We had one of our Christian hardcore music concerts Friday night. I didn’t go to this one, but I talked to Tony about it this morning. He heads up these concerts. It went well, he told me, except for the guy who tried to start a fight.

Our “concert hall” is just the basement fellowship hall with everything pushed to the sides. Everyone stands throughout the concert, and they are close enough to touch the band members. And they often do. Musicians and audience are standing, basically, face to face. Except when they’re moshing. That usually happens right up front. The crowd pushes back, and in the space between them and the band, the kids bang into each other and do little (for want of a better term, something that wouldn’t horrify them) “jigs,” creative little dance thingies that I enjoy watching. Please excuse the technical jargon.

At secular hardcore concerts, people who venture into the mosh pit sometimes leave battered and bruised. That’s not quite the case at our concerts. Yes, they bang into each other. Yes, arms and legs flail around without a lot of attention to whose nose might be in the path. But I’ve never seen anyone get hurt. More often, if something borders on rough, the offending person will say, “I’m sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit you.” It’s Christian hardcore, after all.

But on Friday, some kid didn’t quite understand that. So as he was innocently watching the music or talking to something–at any rate, not paying attention to the moshing–someone banged into him, and he got mad. He grabbed the offending mosher in a headlock, and was headed in a not-so-nice direction. But other kids immediatley stepped in, stopped it, and basically kicked the kid out. He wanted to fight, and they wouldn’t allow it. They sent him on his way. We didn’t need an adult there to police things. And though we have an off-duty policeman on hand, he’s usually not in the concert area. Instead, the concert-goers took ownership, and wouldn’t allow something bad to happen. Self-policing.

That encourages me. From what I hear, we’re the only venue in Fort Wayne which allows Christian hardcore concerts. The kids appreciate that and don’t want to jeapordize it. They have a sense of owernship, these kids with the tattoos and multitudinous piercings and all-black attire. And that gives me a good feeling.

I grew up seeing God reach down into the pews during services, grab hold of someone, and propel them to the altar. That’s basically what happens during altar calls. Maybe nothing in the sermon grabbed me, but come time for the altar call, I would discover that God was, indeed, at work. Someone would get out of a pew and walk to the altar, sometimes with tears. Every once in a while, I made the trek for a need in my own life.

I miss that. Churches shy away from altar calls nowadays, because it’s not considered visitor-friendly or culturally-sensitive or whatever. Maybe God is still moving, but I don’t see it. And I miss that. As I’ve already said.

Yesterday, we had an altar call–not for salvation, but for other needs. Six people came up while the worship team played “Breathe.” Two young women, probably in their late 30s, knelt down just in front of where I was playing the keyboard. Both were in tears. One elder fellow in the church talked and prayed with one of the ladies, but nobody came to pray with the other one. So I left the keyboard and knelt down in front of her. I didn’t know her very well, but she poured out some deep hurts, relationship things. And I prayed with her, feeling totally inadequate to provide any real counsel. Relationships can be so complicated. They defy simple answers, so I didn’t try to provide any. My prayer just affirmed her and asked for guidance and wisdom for her.

The other lady, and the man counseling her, finished up. But I knelt down with her quickly, asking if she was okay. This was someone I didn’t know at all. She poured out her story quickly. Another women with deep hurts. More relationship things. Issues beyond her control.

I had grown up seeing people like this come to the altar, and seeing them kneel with the pastor or a mature Christian to talk and pray. Now I got a good glimpse of what some of those altar-call needs were all about.

I’ve been thinking about those two ladies all day, and the depth of their pain. Can’t get them off my mind.