Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

Matt licks his lips. “Then came the best part of having a pastor-parent,” he says with thick sarcasm. “Burnout.”

Burnout. I think about all the ways I’ve heard that word used in my life. I think about workaholics and students and even athletes, when thinking about my stepdad’s work. “He burnt himself out in the gym,” Dan would say while shaking his head at the MRI images of a college basketball player’s knees. Also, I think about drug addicts.

“Turns out,” Matt shrugs, “pastors are humans too. They can’t guide the needs of the community without ignoring those of their families or, especially, their own. Eventually there aren’t enough hours at the end of the day or days left at the end of the month. If they feel the burnout coming, some will turn to alcohol…or worse. If they don’t, sometimes their kids will.”

“Are you kidding? Of all the people in the world I’d think immune to drug and alcohol use, it’d be pastors’ kids. I mean…right?”

Matt chuckles darkly. “That’s perfect. See? You’re the most cynical person I’ve met here, and even you think we’re squeaky clean.”

“I never said that. I just assumed your secrets and dark spots were in your relationship with God, or your belief at all. What happened to your dad?”

“Everything.” His eyes drift far away. “Look, I don’t want to get into it right this second. This isn’t about me.”

I tilt my head to the side and put my hand on his forearm. He doesn’t flinch. “Isn’t it? Isn’t that why you dragged me in here? To tell me this part of your story and why you don’t, I guess, want it to be a part of mine.”

Finally, Matt pulls his arm from under my hand and stands. “I’m happy you got to eighteen without any of this crap, Kennedy. But now? Now you’ve got to dive in with both feet. You’re basically the daughter of the King of Modern Evangelical Christianity.”

“There’s that hero worship,” I tease half-heartedly as I stand.

Matt holds out his hands. “We’re all imperfect. We all fall short. There was one perfect man who ever walked this Earth. The trick is, it was God, so…the rest of us are screwed.”

Matt Wells is officially the most complicated kid I’ve met—not just at Carter, but in my entire life. It’s clear to me now that he did come from a devout family, what with his in-depth biblical knowledge and all. But it’s also clear he’s got something bigger brewing in him.

“If I knew how to pray the right way, I’d pray with you right now,” I blurt out in unguarded honesty.

In an apparent unguarded moment of his own, Matt pulls me into a tight hug. “You’ve got a big chance here, Kennedy,” he says, pulling back slightly. “The word is out now. Everyone is going to want a piece of you and your thoughts. Like it or not, you’re a PK now and I hate to break it to you, but we’re counting on you. To stand up for us.”

His words make about as much sense as those lists of names in the Book of Kings. Except the PK part. And I’m not so sure I’m ready to identify as a Preacher’s Kid. I’m not his kid.

“Stand up for you? For what? Can’t you guys tell your tales?”

Matt shakes his head. “No one listens to us, especially if our parents have a breakdown. Just like they took care of us when they wanted to get close to our parents, they throw us out with the bathwater when they wash their hands of them. Just…please don’t keep your mouth shut. You’ll make mistakes in what you say, but that’s okay. Don’t pretend to be…don’t pretend to be one of them.” His voice is strained and his eyes are pleading.

I bite the inside of my cheek. The whole semester I’ve been tortured by this concept. And, worse, looking at Matt, I wonder… What if I do feel like I fit in with them? Will I lose him as a friend?

“Is it really us versus them? Who are us? Who are them?”

Matt steps forward and places his finger under my chin, lifting it and brushing his thumb slowly down my lip ring.

“Those who see through the bullshit,” he whispers. “And those who buy it.”

I should be processing his words, but all I can think of is the proximity of our lips. All I can feel is the anticipation of his lips against mine. We can’t kiss. Especially not in Roland’s house or under these circumstances. I wonder if Matt feels the same pre-kiss tension, if it really is tension at all. Maybe I’ve been programmed by secular media to think this is the perfect pre-kiss moment. A tense situation, the boy who’s suddenly my closest friend…

“I don’t know what’s bullshit and what’s not, Matt,” I admit, stepping back and breaking the spell.

“Good,” he says in relief. “No one does. Please, please don’t become someone who is so sure they know that they push others away from searching.”

Suddenly, his confused words start to make sense. He hasn’t really been talking to me at all over the last five minutes.

“Your dad did that to you,” I say, not ask.

Matt’s nostrils flare and he clenches his teeth. “Still does.”

“And you’re not searching anymore, are you?”

He shakes his head. “God stopped searching for me.”