20 years ago on FITK

Crosses and Switchblades

While a mere lad, I was brought to a very unusual concert. The whole set-up was strange, all of the dads in the men’s group at our church brought all of their sons. Usually when you went somewhere with a parent, you would sit with him or her. This time my dad said: “Why don’t you boys all sit together?” OK by me. The dads sat together in the row behind us. The lights dimmed, and the curtain opened. There was a rock band, with  a Hammond organ and a choir.  Man! Did we ever get a show.

After a while a greasy looking guy came out and started to rap. It was a sermon, but not like any the sermons our pastor delivered. This guy would go on about illicit, sinful behavior among the teen gangs he had ministered to in NYC. Crime, drugs, and, also, sex. LOTS OF SEX. Just what a pimply 14 year old (who had recently learned what the other thing his dink was for) needed. I hadn’t had much in the way of “impure thoughts” before this, but I was having ’em now—hot and heavy. So, about the time the preacher reached a climax in his sermon, I was ready to reach one of my own.

Then he laid on the guilt trip, and suddenly I felt this strange pressure on the nape of my neck. The preacher wanted us to come forth, and the stares from our dads made sure we did. We went up, repented of our vicarious sins, and were saved. They gave us a lesson book to fill out and mail in. It was the same one I got the summer before at a Billy Graham rally, and that one didn’t stick either. Years later I did get into a rock band myself—complete with singers and a Hammond organ. We were doing the same thing, but instead of singing “Jesus” in our songs we sang “Baby”.

You didn’t get a lesson book from us either.