For whatever reason, I opt to head back downtown to the office after church Saturday night. I think it’s just a whole lotta reasons bundled up into one timely sense of urgency, perhaps. It seems that after the Wednesday service I was so amped to listen to the service over and over again, I may have gotten a bit too much. By the next day, I was:
a) beyond tired from lack of sleep, and
b) ready to listen to anything BUT Lakewood music
Just for a momentary change of pace, mind you. By Saturday night, I was right where I needed to be in order to regain my appreciation of the musical side of Lakewood. Adding to matters, it was apparently decided that Aimee Beard would be performing a solo once more. Three guesses as to what’s on display here come Monday.
Just to add to matters, the sleep schedule is a bit out of whack, I’ve got work stuff to catch up on, and it seems wholly justifiable to my way of thinking that I do that overnight and catch the Sunday service toward the end of this hideously scheduled day.
Anyways, I arrive downtown. After picking up a late meal, I’m headed down Main St. sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s the peak club-hopping hour and I’m dressed in work casual, with a non-descript notebook, a small Bible, and a Eugene Peterson book I desperately need to finish. I look neither hip, urban, young, or cool.
First person that intersects with me extends a card my way and asks if I want to go to “their club.” He puts such an awkward emphasis on that phrase that I think it’s probably just another street evangelist hawking his wares in order to claim a successful evening of passing out cards. Nevermind that Bible in my hand might tip off a few folks … even though it was late … and dark … and there’s nothing that really stands out about this Bible except that it’s small enough to not break my wrist after lugging it around all day. I smile, take the card and move on. Every weekend there seems to be a few of these folks. Bumped into one the day before. They’re always creative cards you end up with. Alas, this one was for a real club. I just can’t help but wonder what about me looked like the type of guy who was cool enough to walk into a place that has $5 Mojitos “b4 12am.” Somehow I don’t think it was the type of outting that Pastor Hunter was referring to … nor do I think Rob Bell was going to be delivering a sermon there. So I passed.
After I cross the street, I’m in a difficult-to-navigate section of Main. The line of folks to get into the clubs closer to my office manage to block the street. It’s not uncommon to fight for space on the streets with actual cars. After I get to some particularly tight section of sidewalk, I notice there’s a group of four college-aged guys doing the “Bullhorn Guy” routine. Only without the bullhorn. So it’s really just “Loudmouth Guy” … and his posse. No cards, no pamphlets, just four really mean-looking kids, a milk crate, and two very loud vocal chords. And nobody seems overly interested in them.
Far more productive, we were treated to a couple of songs from one of Lakewood’s Spanish worship team guitarists – Miguel. Interesting testimony given Saturday night. It seems he had given up guitar for a long time, picked it back up after arriving at church and now does a pretty good job of ministering through music. The guy had all of Koinonia singing in Spanish for half of each song. Part of his message was that it’s never too late. He offered himself as an example. He had just turned 30. Well, this soon-to-be 40 yr old has also been picking up an old guitar when time permits. Hopefully by the time the clock turns over, I’ll have enough practice to do a little project I’ve got in mind.