Script of "F**king for Jesus" -- by Anne Meacham
January 15, 2005
Mary- I need to ask you a question. Really. Because, like, if I don’t I think I might just pop from the weight of it. I need to let this out and I need to let it out to you.
So here goes nothing I guess…
Have you been saved?
Ok, I’ve lost your attention, I know I have. I’m sorry. I do this. I know. I’m.. I’m sorry. Im not one of those Christians. I’m born again, yes, but I haven’t, you know, been born 13 some odd times. I was raised southern Baptist. I was raised god fearing and subservient. I still am. Im not one of those women. One of those barefoot and pregnant type girls. But when I see those uppity women on the television talking about getting to the white house or being CEOs… where’s their sense of place? Or structure. I was a happy kid. When I was in jr. high school, a boy asked me out. My father said I couldn’t date him until I had a personal relationship with Jesus. I didn’t understand. I’d gone to church all my life. I prayed before eating my bag lunch at school. Everynight I thanked Jesus for the good and apologized for my sins. I was a model Christian. I even had an oil painting of Jesus over my bed. What was I doing wrong? So it was one night, looking up into his milky white skin, flowing brown looks, big blue eyes, and muscular upper body that I got this idea. I was taught in that sex ed class they made us take in 6th grade that my body is my temple. And I was taught in Sunday school that you worship in your temple. So I let Jesus in. Everynight, before going to sleep, I would pray and then proceed to masturbate like a wild animal to thoughts of the risen Christ. I would let Jesus fill me over and over. And this went on for a few years. Until my father caught me. He pulled me off the bed by my hair and screamed ‘For God’s sake, Mary, what are you doing?’ I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. In the end, it wasn’t that he yelled at me, it was the fact that he had used my god’s name in vain that hurt. Well, that stopped my Jesus masturbation. And slowly, I began to feel farther and farther away from God. And then I went to college to find myself a husband. I went to the Christian prayer circle my first week there to meet good moral people like me. I met J there. He was tall. And I swear upon a stack of bibles that he looked exactly like Jesus. My jaw fell out. I felt the clench down in my nether regions. That familiar lurch of… faith. I let J touch me. And while I lay there, feeling his nakedness all over me, I yelled ‘oh jesus’… over and over and over. And my faith was restored. I started fucking for Jesus. They say you can see a bit of God in everyone. The secret is, if you try, you don’t have to even look that hard. He is the only man whose name you can call out in bed when you are supposed to be thinking about someone else and no one notices. Now, I know its wrong. I know it’s a sin. But after they roll off of me, pull on their shorts and go home. I ask my risen lord to restore my holy virginity. Because after all, if you are giving your body over to Jesus, it doesn’t matter whose on top of you… does it? I mean, everyone finds faith in their own ways. I mean, how could any good Christian resist- in a religion where the iconography itself sets up my saviour as a sex symbol slash superhero- what’s wrong with a little reverence.
So I ask you again, my brothers and sisters-
Have you been saved?
December 3, 2004 - No Shame Treasure Coast
Performed by Anne Meacham