The Passion of Justin Bieber, Surf Church, & other Recent #FaithGoesPop Sightings

The goal of #FaithGoesPop is to pay attention to, sight, and comment on the many ways that religion and pop culture cross paths, intermesh, and come into conflict. The hope is that our exploration of "Faith Pop" would be broad enough to include the ways religion is re-appropriated in popular culture and how popular culture is re-allocated by religious actors and entities. To do this successfully I called on many of you to sight your "Faith Pop" and let me know when you saw #FaithGoesPop via Facebook, Twitter, & e-mail. 

You've done very well. 

We've got a fresh new harvest of #FaithGoesPop sightings ranging from water bottles to the passion of Justin Bieber, from soul food seders to surf church and everything in between. Lez get started. 

• All the way from California Alex W. sent me a pic of "Noah Water: California Spring Water." Yes, they went there.

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Noah's Water, flooding your thirst since the Deluvian age. 

You know, because nothing screams "clever marketing" louder than a Hebrew Torah narrative about Ha Shem (G-d) wiping humans, animals, and (possibly?) unicorns off the face of the earth with torrential downpours and water spouts from the pits of hell? (See Genesis 6-9) And if that isn't ironic enough, they call it "Noah's Water," because, you know, after spending 40 days and nights floating on a world of water all that Noah wants is a tall, cool, glass of spring water. Yeah right. I'd imagine that every time Noah drank a glass of water after the Genesis flood he suffered from a serious case of PTSD. "Flood your thirst." Brilliant tagline. About as good as a tagline for red paint that reads, "Passover Proof" or these tasteless salt and pepper shakers featuring Lot and his wife. Nice touch by catching the sheer terror of Lot's wife with her arms raised in a running pose. 

"What's going on here?!" you ask. Irony. Pure, Gen X-er & Millennial proof irony. As Brett McCracken of RELEVANT magazine notes:

“It’s no secret: Our generation—letʼs very roughly say those of us currently between college age and 40—is very, very ironic. That is, we look at the world, especially pop culture, through a highly sarcastic, “youʼve got to be joking, right?” lens. More self-aware and media savvy than ever, we are a growing class of ironists who speak in terms of pastiche, Internet bits and pop culture bites, film quotes and song lyrics, and “oh no she didnʼt!” tabloid tomfoolery. We look the stupidity of culture in the face and kiss it...”

— Brett McCracken, RELEVANT Magazine

McCracken reflects that irony has become a defense mechanism for the savvy generations that grew up in a society where earnestness failed and consumer capitalism ran rampant. Irony is a way to strip the forces of global capitalism and normal nihilism from their inevitable and quasi divine force. How? To make sure nothing is sacred and everything is ridiculous. I can't quite complain. I'm part of this generation. I swallow pastiche & appreciate sardonicism with the best of them. But I must say, with Noah's Water we may have outdone ourselves. 

*FYI, our last #FaithGoesPop compendium featured an H20 bottle as well. There is something in the water folks. 

• Now, from water to beer. Ben C. out in California shared a photo of a "Holy Hefeweizen" that he had the honor of blessing before it was tapped for the St. Patrick season at a local SoCal brewery.

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Of course, religious quaffs are nothing new. Sages across the ages have not only enjoyed a drink or two, but brewed a few (or hundreds) of gallons as well and there are even deities of the sacred draughts. If you were tempted, like I am, to give thanks for the saintly suds from above, you could turn to Silenus, Greek god of beer, or Ninkasi, the Sumerian goddess who slakes the thirst of the world with the fruit of her bounteous hops. Here in the Americas, you could magnify the Mexica deity Tezcatzontecatl, god of drunkenness. Perhaps, with a swig of ale you could proclaim the accolades of Mbaba Mwana Waresa, the Zulu god credited with brewing the first beer in creation. To learn more about the storied history of religion & beer, check out

• Staying at the table for our #FaithGoesPop sightings I came across a "Soul Food Seder" in the most recent edition of Sunset Magazine. 

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Sunset shares the story of chef Tanya Holland (again, in California) who runs Oakland's Brown Sugar Kitchen who makes a case for the best soul food west of the Mississippi. For years, she's wanted to host a seder. Married Phil Surkis, who is Jewish, the pair invited friends and family over for a "soul food seder" that harmonized African American and Jewish culture, recipes, and rituals. The result? North African styled haroseth symbolizing the mortar the Hebrews were forced to make bricks from in Egypt; Creole Matzo-ball Soup; & flourless chocolate pecan cake. This remix on a rather traditional table setting and menu is the quintessence of cultural hybridity. Fusing her African American roots and Jewish husband's background on one level and redeeming history (using North African recipe elements for foods representing the liberating meal of a people once enslaved there) on another, Holland created a "third-space" out the post-colonial pieces that make up her mélange family story. The result? A table full of fellowship, stories, and a recipe for the future of religion and culture. 

• Next, another merger. This time: surf church. 

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Photo from The Los Angeles Times story on Pepperdine's surf chapels.

It seems we can't get away from California (I promise, the next sighting won't be from the Left Coast). But I can't say no to my mom, who sighted this one and sent it my way. Out at Pepperdine University, students are given the opportunity to attend "Surf Chapel." The Los Angeles Times reported, "First they listen to Bible passages and break up into small groups to share emotional highs and lows. Then many of them don wetsuits, grab boards from a Pepperdine recreation department truck and hit the waves." The surfer's service is led by former Navy-man and current business professor Rob Shearer who "carries his surfboard and his New American Standard Bible and wades into the sacred realm of the outdoors, where he expounds the merits of religious belief and community building" every Wednesday with Pepperdine undergrads. 

Surfing and religion have a wavy history. Pepperdine profs aren't alone in taking to the waves to surf the spirit. Indeed, Dr. Bron Taylor (University of Florida) reflected in Surfing magazine and elsewhere that "soul surfers" who testify to the "physical, psychological, and spiritual" benefits of surfing constitute their own "new religious movement" which prescribes a reverence for nature's "transformative, healing, and sacred" powers.

Like the close-calls and cuts of surfers contending for the same break it seems "soul surfers" and those "surfing for the Savior" may compete to catch the same spiritual swell.  

• kay, I promised. No more California. Let's head to Brazil and move from "surfing the spirits" to "slaying in the Spirit." 

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Slaying them in the Spirit. 

Celso F. sighted this gem of a graphic image illustrating a Pare de Sufrir warrior cutting down an effigy of a mai de santo (lit. "mother of saint") the Candomble religion of Brazil. Vitor Teixeira, a South American political humorist and illustrator often takes his pen-and-ink out on the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG, or Igreja Universal do Reino de Deus), also known as Pare de Sufrir (lit. "stop suffering"). Here, he makes clear the theological bent of the 8 million member strong neo-Pentecostal megachurch, which is planting churches in places as diverse as Houston, TX and London, England. With an emphasis on Spirit-fueled healing of the body, prophecy, baptism in the Holy Spirit, glossolalia (speaking in tongues), and eternal salvation the UCKG sees itself as a bulwark against satanic influences in poverty, crime, and competing religions. Thus, the church trains their followers to be "warriors" to fight against Afro-Brazilian religions such as Candomble and Umbanda  (see the 2005 book Orixás, Caboclos e Guias: Deuses ou Demônios? by founding pastor Edir Macedo). 

The conflict, and the embodied, pneumatic, and apocalyptic essence of UCKG highlights the triumphant, and even dominionist, theology of some new global Pentecostalisms. While not representative of all Pentecostals, the UCKG makes explicit the swelling numbers of those Spirit-filled evangelicals who aim to "raise champions and take territories" for the Lord relying on a worldview that sees the spiritual manifest in city blocks, and visceral contestations over human bodies. In their view, the spiritual is all pervasive and everything material is a potential vessel of divine power -- nefarious or benevolent. Everything is spiritual. Thus, the Spirit of God must be called upon to fight and cure physical enemies and realities -- social, political, economic, and religious. 

• Speaking of spiritual battles, let's talk about "The Passion of Justin Bieber."

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You can't un-do seeing this photo. It's burned in your memory for-ev-er [insert "Sandlot" voiceover here].

Andrew R. sent me a link to a Jezebel story wherein the author highlights the parallels between Jesus Christ's passion during #HolyWeek and the recent roasting of everyone's favorite popstar to hate -- Justin Bieber. Other than the expected, but nonetheless lame, jokes about "believers" and "Beliebers" the roast featured a long list of B-list celebs taking the mickey out of Bieber in a thinly veiled attempt to resurrect his career. 

While the author makes it clear that, in reality, "apart from their scant biographical similarities" JB and JC have nothing in common it seems we've come full circle in our exploration of #FaithGoesPop. We started with irony. We end with irony. What could be more satirical than a parallel comparison of the passion narrative of a man many consider divine with a man many consider a boy? 

The answer? Noah Water, that's what. 

Conclusion

As you can see folks, religion is everywhere. Not only does it serve as a launching point for caustic humor, but despite the prophecies of secular theorists who foresaw the decline of religion in the 21st-century the world is a seemingly very sacred place. At home altars and in public processions of faith, from breweries to Biebers, religion helps us to make meaning of popular culture. Religion, what Dr. Anthony Pinn of Rice University sums up as "the quest for complex subjectivity" involves our search to answer the fundamental questions of our existence and invest life -- in all its material pop culture glory -- with significant, transcendent, meaning. 

Keep your eyes peeled friends. You shouldn't have to look too hard. #FaithGoesPop is everywhere. 

A Pentecostal in Hijab?

*This is a guest blog from Megan Geiger. Megan is a graduate student in the University of Florida's religion department. She focuses on Pentecostalism, changes in social discourses among Pentecostals, immigration and Pentecostalism, Latin American holiness movements, American religious history, and the role of women in Christian fundamentalism. She is an active member of the United Pentecostal Church, International and recently took part in Islam on Campus UF's "wear hijab for a day" program. This is her story from the day:

My first thought was, “This is definitely harder than doing my hair.”  The scarf was finally secured against my head thanks to the multiple straight pins keeping it in place (and the corresponding pinpricks in my fingers and scalp). After watching several YouTube tutorials that claimed to demonstrate “Easy Hijab Styles for Beginners,” I had managed to fashion the bright pink scarf into a series of somewhat-graceful folds across the crown of my head and under my neck. In my opinion, it looked pretty convincing, although I was sure it would take a practiced Hijabi only seconds to realize that I was completely unused to the veil. 

In fact, covering my hair is almost a redundancy; being Pentecostal I’ve left my hair uncut for my entire life so that it could serve as a covering for me, as recommended by scripture in 1 Corinthians 11.  On this particular day, however, I had chosen to adopt a style of covering that was not my own.

Now, usually a fundamentalist Christian choosing to wear the head covering of a Muslim woman would probably be considered a gross act of cultural insensitivity, but don’t worry; I was invited. A Muslim students’ group on my university campus was hosting Hijab Day, during which non-hijabis were asked to wear the veil during the day and meet to discuss their experiences afterwards. Given my interest in religion and modesty, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

That said, I felt some trepidation as I adjusted my scarf one final time and left my house that morning. The religious landscape that I inhabit on a daily basis has been notoriously hostile to Muslims—members of my own church community have expressed horror at my involvement in Muslim activities on campus, and Gainesville itself (home of the 2012 Qur’an burning scandal) is no stranger to militant Islamophobia. Hijab day seemed to me to be a unique opportunity to point out that Muslims and Pentecostals have a lot in common when it comes to modesty and covering; however, I also expected a lot of negative responses from my fellow Christians. I snapped a picture for Instagram, added ‘#modesty’ to it, and braced myself. I was prepared to be criticized for my decision. I wasn’t prepared for the critiques I would bring upon myself. 

As I went through my day on a busy college campus, the recurring question that came to me was “Does that person think I’m Muslim?” The question both had to do with my respectful desire to wear hijab “the right way,” and my hesitation at abandoning my own religious identity for a day. I questioned whether in putting on the hijab I was electing to set aside my own agenda as an evangelical Christian, and what that meant in terms of my mission to save souls…what if veiling myself cost me an opportunity to share the gospel? What if I was damaging my authority as a Christian by temporarily presenting myself as a Muslim? This tension came to light during one surreal moment in my day in which I actually taught a Bible study to another UF student, all while wearing an overtly Muslim symbol of modesty. I explained why I was doing it and the study went on without a hitch, but as I listened to myself discuss Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross as eternal payment for our sins, I wondered if my headgear was somehow marring the message. Or was it the other way around?

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Photo: Megan Geiger

I was not the only one to have these thoughts. One Pentecostal Instagram user went as far as to say that to don the veil, even for a day, even with the best intentions at heart, was to give place to the demonic influences of Islam—in terms of spiritual warfare, this was the equivalent of flying a white flag over the Pentagon. My insecurities deepened. 

To my surprise, that was the only negative comment about my participation in Hijab Day that I received. Instead, I was flooded with a wave of affirmation and support from other Pentecostal women, who praised the elegance of hijab, the value of interreligious understanding, and the practice of modesty in any form. A couple of my Pentecostal friends went so far as to join me in covering—the veiled selfie one friend sent me was accompanied by the fervent declaration “Modesty is beautiful!” It was clear that I had sold my own people short—these women leapt at the opportunity to bridge the gap between our two religious cultures. There were plenty of “likes” from Pentecostal men as well, even from several ministers. I was shocked. And I was a bit ashamed that I was shocked. 

As I sat in the Hijab Day discussion and listened to a panel of young Muslim women talk about their unique reasons for veiling and their individual journeys of faith, I thought deeply about my own. Being Pentecostal has a lot to do with living in the borders of things—we’re a people of first century doctrine and twenty-first century technologies, old-fashioned dress standards and newfangled beauty standards, living “in the world but not of the world.” That also means we live in the tensions between culture and politics, tolerance and literal interpretations of scripture, the soon-coming apocalypse and the need to coexist with our neighbors in the coming week. For some the hijab is a reminder that there are people whose faith contradicts our own. For some it’s a place of connection, a hole in the fence between Islam and Christianity where ideas can be exchanged. 

I won’t have the opportunity to wear hijab every day (for which my scalp is grateful). Still, my one day with the veil showed me that I am not the only member of my faith who is ready, even anxious, to talk about the things we have in common with Muslims. There is space for exchange. In our covering, we may find a haven for connection. 

Let’s start talking. 

Being an Apostolic fashionista

*A guest post from Megan Geiger. 

Thank God for winter.

Summer in Florida is not the easiest time to be Apostolic. With temperatures in the high 90’s and enough humidity to make the mosquitoes grumpy, the daily task of choosing an outfit becomes something of a test of ingenuity. 

As an Apostolic Pentecostal, I belong to a group of believers that adheres to standards of dress that promote modesty, based on scriptural interpretations of covering with a little Bible belt flavor and fashion thrown in. That means that my body is covered from my knees to my neck to the middle of my bicep in every season, no matter the heat index.

Today’s fashion world and shopping scene present some challenges to the Apostolic girl looking for modest clothing. Outfits are often feats of layering, pieced together from store-bought articles that would be considered immodest by themselves. Knee-length pencil skirts are often too tight to be worn alone, but are perfect for lengthening the hem of a cocktail dress that only falls to mid-thigh, sleeveless tops are only wearable under jackets or as a way to raise the neckline of another shirt, and thin, long-sleeved undershirts are worth their weight in platinum as all-purpose coverage under sleeveless dresses, tank-tops, and sheer materials. On any given day an Apostolic girl may leave her house wearing two or three tops and multiple skirts (never pants, by the way, as those are considered to be “the apparel of a man”). 

A solution to this problem of overdressing would be to revert to making our own clothing, sewing modest pieces from a single piece of fabric and leaving the layers for the snowbirds. But for us, an essential part of living our Christian walk “in the world but not of the world” is looking modestly stylish, approachable, and even attractive. It simply won’t do to just walk away from modern fashion and resort to homemade gingham shifts; there’s a great feeling of accomplishment that comes with taking a “worldly” aesthetic and turning it into something holy, and even haute.

That’s not to say that our style choices allow us to blend in. On the contrary, we’re supposed to stick out; as evangelicals with a world to save, the way we style our bodies is sometimes our greatest missionary resource, opening doors for non-threatening conversations with strangers. A big part of that is the hair. 

Oh, the hair. 

Based on several verses, 1 Corinthians 11 adjures women to enter sacred spaces with their heads covered and also say that long hair is a glory for females. The majority of Apostolic women choose to leave their hair uncut. While hair length depends largely on genetics and diet, many women sport tresses that fall well past their waists, some with locks that drag the ground, a living rebuttal to the myth that split ends prevent growth. For many of us, our hair is a canvas for artistic expression, a marker of our identity. 

And let me tell you, we’ve gotten good at fixin’ it. 

Anyone who believes that hair teasing died with the 1980’s has never set foot in an Apostolic rally or convention. While the days of using mini cereal boxes and paper towel rolls as structural aids to support massive beehive ‘dos are gone, big hair has never fallen out of vogue completely. Each stylist has her own set of tools and tricks to use in sculpting her Sunday silhouette. Even loyalty to particular brands of hairspray, mousse, bobby pins, clips, and volumizing products is fierce. At important events, like national conferences, women can expect to spend anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour on their hairdos, rendering striking results. Styles vary from couture, asymmetrical constructions of spirals and braids to slightly more tame arrangements that resemble something from a wedding magazine or a prom picture. Even the most ornate styles are tested before service to make sure they will stay in place throughout the vigorous worship that accompanies Pentecostal devotion; bobby pins make mean shrapnel if flung with enough speed during a good “shout song.” However, it’s expected that we’ll all leave service looking a little rough, since worship isn’t about looking pretty and the hair and clothes are less about looking good and more about being a part of the community.

To be honest, a well-layered outfit and a well-coiffed hairdo has little to do with piety and more to do with identity. It would be easy to adhere to our standards of modesty without bothering so much with fashion, and some ladies do choose to stick to more low-maintenance styles. Still, for plenty of young women, experiments in Apostolic fashion are a way to stay separated from ‘the World’ while remaining tied in to a larger community of practitioners. It’s a marker of belonging, and a common aesthetic that we can be proud of, despite feeling different in the context of mainstream American culture.

All of us Apostolic girls have at some point lived the following scenario: a familiar silhouette catches my eye in a crowded mall or at a theme park. The woman walking towards me is wearing a skirt that falls well past her knee, a long-sleeved shirt, and a contrasting camisole that covers her chest nearly to her collarbone, despite the heat of the day. I quickly check her wrists and ears for jewelry; there is none. Another covert sweep confirms that she isn’t wearing any noticeable makeup. A slightly too-ornate bun at the back of her neck seals the deal; she’s one of us. If our eyes meet, we exchange a quick smile and perhaps a small wave.

Maybe it’s a sign of solidarity, of letting each other know that we’re not alone in the struggle to be different from the norm. Or maybe it’s just an appreciation of something in others that we see in ourselves. The Pentecostal “Namaste.” 

Either way, it’s assurance for each of us that our culture is being preserved and promoted, and that our distinctiveness has neither been swallowed up by worldly fashions nor succumbed to dowdiness. It reminds us that our bodies are the billboards of our faith. Even during long-sleeved Florida summers, it’s something we prize. 

*Thanks to Megan Geiger for her guest post. Megan is a fellow graduate student at University of Florida and received her B.A. in Spanish with a dual minor in Anthropology and English Literature from the Harriet L. Wilkes Honors College of Florida Atlantic University, where she was chosen as the Stan and Renee Wimberly Scholar for the class of 2014. Her undergraduate thesis focused on the changes in the social discourses present in an archive of sermons from a Pentecostal church, and she aims to continue in that vein of research during her time in the Master’s program. Her other research interests include Pentecostalism and immigration, Pentecostalism in Latin America, American religious history, and the role of women in Christian fundamentalism. She is an active member of the United Pentecostal Church, International.

*This post is also available at Faith Goes Pop with Read the Spirit and Sacred Duty with Houston Belief.