This profile of non-denominational Christian pastor E.J. Branch originally appeared in The CiPher, April 2006. Branch has since returned to Michigan. "Nuns With Guns" graphic courtesy of The Refuse.
Jesus Was a Punk: Talking life and faith with Pastor E.J. Branch of The Refuse
"One of my dreams is to be called up in front of a bunch of really important people and called 'heretical' because of something I say here."
story and photograph by Melissa Barton, staff writer
"Before I started living for God," says Eric Branch, pastor of The Refuse of the World, an alternative Christian church in Colorado Springs. "I used to break into cars and sell stuff I found there for cash." He pauses. "Well, I didn't find it, I stole it. So I'm pretty good at breaking into cars."
Several years after his change of heart, Branch stopped at a gas station one night--with a full tank--to find a woman in the parking lot, crying. He stopped to ask her what was wrong.
She was locked out of her car, so he helped her break in and recover her keys. Maybe at first she was nervous when this young punk walked up to her in the gas station parking lot, late at night. He doesn't say.
Sometimes Branch goes to Walgreen's just before closing and listens to the clerks venting about their bad days. You never know when God will call you to help someone, Branch says, or where. Maybe a 7-11, maybe Walgreen's, maybe the supermarket.
Being a Christian means more to Branch than listening to Christian music, having Christian friends, and wearing Christian jeans. "When we see wrong going on, we as a people take responsibility to try to right it," says Branch, who goes by E.J. to his congregation at The Refuse.
One of Branch's favorite books of the Bible is James. "It calls us to live our our faith in community. James is really about social justice, and being followers of Christ in all our interactions with others," he says. At 25, Branch seems young for a pastor. He has a lip ring and pierced ears, and wears bandanas and stocking caps with torn shorts and untied sneakers. Chains jingle when he moves. He perches on a stool during his sermons, speaking conversationally to the congregation.
God speaks to everybody, Branch says, so why should a sermon just be him lecturing? Tonight's sermon ranges all over the place. Members of the congregation debate whether God grants parking spaces, and, if so, whether this is petty. Is it morbid to focus on the Cross rather than the Resurrection?
"One of my dreams is to be called up in front of a bunch of really important people and called 'heretical' because of something I say here," Branch says in a different sermon. People laugh a lot at The Refuse. They take their faith seriously, but not themselves.
Both The Refuse and its mother church in Denver, Scum of the Earth, take their names from 1 Corinthians 4:11-13, which ends, "Up to this moment we have become the scum of the earth, the refuse of the world." The Refuse's small congregation usually holds services in the basement of Harvest Downtown Church, under the gaze of a generic blue-and-white Jesus portrait on the wall.
Not all of Branch's sermons are as unconventional as tonight's: many are more focused, traditional explanatory or topic sermons. Even during these, congregation members are free to ask questions or debate a point.
When he prepares a sermon, Branch always studies the passage in the original language. He has finished Denver Seminary's course of study in Biblical Greek, and is enthusiastic about Hebrew. Although he considers all translations of the Bible to be the revealed Word of God, Branch also believes it is important to read the original texts.
"God wants us to think for ourselves," he says. Branch says that the relatively small vocabularies of Hebrew and Greek give passages more ambiguity of meaning, and make context more important, than in English translation. It "takes work" to read the original texts.
Branch didn't come to "live for God" until his late teens, when he began to realize that the path he was on would land him in prison or dead. There was no defining moment of epiphany, he says, but a progression towards faith. Branch met his wife Jennifer in Michigan, while they were serving in a Christian organization. They are both runners, and running together led to talking and praying together. Six months later, they decided to try dating. Jennifer Branch is a quiet woman, with wavy, chin-length hair, who dresses more conventionally than her punk husband.
When he talks about his family, Branch's normally quiet voice softens even more. "My wife and I" is a common phrase in his speech. One of his favorite scriptural verses is 1 Timothy 3:1-7, about the worthy family man.
"I have one child in heaven and one on Earth," Branch says. During her first pregnancy, Branch's wife miscarried at three-and-a-half months. For Branch and his wife, life begins at conception. They never even learned the baby's sex. "Miscarriage is a like the skeleton in the closet of the church," he says. "No one talks about it. Everyone pretends it didn't happen."
Faith helped them through this tragedy. "Most people run from God. My wife and I were so full of grief we just collapsed at His feet and beat on His chest until it went away." They cried together every Friday night. They saw a grief counselor. And they prayed.
Today Branch and his wife have a six-month-old blue-eyed baby girl, Isabelle, whose first tooth is just coming in. "She would probably have a lot to say about me if she could talk," Branch says. "Isabelle is a funny girl. She likes playing with my jewelry, and she smiles whenever I say 'Amen.' I like being a family man, loving my wife, taking care of my daughter."
After trying ministry during his time at Hope College, where he earned a B.A. in religion and a B.S. in psychology, Branch felt called to minister but unprepared. "C.S. Lewis says if you have a desire that can't be fulfilled in your current situation, you're made for another situation," Branch says.
So Branch and his wife moved to Colorado, where Branch now attends Denver Seminary, studying towards a master's degree in theology. He chose Denver Seminary because it "isn't set on making a certain kind of pastor," but on "giving you tools for your toolbox."
Branch definitely doesn't fit the standard pastoral mold. Like many punks, Goths, skaters, and other young people outside the mainstream, Branch has often felt uncomfortable in "normal" churches. People stare at him, assuming he doesn't belong. "I guess I'd identify myself as being part of the yellow underbelly of society," he says.
Before the service, Branch wanders around, chatting with members of The Refuse. "What up, girls? You look a little dragging," he says, waving at a couple young women as he walks by. "Anyone who wants to, let's go upstairs and pray. Everyone upstairs. Let's go!"
Branch fits in well with his young congregation of students and blue-collar workers. They seek his advice, but aren't afraid to poke fun at him gently. Nor do they always agree with him, theologically or politically.
Some people see psychology and religion as mutually exclusive, but Branch has found his psychology degree very helpful to his work as a pastor. "I think anyone who wants to do ministry or help people should study some psychology," he says. "You can't have theology without psychology."
"Robert," a young member of The Refuse who asked not to be identified by his real name, says that when he was about 14, his father threw him to the ground and threatened to pour hot grease on him. Scared, he left home and moved in with some friends. "E.J. told me it would be cool if I reconciled with my dad," says Robert.
Branch talked and prayed with Robert, who credits Branch with helping him learn how to avoid conflict and draw boundaries with his father. Robert and his father finally reconciled around the time Robert's parents divorced. "My dad and I have an awesome relationship now that he doesn't live with us," Robert says.
"If you truly follow Christ, you can't help but be outside the mainstream of modern-day America," Branch says, playing with his silver rings. He talks with his hands a lot, expressively, light flashing off his studded wristbands. "I was burned by the church. I think they're focused on the wrong thing--a lot of them are focused on telling people what they shouldn't do, rather than who they are."
That's why Branch is at The Refuse. When he preaches, he tries to tell people "who they are": heirs to the Kingdom, God's chosen, beloved children. "I can't complain if I don't do something about it," he says.
Being a Christian is more work for Branch than for people who view Christianity as a brand name to buy and wear.
"I think if you really look at Christ not the one you have in paintings, this white, clean-cut Aryan Jesus but the Christ of the Gospels, who hung out with the people nobody wanted to be around, he was a punk," Branch says. "That's why the woman at the well is so shocking. She was a Samaritan and a prostitute. No one was supposed to talk to her." Like Jesus to the Samaritan woman, Branch says, we should reach out to those society casts out and looks down on.
Branch knows what it's like to be seen as the refuse of the world: "I think to be a follower of Christ you have to be a punk."
The Refuse of the World is a nondenominational Christian church in Colorado Springs that meets every Tuesday at 7:00 at Harvest Downtown Church, 210 Cheyenne Ave. Directions, calendar and podcasts can be found at www.therefuse.net.