Matthew Paul Turner - Hear No Evil: My Story of Innocence, Music, and the Holy Ghost

Praise for
Hear No Evil Like a good Amy Grant song, Hear No Evil will worm its way into your brain, lodge itself there, and refuse to leave. Every page is funny, honest, and full of the best kind of faith. Matthew Paul Turner isnt just a great Christian writer. Hes a great writer, period. KEVIN ROOSE, author of The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinners Semester at Americas Holiest University The most glorious part about Hear No Evil is Matthew Paul Turners humor and authenticity. Brilliantly affective, this collection of stories about musicits triumphs, its dysfunction, and its value in peoples liveswill conjure up memories about your own musical journey and experiences. Matthews funny and sometimes irreverent tone reveals not only his social relevance but also his sincerity. JOSH SHIPP, host of Jump Shipp , author of The Teens Guide to World Domination , MTV personality Theres an adage: Never make fun of a group of which you are not a member. Matthew Paul Turner grew up in the fundamentalist bubble and worked in the Christian Contemporary Music scene. And make fun of them he doeshowever, not with outsider venom but with insider empathy. Hear No Evil is hilarious, cringe-worthy, and all too true. And Turners faith survived. Hallelujah. Thats what humor can do. SUSAN E. ISAACS, actress, comedienne, and author of Angry Conversations with God Hear No Evil is a compelling story that will send you on a journey where youre laughing one second and doing a painfully honest heart check the next. When you finish this book youll have a new understanding that God works in very unique and surprising ways as He draws us closer to Him. PETE WILSON, pastor of Cross Point Church, author of Plan B Anyone who grew up in the evangelical bubble will relive their own adolescence through Turners witty, devastatingly forthright account of his own. Couching his unsparing observation in self-effacing mirth, he drags the superstition and cultural backwardness of the good ol Christian subculture right out into the open. Even if youve had bad experiences with exorcisms in the past, Hear No Evil is the last one youll ever need. DAVID SESSIONS, founding editor of Patrol magazine In Hear No Evil Matthew Paul Turner writes, The odd thing about Christians pursuing fame is that they do it while pretending not to be interested in fame. I would buy this book even if this was the only sentence printed inside. Its that valuable. JONATHAN ACUFF, creator of StuffChristiansLike.net and author of the book Stuff Christians Like

For Jessica and Elias

Contents

Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul. PLATO

Overture

T oday the atmosphere at Fido, a coffeehouse in Nashvilles mid-town, is the same as it always is: moody, overcast, an almost clich backdrop for creative people.

Im here working, soaking up the scene, hoping to find an idea or the beginning of an idea that I can turn into a feature or an Op-Ed for one of Nashvilles entertainment newspapers. I like this part of my job, one that simply requires me to watch, listen, drink coffee, and jot down notes on my laptop.

Two tables to my left, a twenty-something female holds a square piece of charcoal. She keeps looking up at two gentlemen sitting against the window, and then down at her sketch pad, practicing her skill at capturing the human form. Her subjects, each wearing a different vanity T-shirt, talk about technology and graphic design. At one point I hear one of them yell at a four-top in the corner of the coffeehouse. The only girl at the table yells back, asking if hes coming to their show on Friday evening. He shrugs. She pretends to be offended.

The majority of people sitting around me are singers, musicians, or wannabe singers or musicians. And most arent the kind who fiddle, slide their guitars, or sing nasally on purpose. Well, the two fiftyish men sitting at the booth across the way look like washed-up fiddlers, but Nashvilles music scene has grown deep and wide since the first time I moved here in 1993. Country is still the mainstay of the music business here, but these days lots of people come to Nashville to pursue careers in rock, folk, jazz, blues, gospel, and Christian music, among other genres. Dreams of success draw many interesting people to Nashvillepeople full of life, passion, story, rage, opinion, and belief. And once in a while, talent.

A young man pushes through the front door, appearing lost, or perhaps hoping to be found. His expression is common here in Nashville, a nervous passion that tends to make talented people look socially misplaced. This man looks particularly out of his element. His eyes move around the room like two gerbils looking for an escape from their cage. I try to watch inconspicuously but fail when our eyes meet. Usually I feel embarrassed when Im caught ogling strangers, but not this time. He clearly wants people to notice him.

It seems to me he woke up and conspired to put together a look that would attract attention: the tight black jeans, a multicolored T-shirt that shimmers in direct sunlight, a skinny black tie, and a purple vest are only the beginning of why he stands out. His hair is unnaturally shiny, dyed a color between blue and black, and shaped into six perfectly formed horns that jet out from his head in various directions. The eyeliner brings his look together, and for me, confirms the possibility that hes the love child of Boy George and Beetlejuice.

Im not culturally ignorant; I realize a lot of people look like this guy. But he catches my attention because it isnt a typical fashion statement for people hanging out at Fido or any place else in Nashville at eight thirty in the morningat least not without signs of a hangover.

It occurs to me that he and I might share one thing in common: neither of us looks like we belong at Fido. Most of the creatives who frequent this hangout are hipsters looking for their morning cup of coffee and free wireless. I wish I was cool enough to consider myself a hipster, but rather than make music, I mostly write about the hipsters who make it. Furthermore, I dont wear corduroy in the summer or shop weekly at the local farmers market, and my wife, Jessica, says I look ridiculous in a fedora. And trust me, I try one on every time I shop at Target.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the young man walking toward me.

Excuse me, he says, are you David? He tosses a legal pad on the table next to mine and straightens his thin black tie. Im Adam. He says his name like he anticipates it being familiar.

No, my name is Matthew. Sorry.

Glancing around the coffeehouse, Adam spins with all the drama of a model at the end of a catwalk. He sighs, plops down in a chair, and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket so he can use the screen as a mirror to check his eyeliner.

Shutting his phone with one hand, he says, Can I just vent for a moment? It has been quite a morningwow!

I fear this could be the beginning of a lengthy conversation, and I wonder if it would be rude to remind him that Im not David.

And you know what? he continues. Im actually relieved youre not the fellow Im supposed to meet. This meeting is important, and I was so afraid that I was late. My taxi arrived fifteen minutes later than scheduled. But I guess hes late too.

I look up from my computer and smile slightly, a polite gesture so he doesnt feel like hes talking to himself. I dont mean it to be an invitation for chitchat. However, my good manners lead Adam to ask if I mind watching his legal pad and pen while he stands in line for a drink.

Thats fine, I say.

Adam returns to his table a few minutes later with a hot drink in his hand. He looks at his watch, mumbles to himselfI wonder where the heck he isand then explains to me why hes drinking herbal tea and not coffee.

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