Easter 3-27-05 (A Jew Grooves With Hip Methodists)
Brian Ferdman
2005-04-06
(Author's note: This story is 99% true with a few slight embellishments for dramatic effect. Unlike my usual writings, which are typically just me talking out of my ass, this actually happened. Trust me, you can't make shit like this up. Well, I guess you can, but it would involve otherworldly hallucinations and I'm told that LSD hasn't been around in years.) Like a disproportionate amount of Phish and the Grateful Dead's fanbase, I am a Jew. Like a disproportionate amount of Jews, I'm not all that religious, but I do love a good bagel. Like a disproportionate amount of Jews who are not all that religious but love a good bagel, I get lots of hatemail for my beliefs, or lack thereof. None of this is really relevant to the story, but I would like to pre-empt the hatemail by saying, "Hello, my name is Brian. I am a heathen, I am aware of it, and I don't need you to point it out." My girlfriend is not Jewish, and neither is my best friend's wife. Since the gentile women participate in our annual Passover Seder, they both thought it would be a good idea for the Jewish men to attend Easter services with them. My best friend and I both thought it would be a good idea for the two of us to stay home and worship the Lord by the light of the 27inch Sony television, spreading forth the gospel of the NCAA Tournament. The ladies both thought that if we men valued our relationships, our asses would be in church on Sunday. And so it was written. Although, in my mind, Easter is more about jelly beans than Jesus, I submitted to...I mean elected to attend the Easter Sunday service. The chosen church was a Methodist one on the Upper West Side. Upon entering, we were given programs, and I looked at it and thought, "What is this? The ‘Tour Extra'?" There were no interesting articles, no setlists, and no advertising. Whoever was running this thing was definitely losing money. It was sparsely populated in this here church, and I've always thought that an Easter service would be the equivalent of a New Year's Eve or Halloween show, i.e. packed to capacity. But no, there were plenty of seats to be had, and anyone could have been miracled into the venue. The service was general admission, so we grabbed some choice seats toward the center, Reverend side, midway back in what would turn out to be the sweet spot. Just like Phish's 12-31-98 performance at MSG, the show began with some bizarre interpretive dance. Instead of wearing day-glo costumes, the female dancers were scantily clad in white linen. Instead of dancing to the music of Phish, they danced to the music of the Gay Gotham Chorus. Instead of being skilled professionals, they sucked ass. The lone bright spot was a girl wearing a very short skirt. As she turned around and got on her toes to light a candle, her skirt inched higher and higher. I thought to myself, "Yayyy God! I love Easter!" Then, after realizing my girlfriend was reading my mind, I thought, "Phooey! Someone give that girl some bloomers. This is a house of worship! Is there no sense of decorum? Decorum, I say! DECORUM!" When the skirt finally came down to an Ashcroftian level of decency, the ceremony continued. With the grace of a herd of hippopotami, the ladies did a few awkward dance steps and then ripped some linen fabric off of the altar, revealing a flower arrangement. I'm sure the flowers symbolized something, but I was still distracted by the thought of the short skirt. For their final grand gesture, the girls lifted the white fabric high in the air and raced to the back of the church, carrying the fabric over the congregation's heads like a cheap banner flag in a high school marching band halftime number. Word. After the initial excitement of the opening number subsided, the room began to deflate. "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" was very weak, especially from the men who were not handling their vocal duties. Not necessarily believing that Christ the Lord was risen today, I couldn't quite sing my part with my typical bravado. The "Unison Prayer" that followed was an exercise in monotone mumbling, and the church was clearly in danger of losing its audience. There's an old showbiz axiom that says "Don't ever share the spotlight with an animal or a child." The thinking is that animals and children steal focus. Well, right when the focus was in dire need of being stolen, the church brought forth not only children but animal puppets. No, these were not your wholesome Sesame Street puppets. These were salty puppets in the form of a vulture and a hedgehog who cracked jokes about the reverend's similarity to a corpse. The unlikely pair talked to the children and told them a story about something before the vulture finished by waxing poetic on the joys of defecating on Easter hats. I'm sure the story had great symbolic value, but I wasn't paying attention and was consumed by the thought of a vulture crapping on my head. "Low in the Grave He Lay" wasn't quite the joyous showstopper the title would lead you to believe. It was followed by "The Easter Story." The story was performed script-in-hand by a gaggle of women who were presumably actresses and presumably out-of-work actresses. Cracking jokes about Jesus' fashion sense, these Not Ready For Sunday Afternoon Players seemed to enjoy their feeble attempt at sketch comedy. To be honest, I would have found the moment incredibly offensive had I not still been laughing inside at the thought of vultures crapping on heads. Things started to pickup with the gospel lesson. "Luke 24: 1-12" is always a crowd pleaser, and people responded with an ebullient "Thanks be to God!" Despite a few irregularities, the church was clinging to a standard setlist, and up next was the typical pre-Drums sermon. However, this sermon was entitled "Living Among the Dead," and you gotta admit that's a badass title. I imagined Jesus going undercover as a cabdriver by day and kicking ass as a warrior for justice by night. I was a little off the mark. This sermon was unique in that it was performed by both the reverend and a woman who stood on opposite sides of the pulpit. They started with a very casual conversational tone ("Reverend, that's quite an Easter outfit you have on." "Why, thanks, Emily. I really dig your blazer." "Oh, this old thing?"), and they slowly began to build in the story of the resurrection. Things were progressing nicely, but then the reverend took over and threw the back-and-forth tennis match out the window. He started improvising, moving off into themes of Terri Schiavo. Truthfully, his jamming was starting to get a bit wankish, but he went right into a classic tension-and-release section, involving the crowd and imploring them to participate with him. He successfully got everyone on their feet, worked up into a frenzy, and throwing their arms wide open while shouting, "I expect the resurrection!" It was a powerful, dare I say spiritual, moment. Personally, not expecting the resurrection, I didn't know what to do. For a brief moment, I considered pumping my fist in the air and shouting "WIL-SON!" Then, for another brief moment, I considered how I'd like to continue dating my girlfriend, so I kept my mouth shut. While everyone was worked up into a fevered pitch, there was a brilliant and immediate segue into Drums. Now the place was going nuts. We were all standing up, clapping along, and chanting the Traditional Muskogee (Creek) rendition of "Hallelujah." It was exhausting, and we had a nice break in the form of "The Peace." As we shook hands with and hugged our neighbors around us, I couldn't help but thinking how it would be nice to do this at concerts, if only concertgoers didn't reek of patchouli and occasionally carry Hepatitis-A. From out of nowhere, we were back on our feet, jubilantly singing along to a Moroccan version of "Alleluia!" It was another high energy moment, and thankfully, things then mellowed out a bit. The reverend encouraged newbies to sign the mailing list, but I declined because I didn't want to receive any more spam. The collection plate made its rounds, while the choir cranked out yet another spin on "Alleluia." There was a brief tease of "Doxology No. 94" before the somber "Dedication Prayer." Just when things were looking a little too serious, we were once again rocking out, grooving hard to "Song of Preparation," a little ditty from Cameroon. You know, I had no idea that Easter was going to give me sweat, laughter, and a geography lesson, but this was one swinging church. "The Lord's Prayer" is certainly a fan-favorite, and even I know the words to this classic standard. Finally, the set closed with a powerhouse rendition of Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus." It was the fourth different spin on the hallelujah theme, but they saved the best for last. I was way into it, and truthfully, I fucking tore the shit out of the basslines, singing "King of Kings and Lord of Lords" with the kind of gusto that could raise the dead. This was one killer finale, despite the fact that it seemed to last forever...and ever...forever...and ever...hallelujah...hallelujah...hallelujah...hallelujah...HA-LE-LU-JAH! How can you possibly have an encore after that barnburner? Well, they wisely stayed on the pulpit and stunned me by busting out "By the Mark." It's not every day you go to church and get a Gillian Welch cover, so I was digging it. Sung with passion, the song took a backseat to the great visuals that were encompassing the room, as scores of white balloons and little strips of helicopter-like ribbon dropped from the rafters. These little strips of ribbon had fortune cookie-like sayings. I was a little disappointed that my fortune read "Jesus loves you," when I was hoping for "Your irreverent writings will earn you millions of dollars." Nevertheless, people frantically twirled these ribbons high, feverously batted balloons in the air, and children wearing butterfly wings raced through aisles. It was an incredibly chaotic and wild ending to a great Easter. The only thing missing was a glowstick war.
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