Sixteen year old David attended a youth gathering in Bend, Oregon.
The Tunnel of Unwanted Touching was the main event, but there was one other memorable part of the gathering.
We were sent home with a mission.
More of a mandate than a mission.
Seriously, they weren’t kidding around. We were told this was not optional.
(This was specifically a mandate for public school students. I think students at Christian schools were off the hook. Lucky bastards.)
We were told to pray at our lockers for thirty seconds between first and second period.
Not a subtle prayer, either.
We had to kneel on the floor, eyes closed, head bowed, hands folded.
Bonus points if our prayer was out loud.
It had to be obvious to everyone around us that we were praying.
The theory was that people would see us praying, ask what we were doing, and we’d tell them about Jesus.
If there were multiple people in the school doing this, it would look weird to people, and they’d ask questions.
Boom. Opportunity to talk about Jesus.
The prayer wasn’t the point. The evangelism opportunity was the point.
You know, because hell. We needed to save our heathen public school friends from going there.
Thirty seconds.
Between first and second period.
In front of locker.
Kneeling.
Eyes closed.
Hands folded.
Out loud if possible.
Don’t f— this up or your friends could end up in hell.1
The final day of the event,2 the leaders took it a step further. We were asked (not just asked, coerced. Another mandate) to pay twenty bucks for a shirt that would also function as an evangelism opportunity.
It was a black shirt with green lettering.
The font was 90’s-tastic.
On the front, the shirt says
Drop ‘n Pray
On the back:
Drop and Give Me 30
-God3
Super embarrassing, but we were told it would help us with the Locker Prayer Evangelism.
I paid the twenty bucks. My last twenty bucks. I didn’t eat lunch on the way home because I was told the shirt was more important.
When I got home, I dreaded the next day of school.
I dreaded wearing a shirt that said “Drop ‘n Pray.”
I dreaded having to explain “Drop and Give me 30.”
I especially dreaded praying in front of my locker and having someone notice and asking me about it.
I was a super awkward, uncomfortable teenager (as we all were), and I just wanted to blend in.
Praying at my locker would make me stand out.
In all the worst ways.
I didn’t want to be God Boy. I wanted to be invisible.
BUT, I was told this was important to God.
Following the youth event, I now knew that I was supposed to pray in front of my locker.
God knew that I knew that I was supposed to pray in front of my locker.
I knew that God knew that I knew that I was supposed to pray in front of my locker.
God knew that I knew that God knew that I knew that I was supposed to pray in front of my locker.
I went to school the following Monday. I spent all of first period (band class, my favorite) worrying about the gap between first and second period.
The clock moved so slowly. My muscles clenched. My arteries constricted. God was watching, and I was going to have to do this.
When the bell rang, I went to my locker. I kneeled in front of it.
But in the moment I chickened out.
I did pray.
But while praying, I reached into my locker and pretended to be looking for something for the entire thirty seconds.
That way, if anybody saw me, it would look completely ordinary.
I spend the rest of the day with a pit in my stomach.
I didn’t go through with my public prayer.
And God knew.
And I knew that God knew.
I never thought this failure would keep me from heaven.
But I spent the rest of the day worried that my fellow students might burn for all eternity because I couldn’t pray for thirty seconds.
At lunch, my buddy Joe saw my shirt, and said “Drop ‘n Pray, Libby.”
I pretended to laugh but was super embarrassed.
My buddy Jed saw the back of my shirt and was like, “What does ‘Drop and Give Me 30” mean?
I hesitated, then said I didn’t know.
Another failure.
My friends are going to hell.
I probably won’t, but maybe?
But they certainly will.4
Joe greeted me with “Drop ‘n Pray, Libby” for the rest of the year. It got funnier and less painful as the year went on.
Thankfully.
I'm going to ignore the scripture from Matthew 6:5 which says to pray privately, and not to pray in public to be seen by others.
I just want to ask this question:
Is this really what we're doing? Is that really the plan? Praying so that people can see us and ask what we're doing? Intentionally doing something weird so people will ask why we’re doing something weird?
What does that accomplish?
For me: shame. It accomplished shame.
Shout out to Joe for the best yearbook signature I got in all of high school.
A+
And stop saying f—, high school David, or you’ll end up in hell with your heathen friends.
After the Touch Tunnel the night before.
I spent a long time this week trying to find a picture of the shirt and came up with nothing. Five bucks to the first person who finds one.
To be clear: I don’t think they are. I did then. I don’t now.
Oh man. I am sorry. 😢
Again so sorry you experienced this horrific religious emotionally abuse at the hands of church. It saddens me you lived this humiliation and trauma as a teen.