield Voodoo

By Joe DeGrazi ⋅ October 31, 2007 ⋅  forward to friend ⋅  Print this post ⋅ Post a comment

I have seen the movement and forced it upon you, in its unreasonable glory. Indefinable and absolute, she has already left while books and blogs continue to describe what it means to be postmodern. We became so consumed with it that we had to grasp it and make it our own, never realizing that this is fundamentally impossible, that the very idea is not something to be produced or taught but something that defines its user. In our attempts to engage it, we found one another lost under secondary terminology - philosophy - an anti-rhetoric rhetoric. The church, once fish and bread and wine and men, once love and fellowship, irreverent, now obsessed with relevance and a desire to be wanted. The death of simple faith…

As a senior in high school, because I was a Christian and it was cool, I wore a star of David with a cross over it - something Ann Coulter would understand - a symbol of heritage and beginnings. The absurdity of course being that I am not nor ever was Jewish; and only now do i realize just how offensive such a symbol actually is. I had an Ichthus on my car, because I was a Christian and it was cool, and a license plate frame that proclaimed Jesus as Lord - part of his new marketing strategy. I had t-shirts with bible verses on them, a sterling silver ring with the trinity symbol (because i listened to POD), and I carried my pocket-size new testament in my left back pocket - my wallet goes on the right.

I was a Christian, and I was very cool.

I was the president of FCA, the president of the charismatic Youth Alive (or, the non-athletic FCA, with louder praying), and I spoke at evangelistic events known as “rallies” where I could proclaim that “True Love Waits” and get recruited by youth pastors to speak at their Wednesday services and have senior pastors marvel at the magnificent call God had on my life. I laid hands and prayed, I prayed, for you, for her, for the world, for starving children, for the poor and homeless, for the world, for the world… standing on hilltops, arms stretched to the heavens, I wept for the lost. I studied the psychology of post modernism and helped craft well-tuned church services into rock and roll light shows and events with give-aways and LCD screens and the occasional fireworks display. We had to be cool, we had to relevant, or they wouldn’t come, Christ’s message couldn’t shine through.

Then i read Matthew 6:6-7, and my world began to invert.

American Beauty

American Beauty

Have you seen American Beauty? Do you remember Mena Suvari’s character, Angela - the school f-slut, always talking about what she did to who and how often? For two-thirds of the movie we listen to her exploits and tales of romp and raunch and watch as she smiles and laughs because this is who she is, this is what she has to maintain. Angela would screw any guy with a carrot. Angela would do unspeakable things with every part of her body. Angela smokes at 16 and wears too much eyeliner and wears skin tight ass pants and creates the whole package for the sake of relevance, acceptance, and being cool. And then we find out that she, in fact, is a virgin, and that she, in fact, had never done any of those things she bragged about. She lays, bare chested and honest at the hands of an older man, shaking and nervous, guilty, exposed for reality and innocence as her character crashes with her world…

I was asked to speak at a baptist church in Marshfield that had recently acquired the fire - the pentecostal gift of speaking tongues. I do believe in this idea, as it is in scripture, the idea that God is big enough to make you speak or pray in a language that you have never heard or understand for His glory and divine purposes. One thing struck me though, about this and all spiritual gifts - people were being taught to pray for these things, to actively seek them in a manner of reception, nearly demand, and some would begin to mumble and others would cry out loudly and the rest of us would expel whatever gibberish from our mouths that we could manage in a cadence convincing enough for the Holy Spirit. I became engulfed with it, the desire to speak in tongues, the fear when it did not happen, and I was rendered to a lower echelon of faith and sainthood because the words just wouldn’t come. Something was wrong with me, I wasn’t praying hard enough, I didn’t desire hard enough, and because I wasn’t speaking in tongues, I wasn’t as strong a Christian as the ones that were, Lord, please, let me speak in tongues!

Paul tells us to desire gifts and they will be imparted to us at God’s discretion; I have not found a scripture that tells us to ask God directly for them. Ironic, I thought, that we would have the audacity to demand anything of God, as if we were somehow incomplete or insufficient as Christians without “gifts.” Were we not made complete through his sacrifice? How then, can anything but salvation through Jesus be esteemed as a necessary element of our faith, to the extent that not having it makes us lesser than those that do?

These were the thoughts I took to the Baptist church in Marshfield, where suddenly everyone was speaking and seeking in tongues and eager to listen to the Springfield teenager who has, in fact, spoken in tongues. I brought them this message - seek things of the Lord and let Him give as He will. Do not obsess over what you cannot impart unto yourself, and do not feel ashamed if you do not receive any of these gifts. As scripture says, “There are varieties of effects, but the same God who works all things in all persons” (1 Cor. 12:6). Gifts are smoke from the fire, not the fire itself. Seek the fire, and if God choses, you will receive gifts from Him. A gift is only a gift when it is given, not demanded. I encouraged them to seek God in quiet times, in the solitude of their rooms, not publicly and noisily in front of family and friends while attempting utterances that are nonsensical to man and God alike.

This did not go over well.

The elders stood in the back and stared as I called people to the front to pray for a desire to seek nothing but God himself.

The Fallout

I had undone what they had been teaching for months. I was supposed to come and lead them to the table of presents laid out by the Holy Spirit. I was supposed to lead them, each and every one, to speak in the tongues of angels. To the elders, I took them back a step, back to traditionalism, back to the boring life of scripture and worship and devotion.

But the kids understood. Teenagers approached the alter to be prayed for, be prayed with, to be encouraged in their pursuit of truth and the Lord, but none of the elders came forward to join them. None of them came forward to comfort them or intercede for them or lay hands on them. I asked them to come, and they did not. I asked them to pray, and they did not. I stood befuddled, asking them again to come and pray for their children. The kids became confused, uncomfortable. some began to leave. My stomach tightened as I dropped the microphone and walked out of the building. What had I done? I had asked them to seek God instead of mysticism, Jesus instead of inexplainable phenomena, and I quickly found myself on the wrong side of the line because of it. I stood by my car as they watched me leave, their eyes demanding my departure, their stature not welcoming me back.

I wept for the kids.

Jerry McGuire

Unable to drive through uncontrollable sobs, I pulled over to the side of Interstate 44. Gripping the wheel and throwing my head back, I bellowed to the heavens that I no longer wanted any part of it - no more speaking, no more leadership, nothing to do with a church so lost it would seek gifts over God and leave its young alone at the alter of Christ. I ripped off my star of David and yanked off my trinity ring, I ran to the rear of the car and tore off the fish and paint. I broke the frame from the license plate before falling to my knees on the gravel, tearing hair and gnashing teeth. My bible verse t-shirt found its resting place in the ditch and I told God, no more.

No more.

I am Angela, and all of my masks have just been removed.

All of the invitations immediately stopped coming in and I soon found myself being asked to step down from leadership positions. The church had turned its back on me, and I was left standing on the stoop, hands in my pockets, wondering what the hell to do next. I dove between the legs of a welcoming world and landed three years later heartbroken and tired. At the time, it felt like desperation, like loss. Now, I see it as baptism. Before I read Matthew 6:6-7, I would have gone to them and laid hands on them and demand of the holy spirit that they all speak in tongues. I would have flaunted my Christian bling and smiled as they read my scripture shirt. They would all have bought fish for their cars, if they had cars to drive.

But i became Jerry Maguire instead, and I had lost the ability to bullshit.

A Sunday morning came and, deciding not to sleep until 3, i went to a church some friends attended. Afraid, I walked in with nothing - no doctrine, no ideas, no titles or sermons or accessories - I walked in naked, I walked in honest, at the bottom of the barrel, with nothing to lose. I found God there, smiling and waiting. I found God simple like a child who loves beyond reason, beyond failure and sin. I apologized for walking away from Him and realized the scope of his love by letting me, and I became aware that it was not him that I walked away from, but the image of him I had created in my need for relevance, my need to be cool. He put his arms around me like a father would and said, “well then, lets get started.”