Fat 'n Happy the Rooster Blah, Blah, Blah

Just Another Jim

Just Another Essay



Cleo and Tommy

part 3 of 3

Essay Posted August 14, 2007 by James E. Nelson

Part 1 -|- Part 2 -|- Part 3
Previous Page

Places like the Chesterfield pose an interesting dilemma for followers of Jesus Christ. Pubs and coffee shops have a deep fascination for many churches and pastors. Pastors and parishioners, worn out by the sniping and persecution that can go on within the context of a church community, can easily become enamored with the sort of place “where everyone knows your name” (to quote the theme song to the sitcom Cheers).

The ever so trendy Prof. Tex Sample over at St. Paul Methodist Seminary (when I was at Central Baptist, across town), had seminars and a book on just that theme. I confess it’s a theme to which I have been deeply attracted over the years. After all, Jesus seemed to prefer the company of “tax collectors and prostitutes” over the more properly religious types. And in turn, the Chesterfield seemed to do a much better job of embracing and encouraging Cleo than the Church. At the Chesterfield she was gloriously happy and free; at the church she always lived in the shadows.

Several years ago this whole idea of coffee house or pub style fellowship became a movement. There were the store front grunge churches in Seattle. There was the whole “bistro narthex” thing that Mike Slaughter at Ginghamsburg UMC and Leonard Sweet (from Drew Univ., author of A Cup of Coffee at the Soul Café and The Gospel According to Starbucks) were pushing for a while. The idea that we can just sit around and drink a hot one (or a cold one, as the case may be), fellowship without sniping at each other, and watch Cleo dance is deeply attractive.

But I suspect we confuse two very different issues when we become enamored with a sort of “Church of Cheers” where “everybody knows your name.” Jesus’ preference for “tax collectors and prostitutes” had to do with their sense of sin. They knew they were lost and so were receptive to the Gospel. Religious people, on the other hand, easily forget they are sinners and begin to rely on themselves and their church activities rather than Jesus Christ. And that “religiousness” is a particularly obnoxious type of idolatry for which Jesus had absolutely no time.

But typically this very sense of sin, and the self-loathing that often goes along with it, is antithetical to true community. People in such a state don’t open up to each other, they just gather on Saturday night to drink, dance, and momentarily chase away the loneliness. Usually it goes no farther than that. Jesus seemed to prefer the company of these people, but he also confronted them when he was with them. The result was either repentance or the sinner abandoning Jesus and simply going off on their own (like the rich young ruler).

From what I’ve been told, people generally don’t repent in the pub. Oh, they may tell their sins to the bartender, but that’s rather different than true repentance. It is an anonymous experience that often leads to even greater self-loathing. Pubs are good at an anonymous sort of pseudo-friendship that leads to a veneer of good will and an even thinner layer of caring.

Which brings me back to the Chesterfield last Wednesday night. The Tommy Bolin Tribute Band had played a set of music and then Tommy was toasted, because it was his birthday. After that one of the Bolin relatives stood up and said he hated to throw cold water on the party, but he had an announcement to make: The Chesterfield would be a quieter place on Saturday because Cleo, the person who always cheered the loudest, had died that day.

Everyone lifted their glasses and a toast was offered in memory of Cleo. And then they played the old Cream classic, “Sunshine of Your Love.” It seemed wonderfully appropriate that Cleo died on Tommy Bolin’s birthday. She seemed the most free in Tommy Bolin’s environment, dancing to the rythm of the band. And there was a wonderful sense of balance in the correspondence of the dates. At the same time it was terribly shocking. We have been down to the Chesterfield a half dozen, maybe a dozen times over the years, but we remain visitors down there. Our context for Cleo was St. Thomas Church. She talked about the Chesterfield, but Cleo talked about a lot of things. I figured it was mostly talk. But there we were, not at church, rather at the Chesterfield, hearing news that Cleo had died: Here’s to you Cleo! Lift your glass in memory of Cleo!

Aug 11 was the annual “Bolin Fest,” also held at the Chesterfield. I didn’t go down, but I talked with someone who was there and Cleo was remembered and toasted again, by the hundreds of Bolin fans who had gathered to honor Tommy sans Cleo. For that crowd, Cleo was inseperably connected to her nephew, once or twice removed. And for the moment she was fondly remembered, because in that environment, far from the critical eyes of properly religious people, she was free to be herself.

But in fact Cleo didn’t die on Tommy Bolin’s birthday. She had died several days before in the solitary loneliness of her home, from complications related to her epilepsy. She wasn’t found until that next Wednesday. It was necessarily a closed casket funeral because of the horror of her death.

I don’t believe that the circumstances of her death stand as an accusation against her church community. In fact someone had stopped by the house shortly after her death to check on Cleo. But Cleo didn’t answer the door and Cleo was known for not answering the door. Cleo had a love/hate relationship with her family, her community, her friends. There were times that she would isolate herself, and the only thing you could do was give her some space. In this instance, giving her space turned out to be a tragic thing.

But while the nature of her death caused her church community to pause and take inventory, that particular piece of uncomfortableness was completely ignored at the Chesterfield. In a world where church communities too often don’t get along, it’s easy to romanticize a place “where everyone knows your name.” But the fact is that it’s no community.

Turning the church narthex into a bistro, complete with bagels, panini, and an espresso machine, may create a certain comfort level for well-heeled suburbanites. Similarly, creating a “grunge church” in a dirty theater, with a rock band and long-haired preacher leading the festivities, may create a similar comfort level for disenfranchised young people in the Pacific Northwest. But “fellowship” (“communion,” “koinonia” . . . that is, “participating with Christ”) only occurs in worship and at the Table. The fellowship with each other that we practice to greater and lesser degrees of success on a day to day level only happens because of the fellowship of Christ’s suffering that we participate in when we approach the Chalice and fully submit ourselves to Christ, crying out, “Lord have mercy!”

And beyond that very center or heart of the issue, true fellowship only occurs when we reach out and embrace (to varying degrees of success) not only people we like and have affection for, but also our prodigal children who have seemingly turned their back on Christ and submitted themselves to all sorts of horrible addictions. True fellowship only occurs when we reach out and embrace (to varying degrees of success) our difficult children who are simply impossible to get along with once you truly get to know them.

I am glad I got to know “Chesterfield Cleo” and through her, “Chesterfield Tommy.” I suspect you just don’t know Cleo until you’ve seen her truly free from her scandalous past and her difficult present, and I don’t think you could see Cleo truly free in this world until you saw her dance with the Tommy Bolin Tribute Band banging out the counterpoint.

In other words, as incongruous as it sounds, it was down at the Chesterfield that I first recognized the true humanity—the image of God, scuffed up as it was—in Cleo and Tommy. Cleo would probably have just been a pain in the neck if I only knew her from church, but oddly, by discovering this whole new dimension of her life, I was able to bring the pain and struggle of the rest of her life into light and begin to understand the remarkable victories Christ had accomplished in her frail and broken mind and body, both “in spite of” and “because of” her two Christian communities (the Greek and Antiochian Orthodox churches) in town.

So, Memory Eternal, Cleo. And because you got me past the cardboard cutout of Tommy Bolin and introduced me to the fullness of his memory, I can also say, Memory Eternal, Tommy.

And if you get a chance, take a turn on the dance floor with King David. I hear he’s a great dancer too!

Part 1 -|- Part 2 -|- Part 3
Previous Page