A cornfield in Illinois

    By my 7th grade year I had already had my fill of the wrongs of the church. I had been witness to two horrible church break ups, resulting in tears, rage and unbelievable hurts. I had watched my parents dragged in and out of relenting and needless church politics by selfish and hateful leaders. I stood by, helplessly, as my parents were kicked out of a church for allowing my brother to burn incense. I listened to "preachers" tell large, mindless groups that you couldn't love Jesus and recycle (seriously, it was considered "worshiping the earth" and not the Lord). And I heard a special guest speaker once, during an election year, preach that there would be "no bleeding heart liberals in heaven." (This sucks, because I have always agreed with what the lefties have had to say. I mean it's politics, so it all gross, but I will always prefer a group that wants to help others over the group that wants to protect their 90% with guns. And I will not argue this with you. You have another opinion - Delightful. Go write you own blog.) Anyway, the worst thing that I had to be apart of in church was the Sunday School class all girls were required to take before they could continue onto youth group. It was a "primping and etiquette" class, taught by a former beauty queen and her nutty mother. That year (4th grade) I learned a few memory versus about being a righteous woman, but mostly I learned how to file my nails, shop flattering fashions, wear makeup, diet and most importantly how attract and pray for a Godly husband. (I wish I was kidding, but that was what happened.) It was a 12 month course on how to be pretty for Jesus. Yeah, boys got Bible memorization classes and something like boy scouts and we got makeovers. And I get that the Bible doesn't say a lot directly to women, but we are more that fashionable accessories on the arm of a Godly man, ladies. Ugh ... Anyway, to make my faithful and feminist skin crawl more over was the end of year course "celebration" that was a trip to the mall for shopping (if you had money you were able to shop for a stellar new wardrobe. If  not, you were like me, labeled "poor" and ushered to the food court to wait for the others). And then, obviously, they vaguely tied God into this shame and we were asked to hand out of whishy washy pamphlets called tracks to all the ugly sinners. The whole thing still makes me want to vomit rage and bitterness upon whoever thought that was a good idea.

    So after this and, oh man, so much more, I had decided that when I turned 18, I would write Ichabod (meaning: the glory has departed) on the wall of the fellowship hall, turn my back, hands in the air, middle fingers blazing and walk out the door, never step foot into organized religion ever again. I decided to wait until I was 18, because I loved my parents, and I didn't think they could handle being totally ostracized for having a daughter that actually thought for herself. So I waited and day dreamed about my eventual grand exit from a religion that so carelessly broke my heart.

   Heh. It's funny, but just the time when I had given up on Christianity as a whole - God shows up to remind me why He still loves His people - despite the circus we've created in His name. (Talk about the Lord's name in vain. Jeepers.) 

    Anyway, the summer of my 7th grade year God made it real clear he had much bigger plans for me than my Ichabod exit. You see, I was also planning all sorts of trouble to cause with my hoodrat friends when my older sister, a VW bus driving hippie, decided to follow a small band up to Illinois for a huge Christian music festival. My older sister, Lyza, was the golden child  and could do no wrong. So she pretty much just told (not asked) my parents she was taking me. And they, knowing something was wrong with me, thought it was a brilliant escape. Why yes, it's a wonderful idea to take the awkward, sad middle child (freak) to a cornfield with lots of Jesus people. Go! Post haste! So she bought our tickets, packed up the bus, reassured my parents of our safety and took off, with me in the passenger seat, to Cornerstone Music Festival. 

      I had been told it was like "Woodstack for Jesus," so I was super cynical at first. But considering my other option that week was church camp, with that beauty pageant dame as counselor, I was happy to leave. 

     I have always loved road trips. To me, there are few things more delightful than summer vacation, the open road and a VW bus. My sister had decided she needed to help me. She used that whole time to pour into my life something that wasn't junk gospel. Lyza, knowing my battles with self esteem and yes, anorexia in SEVENTH GRADE (Thanks Pretty for Jesus Sunday School!) made sure I was nourished with  mounds of food, sunshine and tasty tunes. My sister was a really a role model to me. She was bold, bizarre, and oozing with confidence. She didn't care about material things. She didn't worry about trends or makeup, and she didn't get weird or judgmental when I freaked out about stupid crap. (You know, the panic attacks I had about being pretty, skinny and all the things the church literally told me were important.) Lyza was full of understanding and awesome. She had an irreverent sense of humor, but a strict reverence for God. She reminded me often how God doesn't care if I have a french tip manicure ... and neither did anyone else. She read her Bible daily, poured into me scripture that changed my sad, heavy heart. She did not worry about religious naysayers, and she had a backbone that my parents admired and didn't questioned. She wasn't a rebel, she was just a good kid who already knew exactly what she wanted from this crazy life. And she didn't take that damn pretty for Jesus class. She wasn't all sad about not being a Christian Barbie. She did not worry about "catching a man." She knew she was fearfully and wonderfully made, and she knew mistake, failures and bad things happen. That doesn't mean you are out of the will of God, or you didn't love Jesus enough. That's just life being life. She was, to my delight, generally annoyed with the church too. It was so refreshing to have someone to bond with about the silliness of evangelicals and the sadness we both felt that our Savior had to be affiliated with such jerks.  

   By the time we reached Bushnell, Ill, I had already felt better about life. I was eating regularly, not "dieting" and wasn't so worried about what the ladies at church would say about my my frazzled, road weary appearance. I remember I was sporting a Batman shirt, some old flowy skirt and combat boots. I wasn't fashionable, but I liked how I looked. (I still like that look.) I felt like I was able to dress how I wanted and that didn't make me love God any less. It actually, made me feel like God loved me. Just as I am. For years I felt bad about who I was and the church made me feel worse, so this feeling of being okay was a welcomed relief. 

    When I climbed out of the bus and took a look around - I was in awe of the massive cornfield turned campground and concert arena. Hundreds of tents, vendors and stages scattered throughout thousands of people. People that looked nothing like the yawn worthy followers that filled my home church. No one was "Dressed to the nines."  These kids had shirts that read "Body Piercing Saved My Life," with bloody, nail present hands of Jesus on the back. They had neon green mohawks, and tattoos everywhere. And that was just the beginning. There were goths, hippies, skaters, pretty people, medal heads, old people, cowboys, parents, gangsters, activists, kids, Sunday School teachers, business types and basic freaks - all there to take advantage of Bible seminars, camping, art classes, bounce houses, carnival food, theater banter, prayer groups, jam sessions and endless bands preforming everywhere all day. At that point in my life, it was the closest thing I had ever been apart of that involved God and that actually felt right. 

      Everywhere you walked you saw people sharing, giving, caring, and living Jesus. The goth tent, called the Asylum, had women in black corsets and black velvet skirts, holding delicate lace umbrellas, handing out bottle water to the weird raver kids that were leaving the dj/rap tent. Some elderly Sunday School teachers were handing out cups of roman noodles from their RV's to grubby skater boys that were hungry and sweaty from playing the skate ramp. There were sporty girls that looked like they just left a volleyball game, headed to the ska tent, or art seminar. Their were hippies playing bagpipes near the pond and some techno band doing a rendition of an AC/DC song on mainstage. It was a sensory overload and I was speechless with happy. I felt that for the first time in my entire life I could be a Christian and yet remain being me. Things I had to hide before or things that I was made to feel guilty about - I could do!!! And they were okay!!! I could dye my hair, make my clothes, pierce my face, be liberal, recycle, have opinions, watch horror movies, get tattoos, befriend people who didn't love God, listen to The Beatles, paint my nails black and still be a believer of Jesus Christ! This was a revelation. A wake up siren, sent to tell me that I was enough just as I am. I had never been told that before. If I didn't blend in with the church youth group back home - If I didn't dress like the pretty church girls, I was told that I was "seeking attention" and "full of pride." If I listened to the Golden Oldies station, I was told I didn't glorify the Lord. If I enjoyed spooky things, horror movies, Halloween, or black nail polish - I was told I had a dark, evil spirit and I that I must, obviously, love Satan. If I questioned, said or did anything that contradicted the wealthy hateful snobs that were the churches monarchs - I was a disobedient and a "false prophet." I knew what the Bible said, but going against what the church said (despite the fact they were totally making crap up) was an unforgivable sin. My faith for years was a joyless burden meant to keep the selfish, close minded big wigs comfortable. Regardless of what Jesus said if you weren't wealthy, educated, Republican, white, boring and real "normal" - God did not want or need you. Cornerstone Festival was the spark that ignited a fire that burnt away the crap I lived with for years and left me with Jesus, just Jesus. Not all the piety, pity, guilt or hurt. I believed, for the first time that The Gospel was good news, not well, um, Fox News. 

At Cornerstone my faith - my life - began a renovation and I thank God for that dusty cornfield where I finally got to encounter Jesus Christ. 

Over 15 years after my first Cstone festival (and the handful I was lucky enough to attend with my friends and family since) - I am married to a Godly man, funny- he met me when I bald and crazy - and he liked me anyway! We have two amazing kids, two weirdo cats, A God who provides, a joy in salvation, peace in our Savior, hope for our future and we found a church that, to me, is like a wee Cornerstone. We are all very different people who believe Jesus is enough. We are people who make mistakes, have issues, live life and a follow Jesus through a world that often just doesn't make sense. Our building isn't fancy. We don't have a dress code. We don't have a mulitmedia spectacle for ever holiday. And we try to we keep the lie of the "American Dream" far, far away from our faith. No one has it all figured out, so no one is pretending that success or wealth is proof they love Jesus more than anyone else. Our church doesn't want to be pretty people with comfortable problems looking for new church trend to make us look put together. We are broken people with real problems seeking the Savior to heal us, help us, and make us like Him.

 I am not saying I have arrived, but I am saying I am so thankful to find a church that has people, real, honest people who love Jesus and actually treat others like they do. 

I don't care what you wear, who you vote for, what education you have, or if you have a savings account. And I want you to know - God doesn't either. I want you to read about Jesus. Read what He did, what He said and how He treated people. He is not this hateful religion America is panhandling. He is not a political party. He wants you to speak kindness, walk peace, breathe compassion, radiate joy and live love. If you aren't doing those check the things you preach. Don't put my perfect Savior's name on your hot mess of ideas. If you want to be a jerk, go ahead, be a jerk. Just don't be a jerk for Jesus. Doing something awful and then saying you did it because God told ... Whoa. That's doesn't give you justification - it just gives our faith a bad reputation. America - we have made our faith worthless. No one wants what you are selling, because you look, act, and talk like you are miserable anyway. Sure, we have big church buildings, but we are plumb empty on compassion, hope and kindness, friends. You don't need all this stuff that makes up religion. You need Jesus. Jesus is enough. 

You know how I know? Even with all the mega churches I attended growing up, and all the programs it had to offer - I finally felt and fell in love with Jesus (and his people) in a big, old cornfield in Illinois. 

Jesus was, and still is, all I need. The rest doesn't matter. Jesus is enough.

Now, go have a real encounter with Jesus and let's make our faith mean something again. 


More on Cornerstone, what it was, and why it is ending. http://cornerstonefestival.com/

What has Cornerstone meant to you?