Rock for Christ

The paradox of being Christians in a rock band.

"Fifteen minutes till show-time," a voice called from the hallway.

With his foot propped upon a milk carton, Roy pulled his Fender Stratocaster from its case and began twisting the silver pegs, one way then the other, until the two sounds vibrated together. The nervous knot in his stomach evaporated when he heard a knock upon the dressing room door.
"It’s open," Roy called, and momentarily looked up from his guitar.
"Howdy boys,” Pastor Ekels said as he ducked his head and entered the church choir room. “Just brought you y’all’s half the door.
Quickly, glancing back and forth, Pastor Ekels reached into his baggy khaki pants and pulled out a large wad of money.
"Wow!" Roy said. He set his guitar aside and took the money.
"There’s about twenty-thousand dollars there lad, " Pastor Ekels said. "Last night was sold out and tonight looks like a repeat. I must say I never thought rock music and the Lord’s work could ever come together."

The Pastor glanced at Andrew, who was beating out 16 note rhythms against the cement wall of the church’s choir room with his drumsticks.
The pastor looked away from Andrew and continued, "But the kids love it. Break a leg. That is what you show folks say right? Don’t reckon I know why but…," the Pastor said, and forcing a smile to his stern face reached out for Roy’s hand.

　
"Thanks," Roy replied, then shook hands with the elderly pastor and watched as he shuffled out into the hallway, leaving Roy and Andrew alone. Andrew stopped his warm-up and pushed his sticks down into his back jeans pocket.

"Damn Roy. How much is there?" Andrew questioned.
"Pastor Ekels said about twenty grand."
"You better count it," Andrew said.

"Come on Andy," Roy replied, then opened the secret compartment of his guitar case, placing the money inside.
"We need you guys on the stage now!" a voice shouted from the hallway.
"Dude, you better lock that up," the drummer said, as he pointed to Roy‘s guitar case with one end of his drumstick.
"For Christ sakes, your in a church." With his boot, Rex kicked his guitar case closed.
"I don’t know man, I’m from Detroit and we don’t trust no one--not even the old lady across the street."
"That’s some city you’re from--not trusting anyone. I wouldn’t want to live there."
Roy slung his guitar across his back and walked with Andrew down a small hallway.

The chanting of the crowd started as an indistinguishable muffled noise then closer to the stage an outright assault on the ears. Roy pulled aside the heavy velvet curtain that separated them from the audience and noted not one seat stood empty.

　
"Thought you’d finally join us? John and I have been waiting here for over 5 minutes," Michael said as he brushed his curls from his face.
"I had some business with Pastor Ekels…," Roy said and Michael raised his palm towards Roy.
"Not the time," Michael said. Swishing his long hair he strutted to the center of the stage. The other three musicians took their places on the stage as the curtain rose.
“Gethsemane…Gethsemane…,“ the crowd chanted. Then came the unmistakable sound of a bass drum kick and the electric squeal of the guitar being plugged in. Four loud snaps of wood on wood counted down their hour and half

set.

"Oh yeah! Thank you Lakeland!" screamed Michael above the crowd and landed on one knee. Rising to his feet he brushed the long sweaty curls from his face and said, "Thank you. Remember we’re playing tomorrow night right here. An acoustic set of our best pieces. You don’t have to be a messenger of the devil to deliver God’s word. And that’s what we’ve been doing now for over ten years."
Suddenly the lighting changed, from the smudge of red and orange floodlights to a crisp white spotlight.
" I remember the day the Lord called me to take his message to the people…‘you will deliver it in the form of rock music,’ He said to me."

In the darkness, Roy and Andrew exchanged uncomfortable looks.

　
"I said, Lord, rock music? and He replied, ‘Yes, the music for people of modern times.’ But, that is the devil’s music I replied. ‘We will beat the devil at his own game!’ God said. I marveled at the intelligence of my Lord and Savior, but did not question Him. I formed this rock band and we have been playing ever since. And now I am a soldier in Christ’s army against evil. He has given me the power to heal-- me a lowly singer for a rock band. You got to have faith my brothers and sisters oh yeah! Now, who among you has the faith!"

Michael raised his hand over his brow and spied a teenage boy with crutches.
"I do! I do…I have the faith Michael!" yelled the boy. The singer waved his hand and the crowd parted, allowing the boy to press forward.
"That’s right, don’t be shy come forward my child," the singer whispered into the microphone then stooped down to help the boy up onto the stage.
"What is your name son?" asked Michael as he placed the microphone under the boy’s chin.
"Aaa….name? Ah…mmm…mmy name is William sir," replied the boy, shocked as his small voice boomed throughout every inch of the large hall.
"You hear that people? His name is William…that’s a nice Christian name my son. I see you have been stricken, by an illness or injury my son."

　
"Ah…um… I…I have a muscle disease sir, I‘ve had it since I was a baby."

William grew visibly shaky under the strain of his body weight and the excitement of all the attention.
"Do you believe in the Lord, William?" Michael asked placing his hand upon the boy‘s shoulder.
"Yes, sir I do."

"Do you believe in the power of Jesus Christ?"

"I believe in the power of our almighty Jesus Christ!" the boy answered.
" Which is easier; to say ‘Your sins are forgiven,‘ or to say, ‘ Get up and walk?’ Jesus has told me William," he whispered into the microphone, " Your sins are forgiven, He wants you to walk boy. Jesus wants you to walk. Do you want to walk?" The singer’s voice boomed throughout the hall and his moist eyes enlarged.

"Hallelujah! Do you feel that power in you now?"
"YES Michael! I WANT TO WALK…I want to walk with Jesus!"
"Then cast down those crutches and let your faith carry you!"
The boy bravely cast aside his crutches and waited. Locking eyes with Andrew, the drummer saw the superhuman determination on the boy’s face.

Just walk, Andrew thought to himself. William took one convincing step forward. The boy was walking--yes prove you are all powerful--he was walking-- wipe that look of doubt off your face--he was standing-- before a stadium of over 5,000 spectators.
Then, like the slow motion frames of a Muybridge photo, the boy began to fall forward. He was falling…falling…and hit the polished stage with a splat.

The only sound in the entire hall was a violent crash as Andrew kicked over his drum set and stomped off towards the dressing room.

Andrew threw his drumsticks at the wall. The twin pieces of wood bounced off the concrete then fell to the floor with a sharp ting.

"Andy?" Roy called from behind him.
"I hate when he does that! He’s not Christ ya know…I didn’t sign on to this circus." And he gestured obscenely towards the stage.

" My agent said I was going to playing drums for a rock band not a freaking revival group! What Michael did out there was messed-up man."

Andrew crouched down in the corner and held his head in his hands. His long hair, wet with sweat, shrouded his expression. Roy approached, placing his arm around him.
"You know Andrew," the guitar player calmly ventured, " he did heal that boy in Kansas City."
"What? Come on you don’t believe that crap?" questioned Andrew, peering out from under his hair. "What the?" Andrew’s attention turned to a low moaning sound that was coming from the corner of their dressing room.

"Joe?” Roy called.
With his back to Roy, Joe pulled away from a faceless girl. The girl looked around Joey’s back and brushed down the front of her Gethsemane T-shirt.
"Oh my God! I know you,” she pointed at Roy. “You’re Roy! Can I have your autograph?" The girl began digging through a small purse that lay beside her for a pen.

 

"This is no place for clandestine sex," Roy replied, then grabbed the pen from the girl and autographed her CD.
"It’s not really sex unless you let him put it in," she said matter-of-factly.
Roy inhaled deeply, silently thanking the Lord he did not have any daughters.
"Well Joey here’s got a job to do--so your going to have to leave," Roy said helping

the girl to her feet and escorting her to the door. Slamming the door behind her, Roy turned on Joe.

"What the hell were you thinking? She looks like she’s 13!”
"She‘s 15...," Joe stammered, " I got to have some perks. I haven’t been paid in months!"
"Come on Joey you can’t be messing around with girls that young. Go help Michael will you?”

"Another failed healing ?" Joe snickered: then, seeing the look on Roy’s face glanced, down at his tennis shoes.

"What’d ya want me to do about it?" Joe asked.
" I don’t know? Give the kid a CD, or a shirt, or something. You can let him stay back here for a while."
The dressing room door flung open.

"Guys, Mike’s got them uplifted, but he needs you two back now!" Marc shouted.

Andrew glanced at Roy from under his hair," I’ll finish the tour, but don’t ever call me again."

 

Andrew stood up and followed Rex back to the stage. A knot of pity grew in Andrew’s stomach as he and the boy glanced at each other in the hallway.

"Wow, your really lucky William," Joe said over his shoulder. " You get to come back and see where the band gets ready before their show. Want a Coke?"
"Yeah," William said as he hobbled into the dressing room and eyed a tray of picked over lunchmeat.
Joe handed the boy a warm Coke and noticed him eyeing the lunchmeat.

"You can have a sandwich too if you’d like."

An uncomfortable silence came between them.
"Hey kid, the band said I can give you a T-shirt or a CD, which one do you want?"
"Can I have both?" the boy asked.
"Well? They told me you could have either, but I don’t see the harm in both. What size do you wear," Joe asked, then began to go through a deep brown box that contained the band’s concert T-shirts.
"What size do you got?’ the boy asked.
"I’ve got small, medium, and large. The medium looks like it will fit you boy."

Joey sized the boy up and, balling up a shirt, threw it towards him. The boy made no attempt to catch the T-shirt and it bounced off his chest; falling to the floor in front of him.

　

"I want an X-tra large one….please," the boy said, and placing the crutches under his armpits, he struggled over the crumpled T-shirt and headed to the tray of lunchmeat.
“I’ll have to go on the bus for that…make yourself at home, the band will be back in a few minutes. Then you can get them to autograph your CD."

Joey watched as the boy hobbled towards the lunchmeat tray, then walked out of the church and headed to the band’s tour bus.

He waved at the driver who was sitting in the front seat.
"You’re not bringing her on Joey," the driver said sternly, as he pushed open the bus door.

"Aw shut your hole. I need a T-shirt for some poor kid Michael tried to heal," Joey said and stepped onto the bus.
"The way he’s been going lately we’ll be out of shirts before we get out of the South," the driver laughed.
"Yeah, well, Roy better pay me tonight or I’m heading back to Chicago and he can set up his own f*****g equipment."
"Come on Joey. You’re not starving, you’re seeing the world, and your libido is well taken care of. What else is there to life?" the bus driver said as he pulled his hat down over his eyes and put his feet up onto the dashboard.
With an extra-large shirt in hand Joey left the bus and walked back across the parking lot, towards the church.

　

"Thank you Lakeland. Good night and God Bless!" yelled Michael.

The band joined hands and bowed together. Exhausted, the four headed back to their dressing room, and bumped into Joey on the way.
"So… are we getting paid tonight or what?" Joey asked--tagging behind them.
"How’s the kid?" Roy asked.
"Good, I guess."
"What do you mean you guess?” Andrew asked.
"He wanted a different size shirt--and was busy making himself a sandwich,” Joey stammered.

“You didn’t leave him back there alone?" Andrew cut in.
Roy shook his head and headed to the dressing room with a renewed spring in his step.
"So how much did you guys get from the door?" Joey questioned.
"I don’t think that concerns you. What the…, " Rex said as he pushed open the dressing room door and tripped over a crutch lying across the floor.

“Roy, what’s going on!” Michael shouted from the hallway. A nervous knot rose in Roy’s throat as he regained his balance and bound towards his guitar case.
"Boys?” Roy said, his voice wilting as he rifled through the secret compartments of his guitar case.

“ We’ve been robbed."