Marrying into a southern family has brought forth many changes in my life, both perceived and factual.
I now talk in a semi-convincing southern drawl. I am a hard core NASCAR fan. There are two political affiliates I agree with, conservative and tea party. I have a crush on Kenny Chesney and Carrie Underwood. And I am a converted Baptist who goes to Camp Meet every year.
Okay, so those are all lies. Except for the last one, which was a half lie.
Whereas I am as close to becoming a Sothern Baptist as the U.S. is to becoming debt free, I have to admit it’s been a while since I’ve missed Camp Meet, the annual religious revival designed to bring people together to profess and confirm their faith. My sons haven’t missed a single one in their combined six years on this earth. Maybe there is something cleansing about sitting in wooden AC-less huts in one hundred degree heat, pounding tea – in the south, that’s sweet ice tea, not that hot stuff imbibed by wig wearing scone eaters – and gorging yourself on ham biscuits while watching the scantily clad teens pass your hut while you’re sitting on the front porch swing.
The Camp Meets I’ve attended have ranged from atrocious to bad to passable.
I’m sorry, but that’s mainly because I have a tolerance for BS the way Dr. Phil has built up an intolerance against green salads. I cannot reconcile most Christians –especially those in the south – and their faith with their political positions. I would so like to divide the two, but this might just be a two headed monster that will accompany us all the way to Armageddon. I simply can’t and won’t accept Christians who live by the rule of the jungle. A certain Governor asking his people to pray for rain instead of investing in renewable energy shows the entire spectrum of the new Loonie Tunes shows we’ve been subjected to. This has nothing to do with red or blue state, only common sense.
Then there are the intangibles: the preachers who make Glenn Beck look sane, the ‘singers’ who wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a karaoke bar, and the heaps of junk food that, in the end, might consign you closer to your maker than you would ever believe.
The music in the south has become especially painful. It used to be that country would be a statement, something you stood for. Country music would be Johnny Cash and Willie, the Man in Black and the Stoner. Today it stands for…what? Patriotism? A boot up the guy’s a$$ who messes with the USA? Country Music has never been about the establishment.
And yet, for the first time I was actually touched by the music at this year’s Camp Meet. Bluegrass: the guitar, the fiddle, the banjo, and the mandolin, all strumming in perfect unison to complement those killer four part harmonies. Now that’s Christian music, that’s probably what they sang here two hundred years ago when the idea was first floated of raising a few barns with the help of religious celebration.
I sat on my swing for the better part of three hours watching two bluegrass bands take me back in time and yes, quite possibly closer to heaven for that short instance. Absolutely stunning.
Amen, brother.
I now talk in a semi-convincing southern drawl. I am a hard core NASCAR fan. There are two political affiliates I agree with, conservative and tea party. I have a crush on Kenny Chesney and Carrie Underwood. And I am a converted Baptist who goes to Camp Meet every year.
Okay, so those are all lies. Except for the last one, which was a half lie.
Whereas I am as close to becoming a Sothern Baptist as the U.S. is to becoming debt free, I have to admit it’s been a while since I’ve missed Camp Meet, the annual religious revival designed to bring people together to profess and confirm their faith. My sons haven’t missed a single one in their combined six years on this earth. Maybe there is something cleansing about sitting in wooden AC-less huts in one hundred degree heat, pounding tea – in the south, that’s sweet ice tea, not that hot stuff imbibed by wig wearing scone eaters – and gorging yourself on ham biscuits while watching the scantily clad teens pass your hut while you’re sitting on the front porch swing.
The Camp Meets I’ve attended have ranged from atrocious to bad to passable.
I’m sorry, but that’s mainly because I have a tolerance for BS the way Dr. Phil has built up an intolerance against green salads. I cannot reconcile most Christians –especially those in the south – and their faith with their political positions. I would so like to divide the two, but this might just be a two headed monster that will accompany us all the way to Armageddon. I simply can’t and won’t accept Christians who live by the rule of the jungle. A certain Governor asking his people to pray for rain instead of investing in renewable energy shows the entire spectrum of the new Loonie Tunes shows we’ve been subjected to. This has nothing to do with red or blue state, only common sense.
Then there are the intangibles: the preachers who make Glenn Beck look sane, the ‘singers’ who wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a karaoke bar, and the heaps of junk food that, in the end, might consign you closer to your maker than you would ever believe.
The music in the south has become especially painful. It used to be that country would be a statement, something you stood for. Country music would be Johnny Cash and Willie, the Man in Black and the Stoner. Today it stands for…what? Patriotism? A boot up the guy’s a$$ who messes with the USA? Country Music has never been about the establishment.
And yet, for the first time I was actually touched by the music at this year’s Camp Meet. Bluegrass: the guitar, the fiddle, the banjo, and the mandolin, all strumming in perfect unison to complement those killer four part harmonies. Now that’s Christian music, that’s probably what they sang here two hundred years ago when the idea was first floated of raising a few barns with the help of religious celebration.
I sat on my swing for the better part of three hours watching two bluegrass bands take me back in time and yes, quite possibly closer to heaven for that short instance. Absolutely stunning.
Amen, brother.
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