INFOGRAPHIC: Philosophy

FICTION: Angus Dei

I’ve never been here before so I'm been spending the last hour or so walking around the complex.  I see the basketball court where I and a couple friends played after lunch.  I can see the back of the building where my room is and off to the west a glint of light reflects off the river beyond the road and catches my eye.  

I meander over and I notice something I hadn’t previously – train tracks; rusted and broken, they look like they haven’t been used in fifty years.  They must be left over from when the steel trade made this place one of the largest industrial epicenters in the world.  Those days are over, though, and I’m sure that’s how they were able to afford the land where the retreat center is.  Even in the aggregate, the combined worth of the churches isn’t very high, so they must have gotten the land and the buildings very cheap.

I make my way back to the gymnasium where I’ve been spending most of my time this weekend.  It’s where we’ve been worshipping and listening to sermons on faithfulness and “being desperate for Christ.”  I enter the brick edifice and it all looks new again.  I guess no matter how many times I enter this place of the course of this weekend it will look new to me.  Maybe it’s the light; I hadn’t been here during sunset, yet.  On the back wall is a cross and on either side of me are murals of Jesus in his post-resurrection, angelic form.  I guess to placate the Catholics if they ever want to rent the place out.  My fellow attendees of the retreat have all arrived already, dressed nicely in skirts and slacks and sweaters and button-down shirts.  We’re encouraged to dress nicely on Saturday night – the culmination of the weekend. 

To my right, I see the Southbridge group all gathered silently around Pastor Jay as he prays over them loudly.  Pastor Jay always prays loudly.  He is young and handsome, and just graduated from divinity school with perfectly coiffed spiked hair and  wearing a dark sweater.  Every time he prays he works himself into frenzy and many times he cries.  His style of prayer is a little intense for me but he seems to have real effect on his group. In quieter moments he’s very funny.

To the left, I catch the eye of my church’s youth minister: Pastor Bob.  He’s a shorter Latino man, with a serious demeanor but a very kind disposition.  He motions me over to the group who’ve all arrived.  They ask me where I’ve been after they all hug me.  They tell me how much they’ve missed me even though I’ve seen them all less than a few hours ago.  Pastor Bob has come to rely on me to get the group going as I’m not ashamed to get up and dance and worship in front of the entire retreat.  After I get up the rest of the group usually follows.  For now, though, the worship team moves slowly on stage as they play some soft mood music while the congregation prays.  I sit down on my bright yellow plastic chair, bring my hands up to my closed eyes and begin to pray:

“Lord let me be pleasing in your sight from this day forward.  Tonight I will give my life over to you.”  The music begins to pick up and I immediately recognize the song.  I look at Pastor Bob and he motions me to the front of the room the worship team is playing on stage.  “Go enjoy yourself.”  He says, “It’s your big night.”  I get up and walk forward.  No one follows me just yet.  Many of them are either still praying or too shy to get up when everyone else is seated. 

I clap along to the tune and sing as loudly as I can:

“Yes, Lord.  Yes, Lord.  Yes, yes, Lord.  I am pressed but not crushed.  Persecuted – not abandoned.  Struck down, but not destroyed.  I am blessed beyond the curse, that His promise will endure.  That his joy is going to ease the pain.  Yes, Lord.  Yes, Lord.  Yes, yes, Lord, amen.”           

Elizabeth, a pretty girl my age, who, herself is studying for her divinity degree stands up begins to dance with me.  We dance together in front of everyone.  We sing together:

“The zeal of God has consumed me.  My soul is so overwhelmed.  The zeal of God has consumed me.”

More and more, people get up and dance with us.  At first a few, then 20, then 100 and after a while 300 people are all bowing their hands with their palms pointed to the sky;  jumping up and down, dancing in the aisles.  300 people sing:

“I want to be a History Maker in this land.  I want to be a speaker of truth to all mankind.  I want to dance.  I want to run into Your arms again.”

The music slows down and little by little the attention turns to Anthony, the lead singer of the worship group.  300 people rock gently back and forth.  He says: “I want to be a history maker in the Lamb's book of Life… worship the God of all creation!” They sing:

“And I---  I’m desperate for You.  And I--- I’m lost without you.”

“Do you hear that?”  Anthony speaks gently during a break in the music.  “‘I’m desperate for you.’  How many people here tonight are desperate for Christ?”  he pauses.  “God wants us to lay our problems at his feet.  To willinglylay our lives before Him.  To be desperate for the love of his son, Jesus.”

For several moments Anthony hums softly into the microphone.  Elizabeth nudges me: “Are you nervous?”  she asks with a giddy smile. 

“A little.”  I say.

“You have no idea the way your life is going to change after tonight.”  She says and closes her eyes again.  I’ve heard what she’s said before. Tonight I am supposed to undergo a transformation.  Tonight I am to offer God my life. 

Tonight I am to be born again in the name of Jesus Christ. 

The crowd begins to circle around me and Pastor Bob walks in front of me.  “Are you ready?”  he asks with a smile. I nod that I am.  “Close your eyes and bow your head” he tells me.

“Do accept Jesus Christ as your one and only savior?” 

“Yes.” I say

“Do you reject Satan and all his empty lies?”

“Yes, I do.”

                “Will you live a life of faithfulness and proclaim your love of Jesus to all who live in this world?”

“I will.”

Pastor Bob comes closer and places his hands on my head with his thumbs on my eyelids.  He prays quietly.

“Dear, Lord.  Save this young person from the evils of the world.  Save him from the demons of alcohol, from pornography, from drugs, from deceit.  Save him from the temptations of lust and sex outside of Your holy wedlock.” 

Pastor Jay begins to speak up in the background:  “Yes Lord!  Save him!  Keep him in your ever lasting grace!”

The music continues in the background:  “I’m desperate for you.”

“Dear Lord, Keep this boy in your warm embrace for the rest of his life.  I know the devil lives, Lord.  I know!  Protect this young man.”

“Amen, Lord!  Let this boy be a dagger in the heart of Satan!”

And the music continues: “I’m lost without you.”

Pastor Bob begins to push his thumbs softly into my closed eyelids.  As he does I see a pale white light that becomes deeper and more saturated.  I can’t see but I can hear Pastor Jay and what must be at least 30 other people crying.  “Save him”  I hear a female voice say.  “Yes, Lord, amen.”  I hear a male voice weep. 

“In the name of Jesus Christ,”  Pastor Bob states loudly, “you are born again!”  A chorus of amens fill the room and Pastor Bob softly nudges my head back.  I’m tearing softly and I don’t really notice at first.  After a moment it occurs to me that I was maybe supposed to fall backwards.  When Pastor Bob again puts his hands on my head and this time more forcefully pushes my head back, I let go and just fall.  What feels like thirty pairs of arms catch me before I hit the ground and lay me down gently.  They lay hands on me and begin to pray over me in tongues  -- a language I have never heard before.  What must be the language of God.

“Shum maraco hecum.  Saecut merattaba morriseeco, Iosue.”

There I lay with my eyes closed.  The hands of my friends channeling the Holy Spirit through my body.  This is salvation.  Though Jesus Christ and the transforming power of Pentecost, I have found salvation.   Even if I don’t feel it, yet, God is now inside me.  After sometime I stand up and I open my eyes.  Everyone with their red faces and moist tear ducts lining up to give me a hug and congratulate me.  Finally waiting for me at the end, is Elizabeth – crying with a smile on her face. 

“Now all you have to do,” she says, “is speak in tongues yourself and you’re set.”

“I didn’t feel compelled to do that, yet.” I say, ashamed.

“Don’t worry,” she says cheerfully “it’ll come.” 

I nod and laugh.  “Yeah,” I say “I’m on my way.”