This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession
Winner of the Nonfiction Discovery Prize from the Writers’ League of Texas, a bronze medalist for the Independent Publisher Book Award in Creative Nonfiction, and a finalist for the Foreword INDIE Book of the Year in Autobiography and Memoir

In this memoir of faith and faltering, musician Cameron Dezen Hammon, a Jew—ish New Yorker, finds herself searching for love, meaning―a sign. She’s led to Coney Island, where during a lightning storm, she is baptized in the murky waters of the Atlantic by a group of ragtag converts. After years of trying to make a name for herself as an artist, she follows her boyfriend and new God to Houston, Texas, the heart of American evangelical subculture. Her job at a suburban megachurch there has her performing on stage before crowds, awash in lights and smoke, yet grappling with outdated gender expectations―look pretty but not too pretty, young but not too young―and ultimately her identity as both a believer and feminist.

This Is My Body weaves her zealous conversion with the search for a more progressive and fluid theology, the endurance of marriage with an unexpected obsession that threatens to upend her carefully constructed life. From speaking in tongues to street preaching, from biblically sanctioned discrimination to sexual assault, she invites readers inside her tender and harrowing journey. Part inspiring spiritual memoir, part incisive cultural critique, her story of finding and losing faith is ultimately one of rebuilding a truer, braver self.

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This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession
Winner of the Nonfiction Discovery Prize from the Writers’ League of Texas, a bronze medalist for the Independent Publisher Book Award in Creative Nonfiction, and a finalist for the Foreword INDIE Book of the Year in Autobiography and Memoir

In this memoir of faith and faltering, musician Cameron Dezen Hammon, a Jew—ish New Yorker, finds herself searching for love, meaning―a sign. She’s led to Coney Island, where during a lightning storm, she is baptized in the murky waters of the Atlantic by a group of ragtag converts. After years of trying to make a name for herself as an artist, she follows her boyfriend and new God to Houston, Texas, the heart of American evangelical subculture. Her job at a suburban megachurch there has her performing on stage before crowds, awash in lights and smoke, yet grappling with outdated gender expectations―look pretty but not too pretty, young but not too young―and ultimately her identity as both a believer and feminist.

This Is My Body weaves her zealous conversion with the search for a more progressive and fluid theology, the endurance of marriage with an unexpected obsession that threatens to upend her carefully constructed life. From speaking in tongues to street preaching, from biblically sanctioned discrimination to sexual assault, she invites readers inside her tender and harrowing journey. Part inspiring spiritual memoir, part incisive cultural critique, her story of finding and losing faith is ultimately one of rebuilding a truer, braver self.

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This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession

This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession

by Cameron Dezen Hammon
This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession

This Is My Body: A Memoir of Religious and Romantic Obsession

by Cameron Dezen Hammon

Paperback

$17.95 
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Overview

Winner of the Nonfiction Discovery Prize from the Writers’ League of Texas, a bronze medalist for the Independent Publisher Book Award in Creative Nonfiction, and a finalist for the Foreword INDIE Book of the Year in Autobiography and Memoir

In this memoir of faith and faltering, musician Cameron Dezen Hammon, a Jew—ish New Yorker, finds herself searching for love, meaning―a sign. She’s led to Coney Island, where during a lightning storm, she is baptized in the murky waters of the Atlantic by a group of ragtag converts. After years of trying to make a name for herself as an artist, she follows her boyfriend and new God to Houston, Texas, the heart of American evangelical subculture. Her job at a suburban megachurch there has her performing on stage before crowds, awash in lights and smoke, yet grappling with outdated gender expectations―look pretty but not too pretty, young but not too young―and ultimately her identity as both a believer and feminist.

This Is My Body weaves her zealous conversion with the search for a more progressive and fluid theology, the endurance of marriage with an unexpected obsession that threatens to upend her carefully constructed life. From speaking in tongues to street preaching, from biblically sanctioned discrimination to sexual assault, she invites readers inside her tender and harrowing journey. Part inspiring spiritual memoir, part incisive cultural critique, her story of finding and losing faith is ultimately one of rebuilding a truer, braver self.


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781940596327
Publisher: Lookout Books
Publication date: 10/22/2019
Pages: 224
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.70(d)

About the Author

Author and musician Cameron Dezen Hammon’s writing appears in The Kiss anthology from W. W. Norton, Catapult, Ecotone, the Literary Review, the Houston Chronicle, NYLON, and elsewhere; and her essay “Infirmary Music” was named a notable in The Best American Essays 2017. She earned an MFA in creative writing from Seattle Pacific Universityand is a writer—in—residence for Writers in the Schools in Houston, where she lives with her family. This Is My Body is her debut book.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1: Dead Girls

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my dress. I slip my hand in to silence it.

"I wish I could hold you."

The text message is from a man I’ve given no name to in my contact list. Whose number I’ve blocked and unblocked in turns. A man I was with just one week ago, a man I might love, a man who is not the father of my eight—year—old daughter. Not my husband of twelve years.

From where I stand on the stage, I can see only the back of the open casket. I fidget with my dress and glance around the room as the spotlight slowly comes up over me. The stage is four feet off the ground, deep and long, with a floor—to—ceiling screen behind it flanked by two more illuminated screens. The Refuge, this suburban megachurch, meets in a converted gymnasium. During the week, the gym is used for youth basketball games. Darkened as it is now, with an elaborate lighting trellis that soaks us in purples and blues while projecting geometric patterns onto the walls, it looks like a set from Tron. The blue lights make the white casket lid glow. Smoke billows from stage left, and the band strikes a minor chord. The music swells behind me, and I open my mouth, ready to sing, but try not to make eye contact with the bereaved family weeping in the front row. My husband stands just to my right, strumming his acoustic guitar. I wrap my hand around my phone, now silent in my pocket.

I’ve been on staff at this church as a worship leader—a paid singer and bandleader—for about a year, and the sound—and—light show is part of every service we do, one on Saturday night and two on Sunday morning. I’ve been a singer all my life, but a Christian singer for just over ten years—at a Presbyterian church with ruby—red carpeting, an Episcopal church that boasted George H. W. and Barbara Bush as members, and an edgy downtown nondenominational church that met in a converted warehouse. Pushing forty now, I know that the preference in a church like this is for a younger woman to do my job, to help draw in other young people. But I tend to look younger than I am, and I make it a point to dress like the millennials the church hopes to attract. I think this is part of why they hired me. The man who texted me is younger than I am by a few years. We type things like WYWH (wish you were here) and OMW (on my way) in our exchanges sometimes, a nod to the irony and impossibility of our situation. I glance at my husband, whom I love, but whom I’ve felt distant from for years. He’s looking out over the silent congregation as the rest of the stage lights come up. I begin the first song, let the notes slide from my throat. The wireless microphone picks up the slight tremble in my voice, the sip and rattle of my breath.

Despite my decade of experience as a minister, I’m surprised by this dramatic presentation for a funeral. Very often a grieving family, especially one in shock, will leave the details of the service to the pastors and staff, who will produce a funeral much like any normal weekend worship service. Without the casket, a passerby might confuse us for a nightclub. When the church leadership designed the Refuge, they did it with this goal in mind. The aging senior pastor and somewhat secretive committee of influential and generous laypeople, whom I’ve never met, believe a show will attract millennials. But I’m not sure they anticipated that the flashy aesthetic would extend to funerals. Other buildings on the church’s sprawling campus are more traditionally reverent, with wooden pews and stained glass.

The young pastor of the Refuge is a recent seminary grad, a transplant to Texas from Florida, and this is a high—stakes job for him. Since he arrived a few months ago, he’s been aggressively trying to address the church’s dwindling attendance and increase membership, an unstated but clear expectation. If he’s unable to, it’s likely he won’t keep his job for long. Maybe he recommended the family hold the funeral in this space, a way to show grieving friends and loved ones the spectacle that is the Refuge, to create a captive audience who might otherwise never venture through its doors.

Table of Contents

One—Dead Girls Two—Shells Three—You Must Change Your Life Four—Tell You What He Needs Five—Tongues Six—Withdrawal Seven—Submit Eight—Look Too Closely Nine—The Girl I Didn’t Save Ten—The Thing Itself Eleven—Phoenix Twelve—This Is My Body Thirteen—Then Sings My Soul (Two Agnostics Walk into a Coffee Shop) Epilogue—Mystery
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