No Longer a Fish Out of Water

In the summer of 1972, I was 14 years old. My childhood was beset with illness, and I had become physically, socially, and spiritually a very unhealthy individual. At that age I was already very depressed and disoriented. Going to church and church-sponsored youth activities were, for some reason, especially disturbing to my soul. I was being steered on a course that seemed to have a very shallow and unfulfilling outcome.

I had been hospitalized for asthma so much during my childhood that my parents decided to send me to Colorado to a special live-in clinic for asthmatic children. There was a waiting list to get in, so first I stayed with my aunt near the city of Denver. My aunt was a very kind single woman in her mid 30’s. She shared a mobile home with one of her classmates from college. Despite their humble circumstances, they were very hospitable and had compassion for my situation.

The church they went to was very different from anything I was accustomed to. It was very small, there were three preachers instead of one, and they all wore blue jeans and flannel shirts. It was the first time that I actually considered that Jesus might have something to do with real life.

There was a young man there that befriended me. His name was Ben and he was 21. He had sincerity and a peace about him that drew me like a magnet. He was not a lofty intellectual or superfluous charismatic. He was secure, down to earth, yet very approachable. He attributed his lack of anxiety to being surrendered to Jesus Christ. I decided that this was what I wanted.

During my year and a half at Denver, I met many other young people that were similar to Ben. I even attended a church in someone’s home. They sat in a circle and sang songs with a guitar. This was truly revolutionary.

After I was dismissed from the asthma clinic, I moved in with the “single brothers” of that church who all lived together in a big house. There were about 15 of us all together, and at 16 years old, I was the youngest. I didn’t know it, but this was all a small part of what was being called the Jesus Movement.

In early January 1974, I returned home to Chattanooga. I was no longer disoriented. I was a zealous young Christian. All I had to do was find some people like my friends in Denver. But where?

Going back to my parent’s church was like being sentenced to the Tower of London. I was starting to falter.

In February, I attended a Presbyterian youth “retreat” in Gatlinburg with other youth from Presbyterian churches across the state. The hollowness and frivolity of it all was very disconcerting to me. Was there not one person that was sincerely seeking God’s will?

The last night I walked out of the Christian Rock & Roll concert and sat down on the lobby floor. I was on the verge of tears when a girl came up to me and said, “You look how I feel.” I couldn’t help but cry. She had a look of pain on her face that made it clear that she was experiencing the same “fish out of water” sensation that I was. She gave me a card to the Vine House and invited me to come to a “rap session” on Tuesday or Thursday night.

The next Tuesday I was there. I felt immediately that I had found what I was looking for. There was not the slightest hint of pretentiousness in the air. People were inspired and genuine. To say that I was treated with warmth and hospitality would be a huge understatement, even though there were no refreshments. What was most awesome was the fact that these people did not go “home” after the discussion. This was their home. They did not wake up the next morning to go back to school, or back to their own job and individual pursuit of the “American Dream.” They had a greater purpose: to be disciples seven days a week, to learn to love the way He did and extend that love to others.

The more I visited, the more persuaded I became that this was the true way, the only way to follow the Master. I was so glad that serving Him was so down to earth. It could be cutting the weeds in the ditch behind the Deli, working in the Deli, working third shift, working on the construction crew, etc. What I hated about the organized church was the complete separation between the clergy that did the “spiritual service” and all the “laity” there that filed into place and stand before them, not daring to say a word.

The Vine House was the extreme opposite of this. Everyone sang with all their hearts, and anyone had the opportunity to express their heart.

Enduring Through the Years

Over the years I have been through numerous difficult circumstances, misunderstandings, and inner turmoil that is inherent with following the high calling of becoming like Yahshua. At times it can seem to be an excruciating ordeal on one’s emotions. It has not been any single relationship that has kept me here. Some of the people that I have felt closest to are no longer here.

What has kept me here is that somehow I have never doubted that Yahshua is the head over this house. He covers all of our many mistakes because the heart of this people, and what has so obviously been Gene’s heart, every single day is to do His will, not seeking their own glory. In short, I believe that this Body is the essence of John 12:26.

If anyone serves Me, let him follow Me; and where I am, there My servant will be also. If anyone serves Me, him My Father will honor.

The reality of that verse is right here. Here is a place you can die to the rottenness of selfish pursuit. Here is a place where we can serve Him where He is.

~ Al Jayne (Ne’eman)