What is difficult about growing up in the Bible Belt is that if you are a Christian, there is no way really to distinguish yourself. And how can you be a functioning adolescent or young adult without distinguishing yourself? Some stood out by disowning the faith of the surrounding culture altogether. These were the rebels. Others, like myself, embraced a kind of pietistic Fundamentalism. It wasn't enough for us to just go to church or to pray or to read our Bibles. We had to "go deeper."
Going deeper meant that we didn't watch certain movies, say certain words, or go to certain parties. It meant that we wore shirts depicting Jesus on the cross with the caption reading "This Blood's for You," as a parody of a famous beer commercial. The crucified Christ as cartoon.
Perhaps nowhere did this need to "go deeper" manifest itself in our lives than in the area of music. Early in high school I remember a youth camp speaker (who is now an icon among many Evangelical college students) suggest that if we wanted to be a "real" Christian we would begin to give up certain kinds of music. By late high school and early college this war on "secular" music was in full force, and I was a faithful foot soldier. By "secular" we meant any song that contained more than three chords and didn't talk about Jesus as your lover or how God is really cool.
It all came to a head the summer after my freshman year in college. At the Baptist camp I had worked at for several years, I found a couple of like minded friends and we, in effect, became the God Squad. We read our Bible and prayed more intensely than the others who "just didn't get it." What IT was, I'm not sure we could have told you, other than that it was something the others didn't get. We didn't go to rated R movies, say the horrid words "crap" or "dang," and we certainly didn't listen to the ungodly "secular music" that everyone else listened to.
In the midst of experiment in holiness, I alienated many of the people who were close to me. I also nurtured a destructive (and heretical) view of God and the world. Loving God and loving my neighbor as myself was no longer relevant. Denying what others embraced was what mattered. Some of you know what I am talking about. If you don't, be assured that my story is not unique among young evangelicals.
Luckily for me, though, word got back to Bob Mayfield about my summer exploits in Super Spirituality. Bob was the director of the Baptist Student Ministry at Tyler Junior College, where I was a student. At that time the College offered Bible courses, presumably, since it was a public school, from a nonsectarian bias. But the only people qualified to teach these courses were the directors of the various Christian groups on campus, and Bob just happened to be one of these people. Being involved in the BSM, I figured taking a class from him would be a safe adventure.
One of the first class lectures was about how much he loved what others deemed to be "secular" music. He told us that if we are Christians and believe, as the great hymn says, that "This is our Father's World," then we should be open to seeing the work of God all around us. The creativity with which people of all faiths (and no faith) make music is a fingerprint of God, whether they or we know it or not. He had a wide range of records and CD's from his library and as he was giving his lecture, he would sample different ones. That day we heard from James Taylor, The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Willie Nelson, Ray Charles, Billie Holiday, and The Who. Even some gospel greats got thrown into the mix, like his favorite singer to impersonate, Vestal Goodman. He said that if we couldn't see the hand of God at work in the great music of our time, then we couldn't see God at work anywhere.
My classmates probably had no clue why we were receiving this lecture in a nonsectarian Bible class. I had no doubt why, for Bob's eyes were aimed at me throughout the entire hour. And as if to communicate that I was correct in my assessment, Bob ended the class with a lively "Any questions, Craig?" I, slouched in my chair, defeated, had no questions at all.
Last November, just before Thanksgiving, I drove to Tyler to say my final farewell to Bob, who died suddenly of a heart attack. He left behind his dear wife Pam and a son, Max, who had been adopted from Russia a few years earlier. He also left behind many students like me, to whom he taught that the quickest route to true holiness is to embrace what it means to be truly human. The soundtrack for my trip down Highway 31 was Michael Jackson, Merle Haggard, The Fray, Dixie Chicks, and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Oh, and a little Rich Mullins to boot...
There's people been friendly
But they'd never be your friends
Sometimes this has bent me to the ground
But now that this is all ending I want to
Hear some music once again
'Cause it's the finest thing
That I have ever found
_________________________________________________
(I wrote another post a few years ago about Bob's impact on my life. Of all the blogs I've written, it is one of the few that I have had continual positive feedback about. You can read that post HERE.)
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