My friend Dan Moon has been trying to get me to go to church with him for the last couple years.  Today, he called and I folded like a cheap card table.  “Michael, please  — PLEASE — come to church with us tonight,” he said.  “There’s not a cloud in the sky, so the chances of you being struck by lightning are minimal at best.”

And with an offer like that … I simply couldn’t refuse.  Well, that and I’d previously used every lame excuse known to man to avoid going.  I can only alphabetize my CDs so many times before Dan would catch on.

Up until this point, my church experience had been daunting.  My parents sent me to a holy roller Baptist grade school.  Very fire.  Very brimstone.  It featured a very uptight, old white guy in an ugly suit who had a stick up his ass.  He’d stand in front of the congregation being preachy.  Once when I was nine years old, he singled me out in front of the entire school.  He told me I was going to hell (straight to hell, do NOT pass go) for bringing an Olivia Newton-John album to school for show and tell.  If I had a nickel for every time that man told me I was going to hell, I could have BOUGHT hell and turned it in to a nice little bed and breakfast.  Think of the money I could have saved on electric blankets!

I haven’t been to church since I escaped Grandview Park Baptist Elementary.  I mean, I did go to a Catholic high school … but that was a walk in the park compared the Baptists.  They’d fling themselves on the ground and speak in tongues.  To me, mass was just a light aerobic workout with wine.  The priest would say “Please stand” or “Please be seated” about 400 times.  My quads looked great when I was a non-practicing Catholic wannabe.

Dan’s church was a giant megaplex … the second largest Methodist church in the nation.  My dad would have been proud.  He’s Methodist.  Or is that my mom?  She’s Episcopalian, I think.  Or maybe that’s my dad?   Regardless, that makes me a Pissy Meth.

Tonight’s service put the tempo in contemporary.  It was an upbeat, rock-n-roll-infused praise fest.  I must have sat with my mouth agape a little too long because Dan’s wife leaned over and said, “You’ve never been to anything like this have you?” “Nope,” I mumbled.

After the service, the pastor made a point to invite me back.  (There were 2,000 people in the audience, but he singled me out.  Ahem.  This time it was welcomed.)  I have to admit I may have almost, sorta, kinda, possibly enjoyed myself.

Chances are I’ll be going back … if for no other reason than to see the smile on Dan’s face.  Apparently, I’m his favorite lost lamb or something.   I’m finally someone’s pet project.

Can I get an amen?