Last night I went to a concert by the old contemporary Christian band Lovesong, attached to and a very short sermon by the highly influential pastor Chuck Smith, and interspersed with testimonies and quotes, including the old violin poem and Psalm 150 (emphasis on the cymbals), at Tucson’s Calvary Chapel East. My parents were going, and I thought that it would be convenient for me to go, and perhaps interesting as well. I could find out what was so admirable about Pastor Chuck, for instance. I thought perhaps that I could find out… and then… I didn’t know.
What I failed to take into account, because it’s not usually the thing one must take into account when going to hear a Christian band from the 70s and a sermon, was that a) I suffer from noise aversion, and b) I don’t have any 70s memories to be nostalgic about. Thus, a lot of their references were lost on me, or I only understood them as a historical peculiarity. The one that most stood out was *gasp* the Lovesong musicians were long-haired hippies with *gasp* beards who *gasp* had a drummer, and even *long gasp* a drum solo (which was good, but went on rather too long), and wow, they wore plaid shirts and jeans while (oh my!) the pastor was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, took alter calls, and baptized people in the ocean. The sermon is the same standard Evangelical Free event sermon: if you’re not a Christian, become one now, and don’t be like the monkey with his fist in the coconut; if you’re a lapsed Christian recommit your life; if you’re simply a timid, lazy Christian, give everything to God.
As I was tired, cranky, irritable, and all noised out after teaching and being around teens most of the day, I was inclined toward snark, especially on matters of outdated clothing concerns I had never encountered or even come close to encountering. Afterwards, though, I began to wonder: why is it that with events such as this, with a concert and a sermon, some lights, an alter call, and a church with a coffee shop inside, do I feel like a reporter who ought to try to write a review, and then I’m cranky if I can’t write a successful review? It can’t simply be that I don’t understand all the 70s references, because in Eagle River there were quite a lot of 70s references as well, and I thought it was rather charming. It can’t simply be that it’s louder than I would like, because sometimes I go to parties and whatnot that are rather louder than I would like, and I wander around looking awkward and lost, but I feel no need to write a review of such occasions. It cannot simply be that it is mysterious, because miraculous icons visit and the whole thing is rather perplexing and mysterious, but if I were to write about that it would be altogether different.
The only thing I can think of is that the gathering about the icon is an event I am actually a part of, perplexing and mysterious as it may be to me, in a way I am not and cannot be a part of listening to Chuck Smith ask me to give everything to Christ. That makes me a little sad, and a little more perplexed, and rather confused, because, not being really part of things, what do I do with what he’s telling me? Probably I review it.