Confronting Personal Demons

I just watched Jesus Camp. It's a documentary about a summer camp for Evangelical Christian families. I've referenced it in my own blog in November and again in February. Based on information from the film trailer, the website, and some commentary about the film, I worked myself into a knot over it. I found the film online, and couldn't make it through the first five minutes. I was up and pacing the room like a football coach. I could almost feel the walls closing in.

I decided to put the DVD in my hold list at the local library. That was in early April, when there was a bunch of stuff going on. I expected to forget about it, and I did. The video arrived at the library this morning. Tonight was the night. I steeled myself with alcohol and Valium. Let the crusade commence!

So I watched.

And when it was over, I thought about what I had just seen. I thought about how it effected me.

I was numb. Not the sort of "desensitized to violence" numb that comes after watching Schwarzenegger blow the heads off not one but THREE terrorists. Not the "I feel like swearing like Ozzy Osbourne, but my mouth won't move" numb. Just numb. Disconnected. Quiet. Rather like after the opening act at a rock concert whips the crowd into a frenzy, shouting, "Are you ready to rock?" Then they admit the real band is stuck in traffic at the airport, 45 minutes away. Ahem. Cough. Cough.

I was prepared to be outraged. I was prepared to force my couch pillows into my mouth to prevent from jabbering like a mental patient. I was prepared to swear my allegiance to the Devil I don't believe in, just to try to spite the smug ladies on screen.

But none of that happened. The movie ended, and I just got up to get some more water. Pillows intact. Devil unworshipped. (Interestingly, "unworshipped" isn't a word. One can only "not worship".)

Then I felt sad. I felt a sort of -- magnanimous pity. These are children. I watch them dancing in their rooms, playing with sticks, poking at creepy bugs in caves, and they feel like me. But then, they scrunch up their faces in concentration and an approximation of adult seriousness. In the totally serious tone of voice I used to use on my parents when I was arguing for immediate implementation of "ice-cream only" meals, they talk about being "saved" at five years old, because of a search for something "more" to life.

What do we know at age five? Do we know anything that our parents haven't told us? Do we even comprehend that life can change? I seem to remember just assuming that life simply "is", because I didn't even know that something could be other than "as it is". Maybe that's just me.

Just children. I cried when a little girl chastises herself for her love of dance. She does spiritual dancing, yes, but she admits sometimes dances "for the flesh", which in context means dancing for fun. "I really need to stop that," she says with downcast eyes. I was moved when a little boy admits that sometimes he doesn't believe in God, in part because God can't be seen or heard. He may be the only person in the entire film who admits even a shred of doubt. The only person who isn't 100% sure about everything and who isn't eager to witness to everyone else.

It's a difficult movie to watch. Every minute, my brain screams at me. Surely, my brain says, surely they'll realize how weird they seem. Surely they'll realize they've gone too far. Surely they'll realize that children aren't wind-up toys. Surely they'll realize the ....

But they never realize. The parents don't feel the discomfort I feel, when their child can recite the amount of temperature increase due to global warming in the past few years, then say it doesn't matter (since it's less than a degree). How can people be deaf to the words coming out of their mouths? Their words are like a reflex action; when someone challenges a belief, the knee-jerk answer gets recited word for word. You can barely even see the strings...

Shortly before the end of the film, in walks Ted Haggard. He's on stage at his church, talking about how much the kids like the evangelical message, because it makes them feel special, as opposed to just being "an animal" like the science textbooks say. He talks about what a great time it is for their movement; how when they vote, they determine the elections.

I paused the film and looked into his eyes. I searched his face. I'm not being facetious - I was searching for some indication of his actual life. I wanted to see what a man looks like who lives a lie, and then swears by it. How can this man who semi-jokingly addresses the camera and says "Repent," how could he be currently disgraced and the very thing he condemns? Was he aware as he was filmed that his life was two separate parts? Was he hiding it deep in his soul, where he hoped not even God could find it?

This is a film where almost everyone is motivated by paranoia and persecution. The Christians feel the government is stamping them out. The liberal radio show host thinks the Christians are taking over. The children are convinced the Devil is actively working against them in everything. The organizers of the "Kids on Fire" camp bless the chairs, the sound equipment, the electrical power substation, and the Power Point projector and slides because they fear Satan's interference with the message. The homeschooling parents fear what kids might learn in public school. The camp organizer fears that the Muslims have more children willing to give up their lives for God.

In the end, it's just the organizer alone at home, watching video tape of everything we just saw in the movie. Is it a positive or a negative feedback loop?

More importantly, is God a choice or an obligation?