Matthew Paul Turner’s new book, Churched: One Kid’s Journey Toward God Despite a Holy Mess releases today. Get your copy from Amazon here. I’ll be giving away a couple copies next week as part of the blog tour, so be sure to check back.
Saturday, Matthew and I drove down to Atlanta for a Christian music festival he was doing a reading at that Caedmon’s Call headlined, and then we stuck around for a couple Christian television interviews he had yesterday before heading home. It’s great to see others react to these stories, and I’m excited the book is finally out there so more people can read it. Matthew did post the prelude on his blog a while back – read it here.
And here’s one of my other favorite stories from the book, one about Patch the Pirate and the evils of rock music, something I know all about. I not only unthinkingly believed all the arguments against rock music (the only way they can be believed), I wrote 20 page e-mails to friends trying to convince them of their evil ways. So yeah, this story rang true.
“According to Patch, the heart pounding drumbeats made rock music dangerous. “The beats you hear on the radio every single day are the same ones that, in Africa, conjure up evil spirits,” he said confidently. “I’ve actually interviewed African missionaries who tell me that, as soon as the gangs or tribes or whatever they call them get their drums going, the natives dance and take off their clothes. Compare that to what happens at some of these rock concerts, especially the ones sponsored by Budweiser.”
To further prove his point, Patch had three toddlers in diapers – volunteers, he called them – carried onto the stage.
“Now you watch this,” said Patch, winking at the sound guy. As soon as the 80s dance beat began playing, two of the three toddlers began shaking their bodies to the beat. Those in the congregation who had no idea where Patch was going with his demonstration clapped and laughed. I, on the other hand, shaped my face to look as though I was constipated – that was how people in my church looked when disgusted with worldliness, like we hadn’t gone to the bathroom for six days.
“Yeah, the kids are really cute, aren’t they, moving their little bodies to the soundtrack of Hell?” said Patch with a snide grin. “But you see how tempting Satan can be, even leading these precious little babies astray.”
By the end of the evening, it seemed that everybody in the music industry either worshiped Satan, was a prostitute, or their brand of hairspray supported a woman’s right to choose. Satan was everywhere.”
If that brings back memories, you need to buy the book today.