Church of Tomorrow

The Church of Tomorrow

A memoir on Raves and Rapture - by Narly

    I frequent the city's churches on Sunday, just to listen. Slouching in the back pew like a lump of clay, I wait for comforting words. My crinkled button up shirt, stained jeans, and sandals attract attention among the suits and dresses so I enter last to avoid attention. Finding an open pew close to myself (and more importantly, the door) I slide sideways into the seat, gently placing a book bag on the floor. I listen and jot notes on what is being said.
    I hear the same messages that some think will somehow collectively inoculate me from outside evil or accident. This is a fast-food generation and we want our religions the same. Everybody wants to hear that God is satisfied as long as they repent for their transgressions. Read the following slowly. Laxity in the church is only meant to draw in a majority. I'll explain in a second.
    Our standards have dropped because we are trading in our "relative" dreams for security and comfort. Synagogues, temples and other constructs deemed holy are now expected by us to be on par with the multi-million dollar sky-rises that split our horizons in half. Why are more and more people being drawn towards larger, more attractive places of worship?
    A. A larger and more aesthetically pleasing (pretty) church will undoubtedly have
more people in attendance consistently due to the funding needed for such a          temple.
    B. More people meeting regularly in the same location means that the majority is in the same bracket (demographic) of beliefs and values.
    C. The congregation being in a similar group could be led to assume that their minister must also carry the same values. 
    D. A man of God (the minister) with similar values means that a member is already a quasi-decent person.
    E. Already being a decent person means that minimal effort will be needed to        change.
    F. What Luck! A minimal weekly visit leaves me time to focus on becoming successful at work and home (a consumer).

    Things are starting to pick up speed and the lines dividing right and wrong are getting blurry. I laugh at the idea of a Sunday service fifty years ago being as lively as it is today, but then I quickly sober up, imagining where we will be in another century. Members of a nation could (repeat: could. I'm no nihilist in the following, just creative) be "anti-depressed" by a government issued homes, cars, clothes, Zoloft. The church would "evolve" to increase the entertainment factor because it's now carefree flock didn't have a care in the world. They were on some potent future Zoloft. 

I can see it now. . .
    Mega-churches would move their congregations into stadiums. Giant arenas bought, torn apart, renovated and dedicated by the Church of the Federal Reserve. Members would return every Sunday, walking hand in hand with their families through turnstiles and metal detectors. Everybody spoke with their indoor voice.
Mom, the blonde in the white dress, keeps a plastic bottle of Ser-zone in the purse at her side for her and Dad. Mom's pupils are dilated to where only a thin ring of baby blue remains, a black pit center slowly pushes them out of sight. The father's once hazel irises went out of sight years ago. In a satchel over his back, Daddy carries a small boy, let's say four (details do not concern us). His small hand pushes up the sleeve of his blue tee and scratches. As he relaxes, a small transparent square falls out, landing at his feet. He looks down and realizes what has happened and with a small jolt of panic, taps his mother on her shoulder. It takes her a minute to figure it out and then she moves for her purse, retrieving a small dispenser. Rolling up his sleeve, she removes the top and applies another patch next to the methylphenidate dispensing dinosaur sticker. He laughs in relief as the fresh patch's chemicals ooze into the bloodstream, his small heart rapidly pumps it into his brain, where it begins to play with serotonin. A slight grin spreads across his face and he hums softly as his parents drop him off in the child care center. They turn and swiftly disappear into the passing crowd, through the turnstiles and into the arena. 
Massive halogen bulbs cover the amphitheater's ceiling. They dim at the five minute mark. And people find their seats. The lights go out completely. Music, a deep, throbbing electric beat starts simple enough. The smiling crowd synchronizes themselves to it with slow bobs of the head. The show is about to begin.          
A light show starts as the music's complexities increase. Techno riffs are added into the composition as blue shafts of light begin to crosshatch each other inside the dome. Hanging silently above the audience in the darkness, are twelve giant screens arranged in a circle that face the now writhing crowd. One by one, they flash to life, on beat with the rave around them. As they come to life, words like, HAPPINESS, LOVE, PEACE, and SUCCESS are emblazoned on their screen. The display climaxes with a strobe light that drops, in tempo, bursts of brilliant light onto the mega-minister who has positioned himself below. A camera orbits him, offering the attending throng a stylish, panoramic view of their shepherd on the giant screens above. He stands silently with outstretched arms as the lights flash and music crescendos. The crowd orgasms as one.