Alice in Jesusland

There are times living in a large city where you fall down the rabbit hole. A friend once woke to find himself on the bathroom floor of a mansion in Georgetown after spending the night trading vodka shots with a bunch of old Russian men who didn't speak much English and he didn't remember meeting in the first place. The Moscow Incident came to mind as I stood Friday night with a raucous college gospel choir exhorting me to give my life to Jesus. For the record, Jesus and I are on fine terms, potentially afterlife-altering doubts aside. But at the urging of a friend who had seen the student choir perform once before in a more staid setting, a group of us made our way to their performance. Skimming the program as we entered the small room where they were performing I saw "Interlude of Worship" listed between two musical selections. "Huh," I thought, "well, I suppose as it is a gospel show they might say a word or two about religion to introduce a song." Oh naivete, thy name is Catholic White Girl. What followed was two-and-a-half hours of awkward clapping, ass shaking, hand holding with my neighbor, and "Amen"ing when prompted by the sweating, shouting members of the choir and their cameo guests dispatched to save souls. To be sure, the singing was inspired, if not more than a little overshadowed by the accompanying piano player. Named Leviticus, he was the quietest man in the room, but the one speaking the loudest with his talent.

Part II of the evening to come later...