"Why is Dedra spending so much time away from home?"
It is a legitimate question. She hasn't been home much at all.
"Because she's spending all of her time with Drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier on Tybee Island," was the answer.
And that's true I suppose.
Every Wednesday at 10:00 under the Pier the Samuel Adams Band sets up and conducts a worship service for anybody who wants to show up. A lot of tourists, including girls wearing bikinis, leave the beach to worship God. Many are regulars at Bar Church, the Sunday morning gathering again hosted by the long haired, surfer looking, most cool dude on the island ... Sam Adams along with Gordon who plays the best harmonica ever and Davy the prankster drummer.
Then the city of Tybee usually sends someone to say that such services are illegal but it is hard to give God a ticket so ... until Shirley who runs Tybee Island and most of a tri-county area decides if God can be ticketed or not ... girls in bikinis and drunken Jesus freaks meet under the Pier and do ... church.
It is a blessed alternative to Steeple Churches ... many of which have gone corporate using multimedia, Happy Jack music (I'm knocked up, hooks on drugs and have a husband who emotionally and physically rapes me every day but Jesus loves so its all OK!) and membership levels on their forever expanding campuses.
Bar Church ... a.k.a. ... drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier ... is as far from that as you can possible get.
"When Jesus went to start the church where did he go? Did he recruit the top scholars of the University of Jerusalem? Did he insist on scholarly expositors who thought they knew how to be relevant? Or did he pick up some fishermen who smelled bad, a couple of ex-prostitutes and a midget named Zacchaeus? Face it --- Jesus had a zoo on his hands. If Jesus wanted people with credentials he would have chosen the Pharisees. Instead, he took the people society said were nothing" (Tony Compolo, Metro-Ministry, p.31.
It's a pretty good description of Bar Church.
And it's pretty damn holy.
Yesterday ... on the Pier ... not under it ... we gathered for the celebration of the life of Trolly Joe.
There were maybe sixty of us. Dedra was there. Sam Adams too. The entire Bored. Of course the family came from four different states.
Wearing my black robe over running shorts and Jimmy Buffett concert tee shirt I officiated. Micky who runs Trolly tours in Savannah spoke. Johnny O spoke. People laughed ... and they cried.
Then the military did the flag presentation to Barbara ... Trolly Joe's wife. They looked good in their olive green uniforms, sharply creased, precision salutes and dripping in dignity. One solemnly lifted his trumpet and and prayerfully played "Taps".
The entire beach stopped. Old black men stood and saluted. Old women grabbed handkerchiefs and wiped tears away. Younger men stood at attention. Girls in bikinis stood still with their hands over their chests. Children stopped boogie boarding and looked in wonderment.
And the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Then we took Trolly Joe's ashes into the surf. And we gave him to the ocean which he loved so dearly ... and which so dearly loved him.
As we made our way back to the beach ... a dolphin danced on the water ... welcoming Trolly Joe home.
Many of us drunken Jesus freaks who meet under the Pier laughed ... and cried ... and clapped and hugged one another.
Then we went to Fannies-On-the-Beach and toasted the heavens ... and the gift of Trolly Joe in our lives.
And when church was over ... we went home ... or stayed in the bars ... or back to work ... to the beach ... boat ... or made the run to Wall Mart.
But holiness clung to us like dew on the grass in the mornings.
