Perplexity at its finest.

I feel like garbage. I honestly feel like I just got hit upside the head with a club, you know, one of those ones that cavemen drag around? Yeah one of those. My head is aching. My throat, yeah it closed up about two hours ago. Every swallow is a wretched bag of nails fighting against the contractions of my esophagus, clawing, digging. Hurting me.

It all happened so suddenly. I was wandering along, minding my own, scrubbing some poop chips out of some toilet bowls and then 'BAM! You just got hit with the sickly stick.' And now I'm laying in bed...attempting to rest, to no avail. I tried sleeping and failed miserably. I started watching Bette Midler in her smash hit Beaches, and yeah, she's entertaining and all, but that doesn't change the fact that there's a feral cat unwillingly residing in my throat. If only I could let him out.

If only I had spoken in tongues last night, then maybe the Holy Spirit would have a little mercy on my feeble body today, in this moment.

So last night was pretty unbelievable. I'm having some very mixed emotions and lots of dizzy thoughts about the happenings of my encounters of the evening.

City Bible was here at the ranch. About 750 people herded into camp five days ago and as I said, I'm feeling dizzy and disoriented about them. They had worship in our club room every night and I had been told throughout the week that I needed to experience it. I'd heard bits and pieces about the goings on of these said worship services, but obviously the cliche holds true, you have to see it to believe it, so I went.

Last night.

Josh and Shannon and myself arrived at the Round Up (our club room, their sanctuary) and found some seats in the back amidst the middle school aged kids passing notes to each other. Oh, I forgot to mention, the age range of these City Bible folks is predominantly middle school to college age, with some seasoned pastors floating in the mix. But we were not to be fooled by the uninterested kiddies in the back, because there were another 700 kiddies in front of us who were sold out for Jesus. And I mean, Sold Out...like you couldn't buy a ticket to any other thought bubble in their mind. Jesus holds their master bubble wand. Or at least that's how it appeared...

Until I hung around for a little bit longer.

The service started out with the most intense prayer time that I have ever experienced. And I loved it. But at the same time, I was scared out of my mind. There was a group of 5 or 6 people up on stage who held the title of Prayer Team...and it seemed their job was simply to one up each other. They would pray into the microphone and command every person in the room to raise their hands up to the Lord. They would shout and emphatically cry out to the Lord for about 3 to 5 minutes each and then the next person would take the mic and shout even louder, pray with more fervor, more passion, there was jumping and screaming, followed by....the speaking in tongues. The last guy to pray commanded everyone who had received the gift to pray in tongues. The club room was full of 750 people shouting, screaming, hands lifted high, tongues flailing about.

Is it wrong for me to be a little frightened at this point?

After the expenditure of prayer, the screen comes down, and there's a four minute music video of their worship team performing a song. A DVD promotion if you will..

And then the worship begins. The worship team is composed of about 78 people. There are drummers, guitarists, bassists, pianists, vocalists, contortionists, and maybe a few exorcists. Ok. there might not have been 78, but you get my drift. The stage was swarming with "worship leaders" and I put that in quotes because I'm not sure they all deserved the title. There was one guy on the end whom I'm certain had a microphone that was intentionally muted. His face contorted fiercely as he sang but I couldn't hear a word. Perhaps it was the 750 raging kids in front of me, jumping now, jumping and screaming and sweating, hair swinging and slapping with the violent motions of their bodies, perhaps it was that commotion that kept me from not only hearing mute boy on the end, but from experiencing the Holy Spirit that each of the seven pastors had proclaimed was present every time they took the stage.

But then something happened. Something pretty transcendental.

I don't think it was coincidence that I ended up at worship with Shannon and Josh. Josh whom I had major beef with at the beginning of this year due to his biting sense of humor, and Shannon whom I know the least out of all of my roommates here at camp, despite the fact that I share a small group with her. I don't think it was coincidence that I stood in the middle of them during this outrageously charismatic worship service.

I've always been hesitant about raising my hands up in worship. This year I've gotten pretty comfortable with lifting them palms up, supine if you will, but elbows tucked safely at my sides. Sorta half-assed if you ask me. Like, hey God, here's what I have, but I'm still gonna hold it pretty close to me, heaven forbid my elbows should leave the comfort of their nest built on the brim of my love handles.

But this night was different. I've never lifted my hands up, fingers extended, arms outstretched, completely exposed and vulnerable, in utter surrender to the Lord, but this night, this night I did. A crowd of 750 people doing something that your heart longs to do as well, well that's just peer pressure at its finest.

And low and behold, as I relinquished all vanities and did exactly what my heart longed for, I legitimately felt the Holy Spirit moving in me. He moved in Josh and Shannon as well as I turned to either side and witnessed their hands in the ayer air ayer as well. It was neat to worship with utter abandon with the two people I least expected. God is moving.

After worship their was more prayer. And more prayer in tongues. The pastor did an all call asking for those who have never spoken in tongues to reach out to the Lord, to lift their hands up, because those who ask will receive. I looked at Josh and said, "I'm scared." And then I raised my hands. Then Josh and Shannon did as well and immediately we had about 10 people gathered around us, maybe more. Apparently there's some rule about those who can speak in tongues not being able to pray over those of the opposite sex, because 9 of the 10 people around us were men, and so they all laid hands on Josh, while the solitary female laid one hand on both Shannon and me. The girl proceeded to pray in tongues, and then interpreted for us. Her tone continued to escalate until she was shouting at us to release our doubts and to not be scared, to just speak what the Lord was putting into our brains.

I'm sorry. But I just don't have the gift. I do believe in it. I believe that the gift of speaking in tongues exists. But I believe it's just that, a gift. A gift not bestowed upon all of God's children, but a select few. And I am not one of the few. So although that anonymous woman prayed her little heart out, that doesn't change the fact that Shannon and I just don't have the gift.

But it was quite the experience nonetheless and I wouldn't trade it an for any amount of Pokemon cards or Pogs that you try to offer me, no matter how valuable you claim them to be. I don't think the novelty of being prayed over in tongues can ever wear off.

And as I try and sort through these dizzy thoughts and emotions, I keep coming back to the amount of admiration, ovation, acclamation that the pastors of this church receives. The congregation chants their names, dotes on their every word. And there are several of them. A pack of pastors, leading all the little lambkins Beyond, as their token word of the week proclaims. Each pastor has a personal assistant, and a gaggle of girls swarming around them at all times. They have pastoral parties with wine and cheese and suits and ties. They have $800 snack bar tabs that I'm certain are paid for with the tithes of their myriad minions. It just seems a little fishy that the pastors hold a little more clout than the Creator. Perhaps there's a little too much man worship for my liking.

Nevertheless God moves in the silliest of ways, and last night he moved through my hips and out my fingertips as I danced and sang and shouted to the Lord, rejoicing in the gift of voice, of movement, of free will.

But I still feel like garbage in this moment. Perhaps I'll try to sleep again.

Good night.