Jail Mass & Revival . . .

So, my church, Elevation Church, is having a revival here in Charlotte. They are calling it “Code Orange Revival”. Our Pastor loves the color orange and wanted to start off the year with an explosion. “Code Orange” is also a term used in various contexts for the drastic warning which puts everyone on edge to prepare for something crazy. So far, it’s working. Two campuses rollin’ with makeshift overflow rooms, people camping out and tailgating- to go to church. No, not a football game, midnight release of the latest children’s book turned blockbuster series, a Rage Against the Machine reunion tour, or an iPhone 5. A church service. You know, with preaching and worship. Coolest part to me is that is about all that happens in these services. I like all the production elements we do, I friggin love em, but these meetings are simply to worship God and see Him show up. He is. Every night has been amazing. It’s reminding me of the meetings I grew up taking naps through. There’s this energy every night in every room, even on the other side of town where people are cramming together to watch a video screen. God is sittin’ with us and walking among us.

Last night after the meeting I went to a bar to celebrate a friend’s birthday. While I was enjoying a lil cocktail a gentleman I have seen before lit up, ran over to me, and yelled to the whole bar, “I know him!!!”. He then told me he has been to Elevation on a few occasions before. He recognized me from playing and loved how we do “Praise Music” cause we “!@#$-ing rock the ^$%# out of it” (I adore people who don’t know the rules about profanity when referring to anything in the Church). We talked for a few minutes, even though his scantily-clad girlfriend (I’m assuming it was his girlfriend) was trying to pull him away. It seemed he had something pushing him, something he had to say, or just hear himself say. He told me a lil bit of his shadowed history- grew up in a poor Latino family, Catholic Church, rough times, the works, jail time, lots of jail time. “Things I did as a kid yo, you ain’t be talkin’ ta me if you knew”. He quit being a Catholic because his Priest was charged with fourteen counts of molesting boys, some friends of his. I told him (we’ll call him Bob) he should come check out the revival either Wednesday or Thursday cause I’ll be playin. “You guys have Mass every night?” Well, for these two weeks yea, I guess, Mass, sure . . .

Where the conversation turned then has been burning in me ever since. Bob tried to tell me I wouldn’t be inviting him if I knew what he had done and what business he is in. “Try me” I rebutted. He wouldn’t. He had convinced himself he will never be welcome in the House of God. I told him he was lying to himself. He said he loved when he had gotten over it and “snuck in” cause he could FEEL something inside, an energy, a warmth, a peace he has never felt before. That feeling kept pulling him back but he would have to stop at the door. “See dawg, if I went with Him I’d have to quit my business. I can’t quit my business. It’s been handed down to me from my Fams. My Pop’s Pop started this. I gots’ta support the Fam now. I’m the Man.” I asked if he trusted God enough to take care of him and his family if he quit. “Yea, I know it’s a relationship thang, ‘tween me and Hims. I know He’s got my back, I just can’t deal with the temptations ya know? It’s alls I know, It’s alls I eva done”

I got that. How much of what I do is just because it’s all I’ve ever done. Are my decisions to give up more and more control of my life based on whether or not I’ve been taken care of before so I’m cool with it or, I’m not cool with it because I haven’t been taken care of and had to “Be the Man” so I continue thinking I know better.

I told him, “Look, I’m not tryin’ to be a dick, but it sounds like it’s time you actually step up and be a man (don’t hit me). You’ve been taking care of things, doing what you gotta do to provide for you and yours, but maybe it’s time you do what you know you have to do, instead of the only thing you know to do.” His eyes went somewhere far away. He didn’t say anything for the longest few seconds. I could feel the room change, the air felt different, warm and thick.

Then a friend of his grabbed him to go to the next bar. He argued with her for a bit then conceded. We said our goodbyes, reminded each other of our names, and he said he would try to come out Wednesday or Thursday.

I hope he does. More so, I hope he stands up and becomes a man. I hope I do too . . .