My long-time spiritual director retired at the end of May.  Every month for over fifteen years, I had a standing appointment with Amanda during which, after my check-in, she’d make a few keen observations and then ask one or two probing questions that never failed to illumine, enrich, challenge, and encourage my journey of faith. 

June being the first month in a decade and a half that I did not have the benefit of our conversation, I sat back in my chair in the Maple Loft (It’s so good to be here again!), put my feet up on the windowsill, gazed into the maple now in full leaf, and remembered with thanksgiving Amanda’s companionship of my spirit.  I recalled her various offices, one of which was in a strip mall in North Phoenix next to a martial arts studio that was next to the anchor store which wasn’t a store at all, but a spiritual direction establishment itself, albeit of a different order than Amanda’s, but no less an instrument of God’s endlessly surprising, all-enveloping grace. 

More on that establishment in a moment.

At the outset of Holy Week a decade or so ago, my then Music Director, Dwight, invited Jennie and me to attend the Good Friday worship service at Camelback Bible Church, a congregation at which he had served in music ministry years earlier.  Camelback Bible Church is 20 miles or so south of Coolwater Christian Church and many miles apart theologically (or so I thought), but I was up for a road trip, so off Jennie and I drove with Dwight due south for the evening service. 

Surprise #1:  I expected a megachurch worship center (tech-savvy, screen-driven, padded seat auditorium) devoid of overtly religious symbols like communion table, pews, stained glass, crosses and such.  Not so.  The worship space was a sanctuary replete with pipe organ, pulpit, lectern, and table. 

Surprise #2:  I expected the pastor to sport a Hawaiian shirt and stylish faded denim jeans and the congregation to model chic Valley of the Sun casual.  Paradise Valley is, after all, the wealthiest zip code in Phoenix. Not so. The pastor wore a solemn black suit.  The worship leaders were dressed in Good Friday somber.  Dark sport coats.  Dark dresses. 

Surprise #3:  I expected an opening set of several pieces of music led by a praise band followed by a 40-minute sermon on the meaning of Jesus’ death on the cross illustrated with hip references to contemporary culture – music, movies, social media mentions.  Nope.  The liturgy was as traditional as it gets – the reading of Jesus’ Seven Last Words interspersed with meditative organ pieces, the singing of hymns (“When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” “What Wondrous Love Is This”), and moments of silent contemplation.

Surprise #4:  After we sat down in our pew following the opening hymn, Dwight leaned my way and whispered, “Do you recognize the guy two pews in front of us to the left toward the center aisle?”  I looked and saw the profile of a man in an open-collared black dress shirt, longish black hair, chiseled face, dark eyes focused intently on the chancel.  He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.  Dwight whispered, “Alice Cooper.  He and his wife Sheryl and their children have been members here for 25 years.”  He pointed in his bulletin. “She’s reading one of the Seven Last Words. They’re here every Sunday when he’s not touring.  They volunteer in the nursery, among other things. We know him as Vince.”

Alice Cooper, birth name Vincent Damon Furnier, born 1948 in Detroit, is a PK (preacher’s kid).  His father and grandfather were both preachers.  He is a pioneer of shock rock, defined by Wikipedia as “the combination of heavy metal rock music with highly theatrical live performances … that may include violent or provocative behavior from the artists, the use of attention-grabbing imagery such as costumes, masks, or face paint, or special effects such as pyrotechnics or fake blood.” PK Alice Cooper did all that while imbibing a full draught of the unholy trinity of sex, drugs, and rock and roll until his wife gave him an ultimatum:  sober up and chasten up or I’m outta here.  Alice chose the former, was baptized at Camelback Bible Church, and now, 43 years of sobriety and fidelity later, he and Sheryl will soon celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. (In an interview at the church on the occasion of their 40th anniversary, Sheryl defined marriage as “Two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other.” Pretty good.)

Years ago, Cooper founded Solid Rock Teen Centers. Its anchor location is in the strip mall two doors down from where I met with Amanda. The tagline on the site’s webpage reads “A creative sanctuary for troubled teens… A faith-based organization, Solid Rock's primary mission is to make an everlasting difference in the lives of teens by helping them meet the spiritual, economical, physical, and social needs of teens in the community by offering a safe, engaging environment during non-school hours.”

Who would’ve known that there were two venues for life-changing spiritual direction leasing space in that North Phoenix strip mall all those years?  God knows I needed the help God’s servant Amanda provided to keep me on track every bit as much as those teens need Alice Cooper’s benevolent tutelage.  Left to our own devices, those teens and I are – what are the words? – at risk.

The old hymn sings, “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it; prone to leave the God I love.”  

Alice Cooper sang the same sentiment in different lyrics with different instrumentation:

I'm eighteen
And I don't know what I want
Eighteen
I just don't know what I want
Eighteen
I gotta get away

I gotta get out of this place
I'll go runnin' in outer space
Oh yeah

I got a
Baby's brain and an old man's heart

Took eighteen years to get this far
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about
Feels like I'm livin' in the middle of doubt
'Cause I'm

Eighteen
I get confused every day
Eighteen
I just don't know what to say
Eighteen
I gotta get away

(“I’m Eighteen” Songwriters:  Alice Cooper, Michael Bruce, Glen Buxton, Dennie Dunaway, Neal Smith, 1970)

I need to find a new spiritual director.  I’m a long way from 18. So is Alice Cooper.  But even at our ages, we know from whence our help comes, and for an hour on Good Friday a decade ago, we sat together facing a cross draped in black, listening to the Seven Last Words of the One who takes whatever form is needed and speaks and sings in whatever manner is necessary to reach and redeem us.