Everybody Hurts

"Welcome to the Tybee Church!" proclaimed the sign that was taped over the door to the Wind Rose Cafe in the middle of the combat zone full of bars and tee shirt shops, a half a block from the sea.

"Mayberry By the Sea" it read underneath, through when I wrote "Running With the Dolphins" I called it Mayberry on Acid.

"Flip Flops and Smokers Wecome" it finished with a flurry.

The Church is the brain child of Sam Adams and Gordon who are musical staples on the island. Sam had been badgering me for months to come and "bring the word" so yesterday, I did. The dark bar had somehow been tranformed into a church with votive candles everywhere. Sam was on an electronic keyboard. Beside him was a large screen with the words to praise music on it.

(A Confession: I am not a fan of Praise Music, or Happy Jack as I call it. The music may be ok but the theology of most is simply horrible. "My husband beats me, my kids hate me, I've lost everything but Jesus loves me and it's OK!")

Anyway long haired Sam is about as cool as they come on the island and the smile never leaves his face and I was greeted warmly.

Gordon, who resembles an older version of Wolfman Jack was seated on a bar stool, blowing into his harmonica. It was surreal.

At five minutes after 11 about 35 people filled the bar and Sam and Gordon played and sang. All of my friends from the Breakfast Club wanted to attend but they had to work except Patti who showed up. It was an ecclectic crowd most of whom I recognized from the island.

Then I was introduced and talked about the time Jesus met a crazed mentally ill person in a graveyard after taking a boat ride. I mean this is exactly the kind of thing that happens on Tybee every day. Everybody there seemed to understand everything that I was saying as they drank coffee, orange juice or smoked.

And I talked about how everybody hurts (to steal a line from R.E.M.). We just choose to deal with it in different ways. Some are honest and speak it out loud while most cover it up. The miracle in the Biblical story (Luke 8:26-39 if you want to read it for yourself) is that after this dirty, naked, broken hand-cuffs, mentally ill person screams at him, Jesus sticks out his hand and says "Hey! My name's Jesus. What's yours?"

Most of us would have run.

Or called the police.

But the point is that we are all we have to get one another through hurt and disappointment. And we either help one another or we don't. And we either take advantage of the help that is offered or we don't.

When I finished they clapped and the bartender started getting ready for the 12:30 opening of the bar and there was a lot of hugging and such but church was over and the party was about to begin.

Afterwards Patti, who is from Texas where the religion is really screwed up, wanted to discuss theology. So we did on the pier. Johnny O and Trolley Joe fled over the subject matter. Sam Adams on the other hand, showed up with a band and put on a concert for free.

Then the beach was crowded and I was tired so I rode my bike home for the refuge of my beloved back deck. I talked to a few folks and some dear friends dropped by and I wrote a little.

The Breakfast Club was celebrating the birth of one of their own at Huck-A-Poo's and I made the decision to attend. So I drove my car to the far side of the island, a whole 1.3 miles away, noting that I never really come to this side of the world. My geography has become very small.

Huck-A-Poo's was packed and everyone there seemed to be from Savannah and they all knew me. "Hey Micheal! Tell me about your retirement!

" Hey, can you get my son in the Health Center?"

"Micheal! Can I ask you a confidential question?"

Suddenly, I was exhausted. In the past, I would have worked the crowd and answered every question. I would have made notes and followed up on everything first thing this morning.
But this is not the past.

I left after only a couple of minutes.

And I went to the beach and watched the full moon rise over an ocean filled with phosphorus, meaning that the water reflects it back and the moon appears to be rising from above the ocean and below it at the same time.

It is a most incredible sight.

I prayed that I was forgiven for whatever it was I did when I left the party tonight or for whatever it was that I had not done. Even Jesus turned his back on the mobs wanting healing to flee on a boat for some peace and quiet.

I concentrated on the moon and the water and the holiness of it all. In the background I could hear the police cars racing down Butler Avenue to handle whatever mess was happening back there. I heard yelling and laughing and cursing from somewhere else.

But I wasn't there. I was with the moon and the sea and the phosphorus and the still small place where God sometimes makes house calls.

I am where I need to be.