My relationship with Christians is a little strained. They don’t really like me because I say insensitive things like Katrina happened because God isn’t sexually attracted to black chicks. I don’t really like them because they say homoerotic things like Jesus rocks my friggin’ socks off. It’s a pretty destructive relationship, but things weren’t always so poisonous.

My parents love Jesus-a lot. I was raised to bask in his protective light too. From the ages of zero to sixteen, I attended church twice a week. I asked the big man upstairs to become my personal savior at five, and I tried to pray without ceasing (whatever that means) as I went through life. Unfortunately, things got a little complicated once I started actually searching for evidence of God’s existence. By the age of nineteen, I was a militant agnostic (I can’t prove God doesn’t exist) and well, I’ve never really looked back. But there’s one thing about existing amidst a brotherhood of Jesus worshipers I miss: the music.

Christian music is beyond corny. It’s gayer than the gayest love song ever conceived by the gayest human being who has ever gayed-up the world. The choruses are repeated way too many times, and millions of a-melodic fools assume they can just belt out their off-key renditions at full volume because Jesus, in his infinite wisdom, apparently doesn’t hear pitch problems. Oh yeah, and it’s also absolutely perfect because of all the aforementioned reasons.

You know that moment during hair metal shows when everyone pulls out their lighters during the encore and group sings along with “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”? Suddenly, your girlfriend is no longer a cheating whore, and your parents no longer hate you. It’s a pretty cheesy moment, but you just go with it because the warm and fuzzies engulf your heart and it feels right. Well, Christians maintain this facade for hours at a time. Someone grabs an acoustic guitar and busts out a ten minute rendition of “Here I Am To Worship”, and suddenly, you’re surrounded by thirty un-self-conscious music fans literally screaming along.

I used to despise the energy and excitement of these gatherings. Then I realized something. Who the fuck am I? I may not agree with their message, but dozens of people are literally having the time of their lives. I don’t scoff at obnoxious-haired bozos playing “Good Riddance” on acoustic guitar, and that’s arguably way more pathetic. So, I got off my high horse and just started enjoying the ride.

I’ve spent the last three hours listening to Christian music. I rocked out to Steven Curtis Chapman’s “Dive.” I screamed the lyrics to “God Of Wonders”, and I felt beyond nostalgic, as I hummed along with “We Cry Holy.” I may no longer be laying my crown at the feet of Jesus, but every once in awhile when I need a simply wonderful escape into music, I’ll pull out a W.O.W. CD and smile uncontrollably.

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