Please keep your hands in the ride at all times.

I think I was molested by the Holy Spirit tonight.

Let me set the scene.

6:45pm, the main auditorium at James River is dark, worship music plays as a backdrop to the prayers of the punctual faithful. I slide into my usual seat in the third row, center, past a man who is beaming widely as I try gracefully to not end up in his lap (I'm thinkin' accidental premarital lap-sitting is not kosher here). As I slide by, I gesture to the seat two down from him, and ask if anyone is sitting there. He practically shouts back "You are!" More awkward beaming. He seems nice. And excited. This guy has enthusiasm coming out of every mentionable orifice of his body. He's practically vibrating with joy. Definitely one of those people on the airplane who will catch you in an endless conversation about cats, and Disney World, and Max Lucado.

The service begins, and we're singing. I love singing worship songs. Though I probably look like a presbyterian, the musical worship is the most emotionally-engaging segment of the services for me. Also, I am becoming more comfortable with the whooping, and hollaring, and arm-waving of which I have previously blogged. So things are going well. And then the Disney extra starts screaming. Shouting, screaming, crying, laughing. He's up, he's down, he's doubled over the seat in front of him, sobbing. Then he's waving his arms, and clapping.

I. am. shocked. The first time he screamed, and sank to the floor, I think I audibly gasped the words, "Oh, Father" in a sort of silent prayer for deliverance. I blinked, and found myself in the same place, so I guess God saw fit to have me stay put. I then started a debate with myself over whether God would ever see fit to zap a cocktail into my hand. He didn't, despite fervent prayer, so...

A few songs later, we break into small groups to pray. My group is comprised of Disney, and a kind-looking older couple named Krissy and Ray. Krissy and Ray ask that we pray for their sons to come to the Lord. I pray for the Lord to give me greater acceptance of people who are different than me (yep, sure did). And Disney gives a highly-energetic, and consequently mostly unintelligible, monologue about a college, and a job, and something about a mop. He follows that by another only slightly more intelligible diatribe about "lifting up our children." We begin to pray. Disney's impassioned pleas go on and on, with increasing intensity. Finally, he stops, and Ray picks up the intensity, and continues to climb.

Let me point out that at this point, the intensity is downright feverish. Ray is almost shouting out his prayers for me, with a chorus of loudly hissed "amens" and "yes lords" from Krissy and Disney. Then, suddenly, he grabs my forehead, and really starts belting it out. "Ohhhh, Lord, Father, Sweet Jesus, guard this child of yours, and lead her heart to your spirit...Ohhhhh Lord." His fingers tighten around my skull as his prayers grow in passion. Krissy's hand is on my back. "Oh yes, Lord, help her." Disney, meanwhile, begins to laugh hysterically. I mean, laugh hysterically. I can hear him, with my eyes closed, bend over, he's laughing so hard.

I. am. wigged. Two people are physically touching me. The third is having a mental breakdown in front of me. All of them are shouting out prayers like Jesus himself is passing down the aisle. I'm standing in the middle of all of this, trying to wipe the "I had botched plastic surgery, and am now permanently surprised" look from my face. Pandemonium. I recovered my face well enough to smile, and thank them.

It'll be a few days before I can fully process this.