Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

Roland nods. “I’ll work with Jahara on preparing a statement to go out to the New Life congregation. They’re the ones I have to answer to. Then we’ll produce something for Carter.”

I follow Matt back into Roland’s office, looking over my shoulder to see Roland diving into business mode, preparing a statement to be delivered to his congregation. I wonder if they’ll be forgiving regarding his omission of my identity—even as I sat among them most Sundays over the last couple of months. Regardless of my emotional issues with Roland, I never intended to negatively affect his career.

“Okay,” Matt says, opening Roland’s laptop. “Here’s the big deal.”

Over the next forty-five minutes, Matt leads me to blog after blog in the teenage evangelical community. I don’t know how I never stumbled upon these in my prep for coming to CU. They’re filled with amazing entries of young people on a journey to Christ and the roadblocks they face along the way.

It’s not the blogs themselves that have Matt so interested. It’s that every single one of them has more than one post on Roland. Since his rise to national fame, adolescents for Jesus all over the country have expressed either their excitement or nervousness about a relatable man of God, one who seemed more like their friend than fire and brimstone preacher. Once Roland started preaching on me, however, the posts looked more like detective blogs.

Posts spanning the last four years highlight great speculation over my identity and even my existence.

What if he’s making this all up for ratings?

Where is this so-called kid of his? Why can’t she be seen?

What if she hates him and she’s a drug-using stripper?

“Charming,” I muse about the last entry.

“They’re not all bad,” Matt assures.

He leads me, finally, to a slew of bloggers who support my anonymity. A lot of them are Preachers’ Kids who wrote about how they wished they could stay nameless and faceless in their own communities, let alone on a national stage.

“Leave Baby Abbot Alone” is the title of one post that makes me feel weird, given that’s not my real last name.

Another begs to keep my identity a secret with the headline “Don’t Out Her!”

“What’s the big deal with being a PK?” I ask Matt, who I recently learned is the carrier of such a title. “I thought it was kind of a badge of honor, or bragging, or something?”

Matt growls and runs his hand over his face a couple of times before closing Roland’s laptop. “That’s what everyone on the outside thinks. Like it makes us some teacher’s pet for God or something.”

“Doesn’t it?” I ask, trying to take the attention off of me for a moment.

Matt’s eyes focus on a spot on the desk. “We all start off thinking that way. Like, when we’re really little we like the attention and the prestige or whatever. It’s nice to always have people going out of their way to make your life easy. Giving you extra cards or presents on your birthday, taking interest in your life or how you’re doing in sports, or whatever.”

“But,” he continues, “we grow up some and realize it’s not about us. No one gives a shit,” he whispers. “It’s about getting close to the pastor, so they think they can touch God or something. That’s not everyone,” he’s quick to add. “But that’s not the only thing…”

I shift in my seat, tucking my knees into my chest. I still have my lip ring in, so I suck on it. “What do you mean?”

Matt sighs. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do,” I challenge.

“Fine. This isn’t for everyone, I guess, but…home life isn’t… It’s not church life, let’s just say.” The muscles in his forearms flex as he makes a fist and relaxes it.

“I thought Sunday people and Monday people were a secular Christian thing,” I tease softly and think about the old women in my church at home who sing with the best of them on Sunday and gossip like old biddies in their offices come Monday.

That Wendy Sawyer shouldn’t be lobbying for that cause…

Matt’s mouth twitches into a grin, but it falls away as quickly as it came. “In church we’re this family. This God-fearing, Jesus-loving family that prays together and worships together. That uses God to get through anything together.”

“And at home?” I question in a near-whisper.

“At home it was me and my mom and my two sisters, getting through life while my father attended to the spiritual and emotional needs of the congregation. The ones God asked him to serve.” Matt looks up at me with the eyes of a six-year-old. “He was never home. We might see him for breakfast if we were lucky, never for lunch, and rarely for dinner. He did important work, I get that…I do. But he missed a lot of football games and dance recitals. He’d make sure he was there for the important stuff, like holidays and birthdays, but…he was never really available.”

“Past tense?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“You said was never home. Attended to the spiritual needs…”