On My Knees (Prayer, Sex & Madonna?)

I heard this lyric the other day that was not original or special by any stretch of the imagination however it got me to thinking how many times "on my knees," or variations thereof we hear in lyrics of pop music and monologue in Lifetime movies.   "I'm on my knees begging ya," seems to be an all too familiar refrain.  The gesture, I suppose, shows that we are humble enough to be on our knees begging for forgiveness, proposing, praying, scrubbing bathroom floors, or giving head.

I think back to my childhood church days and how much time we spent on our knees with heads bowed in prayer.   Especially during the end of the preacher's sermon when the pianist begin playing softly the song, "Just As I Am," and those who felt moved came to the altar to bow in public for salvation or just plain benediction.  I'm not sure back in the day if I was just too shy or too prideful; but I always had a problem with going down front.   It wouldn't be the only time in my life that I would have a problem in going down.

Years later when I was a pre-teen Madonna came out with a song called "Like A Prayer."   Pepsi paid Madonna millions for an ad with this song before her then infamous (and some in the church would say blasphemous) video hit the airwaves on MTV.  Due to the mixed sexual and religious imagery in the video  and whatever other reasoning Pepsi pulled the commercial off the airwaves which catapulted Madonna's song and incidentally the video (only allowed for play on MTV after 9PM)  to huge success.   I can only muse that Madonna's agent and accountants immediately got down on their knees when the money from the chart topping ground breaking video came flooding in.   I can never imagine Madonna in a confessional; but if she had of been I'm sure her penance came with a wink and a sly smile.  

Almost twenty one years later Madonna is not only still singing reinvented and remixed versions of this song on her tours but it also becomes an almost saintly gospel rousing song for the Haiti earthquake relief telethon.   It didn't shock me that people found this song uplifting and dare I say, "spiritual," because this song had always held that moving quality for me when it was first released but it actually seemed to resonate even above the Boss's rendition of "We Shall Overcome," which almost made me not want to see the telethon.  A more conservative acquaintance from back home actually said she downloaded the song from I-tunes and wondered why Madonna didn't stick to more uplifting songs and stop being so "nasty and sex-ule."  I immediately went back to my vision of Madonna tucked away in a dark confessional winking and smiling!  

It occurs to me that religion and sex are not across some vast chasm with a spiraling dark hole leading straight to hell between them.   I'm sure Evangelicals would love to hang me upside down on cross for what I am about to say (please make it at least a rhinestone encrusted cross and not one of the old rugged ones!)  BUT I think the Bible not only has many great metaphors for living, poetry for mindfulness; but also some hints of sensuality.   [Notice Evangelical Zealots I said sensual not sex-ule]    The lady washing Christ's feet with her hair and how about the Song of Solomon (aka The Song of Songs) which some theologians say talk about a romantic rivalry between King Solomon and a rustic shepherd for the love of a young maiden.   Some say it was even the inspiration behind Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.

The reality is that the church rather it be the Catholic church or the Southern Baptist church, is full of sensual, if not sexual symbols and rituals.  Although I have to say I've been to several Presbyterian churches and have never felt sensual.  Madonna was just ballsy enough to put it out there.   Madonna is often labeled a provocateur; but I happen to believe she just follows her heart and has the business sense to know how to make it go Ka-ching!

I do remember one of the rare times I went down front to confess my sins.   We had a visiting pastor and our youth choir had rocked the rafters of that little church prior to his own rapturous sermon.   So emotions were especially high in the congregation.   I had been saved as a child; but in my teens I had begun struggling with my own sexuality.  By this time I had {gasp} sexually messed around with a preacher's son, {bigger gasp} was having oral sexual relations with a well known local hairdresser and {huge muther fucking gasp} was well into a year long affair with my English teacher's husband.   He was also a teacher at a rival high school in the county.   I have to admit by this time in my teen years I had learned more ways than one to make being on your knees a religious experience. (Don't pardon the pun, it works!)   I'm just saying, I had plenty on my guilty plate to motivate my need to go down front and get on my knees.  

I guess one could say that going down front to kneel in front of a congregation is the Southern Baptist version of self flogging.   The worst possible version of this practice would be going down front to beg forgiveness if half or all the congregation knew of some half baked version of the rumor/truth that drove you to go down there.   Joined by me at the altar on this momentous and spiritually humbling day were Walty (Walter) Marshall and Bev Beddingfield.   At this time both were respectively making public amends for well known or alleged well known sins.

Walty was recently back on the wagon, back with his wife and trying to walk the straight and narrow (if not at least trying to weave down it) after an arrest for spousal abuse and drunken disorderly conduct.   He was well known for this behavior before the arrest; but the sheriff throwing his ass in jail was certainly confirmation of years of speculation.

 Bev Beddingfield was an uppity well groomed, high heeled pew humping slut.   She was married to a hottie who was not only the Church's favorite "good boy," but he was also from a family in the community who owned much land, many orchards, and lest I say was worth a pretty penny to go along with his million dollar smile.   Bev, to spite her good fortune, could not be trusted with any deacon or for that matter with any pastor of a church within a 100 mile radius.   I guess she had a small town version case of being power hungry.   My granny used to say, "if you're gonna get caught at least get caught doing it up big time."  So in my opinion for as uppity as Bev always presented herself I always thought at least get caught with the Mayor or Senator Bev!   At least she would have the potential of front page headline grabbing humiliation and some potential good hush money.   But as it turns out Bev settled on deacons, preachers, choir directors, and supposedly one female primary Sunday school teacher.  [Allegedly]   Well on this day Bev and Walter's shit had hit the proverbial fan.   So that walk must down front must have felt long and dusty.   Bev did not swish so grandly and if one squinted you could almost see a hint of shame in her posture; but ya had to squint the right angle to not miss it.   Anyway I imagine their trip down front that day was harder for them than for me.  

My secret was not out and in fact my stint as the humble teen rededicating his life to Christ was tauted for months within the church as an example for all other teens living in "today's society of peer pressure."   I would say that initially I was moved to go to the altar; but by time I had to get up I couldn't!   You see, the associate pastor whom I thought was kind of a Tom of Finland-esque had come over to pray with me and "intercede" as they like to say in the Baptist lingo along with one of the eldest deacon's grandson (another Blue Ridge Mountain boy dreamboat) also came over to intercede and pray over me.   It was stifling enough to have these respective hunks for Christ hovering over me, whispering words of Christ's love for me in my ear and rubbing and laying their hands on me that I kind of really forgot my true destination in my prayer and sported wood.  You could have had one helluva a tent revival in my pants!   Yes I had a true spiritual awakening going on down front on my knees and the singing ended too soon.   I remained on my knees pretending to still pray as the rugged piece of wood in my pants at last lay down.

Bev Beddingfield used to always make a grand gesture in "finally," giving in to sing a solo each Sunday.   Each Sunday the choir director (whom she had boffed) had to conjole the fake blushing bleach bottle blonde back up to the front to sing a "special."  Every Sunday Bev sashayed  her 6 inch come fuck me pumps, and snug panty line showing above-tha-knee skirt to go sing a no doubt "tearful special."   Half the women in the church would roll their eyes as did my Granny at the dramatic ritual.   One day about a month before Bev's affair with the Pastor came out; my granny leaned over as Bev sashayed to the front and whispered in my ear, "any woman wearing that much flowery perfume is sure covering an awful stink!"   Not a month passed by before Bev's little secret hit the good Christian women's rumor highway.   The Pastor was drove out of town (literally); but I guess the deacons of the church had received a little of their own "on her knees," brand of mercy begging from Bev herself and she remained in the church as a modern day face to the biblical story of the "fallen woman."   One thing I learned with Bev is that the Baptist love a good story of scandal and sin; but they also love a good old fashioned story of redemption.   Maybe I was blessed, or lucky, or maybe both but for some reasons my little small time crimes of passion stayed hid from the church I attended; but just in case I still remember my Granny's saying and always make sure I don't overdo it on the cologne.  

I remember for a time it seemed a fad for boyz coming into the bar  to proudly bear rug burns on their knees.   I guess it was the genuflecting equivalent of a hickey.   Unfortunately for me, over time I never had to prove my slutdom thru hickeys or rug burns as after a few leaded drinks it became apparent as to my talents, transgressions, and perhaps after a few more drinks the possibilities.   Besides if I had of gone down on my knees in those cocktail drenched days the likelihood of me getting back up would've been comical at best.

Joan Rivers has a line in her stand up comedy that basically says if you want her on her knees then throw a diamond on the floor.   Joan, I am with you, besides I do a pretty good job of regularly humbling myself upright.