He considered the latest fad in helping to save
Western Christianity from the dust bin of history,
this one sexual liberation from the reactionary

shackles of penitent, guilty, embarrassed old
leches like Augustine of Hippo. As he read of
the artistic, ministerial, literary efforts of the

ecstatic and exuberant tattooed believers, it re-
minded him of the church camps he attended as
a teen, where the highlight (at least as was the

plan of the old, fuddy-duddy, killjoy clergy) of the
week was the night of commitment when we all
could feel such shame for lusting after each other

all week long and give ourselves wholeheartedly
to Jesus, and then the next morning, in the bright
light of Jesus’ purifying, sanctifying love, and

swearing, in adolescent innocence and enthusiasm
to BFF’s, before there was the abbreviation, that
we would write (now text, tweet, Instagram, etc.,

endlessly) daily for the rest of our lives and be
sure to keep in touch until eternity rushes us off
to the great camp reunion in the sky, and then we

forgot, except this time around, we could keep the
lust and enjoy it and Jesus, kind of like a cream-
coated communion of having your cake and

eating it, too.