Maybe—before I get into the story of The Korean Divas for Christ and Father Chee—you might want to know how I became a Catholic and a crazy-serious religious person?
Well, the only thing my father, Bob, left behind for me when he took off was this series of children’s books called Jesus Was a Rock Star. They were these big picture books for kids—twelve in the series—and each was about one of the killer adventures Jesus had on earth, how Jesus rocked the world and then got crucified for being so cool. These books were pretty awesome because Jesus was always doing miracles like turning water to wine and walking on water and even bringing people back from the dead, which is definitely a pretty killer thing to do. Also, in the pictures, Jesus was very handsome (sorta like Jack White of the White Stripes) with His long rock-star hair. JC always had an entourage around Him, He never freaked out when people let Him down or things went wrong—JC was always so very cool—and He loved everyone and went around saving people like Mom and me, people everyone else had already given up on.
My favorite Jesus adventure was when He stopped the crowd from stoning a hooker. You probably know that one already, but all these mean men were actually going to throw rocks at the woman’s head until her skull caved in and she was dead, but Jesus did this Jedi-mind-trick thing and just wrote words in the sand until the mean men noticed and asked what the hell JC was doing. Then—so cool, like a rock star—Jesus says that the person without any sin can throw the first rock at the woman. And then the men start to feel guilty and freak out and leave—which is the best part. Jesus didn’t even have to raise His voice, let alone throw any fists. Who would have thought that writing words in the sand would work? And then JC doesn’t even yell at the woman for having too much sex. He just saves her and tells her to live a good life, which is pretty cool of Jesus. No guilt trip or anything.
I still have my Jesus Was a Rock Star books, and the pages are all worn out from my reading them so many times. True.
My mom never really dug Jesus too much, maybe because my dad was big on JC and he broke Mom’s heart—shattered it—leaving her all alone with newborn me and an endless train of loser boyfriends.
So Mom never took me to church or anything like that.
But when I was in eighth grade, Ty was always complaining about his mom making him attend these religious classes about Jesus so that he could join the Catholic Church and avoid getting sent to hell. I asked if I could go with him, and this excited Mrs. Hendrix very much. So I started attending Jesus class with Ty at St. Dymphna’s, which is this big old church with killer stained-glass windows, ancient wooden pews full of comfy red cushions, and a massive organ that can blast your eardrums until you go deaf—St. Dymphna’s pretty much has the works.
Only the priest there—Father Johns—told the Jesus stories all wrong. Father Johns was always going on and on about how Jesus was going to be disappointed in us if we sinned or didn’t do enough charity, and the way he talked about JC made the Son of God seem more like a mean, pissy old lady than a rock star. But the one thing that really hit home with me was Father Johns telling us that we would go to hell if we didn’t join the Catholic Church, do enough charity work, and live a good life. That bit sorta scared me and made me want to join for real.
Needless to say, I was baptized, did the confession thing, had my First Communion with all of these little kids whose parents were good Catholics and therefore didn’t let their sons and daughters get to middle school before they have their First Communion, and then Ty and I joined the church as his parents watched all proud. Mrs. Hendrix was my sponsor—and she even bought me a white dress and white shoes for the big day. I took Mary for my confirmation name—not too original, I admit—and then I went to a big party at the Hendrix house, where Ty’s relatives actually gave me presents simply because I was an official Catholic now.
Mom didn’t come to see me baptized, nor when I became a member of the church—probably because of my religious dad leaving her.
For a year or so, I went to church with the Hendrix family every week, but then I just stopped going for some reason. I think it was because the priest kept on messing up the Jesus stories—talking about Jesus as if he were this boring arrogant person who didn’t rock, which we all know is not the case. I didn’t feel anything when I went to church, and I could read about Jesus at home and pray anywhere, so I just stopped going to Mass. I think I really let Ty’s mom down, but religion and JC aren’t for impressing people’s moms. True.