Hippie Love And John MacArthur
Like many of my peers, I was caught off guard by the comments by John MacArthur at his “Strange Fire” conference, especially towards Calvary Chapel. I don’t think anyone missed the subtle insult (see Leviticus 10:1 for the source). I’ve been equally impressed at the level-headed responses by Brian Brodersen and some of the other Calvary Chapel leaders as they try to correct some of McArthur’s obvious misconceptions. MacArthur’s accusations seemed very inconsistent with past dialogue, and he’s undoubtedly aware of the thousands of listeners to his radio programs that are at the very least Calvary Chapel sympathizers. McArthur’s conservative views certainly resonate with many of today’s Calvary Chapel attendees.
As one of the “original” hippies of that little country church on the edge of town—and, incidentally, one of the musicians that MacArthur alludes to in his comments on the emerging musical genre—I’d like to voice my disappointment at the loathsome tone of his characterization of hippies in general, particularly of us as taking Eastern religious thought and mixing it with biblical doctrines. Mr. MacArthur demonstrates a very shallow understanding of what the hippy mentality was like—he was obviously not there to witness the tremendous transformation of lives.
First of all, not every one of the young people who were attending those meetings in 1970 was a hippy. Many were privileged kids from nearby Catholic high schools. I remember once asking a rather large audience at the Costa Mesa church how many were current or ex-Catholics. I would say, impressionistically, that most people raised their hands. And, not every guy with long hair and a beard or girl in a granny dress was a philosophical hippy. Like any social movement, there were those who copied fashion trends, and the wannabes who just wanted to take advantage of “free love” and experiment with drugs to see what all the buzz was about (“Turn on, tune in, drop out”).
A changing society had a tremendous impact. Many of us Boomers were raised by survivors of the Great Depression and WWII—and we rejected their reticence and extreme frugality. In 1964, the Beatles landed, and hairstyles and attitudes towards drugs were affected worldwide; Bob Dylan—the spokesman for a generation of Americans—released his prophetic “The times they are a-changing” that same year; Barry McGuire’s anthem “Eve of Destruction” was released in 1965. The Kennedy assassination, the Civil Rights Movement, and forced desegregation in the South marked a nation divided, much as it is today. The institutional church was behind the government we criticized, and, therefore, irrelevant to our search for meaning. No one had room for us sinners, and we had no room for religious dogma or leaders who could not be questioned. Anti-war protesters and peaceniks were real in my cultural milieu.
The summer of 1967 was called the “Summer of Love,” and you couldn’t miss how the media portrayed what was happening...”just wear a flower in your hair.” However, like many of my compatriots, I spent the Summer of Love on the other side of the Pacific in Vietnam as a 20-year old draftee. My first day in country, I met an obviously deranged young man who was part of the infamous My Lai massacre. He gave me gruesome details of his “interrogation techniques.” My experience working with military intelligence gave me a behind-the-scenes peek at a government that concealed information—still only coming out today. And, when we returned home, we were treated as social pariahs, not heroes like today’s veterans. No one thanked us for our “service.” To say I became cynical is an understatement. I took drugs to still the pain, and psychedelics because I’d heard you could find “god.” I was desperate, looking for an answer, any spark of hope. I read Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book (more than once), and I waited for the overthrow of the political system that sent children to a war nobody wanted, like lambs to the slaughter—a deep conviction held by many of my peers.
While Mr. MacArthur shows disdain for the hippy lifestyle (we were, after all, filthy rotten sinners), Chuck Smith welcomed ex-hippies like me with a loving smile and open arms. We had not been intentionally evil, only idealists testing the façade of the establishment. (Like Eve, we were deceived and tasted the fruit.) As that lifestyle resulted in more death, God intervened in our personal histories in profound ways, and we were delivered from a panoply of deadly addictions. The relationships that I and other members of Love Song had with Pastor Chuck were deep and life-changing. He was our mentor; he took the time to answer my questions, more of a dad to some of us than our own fathers. He was, indeed, “Papa Chuck.”
Yes, I had embraced Eastern religious thought, probably since the Beatles. However, Pastor Chuck pulled no punches; he used his encyclopedic knowledge of Scripture to counter any influence it might’ve had. He was well-versed in the surface similarities and fundamental differences (e.g., biblical concepts of rebirth and the judgment versus reincarnation; sowing and reaping versus karma). Chuck could recite huge blocks of Scripture; start a verse and he’d finish the chapter—I think he even memorized some of the genealogies. The one influence that may have survived was an ability to spot apparent contradictions in particular passages and hold them in suspension, pending further investigation. I could sense concepts in tension, and tried to view the occasional paradox from a biblical perspective—e.g., time in God’s economy.
At any length, I am very grateful that there was a place like Calvary Chapel and a man who took his role as pastor very seriously, where “feed my sheep” meant something.
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