Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

“Are you okay?” he asks, snapping me to attention in time to see a devastating amount of emotion on his face.

Thankfully, my armor of quick-wit kicks in, and I shrug. “Church, huh?”

He grins and nods along. “I get it. There’s a lot of pressure on us now, and it felt crazy good to have that prayer prayed over us, huh?”

I nod, not knowing if he’s referring to the opening prayer Roland cast over us or another one that I undoubtedly missed.

Jonah slings his backpack on his shoulders and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’m off to track down Water on Fire to see if I can score some practice sessions with them.

“The band?” I say, finally focusing on our conversation.

“Yep. My parents are hesitant about their music but, man, if they can stir all of that up inside me…I want to be a part of that. See ya.” Jonah turns and says his goodbye to Eden, who looks animated as he nods to the stage.

I should have had that reaction. I figure the reason behind my social awkwardness for the past two days is due to the anticipation and anxiety surrounding seeing Roland for the first time. We’d agreed to meet at the end of my first week of classes—before I would attend my first New Life service that Sunday.

He hadn’t told me he was preaching today. It wasn’t last minute, even though it was kept under wraps—as evidenced by the mere speckling of students who knew about it. But he knew. He knew and he didn’t tell me. I’m too distracted by that to focus on anything else.

I’m still watching him as various faculty and some students surround him on stage. Greeting him. Congratulating him on a job well done. Maybe I should have told my roommates about him. Maybe it would have been wise to have some support this morning. No. I can’t trust any of them yet. Not in a negative way. But…not with my emotions. They’ll have questions I don’t have the answers to and I’m not prepared to be that vulnerable with strangers.

Including Roland.

A thin arm wraps around my shoulders as Eden catches my eye and moves toward me. Bridgette, the owner of the arm, speaks. “That was intense, huh?”

I nod, forcing a smile. The same kind of zeal-for-life smile Eden seems to have etched in her face at all times. “Glad I wore waterproof mascara,” I admit.

Typically I don’t wear the waterproof incarnation, because it’s a pain to wash off. This morning seemed like a good time to apply it. You know, just in case seeing the man who didn’t want me stirred up an emotion or two.

Eden closes her eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath. Smile intact. “That was such a great way to start the year. I feel ready for whatever will come my way. Don’t you?”

From behind her, Joy speaks up. “It was good. The test will be if we can all stick to it. The devil is always lurking, playing with our emotions and disguising himself as the voice of God.” Her eyes linger on me and I have the urge to stick my tongue out at her.

I don’t like her, is my initial reaction, though I don’t have any real basis for that emotion. Except the sideways way she always looks at me.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Silas pipes up from behind Bridgette.

The crew takes a collective breath and nods, all in our own little worlds of spiritual contemplation.

“I’m optimistic,” Eden pipes in. “If we stick together and with God, we’ll be good. God is good, right? We’ll keep an eye out for each other and check in. Deal?” She eyes us all quite seriously.

“Deal,” everyone agrees. Including me. I make sure to eye Joy as I say it, forcing a smile. She offers a tight grin in return. Maybe we just rub each other the wrong way…despite having had zero conversations with each other.

My feet begin moving ahead of my mind, and I find myself exiting the aisle and heading toward the stairs.

“Where you going?” Bridgette asks.

Turning and looking over my shoulder, I say as normally as possible. “I want to thank Pastor Roland for a great sermon.”

“I want to come!” Bridgette shrieks, as if I’ve said I’m getting an autograph from a boy band member.

Joy huffs. “You’re just going to go…talk to him?”

I arch my eyebrow. “He’s just a person, right?” I question, pulling on what I know to be tenants against hero worship in this culture. “I think it would be polite to thank him for welcoming us.”

Her hardened features turn sheepish and she lowers her chin slightly. “You’re right.”

Before I know it, I have a group of four evangelical eighteen-year-olds following me down the stairs to approach Pastor Roland Abbot, lead pastor at New Life Church.

I have to repeat his title in my head to avoid calling him, “Dad.” I’ve never once called him that. Nor do I plan to. But I can rarely be trusted to have control over what flies out of my mouth.

I get that from my mother.

I’ll just go say “hi” like any other student. It’s just a normal day.