There, He is with us...

I'm beginning to realize that my search for spirituality in Missouri is not, and cannot be, conducted solely within the church. The culture of Christianity is so pervasive down here that it stretches from the sanctuary to the university to the art gallery to the gay bar. Which brings me to Friday.

I was invited out by a couple from my grad program to get sushi, and take the First Friday Art Walk, both of which were fabulous, and went a long way towards making me feel more at home in Springfield. They also provided additional support for my belief that Jesus lives in Missouri. Literally, I think He might have a hide-out in the Ozarks or something. I have just never seen such in-your-face Christianity than on the streets of Springfield.

It's Friday night. We're out, seeing and being seen in the downtown area, checking out some fabulous art. As we pass the Little Theatre, there's a sign that says "Free Art, Free Music Inside." I'm so there. We stand in the back of the auditorium as the band warms up, and I'm thinking that this is just like college--cool hipster musicians chillin' in a historic theatre, playin' some tunes. Then comes the music. And the arm-waving. And the shouts of "Amen." And I realize...I have been taken. These people are testifying. Right out in the open! I cannot imagine a situation in Chicago in which you would walk in right off the street to a performance of a praise and worship band. I am floored, my friends are laughing at me.

We leave the theatre, and continue our trek down South Ave., where every block has a gift. First a table of people handing out pamphlets with titles like "Your Soul...Your Choice," and "How He Loves You." Further down, some guys with guitars are wailing out verses about Jesus' awesome sacrifice. A block later, the Christians are silent, holding signs that say "If you marry a divorced woman, you're committing adultery." Holy Shit! Where's the bus back to the North?

The art gallery, too, is steeped in Christianic iconography and language. Photos of people who have lost loved ones are on display, their stories typed and displayed below each photo, many of them talking of the ways in which God's love sustains them. T-shirts are on sale, with biblical references and crosses thrown across the front in trendy fonts and colors. This is like no other gallery I have ever been in.

After we leave, the couple I'm with, a lesbian couple, invites me to a bar to have a drink and chat. It is a gay bar. Though I have been in many gay bars in Chicago with my homosexual friends, I recognize immediately that 95% of the people I've met or come into contact with in Springfield would frown upon my taking this invitation. "Frown upon" is probably a charitable phrase. Ignoring that, I know that if I have instilled a high enough degree of trust and acceptance so as to reach the inner-echeleons of my new friends' lives, I'm doing something right, something Christ-like.

So I go have a drink at the gay bar in Springfield. The people are nice, my drink was on the house, and woudn't you believe it, we had a fantastic conversation about Jesus. Turns out, the bartender's girlfriend moved here from some other podunk town in Missouri, where she had been a youth minister! We all stood around for the next hour or so, talking about being Pentecostal, and being Episcopalian, and above all, being thoroughly fed up with the way in which The Church is failing to love people. Sure, maybe we came at the issue from different viewpoints, but we found some common ground, some Truth. Where two or three gather in His name, there He is with us...