That last year at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel I was burned out. Not yet thirty and burned out as a professional Christian. Fame had come quickly and I was in magazines, on television shows and was invited across the country to speak in front of large crowds. A little broken down inner-city congregation had become this show case of what “church” can be.
I’d grown cynical about it all. The Baptists just wanted bigger numbers and I delivered. But they didn’t like how I did it. Homelessness, AIDS and Salvadorian refugees kept me in the newspapers and the Baptists didn’t believe in these things.
The last year was just a chore. I had become known as an unorthodox preacher who would say mostly anything. And I had a style. It’s a great job when you get to be the center of the universe for twenty minutes every Sunday speaking on God’s behalf. Like most preachers, I relished that time … Orgasmic preaching where you really the only one getting off.
I had groupies. God’s name was used in multiple ways; some more heavenly than others.
My grandfather, Rev. Ira Carver remains one of my heroes though he is long dead. He would come to Louisville often to visit me and I remember him talking to me once about it all. He told me that too much had come to me too quickly. He told me to be careful. Temptation was everywhere. Then he put his arm me and told me that he loved me and that he always would. No matter what!
He knew before I knew.
I would sit in my office prior to Church listening to the Eagles sing “The Last Resort”.
And you can see them there
On Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about
What it’s like up there
They call it Paradise
I don’t know why
You call some place Paradise
Kiss it goodbye
I’d listen to it over and over sitting in the dark of an office full of books and bars on the windows. I was sad. But there were these people that I’d come to love. Homeless people ... people who had discovered AIDS and were wasting away in front of me ... these little old ladies who should have been dead but they refused to die … and these crazy Seminary students who believed that we could change the world RIGHT NOW!
This had been my world for seven years or so. My children Jeremy and Kristen were born into this world. Chelsea came later and it is fascinating to me to see how she is different from the other two. Chelsea is more withdrawn, speculative and suspicious. Jeremy and Kristen are comfortable anywhere and anytime. Homeless people raised them. They touched AIDS when we were told you could catch just breathing air.
Chelsea has broken out of her … circumspect. We just finished talking. She’s in Italy and I’m in St. Martin. She’s engaged to Sam whom I love. I’m suddenly single. Unlike her brother and sister she is a beach baby and was trying to impress me with her Italian tan. I reminded her that she has tan lines. I don’t.
There is a six hour time difference between us and Sam has just gotten online so Dad gets bumped for someone more important. So this song keeps running through my brain. “Call some place paradise, kiss it goodbye.”
Then my Granddad comes back from the dead and visits me in Paradise just to tell me that he will always love me no matter what I did.
He makes me remember the great and the horrible of the things that I’ve done. And I can see him smile his Impish grin.
Hummingbirds startle me. They are suddenly everywhere. They are lite and dart from the Palm Trees and my heart is filled with love. I watch smiling a Mona Lisa smile. I find myself wishing.
And I thank my Granddad and God at the same time. I’m in Paradise. And I blow kisses to what has been … but more …to what will be. Because what will be is everything that I was born to become.
