I wrote this a while ago for a school thing. Crazy Catholic schools. This
is how I figure Jesus would act now. Please R&R.
Moshing With Jesus
I was at a club the night I met Jesus. It was called Club Crucifix, which gives you an idea of what type of club it was and makes you wonder why I was there. It was a Christian club, and my friend's band was playing that night, and I was in the mood for a good mosh.
Nate's band is called Gocrifa, short for God-Crazy Franciscans. A punkish Christian band seems really weird on paper, but it is even weirder in real life. The members all wear black shirts with sarcastic sayings, beat up Chuck Taylors, and Goodwill jeans, the usual fare, except they all wear crosses, too.
But I digress. The club was packed. I mean wall to wall, solid teenage bodies. The way people act now, it was an amazing sight. No one was swearing, freaking, or intentionally hurting anyone else... It was like a Peace Corps party. When I go to a club, I'm not looking for peace. I figured that the pseudo mosh pit at the front of the stage would be more fun, more slamming, more head banging, so I weaved my merry way through the polite sweaty people and was promptly knocked out.
I came to on the stage, Nate looking down at me in a worried way.
"Hi," I said.
His face immediately cleared. "She's all right!" He yelled to the audience. They cheered appropriately. He turned to me. "You're on my mike cord. Can you get off now?"
I rolled my eyes and mumbled something to the idea of yeah, whatever. I jumped into the crowd and started screaming as I moshed, trying to get rid of the urge I had to kill, or at least maim, my best friend very, very slowly. I jumped extra high on a particularly dissonant cord, and was again knocked out.
I awoke on a bench by the wall, looking into the deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen.
"Jesus," I breathed.
"Hi," he said. "Do I know you?"
Turns out, this guy's name was Jesus. Or Hay-zoos. He's from Guatemala, and said that everyone is named Jesus there. He's kind of cool, really nice, and looks innocent, much younger than 25. We talked until Nate and Gocrifa finished their set and needed to get home. But the drummer, Chase, picked up this girl, a sweet little blond, and there was no more room in the van for me.
So Jesus offered to give me a ride home. I figured, why not, and Nate offered to go with me. I live about fifteen minutes away from Crucifix, but it took two hours to get home. Jesus stopped every half block to help somebody. By the time we drew up at my house, he was taking home two young prostitutes, a runaway junkie, and an abused mother and her baby. People just seemed to trust Jesus.
I don't know about the second coming of Christ, but Jesus was good enough for me.
Moshing With Jesus
I was at a club the night I met Jesus. It was called Club Crucifix, which gives you an idea of what type of club it was and makes you wonder why I was there. It was a Christian club, and my friend's band was playing that night, and I was in the mood for a good mosh.
Nate's band is called Gocrifa, short for God-Crazy Franciscans. A punkish Christian band seems really weird on paper, but it is even weirder in real life. The members all wear black shirts with sarcastic sayings, beat up Chuck Taylors, and Goodwill jeans, the usual fare, except they all wear crosses, too.
But I digress. The club was packed. I mean wall to wall, solid teenage bodies. The way people act now, it was an amazing sight. No one was swearing, freaking, or intentionally hurting anyone else... It was like a Peace Corps party. When I go to a club, I'm not looking for peace. I figured that the pseudo mosh pit at the front of the stage would be more fun, more slamming, more head banging, so I weaved my merry way through the polite sweaty people and was promptly knocked out.
I came to on the stage, Nate looking down at me in a worried way.
"Hi," I said.
His face immediately cleared. "She's all right!" He yelled to the audience. They cheered appropriately. He turned to me. "You're on my mike cord. Can you get off now?"
I rolled my eyes and mumbled something to the idea of yeah, whatever. I jumped into the crowd and started screaming as I moshed, trying to get rid of the urge I had to kill, or at least maim, my best friend very, very slowly. I jumped extra high on a particularly dissonant cord, and was again knocked out.
I awoke on a bench by the wall, looking into the deepest brown eyes I'd ever seen.
"Jesus," I breathed.
"Hi," he said. "Do I know you?"
Turns out, this guy's name was Jesus. Or Hay-zoos. He's from Guatemala, and said that everyone is named Jesus there. He's kind of cool, really nice, and looks innocent, much younger than 25. We talked until Nate and Gocrifa finished their set and needed to get home. But the drummer, Chase, picked up this girl, a sweet little blond, and there was no more room in the van for me.
So Jesus offered to give me a ride home. I figured, why not, and Nate offered to go with me. I live about fifteen minutes away from Crucifix, but it took two hours to get home. Jesus stopped every half block to help somebody. By the time we drew up at my house, he was taking home two young prostitutes, a runaway junkie, and an abused mother and her baby. People just seemed to trust Jesus.
I don't know about the second coming of Christ, but Jesus was good enough for me.
