Photos and Videos

Here is a link to some of the videos and photos I have captured on my visits to church. I also have some shots of Bush's visit to Louisville a couple weeks ago.
The next blog will be about my visit to Southeast Christian on 1/15, however you can check out the photos and video now.
http://www.dropshots.com/tsahkratis

Louisville Church Tour Part 4 of 8 - A Grief Mystery of Time

Hillcrest Baptist Church
December 18, 2005
11 AM

I think I am a bi-weekly churchgoer at best. I don’t even remember why I didn’t go to Church on December 11th other than my wife stayed home sick from work. Really that should have made it even easier for me to steal away for an hour, but I just went to the store and bought a paper and bacon and a raspberry Danish for the kids. To tell the truth, I don’t see myself going to church this weekend either. It’s Christmas anyhow, and a lot of churches are going to be closed, oddly enough. Hey, if they can close, so can I.

Hillcrest Baptist is really close to my house – just three right turns away. It couldn’t be in a more beautiful setting nestled between our subdivision, a horse farm and KY HWY 22. This church is just a big box with a steeple on top. Inside were 13 rows of pews (ooh, scary) with two aisles to break them apart. The floor and pews were all carpeted in the same light blue color, and red bows were everywhere. Up near the alter was a Christmas tree and a frigging pyramid of poinsettias. There were eight stained glass windows – four on each side

The alter itself was pretty rad with all kinds of crazy stonework on the back wall which made it look more like a fireplace. A large cross hung in the middle of the wall against a plain white backdrop and there were Christmas trimmings everywhere. I wondered why they didn’t just do the whole wall in stone, but I would find out why shortly thereafter.

I was a little early and there were mostly young people in the sanctuary when I sat down – yes, in the back left corner. Pew 13 – seat 1. Finally, at like 10:59 people started arriving in bunches from the main entrance behind the pews and also a side door near the alter. Most folks sat in the back, but they all seemed very cheerful and happy to be there.

A young man walked up to the alter from out of the crowd and asked everyone to stand and said, “Shoot, it’s almost Christmas, let’s sing some Christmas music. How about Come all ye Faithful.” “Right on,” I thought, “I know that one.” The room soon lit up with the song. Everyone was singing and seemed really into it. I was hoping that O Holy Night would be on the play list. “Hmmm… I wonder if they take requests?”

After we finished a young couple walked up to the alter and led us in prayer for this, the fourth day of the advent. I suddenly realized that they didn’t hand out any pamphlet or syllabus or schedule and I looked around to see if I missed it, but nobody seemed to have one. Okay, freestyle, cool. I noticed an old lady taking pictures of the couple as they read from the bible and lit the candle and I was pissed that I didn’t bring my camera. Man, no script and you can bring your camera? I might bring the girls to this church.

When the couple finished my eyes were suddenly tricked by some spell. A man was standing in the wall! Right below the cross in the plain white area that they didn’t add stone to like the rest of the alter. Okay, I finally got it. The cross was actually hanging on another wall behind the back wall of the alter, and I just couldn’t tell from where I was sitting. The man was the pastor and I wondered to myself if he was going to speak from behind the wall the whole time? I mean this would have been a good place to give a rad puppet show and I was hoping that at any moment he would kneel down and stick his arm in Jesus’ ass and begin.

When he started speaking everyone got real excited and sat up in their seats. He said that we were lucky because two folks were gonna get baptized. Nice, I thought to myself, how often do you get to see this. So, two folks walk down some stairs just out of view and then you see them and hear their feet splash into the water. They are man and wife and they are going to be baptized together.

He grabs the lady and looks her right in the eye, and like some kind of initiation into the crips, he asks her, “Bitch, oh fuck, bitch, do you accept Christ as your fucking savior? God damn, do you fucking know and believe that he died for your stupid ass and your motherfucking sins? Do you, bitch? (slap) Oh fuck, do you believe he rose from the dead on the third goddamn day and shit?”

“Fo shizzle, my nizzle.”

He then puts his arm behind her back and actually holds her nose and dips her in the drink. She comes back up quickly and uses her hands to wipe the water from her face. She is totally soaked and her hair is dripping all over the white gown she is wearing for the occasion.

Next the pastor goes though the same sequence of events with her husband, but this guy must eat even more bacon than I do, ‘cause he is a big boy. When the pastor goes to dunk him, he has to stop and then you could see him really steady himself and dunk the guy. I didn’t notice until he came back up that he was wearing glasses. Nice. To my surprise everyone then started applauding.

As the couple made their way back up the stairs the pastor toweled off his hands like a chef on a cooking show and then leaned back through the window and said, “If you’ve never trusted Jesus, God will speak to you today.” All right, I’ve been waiting all my life for this, I thought to myself.

So the pastor exited, stage left and the same young man walked up front and lead us in another song. “The Family of God” (that’s #386 in the Baptist Hymnal, btw). Next we did the stand-and-greet-your-neighbor thing, and wow, they really mean it. They didn’t just meet and greet everyone within arms length, but rather they walked all over the sanctuary, up and down the aisles, and seemed to say hi to everyone. I stayed in one spot but ended up meeting a lot of folks. They all had goofy smiles and seemed really interested in getting details out of me – “Are you new to the neighborhood? Visiting from out of town? Do you have children? What are you doing here?”

Shit, I was worn out when all of that was over. We mingled about for a solid 15 minutes. Now that I think about it we were probably giving the pastor a chance to dry his feet and put on his shoes and socks. We finally sat down and the same young man lead us in another prayer – totally off the cuff though, nothing scripted. He went out of his way, it seemed, to thank the lord for bringing new visitors to church. Then we stood and sang “Silent Night.” Fuck yeah, I love that song.

Next came the time for tidings and yes I had another fiver. I’m smooth. Lot’s of singles in the tray, but you know how I roll - a fiver. The pastor then came out and started with the sermon. He had some notes, but he was trying hard to make it seem like he was just making all this up as he went along. He started with a little Christmas joke saying that in all his 60-plus years he has never once dreamed of a sugarplum, and if anyone else had, well, congratulations to them.

He then transitioned nicely into another question about dreams. “Do you ever dream of a perfect world? Do you ever dream that you will feel as good at 60 as you did when you were 17? Do you ever dream that Football and Baseball players have to hold a bake sale to raise funds while teachers sign multi-million dollar contracts? Do you ever dream that the fat content in potato chips could be neutralized by dip?

He then read a verse from Galatians 4: 4,5. It was weird, ‘cause what he read didn’t match the text in my Baptist Bible, but it was close:

4 But when the completion of the time came, God sent His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, 5 to redeem those under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.

Basically he broke this down into three parts: Time, God’s Gift, and Redemption, although I still don’t know how any of this related to his dream examples.

According to the pastor God is in control of time and everything has been scheduled. “What time is it in your life?” he asked. Then we prayed and he asked God to help us prepare our hearts and minds and lives to receive Jesus – the reason for the season. He went on to point out some events in the bible that were predicted to the day to drive home his point about God’s schedule. Something happened exactly 436 days after somebody said it would happen in 436 days. I don’t know, I was getting lost and hoping he would dunk somebody else.

He gave some more examples of perfect timing – something about Rebekah watering a camel and how it was at just the right time. Nothing is surprising to God, blah, blah, blah. So then I started thinking about Hurricane Katrina, and the Beastie Boys’ Sabotage Ringtone I just downloaded, and the way my shit fell in the toilet that morning and wondered if they all happened at “just the right time.”

Next he moved on to Jesus being God’s gift and how even that happened at just the right time. I could hear Chuck D singing “Ain’t that how God planned it?” But then instead of talking about this Gift, he just went right back to talking about the time thing. Something about how the whole world was speaking the same language which made it the perfect cultural time and then he talked about Alexander the great in comparison, but since he was a man and not God’s gift he became an alcoholic, drug-addict and contracted VD. He conquered the world but not his lust.

I was totally lost now. I mean the pastor seemed like a nice guy, but well, he didn’t stick to his plan – his schedule – of what he was going to talk about. He then mentioned some lady who was on a Christian mission and she met this prisoner and told him about the gospel, and then a week later she bumped into his wife! Huh? Huh? See? That’s no coincidence, that’s God’s plan, G. No doubt about it. Everything happens for a reason.

He closed by asking us again what time it was in our lives. “For the visitor’s,” he said, looking right at me, “is it time to become a Christian? Time to accept Jesus as your savior? Eternity is only a heartbeat away, people. Somebody just died and eternity is a reality for them. If you’re ashamed of Jesus in public, then Jesus will be ashamed of you before his father.”

Dang, now that was some powerful stuff there. Pretty much daring you to NOT accept Jesus as your savior. Still, it seemed to be in conflict with the message of God’s schedule. I mean, do I really have a choice in the matter? If it’s just the right time it’s gonna happen anyhow.

We sang one last song and this time the pastor shouted like a carnival barker between the singing. We would sing, “la la la.” And then he would shout, “Who is gonna come up here and accept Jesus?” “la la la” “Come on up here and join me, and join the church and accept Jesus as your savior.” “la la la” “God fucking damn it, let’s go, shit, the lord waits for no man, let’s go, the train is leaving the station, all aboard and shit.”

Well, one thing is certain. God must not have planned for me to go to church for the last three weeks, or finish this entry until now. As I write this it’s Friday the 13th. Wait, Friday the 13th? 13 pews? 13 folks at the last supper? Holy shit, I’m comin’ lord, I’m comin’.

Louisville Church Tour Part 3 of 8 - Wash Your Hands, It's Suffer Time

Hope Lutheran Church
December 4, 2005
8:15 AM

I woke up pretty sick on Sunday morning and I did NOT want to get out of my warm bed and step into the chilly 25-degree air waiting for me outside. I went to bed with a sore throat and when I woke up it was even worse, but I didn’t go to church last week ‘cause my Dad was in town and I didn’t want to miss two weeks in a row – so off I went.

Hope Lutheran church is situated in the neighborhood adjacent to mine. It looks more like a big house or a small school than a church except for the steeple on top of the sanctuary. As I drove into the parking lot I could see folks mingling in the lobby just outside the sanctuary doors. Seemed everyone was all gussied up too in fancy dresses and suits, which caused me to roll my eyes and say “Fucking great,” under my breath as I opened the door.

The first person to great me was a young man who introduced himself as Pastor Lange. Nice, right outta the gate I’m spotted. He gives me a warm welcome and kindly asks me to fill out the guest register. He said this pretty loud too, and I thought for a moment he might slap a nametag on me or hang a little sign around my neck.

I made my way into the sanctuary and was handed a small pamphlet by the usher. “Fuck yeah,” I thought to myself. “Gotta read this thing before we get started, so I’m not caught unawares.” The room was small and yellow and felt like it was set up temporarily while work was done on the permanent sanctuary, however this was it. Only seven rows of pews with the traditional aisle down the middle and the traditional four walls and traditional rectangular shape.

A large cross hung above the alter with a banners on both sides. There were some candles and chalices and pitchers and room-service trays sitting on a cloth-covered table in the back. A chair – a lectern – more candles – your basic alter. I was early, so I took my now customary seat in the back left corner of the church. I thumbed through the pamphlet and to my dismay it seemed like there was going to be a lot of standing and sitting, and shout and shout out by the pastor and flock. “Ugh, what have I gotten myself into,” I thought to myself. “I’d much rather be sleeping.”

After taking a closer look at the pamphlet I noticed on page two a few paragraphs about the sacrament. Pretty much it said that guests were excluded from taking part in Jesus’ supper unless they were members of some other Lutheran congregation. That was fine with me. For a few moments I thought about being ignorant and just going up to see what would happen, but I’m not doing this to get in trouble or try to get kicked out, so I just left it alone.

Pretty soon the service began and we sang the Advent Gathering Song (words and music by James J. Chepponis) The Cantor (pastor) sings the refrain once then the congregation sings the refrain continuously as the cantor sings the verses. Well guess what? Fucking Pastor Lange could sing. I was pretty proud of him. There has been music at all of the services so far, but this was kind of magical. Pastor Lange is pretty young – maybe 25-30, so it was odd to see him up there in the long robe and long blue vest. I mean; these are the clothes of an old guy. I suppose somewhere down the line the Lutherans must have split from the Catholics, ‘cause this whole thing seemed very Catholic - very formal – very official.

The dude could sing though and that was cool. What wasn’t cool was that the song went on way too long. There were only so many times I could sing, “Come, come, Emmanuel. Come, Emmanuel.” We needed some more variety in our part, but oh well. There wasn’t to be much variety or spontaneity at all on this day. It was kind of like going to school and the teacher just reading out of the textbook. Every word that was spoken was in the pamphlet I received at the door.

Next Pastor Lange delivered the invocation and then we went on to confess our sins. This was very creepy. Again, everything is right out of the pamphlet – I mean even the pastor is reading out of it, although he tried to make it look more official by holding it in a bigger black notebook – much like a schoolboy would do to hide his comic book. Anyhow, he starts the confession:

All flesh is grass, and all it’s beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it; surely the people are grass.

Then everybody replies:

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the Word of our God will stand forever.

The creepy thing is the folk in the church sounded like they were chanting. This ghoulish monotone sound fills the air - very weird. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be safe, but then I see Pastor Lange and I know I’m going to be okay. He smiles sweetly at me. He wants my ass. (Okay, just wanted to see if you were asleep, dear reader)

So we finished confessing and we told the lord we were sinful and we knew he was coming in judgment and we have lived in darkness and Jesus Christ can we please sit down and Amen. Let’s sing the gathering song 60 more times.

Next they lit the candles and I realized that the reason this was so scripted is because it was the second service of the advent – a time to prepare for the second coming of Jesus. Pastor Lange then read a short prayer and told us to be seated. “Hallefuckinglujah.”

We sat down and then the Pastor read from Isaiah. This was pretty much the same stuff we said during the confession. We did some singing as he spoke, however there was no written music in the pamphlet, so if you didn’t know the song you just had to wing it. Then he read some more from the bible, Peter this time, and we sang some more and then we stood and sang and then he read from Mark and then we sang and then we sat down and then he said like two fucking words and we had to stand up again and then it was time for the sermon. We all read the Nicene Creed and then finally, sweet Jesus, the pastor got down to some extemporaneous speaking. For the love of god, thank you.

Wait, before I get to the sermon, I forgot to mention that kids are totally welcome in the sanctuary, but in the pamphlet it also mentions that there is a playroom if they get fidgety. Well, no one seemed to read that because throughout the whole service there were kids yelling and screaming and coloring and, and, well being kids. At first I was kind of happy about this because it broke up the monotony of the whole service, but when it was time for the sermon it was pretty annoying.

Anyway, the sermon was funny ‘cause Pastor Lange was answering some of my questions. “So why is it that we do this same shit over and over again every year at Christmas time?” Okay, I though to myself, maybe every Sunday isn’t this lame and scripted. He went on to talk about the coming of the lord and how it really is a big deal and how we need to be prepared and yadda, yadda, yadda. Not the message I was looking for. At the other two churches there was a progressive message for living. This one was just total Religious BS. Didn’t tell us much how to live or to be good or kind, this was total worship. Blah. I was kinda bummed.

Next they passed around the offering plate and I did bring five bucks with me this time so that was cool. I woulda totally felt like a dick ‘cause the place was so small and I really felt the eyes on my when it came my way. We stood again and chanted some more and I was looking for a way out. I even thought for a moment that I would offer to take the kids in the playroom, ‘cause some Moms and Dads were, but then I thought they would think I was some kind of child molester so I didn’t.

Sit down, stand up, pray, sing, silent prayer, sit down, ugh – okay, time for the sacrament.

Again, per page two of the pamphlet, I was not to partake in the cake, so I just chilled. More singing, standing and sitting and harsh words of the slaughter of the lamb and then a finally little prayer of preparation:

Lord, I am not worthy to be a guest at your holy table. But you are the friend of sinners, and you will not cast me out. This bread is your body, which bore my sins upon the tree. This wine is your blood, which purifies me from all guilt. At your invitation, I come rejoicing. Receive me, my Savior. Amen

Below the prayer in the pamphlet is another note reminding guests not to try and join the regular members.

Okay, so now I was a little confused. The good folks at Hope Lutheran didn’t want me to share in the sacrament because according to the pamphlet they wanted to study the bible with me first to make sure I was Kosher. However, according to God, even though I was not worthy to be a guest at his table, he would not cast me out. God invited me, but these people didn’t. What’s up with that?

More standing and sitting and singing and prayer and thankfully it was over. As I made my way out into the lobby some of the church elders wanted to talk to me and they gave me some materials and asked if I wanted to stay for bible study but I just wanted to leave and that’s what I did.

So, aside from the Pastor having a pretty good singing voice, this visit was really a drag - totally scripted and formal and exclusive. As boring and this report. Funny but yesterday I got a card from Pastor Lange thanking me for joining them for service on Sunday. It said I was loved unconditionally, but he didn’t mention the conditions for eating Christ’s body and drinking his blood. Maybe I’ll send him a little note asking why they trumped God’s invitation.
Nah, maybe I won’t.

Louisville Church Tour Part 2 of 8 - Stressed for Success

Watkins United Methodist Church
November 20, 2005
8:30 AM

Yeah, okay, so I didn’t fucking go to church last week. SOR-RY! I like to sleep in on Sunday’s and when I do get up I like to read the paper and drink coffee and eat bacon and watch CBS Sunday Morning. Yes, I’m digging this quest, this mission, this fun recon operation-spirit, but damn if it ain’t also a giant pain in the ass. Nice bet, Bill.

This church wasn’t quite as big as Northeast Christian, but it was a similar layout. The sanctuary was really big and angular, kinda like a pentagon, with seven slim stained-glass windows, which seemed more like pictures hanging on the bare white walls. Instead of stadium seating there were pews that were angled parallel to the walls and ran about 10 deep, with an aisle down the middle. Hymnals and bibles stared back at me from the nooks hanging on the backs of the pews.

I walked in right at 8:30AM and the minister was already making announcements about upcoming church events. Volunteers were needed – baked goods were required – and don’t forget to pray for Norva Erickson. The crowd was small in number and white as the walls with the exception of a little black boy in the back row of pews, who no doubt belonged to the lady playing piano.

When people saw me they smiled and really tried to make me feel welcome. The old guy at the front door nearly snickered, like, “Hey, well look at you stranger, welcome.” At the next door another old-timer gave me a warm pat on the back as I entered the sanctuary. After announcements during greet-your-neighbor time, Ms. Pam Miller was shaking my hand like she was meeting a rock star. “Looky here, Jim, we have a new face in church today.” Everybody seemed to know each other. This was a real church family.

The minister then gave the call to worship and it was a call and comeback sequence that I wasn’t entirely ready for. See, when I first walked in I hadn’t noticed the pamphlet that I was handed which had the script for the Leader and the People. It was right outta a hip-hop concert, except without the hip or the hop:

Leader: Blessed be the name of God forever, and ever, to who belongs wisdom and might.
People: He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding.
Leader: Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near.
People: For great is the lord, and greatly to be praised.

So sayeth the Shepard – so sayeth the flock.

Next I had to quickly fumble for the hymnal to find ..694 and sing an inspired bass to “Come, ye thankful people, come.” We sat back down and I thought to myself how this was about as generic and vanilla as a church service gets. It seemed so rehearsed and formal, and I noticed that most of the folks in the pews were sitting in the back. It was like a class full of high-school students who were there just because they had to be.

The minister, who seemed to be in his early fifties – very fit, and republican looking, asked the folks to share some of the reasons that were celebrating or thankful.

“Anyone, anyone?”

People were even giggling softly because nobody wanted to say anything. Finally, a lady told us all that her sister was in a bad car accident and she was thankful that she wasn’t killed. Anther lady mentioned that her sister just had surgery and was doing better. Yet another shared a hospital story and I’m getting ready to stand up and proclaim that I was pretty stoked that the Bears would be on TV at 1PM, when another guy finally stood up and saved the day. “Well, my sister has a new boyfriend that I will be meeting next week and this one has a job AND is a US Citizen and I’m mighty thankful.” This got big laughs.

The minister then called everyone to prayer again and asked those that wished to join him up at the alter and kneel down and pray with him. Only two people accepted his offer. Most seemed uncomfortable at the idea and quickly just bowed their heads. The minister then began to pray with some notes laid out before him. He went on and on and it all seemed so scripted. He did mention some of the folks in the audience by name and asked God to look after those that had just had accidents or surgery, however there were no special blessings for employed citizens going out with anyone’s sister.

We stood and sang again, this time Hymn ..697 – “America, My Country Tis of Thee” I suddenly felt like Jeff Spicoli, “Heeeeey, I know that song!” So far, after two weeks my favorite thing about church is the music. It’s fun to get together with other people and enjoy music and sing. A good way to start the week I suppose. I guess I’ve been going to church all along ‘cause that’s what the girls and I do all the time – play music and sing. The cool part about singing in church is listening to the ladies who sing really loud and in a high-pitched tone. The worst part is when they bring around the collection plate and you don’t have any cash.

I checked Jackie’s purse when I left and she didn’t have anything and I was not going to take money out of Olivia’s purse, so I just figured screw it. Well, it ended up being some little kid walking around with the plate which meant there was an old guy not far away watching every move when I waved the kid by with a “No, thanks,” as if he was gonna give me something. I need to be better prepared to tide the bowl next week.

Finally, it was time for the sermon, and damn if it wasn’t a pretty good one. The topic was holiday stress and how to avoid being worried and anxious while remaining thankful and happy. The minister mentioned that the time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day was the most stressful time of the year for most people. He gave four steps for being thankful in tough times:

Worry about nothing
Pray about everything
Thank god in all things
Think about the right things

This shit was straight outta Zig Zigler, which is probably why I liked it so much. For step one, the minister spent a few moments breaking down a scientific study about worry. 40% of the stuff we worry about never happens. 30% of our worries relate to things that happened in the past. 12% are needless health issues. 10% are insignificant and petty, which leaves only 8%, which are actual concerns. We worry needlessly about stuff that isn’t important and it’s a big waste of time.

Hear-Hear!!! This was cool too because right in front of me was a couple about my age and all though this the woman was shaking her head as if to say, “Oh, you make it sound so easy, how can I not worry about every little fucking thing in my life?” A few moments later her husband starts pointing at her and shaking his finger at her, and now she’s really shaking her head. It was all I could do not to laugh out loud or stand and say, “the devil is among us,” while pointing at her. “She mocks your words, Mr. Preacher Man! Shall we stone her?” Stupid fat bitch, uh, I mean – poor creature.

Next the minister challenged the flock in step two to pray about these things rather than worry – unload on the lord. If people would spend this time praying instead of worrying, it would take less time and they would be far less stressful for it. I think the Covey people call this stepping out of the circle of concern and moving into a more active role where you feel like you are actually doing something about your problems rather than just fretting over them. It was funny too, ‘cause the minister said that nothing was off limits. Car payments, post-nasal drip (he really said it), baking, whatever – there are no rules for prayer. This reminded me of the Saturday Night Live skit where the lady asks God to help her make a good apple pie and Jesus shows up and says that he and God are a little too busy to help her with her fucking apple pie, so fuck off.

What the minister didn’t say however was that prayer alone is not going to help you with that car payment, but I think this is one of those cases where getting people to feel more positively about their problems is half the battle. It empowers them and gets them charged up and ready to do what it takes to get the funds to pay for the car. I suppose that prayer gets you to make mental notes and form a loose plan. When I feel anxious about something I usually pull out a piece of paper and map out a plan. I guess the only difference is that my bullet points don’t all roll up to Good lord please give me the strength to…

Step 3 is about being thankful in all things – not for all things – but in all things. He said this is what separates good Christians and the lunatic televangelists on TV. I’m not thankful for my wife getting cancer or for losing my job. But I can still be thankful in those times. Basically, he’s asking folks to look at what they take for granted and be thankful. Don’t look at what you have lost, but look at what’s left. This is a positive message that I love to drop on people at work. Hate your job huh? They pay you don’t they? You have health insurance and vacation and climate control and a comfy chair. What is your problem, you have everything?

Funny, but when I got home from church I saw Deepok Chopra on CNN talking about the very same thing. So much to be thankful for, and in the times of stress and worry, it’s a great way to get yourself out of those shitty moods.

Seriously, I don’t think most people do this enough, especially in the good old USA. We take much for granted and assume we are owed everything just for being born here - the cliché tale of a spoiled rich kid who never learns the meaning of a dollar. We want and want and want and when we don’t get the littlest things, well, the sky is fucking falling and fast. I really try to do this, and all it takes is a few thoughts of my family and how fucking good we have it, and I’m out of my funk. It works.

Finally, step four was about staying positive and thinking about the right things. What you put in your mind is what you get out of life. He kinda lost me here, though, because he went out of his way to say that many people look to drugs and alcohol and illicit sex and yoga and… Wait, did he say yoga? What the fuck is wrong with yoga? Anyway, he got back on stress and made mention that the root cause of stress is what we choose to think about. Really, steps 3 and 4 are very similar. Instead of “Woe is me,” we should all be exclaiming “fantastic, fantastic.” There are a lot of things we can’t control, and to fret over them incessantly is going to kill us a little more each day. Sure, it’s not really fucking fantastic when you get cut-off in traffic, but what are you gonna do about it - it’s over, let it go.

We sang one more song before being dismissed for PE and I gathered up my camera and notebook. Ms Pam Miller came over and thanked me again for coming. She was on her toes trying hard not to scare me off, but I could tell she just wanted to ask me a million questions. “I don’t want to, to, smother you, but…” “That’s okay,” I told her, “what’s on your mind?” She asked about me and my family and why I was there. I told here that I was sort of touring churches and writing about my experience. Sensing she was into this, and not wanting to make a mockery of her faith I gave her what she wanted:

“See, Miss Miller, I find that many people don’t listen, they just hear. I find that taking notes during the sermon and then writing about it later and mixing the message with my own personal experience really makes the whole thing that much more meaningful to me.”

“Oh, can I just bottle you up and take you to my high-school English class,” she said excitedly. “I’d really like to read what you write about this experience.” I thought to myself how that might not be such a good idea, and really could be offensive as I offered, “We’ll see how it turns out.”

I made my way into the lobby with three things on my mind that I wanted to mention to the minister. First, I wanted to share my feelings about worry. About how even for the 8% of worry that has to do with actual concerns we are still wasting our time. Often we spend a lot of time worrying about something and we actually suffer much more than when the event even happens. I’ve said it before; many of us will have died a thousand times before we even get the chance.

I also wanted to bust his balls about dissing yoga. I wanted to tell him that; staying positive; and being thankful; and avoiding stress and worry are all good for the mind and body. However, being physically stress free, and limber and finding that stillness inside of us can also help to reduce stress and worry too. OM, motherfucker, OM…

Finally, I wanted to ask him if he had heard or read any Zig Zigler lately, ‘cause I gotta admit, some of his sermon seemed to quote Zig verbatim.

So I stood in line to say my peace before leaving, and then I noticed another line forming.

People were lining up to talk to me.

First it was Wilbur who walked up and said to another lady who was trying to talk to him, “Wait, wait, I’ll talk to you in a second. First I want to talk to this young man.” We exchanged pleasantries and he leaned in close and asked me to say my last name again, no doubt trying to find out what the fuck I was – jew or gentile. He couldn’t tell and didn’t ask again. He just welcomed me and asked where I lived and said he hoped to see me again.

Next in line was another minister from a Methodist Church in North Carolina who was in town visiting his parents for the holidays. He said he saw me writing and asked what that was all about. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I lost a bet, so I just said I was touring churches and writing about my experience. He asked if I was on a quest, or if I was a journalist, and I said, no, it was just a personal thing. We talked about Northeast Christian and he said they have a big slide over there for the kids. I didn’t really understand but that’s all the more reason to take the kids over there when my tour is done.

Before I got a chance to greet all my followers I had finally reached the end of the line. Well, I didn’t want to bust the minister’s ballz. I mean, I did, but I didn’t. So I just shared my feelings about worry and left. I took a couple pictures of the church and made my way to the store to buy some sirloin steak for tacos for lunch and some bacon for breakfast. I ate a lot of bacon after church and it was fucking good. In fact…

Dear God, please give my arteries the strength to withstand this recent influx of cholesterol. You who hath numbered every hair on my head, surely you have the power to thin out the fat that attempts to clog my bloodstream. Please, dude. (And trust me - I’ll hit the tiding plate hard next week) And, God, please forgive me if I pass on traditional services going forward if at all possible. They’re just too boring, bro.

Yours truly, Rob

Louisville Church Tour Part 1 of 8 - A Reading of God's Will

Northeast Christian Church
November 6, 2005
9:15 AM

You know, a lot of times when I’m watching South Park I wonder to myself, “How the hell do they make this shit up?” The answer is, they don’t. This morning I went to the Northeast Christian Church for Sunday Service and I had a pretty good time. It was part Rock Concert, part actor’s theater, and part motivational speaking - which was the only portion I was really expecting.

I haven’t been to church since I was a kid – St. John’s Lutheran in West Chicago, IL. I remember a choir singing and an organ playing, and I remember people sitting in rows of pews with the stained glass and alter and all of that. We did plays for Christmas and Easter, and we brought our envelopes of change to put in the collection plate. Your basic church set up. Well, a lot has changed in 25 years.

The church was really big, with more buildings than I had time to explore. The service was held in an auditorium, kinda like a place you would see a concert or play rather than a church service. It reminded me a lot of the Louisville Palace or Wiltern Theater in Los Angeles with the huge stage and balcony seating. On either side of the stage were great big windows that ran the length of the auditorium with mechanized drapes that could be opened and closed based on the mood of the moment. A team of folks worked the sound and lights and recording equipment. Seriously, I thought Ozzy would pop out at any time.

I sat in the front row of the balcony with my notebook and camera. I wasn’t sure if I would get hassled for shooting video and taking pictures, since they record and sell CDs and DVDs of every service, but nobody seemed to mind. The service started with, well, a frigging rock concert. Gibson Les Paul and Acoustic guitars – five-piece horn section – massive drum kit – huge Yamaha keyboard – and three singers.

Okay, so here’s where the South Park comes in. They totally rocked. The first song started out with a slow gospel feel but then quickly morphed into some 70s Disco Rock, which was cool enough. But it was the lyrics that killed. Oh, if only I wasn’t so totally captivated and mesmerized by they spectacle I might have started recording sooner and actually captured a whole chorus or verse, but what I can share is this, “Ain’t gonna let no rock out praise me. Ain’t gonna let it sing in my place.”

The basic premise of the song was that if we don’t get up and sing and make some sounds the rocks will call out to the lord, and, well, fuck that, I ain’t gonna let no rock out praise me. It was a serious get-up-and-move number. Right up there with Detroit Rock City by KISS. All through the song the lyrics were posted on two big screen TVs on the sides of the stage. Total karaoke action – which allowed everyone to sing along, and holy mother of god, I’ve never seen middle-aged white women rock so hard – many of them moved to tears.

Now, in addition to the rockin’ sound and the unbelievable lyrics, the folks in this band where straight outta the writer’s room at SNL – specifically the too lady backup singers. If you haven’t seen SNL in the late 80s or early 90s then you don’t know what I’m talking about, but these ladies just had the biggest smiles, patented 80s two-step swish, side-to-side dance move, and syrupy sweet voices – and they were giving it up for the lord. Jesus, why didn’t I get a close up? Again, I was in a daze. So fucking great.

After about three songs a young minister came out dressed casually in slacks and dress shirt with no tie. He welcomed everyone to Week Eight of Christian Boot Camp – the final week of a series of themed services designed to prepare the young and old members of the congregation for their mission as soldiers of the lord. Okay, it was then that I finally understood why all the ushers were wearing camouflage. Seriously…

Then we prayed and he asked for everyone to turn and greet their neighbor. I met Dan and his girl – oops, can’t remember her name. Then the minister asked for everyone to open their hearts, minds and wallets as the collection plates came around. However, he specifically said that they did not want any donations from visitor’s, just regular members. I had brought $2 with me, but nobody ever came by with a plate. Finally, the minister mentioned that volunteers were needed to do gift wrapping at the Summit, a local mall. This information was also displayed on both sides of the stage on the big screen TVs.

The neat thing about this transition between the concert and the theater to come was the music and the lighting and the sacrament. The drapes were closed, the lights were low and Michael McDonald from the Doobie Brothers tickled the keys to a light and lonesome tune. (Okay, it wasn’t really the gray-bearded doobie, but that’s who he reminded me of) I thought it was a little odd that while all of the members bowed their heads and prayed, that the light and sound guys went on with their cues and marks and flipping switches and stuff. Silent prayer just ain’t what it used to be.

So, all of the sudden a guy showed up carrying a big tray with a bowl full of tic-tac size bread in the middle of a zillion cups about the fourth of the size of a shot glass full of juice. I reached for a piece of bread and then tossed back a shot and put the empty back on the tray and said thanks. He gave me an odd, but warm smile and then handed the tray to the next person. Uh-oh, I guess I was supposed to take the tray, not be served like somebody eating horderves at a cocktail party. Oh well, I was feeling entertained and it certainly seemed like intermission at a show – so fuck it.

Pretty soon the lights flickered and act II was about to begin. A man walked onto the stage who I presumed was the preacher and he sat down in a chair next to a little coffee table and he started speaking. “Hmmm, wow, this is pretty progressive,” I thought. “He’s not even gonna stand in the pulpit or at a lectern or something?” Well, I soon figured out that he was performing a little skit. He was confused about whether or not to take a new job and move his family out of town. And he was hearing voices in his head. Voices that soon became talking heads poking from the curtain behind him.

“Boink,” went the sound effect and a head would appear and he would talk to it as he engaged in some self-talk. First a motherly figure, then a daughter-like girl, then a boss/real estate tycoon and finally a gypsy/numerologist. She was the best, telling him that he should sell his home, and it would sell on the 15th and it would sell for 15K above the asking price. I have to admit, I was slightly offended by this caricature because I consider myself part gypsy fortuneteller, and I have a lot of love for coincidental numerology. I mean, it doesn’t guide my life, but I have fun with it nonetheless.

Well, all of this was meant to provide an introduction to the theme of Day 8 of Christian Boot Camp – Knowing God’s Will for Your Life. The young minister Bart came back on stage and gave a pretty good sermon. He told a funny story, got into some specific themes from the Bible and then tied it all up with a personal story from his own life, before sharing tale from 9/11 about love, loss and god’s plan. He was passionate, likeable and made a lot of sense with only a few exceptions.

Basically, Minister Bart wanted everyone to understand that you can’t stay on your knees praying all the time waiting for God (they even showed a scene from Hoosier’s to illustrate this point). Ultimately God is waiting for you to make a move. He talked about the three types of will; providential; moral and personal. Providential will is god’s will. Simply put it means God is gonna do whatever God is gonna do. Personal will is about the choices you make based on the guidance of Providence and morality. And moral will has to do with God’s commands and this was the first item I took exception with.

The minister mentioned commands like not lying and not stealing and not fucking your neighbor, but then he tossed in “obeying the government.” What? I’m cool with the first couple commands, but the government is not God and obeying the government, especially out current government, does not seem like a command that we should always follow. Kinda bullshit if you ask me.

Again, overall, I really liked what he had to say. He even mentioned that although Heaven is going to be great, we should not forget to live this life for the sake of this life, not just as a ticket to heaven. Good for the sake of good. Take the path of righteousness for the sake of righteousness, not for fear of punishment or the promise of reward. Ah, a little bit of truth. I mean, we all know that there is no God, right? The concepts of Heaven and Hell were only created to motivate folks to do the right thing. If we had to rely on the character of every man, woman and child to do right for the sake of right, with no promise of heaven, the world would be in chaos. Jesus knew that.

Religion is the glue that has held society together for a LONG time. The fear of god is what keeps people in line. Just like a cop on the side of the road keeps people from speeding. However, the message of Minister Bart was one of transition. Moving away from the big lie to the cold reality of our fate to live this life on Earth and be done with it. We need to be kind and considerate and righteous not for the rewards in the afterlife, but in order to create heaven on Earth today – in this moment.

The time for truth is at hand. People are disillusioned and rebellious because they are finding out that Santa is but a dream and it was Mom and not the Easter Bunny who sprinkled all of that candy on the table. The truth really does hurt, however, it is the real path to paradise.

We should not lower our speed for fear of getting a ticket and paying a fine, we should lower our speed to keep others safe, and conserve fuel and make sure everyone gets home alive. The time is now to promote the idea of a finite existence for each individual that is framed by our own birth and death. There is no heaven or hell awaiting us upon our demise, but the fate of this leviathan – this super organism comprised of all men – that is what we control. Shall we doom this creature to an early death because our selfish individual commitments are in conflict with the potential beauty of our character? Can we serve the community and our self with balance and integrity? Our civilization can go on and prosper, but only if we are honest with the individual parts and we get them on the right path – again, for the sake of righteousness.

Enough lip service – especially from me, now, lol.

After the sermon it was back to music and a short message from an older guy who I assume was the main minister for this flock. When all was said and done I tried to find the young minister on the floor of the lobby in order to ask him about the government crap, but I didn’t see him. So I cruised out to the car and with the help of some uniformed police officers I was able to make my way back out onto Brownsboro road and head home.

All in all a good time. I give the Northeast Christian Church 4 our of 5 nails up. Good music, good message, and I left with a big smile on my face. When I got home I had the girls singing “Ain’t gonna let no rock out praise me.” And Olivia astutely pointed out that, “Dad, it sounds like you had a good time.” I started to say that it was funny, you know, like a joke, but I paused for a moment and said, “You know what? I did have a good time.” I really did.