Church has been a huge part of my life since just a few days after I was born. Services three times a week at our home church and quite often revivals at other churches were part of our family routine.
Once we migrated from the American Baptist Association to the Independent Baptist crowd (there is no *association* - those are evil, you know) we were drawn into a completely different realm of church. We met folks who pressured my dad to make the females in our house stop wearing pants. Any sort of music that wasn't bluegrass or southern gospel was wicked. Movie theaters were painted as dens of iniquity. Races weren't to mix. Hell, denominations weren't even to mix and we all knew that being gay was deserving of a death sentence.
On the surface, many of these people seemed to have some sort of direct line to God's throne that we were unable to achieve on our own. Modernism was viewed as the devil's work and we were encouraged to follow "the old paths." Services were nearly always emotionally charged. Preachers yelled. They "hacked." Shouting was encouraged and we were told that if we didn't show some sort of emotional response, our "wood was wet." This meant that we were out of God's will and needed to pinpoint the sin in our lives that was keeping us from experiencing the emotional high of these services. These pastors seemed to have the bible divided rightly. They had their families in church every time the doors were open. They didn't cuss. Or chew tobacco. Or drink alcohol. They had children who got "whooped" when they stepped out of line. They had submissive wives who had dinner on the table every night with a smile, who thanked them for sex and ironed their underwear and handkerchiefs. We were taught that all of this was part of being in God's will and living right. Having one's family in order was paramount to God blessing one's life (right beside giving one's grocery money to whatever cause they were raising money for that particular night.) The King James Bible was the only book anyone ever needed (except for the occasional concordance or reference material written by a very small, pre approved list of authors from within the movement.) Secular education was viewed with disdain because it would "educate you out of your good sense." Racism was blatant and homophobia was praised as a godly response to a worldly evil that wanted nothing more than to steal your boys and "recruit" them into enjoying their vile behavior.
As I grew older, I began to see some holes in the facade of many of these people. Pastors were caught sleeping with teenage girls in their ministry. Wives were caught putting their very expensive jewelery in the offering plate to "prime the pump" - only to get the jewelery back behind closed doors after they had raised enough money from the congregation. Women were expected to keep supporting their cheating, manipulative husbands because God's work would suffer if they didn't. Men were overheard saying, "You can get by with anything as long as they don't catch you screwing their women and stealing their money" while being guilty of doing both and continuing to claim to speak for God in these circles.
Those things bothered me. Even as a teenager. But they didnt affect me on a personal level. My boyfriend's father and his pastor and their barbaric views on marriage and women did, however. Their claims that God would kill my boyfriend for keeping his paycheck instead of handing a portion of it over to his father and moving out on his own (it was an act of disobedience, after all) was frightening and hurtful. But I attended the youth camps and burned my cds and copies of cosmo and felt guilty for holding my boyfriend's hand. We weren't taught about safe sex. We were taught that virginity was valued and that God would be so disappointed if I didn't earn my white wedding dress. But our hormones still raged. We still didn't understand what was happening or why these urges still sneaked up on us. But we knew if we could make it to that wedding night, there would be no more rules about sex. So we married far too young. But it was better to marry than to burn. Anyone who knows anything about anything knows that the more taboo a subject is, the more enticing it becomes. So, once sex was permitted, Pandora's box was opened. Curiosity and experimentation became drugs and the high I craved became increasingly hard to reach. Abusive relationships and damaging habits felt impossible to escape because "divorce was never an option." My life spiraled out of control - in spite of the fact that I was heavily involved in church and all church related activities. I was so damaged emotionally and the way I had been taught to "do" church was doing nothing to save me from the damage my body, mind, and spirit were experiencing.
More than a decade later, I still battled with crippling anxiety. I had no healthy view of myself, of relationships, of sex, of religion, or of God. But I continued to try to be a part of the machine that helped create all these problems in my mind and my heart because it was my fault. It was my own pride and disobedience and sinful nature that caused these things and the camp meetings and the alter calls and offerings and name calling preachers were my only hope of reconciliation to God. It didn't fix anything.
I began to wonder why I was so broken but also why the church system wasn't making it better. So I challenged the system. I brought black men to church and heard the racist remarks behind my back. I openly loved my gay friends who had been disowned and heard the conversations and the passive aggressive comments. I stopped hiding my tattoos and saw the look of disappointment and heard the sermons about it all. Yet no one ever tried to talk to me honestly about where I was in my spiritual life, or my physical one for that matter. No one ever asked why I seemed to be rebelling or why my "convictions" were faltering. I never recall hearing anyone telling anyone to reach out to those who were hurting if they were outside "the movement." Fundamentalists will go to the end of the earth to help their own....but more often than not will look down on the addict. The homeless. The single mother. The gay kid whose parents kicked him out. I began to realize that love was not the center of this movement - even if there were many good, kind hearted people in it. When my mother died - people came out in droves. But once she was buried, several of these same people who alleged to love my family so dearly spat in my father's face. It was "a shame" that we allowed gay men to stand with me and grieve. There was an "evil spirit" because of our choice of music. My father was ridiculed and shunned and reprimanded because he had been playing secular music outside the church. Oh. The horror.
I felt like our family was being attacked. We were at our lowest point and the people who were supposed to be our "family" had turned their backs on us. They stopped calling my dad. They didn't care how overwhelmed by grief he had become. I fought day and night to hold him together while they all pulled away. I got angry. Truth be told, I'm still angry. I've tried to go back to church and every single time I do, I'm met with reminders of an "us versus them" mentality. A true lack of compassion and understanding. An environment that fosters manipulation, arrogance and abuse. And I just can't do it.
I desperately miss the bond of being part of a "church family." But I can't get beyond the feeling that it is all contrived and conditional. Perhaps one day I will find a place that doesn't hurt my heart. But until then, I will continue to read and study and question everything on my own. I am quite certain I am a major disappointment to the IFB movement. And I'm sure that God has shook his
head at me more than a few times. But the difference is that God loves me unconditionally. He doesn't mind the questions. His ego doesn't get bruised and he doesn't lash out at me for asking.
My spiritual journey may not make sense to you. My outward appearance may not suit you. But I am striving to be more kind. More compassionate. More loving.
And less of a know it all jerk.
I'm not there yet.
But I'm trying.
