Mega-Churching it

Yesterday, Lauren and I got up a little early to go to the Mega-Church on Highway 99. We were both so excited, we kept squealing "I'm so excited!!!!" and I swear, we had exclamation points on our breath. We drove to the church because, let's face it, this is a mega-church and they would've laughed at our bikes. Plus, it's way out on Highway 99, making it virtually impossible to do anything but drive. I wish we could've rented an SUV, complete with several adorable baybees and an ugly husband or two in khakis and golf shirts. But, alas, we drove Lauren's lez-mobile to the church, where I'm sure people assumed we were lesbians. Per usual.

First, a note about the parking lot. WTF? Did the mega-church think that half of Corvallis would be coming to church there, or did they think that they could rent it out to RVs, a la Walmart? I think the answer is the former, since the inside of the church was ridiculously large. They call it "the dome" and that's because it is a dome. We walked in, were greeted by friendly old people who gave us pamphlets (which we have added to our pile in the living room, next to the books by Marx and the Journals of Forestry). The lobby reminded me of a mall. There was a coffee shop. They were selling lattes. We walked into the dome, which is gigantic, and there was a band playing - two guitars, one bass, one bongo (girl), one drummer, two female singers, two male singers. The acoustics were incredible. The words to their songs played on a huge karaoke screen above their heads with words, film of them singing (so distracting), and occasional pictures of people with their hands raised to the heavens. There were two guys in one booth, and another guy in another booth, all controlling the wizardry in front of us. The singing was pretty good, really catchy, poppy, inoffensive. You know, vanilla.

The crowd, however, was sparse and unenthused. I counted two non-whites (one Asian woman, one mixed race, probably half-black woman) amid the 60-or-so participants. You could hardly even hear an "Amen." They just sat there, occasionally mouthing the words to the songs in front of us (which Lauren and I sang to) but mostly just acting like they were bored. The atmosphere was the opposite of the tiny Pentecostal church. The worship crew sang a few songs, led by a hefty woman in a zebra-print jacket. A red-headed man and a Latino man (you can modify my non-white count if you'd like) sang with her, and their voices were good. You know, vanilla.

There was lots of literature about helping out the poor Africans, who really need our spiritual help. I think this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard because Africans probably need for us to stop paying them to plunder their land and to stop sending them guns, but I guess some of them might appreciate a Giddeon's Bible and a lecture from a hefty woman in a zebra-print jacket.

The preacher said a lot of words without any substance and I was nearly falling asleep. So was Lauren, who was just coming down with the cold I've been struggling with for a week. We sat there, coughing and sneezing, our eyelids falling, as this guy went on and on. I mean, at least say something about Satan! Gays! The poor Africans! The Children, for Christ's sake! But no, it was inoffensive. Vanilla. There was no communion, no observable ties to tradition or history (aside from reading the Bible, though that could be considered present, not past). It was, in other words, the most strip-mall, generified, laminated church experience that I have had. I could have been anywhere (well, anywhere that there's only white people and nobody cares about church). If I had to sell this church experience to someone, I would say "They have lattes! They have electrified music! You can feel safe in your overflowing blue jeans! Because, hey, they're American!" And that was the point, I felt, at the end of the service. Let's just all get together, drink some lattes, smile superficially at each other, and pretend that what we're doing here has anything, anything to do with God. But I wasn't buying it, and I don't think most those people were, either. I think they were there for the lattes. And the inoffensive carpet-and-sofa sets in the lobby that would've been just as comfortable in a Marriott.

I can safely say that Lauren and I were sorely disappointed by the Mega-Church. I think we need to go to Houston or something to get people who are really into this lifestyle. And when I do, I will hairspray my hair to the heavens, and wear my best sequined jumpsuit, and I will top it with the most beautiful zebra-striped jacket ever!