Fellini Man

Maybe you've never seen a Fellini film. If not, stop right now, say a heartfelt prayer of thanks, and read on. Fellini did bizarre, avant garde films that were full of concepts and meanings and symbols that could only be decoded by the intelligentsia or someone on a large amount of pharmaceuticals. One of the famous Fellini-style scenes would be, for instance, a beach full of young, vibrant people in skimpy bathing suits (for the time) playing volleyball, laughing, smiling... you get the point. Then, off to the side, not in the center of the shot, would come an older man in a business suit, Trilby hat, briefcase, and wearing a hang-dog expression. He would walk through the middle of the young people with no sign that he noticed them, or they him.

I am Fellini man.

It happens to me all the time. Maybe that's because I get out there into one subculture after another or because I majored in eccentricity in college (Fred's University and Storm Door Company), or both, but I seem to be stuck in strange situations where someone could pop up at any moment and sing the Sesame Street song "one of these things is not like the other" and the answer would be me -- Fellini Man.

As noted some time ago, I went over to Windsor, Ontario and gave a short talk to the FBI Academy annual meeting. It went well enough that I was asked to speak at a couple of other law enforcement events. One of them was last night; an adjunct to the Global Day of Prayer. A sergeant in the Michigan State Police, who is also a pastor, asked me to come and join them for that day of prayer and I agreed to do so. SO after doing three morning services and then attending a graduation party, I drove an hour and a bit west to Ypsilanti where there was a huge wedding-style white tent set up, complete with a stage and three hundred or so folding chairs. I was ushered up to the front row immediately, given a Pastor badge, and sat down. That's when things got interesting.

The organizer came over and showed me a schedule. The event was to last an hour and a half and he showed me when I was supposed to get up and "speak a few minutes." Speak? I didn't know about that, but I was okay with it. Then he showed me a second time when I was supposed to get up and speak. Twice? Well... okay.... I guess.

So I spoke the first time to the mixed race group (it was very encouraging to see the harmony. Whites were a minority, but not overly so) and then got up the second time. It was obvious that almost all of the attendees were Pentecostal; with calls for casting down strongholds, badges that identified some as being in Peter Wagner's prayer group, musicians that didn't stop playing even during my talks and the prayers, lots of rhyming, etc.

After my second talk I handed the microphone back to the organizer who refused it and leaned in whispering, "Would you give the altar call, Dr. Mead?" Altar call? ALTAR call??? I knew I was being given this task as an honor and I really appreciated it... but an altar call?

So I did. It was undoubtedly the strangest, most tentative, most Fellini-like altar call ever but, hey, it was my first time! Several came to me for prayer for this or that and I prayed for them.

Done at last! Uh, no. After two and a half hours (see estimated time length above...) the organizer called for all the pastors and law enforcement officers present to come up to the stage. I did, managing to get all the way to the back so I wouldn't be called up to the microphone again. The lead pastor called for any pastor who felt led by the Spirit to say whatever came to mind. The band kicked it in, drums blazing, bass thumping, as three hundred people stood, stomping, clapping, waving hands, and dancing. Two ladies told us of visions they'd had in the last couple of hours and, helpfully, supplied the interpretation of the visions, too. I -- Fellini Man -- stood quietly and wondered if science will ever develop a real Cloak of Invisibility.

The microphone went from one to the other, each outdoing each other in energy, hyperbole, calls that we were in the end times, denouncing government officials for abortion, speaking in tongues, calling for the demolition of more strongholds, etc. I did my best Matrix impression, moving out of the way of the microphone everytime it came my way. Successfully, I might add. After infinity... or slightly less...the open mike pastor session came to a close. Afterwards, I was touched by how many came up to me and thanked me personally, offering me a kind word here or there for the few things I said.

Uncomfortable? Sometimes. Outside of my tribal customs? Yes, yes, yes. I never regretted being there, though. I can't think of a situation where being in a place to offer a prayer would be a bad thing. I was more afraid of giving offense than of anything else. Although the doctrines, styles of delivery, and temperament of the meeting was like nothing I had ever experienced I was not offended nor frightened. These people loved the Lord or they wouldn't have been there (and stayed there for so long). They were there to pray, to petition the Lord for their neighborhoods and nation. That has to be a good thing, commendable and worthy of support.

God seems to delight in putting me into new places. That's okay. It was an honor to be with them and I wouldn't have hurt their feelings or smirked at their passion for anything in the world. Besides, some of them were law enforcement officers and they had guns.

I might be Fellini Man, but I'm no dummy.