Background Check (part 3)

(continued...)

...so my grandmother just left me there in that  heavily wooded encampment of Jesus freaks.

I prepared for a few short days of smiling and nodding and pretending.

 I participated in the chats, listened to the talks, scarfed down carrots with ranch dip and observed the ladies around me like a behavioral scientist observes lab rats.

There were ladies from every single denomination that I knew. There were young ladies, old ladies, shiny ladies, scrappy ladies, even shady ladies, ladies who smiled all the time and ladies who pouted and quite a few that met me during the breaks for a smoke... they even had ash trays.

So the hours ticked by without our watches or a visible clock. Slowly, talk by talk, prayer by prayer, one by one,  these women began to change before my very eyes.

The "frowny' one next to me spent the first day displaying an aura of defiance and misery. By the next afternoon, her cheeks were wet, her eyes were closed and she was smiling like she had just smoked a fine heavenly doobie.

Another rigid, angry, pessimistic lady who belly-ached about her pig-headed husband back home, was letting go, softening, and "getting it."

I wasn't.  Nope.  The throngs of feisty old gals that arrived with me were deserting me into a mass of tears, and raised hands, spontaneous "Hallelujahs" and "Praise you, Jesus"-es.

The third night, the "home run" night was especially moving.  I watched as clumps of women knelt at the altar and cried.  They were praying and confessing and I watched wondering what was wrong with them.. Or me.

Oh, yeah.  I missed the boat with old Dave Roever...duh. Remember, I was a spiritual dud.

Then my pastor from back home, who just happened to be working the retreat, came over to me.  (He was from the Believer's Chapel I halfway grew up in.) He asked me how I was doing and I said "I just don't get it".

He placed his hand on my head and said the shortest simplest of prayers, "Lord, I just ask you to touch Kacy right now. In Jesus' name, Amen."

I took three steps away and it happened.

OK.

What exactly happened?

I would love to explain it, or describe it, or recreate it, or even emote about it but I won't.  Using a technology analogy, this is what happened:

I was a dead Dell computer in a forgotten on a shelf, THEN someone bigger than me decided that it was finally time. My time.

He came forward and gave me what I lacked.  He "pressed power."  I booted up for the first time in my life and my cold dead motherboard was awakened.  It totally by-passed my rationale.  A new code was generating something entirely new in my circuitry.  I was ON...

It would take me the next few years to de-bug, download updates, install firewalls, and learn to navigate the OS...  but that's pretty much a very precise picture of what happened.  I was dead, then I was alive. It was that simple.

I wish I could tell you that it was a figment of my imagination, but even today, so many years later, I can still hear the whir of the hard drive spinning.  The day he "turned me on"  I never went back to "dead".

So, what happened next?

Like a pendulum pulled way high and released, I swung hard and fast to the Christian conservative right.

It wasn't instant, it took me a good 2 years to find myself a big fan of James Dobson, Pat Robertson, Bob Larson and cheesy Christian merchandise.  I joined the club, became a student of the culture and climbed right in the "clown car" with an air of humble superiority.

I stopped drinking alcohol, tried to quit smoking (but instead, hid it), bought only Christian books and music and I saw everyone around me as a potential convert. I was a walking-talking billboard for the evangelic church, I was a holy lemming and the lyrics from the song "Jesus Freak" explained it perfectly.

People say I'm strange, does it make me a stranger

That my best friend was born in a manger

*Don't worry it gets way better...and worse... then better... then I start think about things differently... and write a blog.

(to be continued...sigh...stay with me...)

Beta Church: The Dancing Angel Who Dumped Us.

I once was a member of a pretty happening church near the Metroplex.  It was a newly liberated, formerly traditional baptist church with lots of people driving hours to attend.

I was still pretty new to church culture and being an arts major, I was not at all shocked to see lots of strange types of people. Hipsters, jocks, college students, young families, different races, and loads of kids with grungy shirts and piercings. It was like a weekly Woodstock for Christians. It was radical and freakiness seemed next to godliness in those days.

There was one particular family that stood out. They were home-schoolers in the Amish/culty kind of way.  They weren't in a cult or Amish, but the girls all had super long hair that went past their waists and they always wore long dresses. The boys dressed like it was the 1950's with button-downs and pressed pants, hair styles like Beaver Cleaver.

The matriarch was the most interesting member of all.

Her name was Laitha.

Picture this sort of thing.

She was intimidating from afar because she was so bold, passionate and obviously unafraid of opinions.  However, she was warm and wise up close. A fountain of wisdom and knowledge.   I couldn't help but like her.  She danced during the service in the back, in a special spot for flaggers, people who liked to lay on the floor, and dancers.

Then one day, she confided that she and her family was leaving our church to start a "home church".

What?  So our super cool, open-minded, rocking sub-cultural church of awesomeness wasn't good enough for her anymore!?

We were being dumped.  It hurt.  

I didn't understand.  "Home church" seemed weirder than homeschooling, burying placentas in the yard, and dancing in a baptist church!  

I was puzzled... and sure that I never wanted to be that weird.

Now, many years later I think I understand what Laitha and her family were looking for.  She wasn't really rejecting US.  She and her family had decided to try something OLD.

We were doing the NEW thing, and she was simply taking her form of gathering congregationally back to the roots of every church... meeting in homes.

The way we've done church has been as firm in my mind as the scriptures themselves.  I never thought to ask where our customs come from.  I just went along because I equated the formal procession of Sunday morning worship as concretely biblical--as if God sent out a church memo and said:

"Thou shalt begin with organ and piano, then thou shalt welcome my people.  Then thou shalt sing three or four hymns ( not necessarily all the verses), followed by the offering and prayers.  My choir of superior Christians will sing one more, but you just watch.  Then my anointed man will talk at you for about thirty minutes or more.  Be patient, be still and smile.   Listen take notes.  Pray again.  Play one more hymn then dismiss so that everyone can be home before the Dallas Cowboys play.

(just kidding.)

I have alway really liked churches with charisma, huge projection screens, huge bands, awesome rock style music, special events, giant buildings.  I still do...but something is missing.

I think that maybe like the popular  "Happy Meal" with it's glossy box, special treats, and grandiose marketing schemes, American churches have perhaps forgotten that to a really hungry person, a burger is a burger.  We have become so concerned with selling our product that perhaps we have underestimated the power of doing things simply and sincerely.

And we all know where the best burgers come from... our own backyard grill.  

We need more than one type of congregation... perhaps there is room for an OLD way around here.

Background Check (part 2)

(continued...)
I don't remember the first part of the night.  I don't remember music or how Dave Roever got to the end of his sermon.  All I remember is that he explained a little about his life, the grenade that disfigured him and lots of talk about being "saved."

The "home run" story for the last night of his crusade was about a gentleman who went to a certain special church event with some of his prestigious man friends. He just happened bring his young son along as well.

The sermon was powerful and dynamic... and the gentleman's young son was deeply moved.  The pastor gave an altar call for everyone to come forward and be "saved". He said to the crowd that the Holy Spirit was moving and that anyone who felt that "tug" should recognize it as God calling.

The man's son stood up to good forward, but his father jerked him back down into the seat and whispered,"No! You are embarrassing me!"

The pastor continued to plead.  The boy was overcome. He stood up to answer the Lord but, again, his dad told him,"No!"

 The young man never did come to the altar and repent.

Then Dave Roever said that this boy never again felt that tug again in his whole life. He explained that he had missed his one and only chance, and that he died a sinner. He missed it completely.

I was stirred.  I, too, felt a strong “tug” sitting there in the seat next to David.  I felt an overwhelming conviction of something bigger than me calling to me, come.

I felt a magnet drawing me forward and a warmth in my chest like a giant muffled sob. I kept looking down at my feet and silently praying, "No God I can't!!"

The tug was tugging hard! But, I could not stand up.  My butt was lead in that seat and I stubbornly fought the urge.

I mean, I couldn't go forward! I was baptized twice! What would people think? The double-dunked girl finally got saved five years later?!  I was too much of a coward. I didn't want to be the "poor lost girl" that "finally found Jesus." I could only imagine the gushy touchy freely reaction and rejoicing from my congregations back home.  No way in hell did I want that.

So I sat there...miserable... Thinking that THIS was the real thing...and that I missed it.

I remember being unusually quiet and sick at my stomach for a few days after.  To put it bluntly, I was "screwed."

 The "Jesus boat" had passed by and I didn't hop on. No matter what I did good or bad, I was doomed (or damned) I thought... I couldn't fix it.  Gone like a birthday balloon...over.

Then, that's where the gradual slide began for me...the "wild' side, the rebellious behavior, the bitterness and the despair.  I decided that being a "good girl" was a lost cause so I might as well have fun with some "happy hellions."

My high school and college years blurred together.  I had friends from every walk of life.  Pagans, Muslims, LGBT, Atheists, any and all of the above could be my friends. I loved to be around them and listen to their ideas but they never affected my core.  I even talked about what I believed in a few serious private conversations. I hoped inside, "if Jesus won't let me in, maybe He will let one of these guys in. Maybe,they  still haven't missed their chance!"

My core never wavered. My church experiences growing up, the bible stories I had learned in the baptist church and the power of the Spirit I had witnessed at Believer's Chapel gave me an unshakable faith in God.  I knew that what I tasted growing up was absolute truth...even if I was damned.

So, this was my life. I had accepted it. I even hoped to squeeze in some sweet accomplishments before my date with the lake of fire. I was a dedicated student of theatre and my whole hope was wrapped up in my future career in the arts.

But, on the flip-side...

When I wasn't working on a project or at rehearsals, when I wasn't hanging out with my friends or working, I was suffering inside.  I suffered from a very very deep depression.  I made it to class, and made it to the show, but I was hanging on by a thin line.  I felt completely incapable of living on my own, navigating the future, and finding peace in my dark, lonely hell-bound soul.

Then everything was disrupted when I had to have my appendix removed...
...which lead to me taking an easy load my last semester...
... which lead to me living in Munday and driving 3 days a week to MSU...
..which lead my grandmother to once again corner me with an idea. She wanted to send me on a CHRISTIAN WOMEN'S RETREAT.

Do you have any clue, how many times I dodged the bullet on this before? I ALWAYS had a great excuse, rehearsals, work, finals...

...but, this time I had nothing to save me. She got me and soon I was on my way to and incredibly lame dumb stupid weird crazy wacko retreat and I was pissed.

But I went because I love my grandmother and I wanted the asking to STOP!

She and her sweet lady friend from the old chapel picked me up and drove me to the retreat.  As we pulled up to the campgrounds I was happy to see the trees and hills. Maybe I could make this a little less sucky! I realized it would be super easy to sneak off into the woods with my pack of cigarettes and put some distance between me and those idiotic holy rollers.

(To be continued)

Background Check (part 1)

This is about my background as a Christian.  

I was raised in a southern baptist church. In fact, my dad's side was a lineage of many generations of baptist preachers.  On my mom's side, my lineage was straight up Pentecostal and Assemblies of God/eventual Methodists.  I went to vacation bible school, Sunday school, and was a member of kids choir and G. A.'s all of my younger years. 

During the time I was in elementary school, my parents were heavily involved with the baptist church even inviting a couple of Japanese Christian women to come and stay with us for a while (one of my favorite memories).  

My baptist church was the picture of ultimate church perfection, pastel dresses, suits and ties, hymnals, offering plates, attendance posted on the little plaque up front, pot luck dinners, lots of trips and activities and an occasional week long "revival".

Thinking back to actual Sunday morning services, I had mixed feelings.  On one hand I had a bunch of people who loved me and knew me. I liked the kids stuff ok.  But I still hated sitting in "big church".  I was to sit still and listen because I was too old for the nursery.  Church equaled uncomfortable clothing, polite smiles, and the drudgery of old hymns, rambling sermons and sitting quietly still next to my parents. ( I usually failed at sitting still during church.)

Then a pastor named Jim Way and a youth leader named Keith Davis brought a wave of new energy into our little baptist church. During this time, the church was remodeled and a vigorous youth choir named "His Kids" began. The church suddenly had a lot more members and I loved choir. I learned more about God by singing about Him than sitting in a classroom.  Truths were planted that would not come to the surface until much much later.

About this time, a few individuals had broken away from the baptist church and started a new house church.  These individuals gathered for bible studies held in homes.   That's when they veered off the "good old baptist" path.

These good baptists got involved with teachings about the Holy Spirit, prophesy and (shocker) the raising of hands in worship.  They found themselves going a different direction and finally split to form what would become Believer's Chapel.  

My sweet grandmother was a Methodist but found her way to these home meetings.  Before long she was experiencing the power of the Holy Spirit.  She often shared these things with me when I stayed with her.  It seemed mysterious and exciting.  Sometimes my parents would let me go to church with her.  I preferred the chapel over the baptist church because it was less formal.  People were allowed to share and speak during the service.  The music was new and more sweetly personal than the hymns I had known before.  Before the age of 8, I had already chosen which "flavor" of church fitted me best. 

I was baptized at 8 at both churches.   Long story short,  revival preacher at the Baptist Church scared the HELL out of me.  I went forward and was dunked (Yay, church membership.)  I could now eat the crackers and sip the cute cups of grape juice with all the grown-ups.

But, my Papaw and Uncle were getting baptized at the chapel on the first Sunday service in the new building.  Of course, I would be too! I had dual citizenship by now. I was double-dunked.  But, I still don't really think I knew the magnitude of what was being done.

I didn't know that my "ticket to heaven" was not the whole picture of true conversion.

I still didn't know that something crucial was missing.

Then came junior high, boys, we stopped going to church as regularly, the surge of energy at the baptist church had waned as the popular pastors moved on.  

Then one of the boys about my age who attended Believer's Chapel (former baptists) invited me to go with his family to hear some famous  evangelist coming to Abilene.  It was a "date" of sorts.  I was too young to have a boyfriend but my parents allowed me to go because it was a churchy thing and we would be chaperoned.

The speaker was Dave Roever

The guy who literally had his face blown off in Vietnam.

His traveling ministry was a hot ticket back then.  He had a reputation as a wise-crack and had an amazing testimony.  His messages were rumored to be light-hearted and funny according to David's parents.....

However, it was not "funny" night when David, the boy I was with, his little sister, his  parents and I arrived at Abilene Civic Center.  

(to be continued...)

Beta Church Intro

This will be one of the most controversial topics that I will discuss on my blog.  I am sure that it will ruffle some feathers but it is the topic that I have been careful to NOT talk about too much on Facebook.

I won't go into great detail right now because my views are somewhat different from the tradition about church practices.

I will do a many-part series on this.  Because it is such a hot button issue, I will break it down carefully and clearly.  This idea has been stirring in me for over six years.  To my surprise, I found that I am far from the only person thinking this way.

This ongoing series will be about the CHURCH (the bride) at large and the buildings and organizations that we refer to as churches.

As a premise, am no way wanting to criticize or judge any church.  I just want to explore the validity of current and historical traditions.

I am asking you to think about "taboo" questions that maybe you haven't considered.

I am asking you to step out of the box and reason with me.

I am asking God, to show us what is of Him and what is of man.

I believe there is a NEW/OLD WAY to gather and that's what I hope to explore.

Let There Be Fences

Lets say that you live in a neighborhood where the houses and yards were open.  You and your family shared a common open spot with several other families.  To your great fortune, your neighbors are really good people.

Your backyards have no real lines to delineate where your property starts and ends.  The only clues are the mower lines in the grass.

This is fine EXCEPT for a few little annoying things...like dogs.

OR backyard BBQ's and the few occasions that their activities spill over onto your yard.

Like the time when the neighbor had a lot of kids over for camp out in a tent.  You awoke to find all your newly planted flowers trampled accidentally by "happy campers."

Or the dog that kept stealing your lounge cushion.

Or the retired cop that always borrows your weed-eater without asking.

Minor infractions can build up and resentment tears down. Soon, you find yourself eyeing the others from time to time with a bit of contempt, I just KNOW he has my sprinkler.

SO,  you put up a fence.

 You build a nice fence... just a boundary.  Nice gates, not especially high, but you make an effort to keep the side facing your neighbors just as nice looking as the side facing you.

Guess what?  Guess who's the bad guy? You.

When we set boundaries with people who aren't used to them, it can get ugly.  But we must for everyone's sake choose where our responsibilities start and end.

In every choice, there has to be a freedom to say "No"  otherwise it is known as coercion.

But, be forewarned...your nice neighbors might be a little put off for a while.

Build your fence anyway... maybe the trend will catch on.

Hello Blog-o-sphere!

Welcome to the Blog That Wasn't There...

Why this title fits will probably be evident in a few posts but for now this is post #1.

I have a post bubbling inside of me about the "ills and thrills" of small town life.  But, first I need to pay some bills, and get some design stuff done so that I can think clearer and BLOG.

Anyhoo, this blog is a place where I can rant about stuff that isnt appropriate for Facebook or polite conversation.  My goal is to get things off my chest and ponder the big and little issues of life.

Yes, I'm an introvert (like most bloggers) and this IS my idea of a good time.