Losing My Religion

I was raised Baptist. My grandmother on my dad’s side was very much into church life. She was there every Sunday and Wednesday; she helped serve the Wednesday dinner at the church; she played piano for a long time, then retired so to speak to the pews where she was almost a hall monitor over the kids, who kept moving further and further to the front to escape her. The quote from Shakespeare could have been written for her, “And though she be little, she is fierce.” My dad said I’m a lot like her; I kind of wish that was more true than it is.

My family was not into church life so much. We recently watched the film Almost Christmas with Danny Glover, and there’s one part where they’re all in church and the pastor refers to them as CME Christians - they’re only in church on Christmas, Mothers Day, and Easter. That was us. Dad claimed it was because of the hypocrisy he saw in the church, and I totally understood that. I went to a private school that was affiliated with a Baptist church, and though we were taught Love thy neighbor, I was bullied just about every day. Even in my grandma’s beloved church, I felt like I was not welcome, even by the pastor’s own kids (btw, preachers kids have a bad reputation, if you don’t know). My dad illustrated it to me after my grandmothers died. Her closest friend, a deacon in the church, and someone who might have messed around with my grandma in her younger, wilder days, commented on the people her grave was surrounded by, saying they needed to move her to a different part of the cemetery. Apparently he didn’t want her surrounded by Hispanic names in the afterlife. I found it a little hypocritical that my dad complained about that, considering the racial slurs and sexist comments he made on a daily basis (not to mention the cheating on my mom part). I guess, like incompetence, everyone has a level of hypocrisy to which we rise.

When my dad got cancer, I started going to church much more regularly, hoping that God would listen if I was in His house. I remember one Fathers Day a few years after my dad died. My mother was now battling cancer. The pastor was calling us to baptism. Usually the baptisms are held in the church, in a font above the giant organ, but several times a year they ask the congregation if anyone wants to be baptized, and they do it in the fountain out front. I had never been baptized. I had just been thinking about how I didn’t have a father to give a gift to anymore, when he asked if anyone wanted to be baptized. It was strange how the thought popped into my head that, yes, actually I did still have a Father I could give a present to. That was a long walk to the front of that church, but I did it, and I’m glad I did. I joined a bible study group, where I tried to participate as much as I could. I was learning too, and that was the important part.

But little chinks started to show. There were some things I felt just weren’t right. Perhaps it’s blasphemy. Perhaps it’s my ego reasserting itself since my mother has been in remission. There are just thing the church insists upon that I can’t see as consistently aligning with the teaching of Jesus.

One topic is abortion. I am 100% against abortion. However, I can see how there are situations where abortion is a viable - if not the only - option. To insist a woman carry a child that’s the product of rape or incest seems cruel. Is it true that child may be the one to cure cancer one day? Sure, I guess, but at what cost? Is that something I could do? I honestly don’t know. If I would consider abortion in that situation, how can I condemn a woman who does the same?

The other topic is homosexuality. It’s not my thing. I don’t get it, but, hey, I don’t need to get it. The whole “it’s a choice” thing never really made sense to me. If homosexuality is a choice, doesn’t that mean heterosexuality is a choice too? Because I never remember having to make that choice. I am what I am and I love who I love. Why should that be different from any other human being on the planet? I think what really sealed the deal for me is a comment my friend Jarrett once made. From the minuscule amount of psychology I’ve had in high school and college, I know that kids really only start to remember things from about the age of five. I’m sure if it was a really traumatic event, maybe there’s recollection before then, but in general, it’s about five. If you can remember something before then, you’re special. Jarrett remembers his first crush from around that time was on Indiana Jones. He  pointed out that, for the most part, five year olds know nothing about sex. He knew nothing then about love or any of that, but he realizes now that he’s older that was what he felt. Again, not a choice, it was just his thing before he even knew what it was. So if it’s not a choice, it’s just the way some people are. Just as some people are blue eyed and some people are brown eyed. We don’t condemn people for the color of their eyes, why should we condemn people for who they love?

I know what you’re going to say. The law in the Old Testament says it’s a sin. The Old Testament says a lot of things are sins, several of which are irrelevant or ignored now. I once looked up something about homosexuality on the Southern Baptist Convention’s website, trying to sort this in my mind. I know I’ll never find what I read, and hopefully I can remember what it was. Part of it talked about how testament is just another word for covenant. A contract, if you will. God has contracted with the Israelites that they will have His favor if they follow His rules. How many times did they fail that one? And yet God kept His word to them. The way I understand it, Jesus is the New Covenant, creating a new contract between God and mankind. His rules are far fewer: Love your neighbor as yourself. It’s pretty simple actually. No rituals or sacrifices. Just love everyone as He loves us, unconditionally. Condemning people for having abortions or because they are homosexual defeats the purpose of love, as far as I can see. In one of his letters Paul writes that if a town doesn’t listen to the good news you are trying to give them (the good news of love and grace and mercy, mind you, not the news of condemnation), the disciples should wipe the dirt of the place from their shoes and keep going. If you want to talk to someone about abortion and homosexuality, you can, although I’m pretty sure they’ve heard it before. But if they don’t listen to you, it’s not your problem. Leave them alone. You’ve done what you consider to be you’re duty. Anything more is worthless.

So I think I’m leaving my church. I haven’t been in months, practically all year. I see in these two issues - not to mention the evangelical support for politicians who clearly are immoral - a disconnect between what it seems to me Jesus is saying and how the church is acting, and I can’t be a part of what I no longer feel is right. I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll go. I found a Methodist church near me that appears to be inclusive, so perhaps I’ll go there. It reminds me of two songs. One is “Imagine” by John Lennon. He talks about a world with no religion. For years I interpreted that as atheism. Then one day I heard a song by a Christian band whose name escapes me, as does the title of the song. In it, they sing about there being no religion in heaven. The radio station was doing an interview with the band and they asked about that line. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but the way I understood it reminded me of “Imagine.” No religion isn't necessarily the absence of belief; maybe it’s the absence of all the strictures that we humans impose upon ourself to fit into some denominational box. Maybe in heaven there’s no Baptists, there’s no Methodists, there’s no Catholics, there’s no Muslims, there’s no Hindus. There’s just God and Jesus and God’s children - all of us, with all our quirks and foibles - loving and being loved by each other.

It may be blasphemous, but honestly that is the type of heaven I want to spend eternity in.