Sunday, December 9, 2012

Jesus Junkie

“And it was SIN-AH...that tempted young ADAM out of the GARDEN…OoooF EDEN, aaannnddd it was SIN-AH…that we live in today……DON’T YOU ALLLLL SEEE THAT?” 

                The converted structure where the congregation met, was once the Mecca of pseudo-showmanship in the form of an amateur wresting arena.  The arena was now used to cast out demons, say prayers for those who were suffering without the spirit, and a place to “tithe” your earnings in a revolving funnel that led to an unknown source with an inconclusive outcome.  Similar to an amateur wresting match, there was rock music, a 9 piece band in fact, with smoke, and lasers, and colored lights…there were random people walking into and out of the spotlight…begging, pronouncing, COMMANDING that we all rest our wills and desires, and put on the holy armor of God.  There was also...the “Main Event”-where the preacher took the spotlight and spoke about his view of the lord, and his view on what was an acceptable form of worship.

“Nooowwww…I remember, when the LOOOORRRRD called on me to be healed, at a MCDONALDS in Oils Dell, CA, MY HOME.  It was when I put that golden fry, that little bitty fry, in my mooo-th…and was thus visited by four brethren and THEY SAID “”LORD TAKE THESE DEMONS OUT OF THIS MANNN!!!”” and..I…ANNNDDDD I WAAASSSS SAAAAYYY-VD MY BROTHEAS AND MY SISTAS”

                Timmy O’Toole sat in shock as he watched the celebration of Jesus Christ in the form of what looked like a perverted version of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.  As the preacher continued his invective tirade, known as his sermon, Timmy’s eyes wondered in an attempt to scan the crowd, as if to get better insight into this phenomenon, of the effects of screaming faith at everyone.

Much like in a wresting arena, the crowd was the same here in church.  Hard core, on fire, in your face, fundamentalist, “Jesus Junkies”.  Timmy looked at Michael who had given him a ride over in the first place, and listened as Michael proceeded to shillyshally between praise in English, his assumed to be native dialect, and the more popular (and favored by the church) “tongues”.

“Oh Father God, praises me holy lord…RUBUKE MY SINS, MY SINS OOOO LORD….Jesus just come in……come into my heart…hee-baa-daa-who-bad-dad…shalava-blava, he-bo-da-dobe my problems...he-bo-da-babo my brothers amongst us o Lord God…Sweet God JESUS COME IN TONIGHGT, ENTER OUR SHALAVA-BLAVA WITH YOUR MER—CEEEY, O LOORRRDDDAAA!!” Michael would sing to himself, with his eyes closed and his head bowed in reverence.  Timmy was beginning to feel that Michael could see him and watch him with his eyes closed, and quickly continued his survey the spectators.

Timmy took note that most of the celebrants on this night were relatively young.  By the looks of their tattoos, the overwhelming majorities had spent time in prison, and were highly moved by the spirit.  The longer Timmy observed the crowd with its strange and foreign antics, the more Timmy wondered if it was the spirit of LSD that was really moving them.  Timmy remembered hearing about such churches where the congregation consumed psilocybin before the worship, and got would get up and dance and shout and yell all kinds of spontaneous things.  This congregation was not acting to dissimilar.

Timmy had just barely finished this thought when he noticed a man that looked suspiciously like Frank Zappa dart straight out of the aisle at top speed to bum-rush the alter, in a display of ego-less humility, and pious sacrifice.  Timmy stepped outside the pew to allow Mr. Zappa run of the arena.  The Zappa-ish man ran down and tackled the altered as he proceeded to pummel God himself, with his brand of worship which consists of bowing down similar to that of a Muslim style worship.  And after one man started to praise in this manor, then a second joined…and a third…the entire congregation was approaching the stage as the pastor prayed over their souls.

“Are you ready TO DO THIS Timmy?”

“Do what?”

“Accept Jesus in your life…to be ON FIRE FOR THE LORD.”  Michael said with sinister grin.

“I already have, in fact I’m so on fire it burns when I pee.”  But no sooner had these words come out of Timmy’s mouth that Michael’s grimace faded to a black, drab, and disgusted frown.

“Look Timmy, I couldn’t have been saved until I was born again.  You can be born again too.  It’s all about going up and confessing your sins and asking for Jesus to be in your heart, I mean you don’t have to confess to me brother, but someone.  Let’s pray about it.”  Oh no, thought Timmy, he was in for it now.  This guy is going to want to put his hands on my shoulders or something and start talking about how I need to be saved.

“Dear Father God, oh holy God, we come to you know, hallelujah lord, I just ask, I just ask Jesus enter our  SHALAVA-BLAVA with grace and mercy father Lord.”

“What, ain’t nobody goanna enter my SHALAVA-BLAVA that sounds nasty.”

“I speak in tongues brother Timmy, that is God speak for our hearts.  Now come with me and repent, ask for HIS LOVE TO FIND YOU.”

“I found it, its right here.” Timmy pointed toward his heart, but Michael did not seem to be impressed about this.

“It’s OK, I’m going to go down and worship, we can talk about this at home tonight.” And with that, Michael abandoned Timmy, leaving him alone as the last worshiper in a now empty pew. Timmy started projecting his thoughts about the future, and they did not like bright.  What’s a poor Irish Catholic immigrant to do?

The Saga Continues