
One Sunday, on a visit to North Dakota, I finally saw Jesus Camp, the documentary so many of my friends were up in arms about. Most described it as the “scariest movie” they’d ever seen.
If you’re not hip to it, Jesus Camp is a documentary about a charismatic 3rd-generation Pentacostal minister, Becky Fischer, and her ministry to children. Her kids, most under 13, evangelize, writhe on the floor, speak in tongues, and weep.
You can look at YouTube to see clips from the movie. Then look at the comments and see the kind of hatred and even threats she brings out in people who believe themselves her moral superiors. But that’s not what I want to talk about.
Without knowing it, I watched the movie just a few miles from Becky’s current church. Scenes in the movie looked like the scenery just outside my window. And after a little online research, we learned she’d just bought an old building nearby to convert to her church. Not just any old building, but a Knight’s of Columbus hall cured in tobacco smoke.
Fraternal clubs, says my father, more or less declined with the rise of televised sports. I’ve asked around and every man I know old enough to remember a world populated by Elks, Moose, Knights of Pythias, and Masons agrees with Dad.
So what to do with these old buildings? Most come with a dance floor. A kitchen. A stage. And plenty of floor space. Becky says that’s a perfect combination for a small church.
For me, Becky’s church perfectly combined three of my favorite enthusiasms: old buildings, new urbanist ideas, and religion. So I drove over to her new/old building to gawk.
The open side door was completely covered in dust, except where a finger had scraped out the words “Jonestown” and “Koresh.” People of construction worked inside, seemingly missing the indictment on the door.
One of them invited us in, and let us look around. Told us people were working downstairs, but upstairs was empty.
So we went up, first. The building has few of its original features: Glass brick windows, chrome stair rails, and, well, that’s about it. It’s been used and reused so many times, not much of architectual interest remains.
Next, we went down.
Becky greeted us. Yes, that Becky. She was in the middle of 6 different things, but seemed eager to talk about her renovation. She envisioned a rec room, pool tables, foosball, and such for the kids. Downstairs, a church and a coffeeshop/bookstore area.
I asked: Now that she bought the old building and started finding out what it would take to repair, did she have any regrets? (No). Since this downtown had so many abandoned buildings, did she see herself someday growing into some of the others? (Let’s get this project done. But the Carnegie library would be a great place for my publishing company.)
Okay. I lied. I do want to talk about the movie. Not to Becky. To you.
I didn’t see Becky as a child abuser or brainwasher. I thought of her as a member of a culture very different from my own. That’s kind of how I think of all Evangelicals, even the ones in my family.
As such, I’d extend to Becky the same tolerance, curiosity, and even celebration of differences I’d extend to Native Americans, Amish, Mormons, Jews, and Muslims.
And here’s my experience: Almost every god-centric person I’ve treated that way seems to treat me the same. Even Becky Fischer.
But I worry about her.
Seriously, go read the threats on the YouTube videos. All that nastiness from people she never met–it’s much scarier than the movie. And then she lets me, a complete stranger, wander around her building alone.
That’s some extraordinary faith!
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