Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(51)

“Jesus didn’t suffer and die on the cross for you to have one foot in the world and one in the Word, friends. He wants hundred-percenters.”

This gets a rise out of the assembled body. Choruses of “Amen! Hallelujah! Preach!” sprout up around us, and I feel Mom chuckle. I don’t ask her to behave this time, I just don’t want her to break down. If she wants to laugh, she can laugh.

Interestingly, I note the distinguished panel of trustees and university higher-ups nodding and seeming altogether pleased with Roland’s sermon topic. I wonder, lifting my head and crossing my legs, what “hundred-percenters” means to each of them.

“One hundred percent might be a scary proposition,” Roland starts as if he’s heard my thoughts, “but no one said following Jesus would be an easy ride on a rainbow road.”

Chuckles speckle the crowd, even from Dan.

“We might be asked to pack up and leave our lives, like the Apostles did. Like many missionary families do. We might be asked to love the unloving, befriend the unfriendly, help those who scorn at us.” Roland paces faster, his voice rising with every step. “We might be asked, church, to step back and accept responsibility for our actions. To live with consequences.”

Here we go. I fear he’s headed toward talking about me. Dan seems to sense this, and places his hand over mine.

“But at the end of the day, church, all we’re truly asked to do is follow Him. To follow someone doesn’t just mean to walk behind them with your heads down. No, it means to follow their ways. Jesus called himself The Way. Anything else is a dangerous back road to nowhere.” After a roaring applause, Roland returns to the podium, places his hands on it, and looks to the crowd after a deep breath.

“You can’t Mapquest this route. No Google map will take you there,” he says before reaching for his Bible. Lifting it, he continues in a soft voice, like he’s speaking to parents holding a sleeping baby. “This. This is the only map you need. The Way. One hundred percent. Make a commitment before leaving here today. If you’ve backslid, turned away, or are ready to make a commitment for the first time. Do it today. Here’s your map. Trusted and unfailing for over two thousand years. Let’s pray.”

I close my eyes and lean forward, holding my head. At this point in the service, and all services I’ve attended, the preacher makes a plea for those who are still searching for Jesus. Asking by a show of hands—anonymous to the rest of the crowd thanks to the bowed heads—who is ready to make a commitment today. I always fight the urge to lift my head and look around. I’m not yet fighting the urge to lift my hand, though I know that day will likely come. I’m just not there yet.

I’m startled when my mother feels around for my hand, grasping it and giving it a squeeze as she says “Amen,” with the rest of the assembled parents and students. I’m shaken, once again fighting tears while listening to Roland’s prayers. This time, by my mother’s side. A woman who has far more history with this man of God than I ever intend anyone around me to know.





“This place has great-looking food!” Dan bellows as we cross the threshold to Mission Hall.

True to convention, Mom didn’t mention the hand-hold during the closing prayer, and none of us directly discussed the speech-sermon hybrid offered by Roland. The only pleasantries shared on the walk to the dining hall were, “That was a nice ceremony” or, “What a gorgeous looking group of boys at this school,” courtesy of my mother.

“It is good,” I admit, leading them to the center of the large hall. “Over here is the salad bar, over there, the Hibachi station…” A shriek of epic proportions from behind me overrides my flight attendant-like speech.

“Kenedeeeeey!” Turning, I find Eden race-walking toward me with the biggest smile I’ve seen on her to date. And her entire face is flushed and glowing.

“Hi!” I say, trying to match her excitement as she barrels me with a hug. “What’s, um, up?”

Eden takes a step back, retaining a grip on my upper arms. “He asked me! Jonah asked me on a date. Finally! He waited until today because our parents got in last night and we all went out to dinner and apparently he asked my dad while I was in the bathroom or whatever, but I’m so excited!” She hugs me again.

Admittedly, my first thought is thanking God that Jonah hadn’t spilled that I pushed him to ask her out. I don’t think I had to push that far, honestly, since they’re so clearly suited for one another. My second thought is how archaic and sweet—at the same time—it is that Jonah asked Eden’s father for permission for a date.

Stepping back from the hug, though, my third thought is one that’s unfamiliar to me. One I haven’t dealt with much at all in my life. Less of a thought and more of a feeling. One of jealousy. I’m fighting loud voices shouting that I want the picture-perfect guy to ask my dad if he can ask me on a date.

Which dad?

I guess it’s best I just focus on being happy for my friend, who has way less baggage than I do.

“That’s so amazing.” I smile, pulling back from our hug. “It’s about time!”

“Right?!” Eden runs a hand through her hair.

“Oh! Is your family here now? I’d love to meet them.” I turn to my parents and shoo them off with my hand, holding up one finger to tell them I’d be back in a minute. They seem happy to turn to the food stations and fill their plates.