It's Easter!
Attendance is the biggest of the year, collections are huge and orgasmic preaching is going to happen.
I learned about "Orgasmic Preaching" at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Preaching Class under the wise tutorage of Dr. William Tuck.
"When you're in that moment when the word of God is flowing through your veins, into your heart, filling your lungs and pouring out of your mouth into the thirsty souls of your congregation ... it is orgasmic."
"Excuse me Sir," I interrupt after his great delivery, "am I to understand our goal is to engage in sex in the pulpit and it's a threesome between God, the congregation and the Pastor?"
I don't recall Dr. Tuck's answer but I can still vividly see his face ... as I can those of my fellow soon-to-be Professional Christians ... who obviously thought I'd just shattered several Commandments, several Cardinal Sins and a couple of dozen venial ones.
Good Christians aren't supposed to talk about such things.
I've never professed to be a good Christian.
I'm getting ready for Bar Church and honestly I'm not expecting a whole lot.
I'm the not-so-good-Semi-Professional Christian in charge of a service where someone stole all but one microphone, the sound system sucks and our drummer's in West Palm Beach.On the up side, people who wouldn't be caught dead in Church bring covered dishes to lay on the Pool tables, there's freshly brewed coffee and a disco ball flashes colors throughout the Bar which smells like Lysol and stale beer.
The Baptists, Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Spiritualists, Democrats and Republicans didn't invite us to participate in the Sunrise Service on the Pier ... again.
All the best Christians fly onto the island before sunrise getting parking places close to The Breakfast Club before rushing to the Ocean sipping coffee in insulated tumblers to listen to old Hymns, smell the salt air, see who's wearing what and who is who before rushing back to get a seat edging out the other believers.
At Bar Church we stumble in late desperate for coffee, juice and Sam Sahr's food to fill empty grease and alcohol laden stomachs wearing wrinkled tee shirts and yesterday's jeans or shorts, our hair is askew from pillows or whoever we woke up beside.
We're not much anything.
We're not anybody.
But we are together ... sleepily forming a congregation of sorts ... some believers and some hoping just to make it through another day ... shocked as Hell we survived the last one.
They'll be no majestic Hymns, collections are a drop in the bucket and the sermon's anything but orgasmic as I tell a few stories hoping for a laugh or any sign on life on this Easter Sunday.
The funniest thing is ... well I don't know if God makes it to the sunrise service on the Pier or not ... we're not invited ... but I'll be damned if She doesn't show up here every year ... raising the dead for at least another day.
