Gaying Up A "Duck Dynasty" T-Shirt On The Hood Of My Homophobic Uncle's Gay Car

 I was going to my grandparents' house Sunday for our belated family birthday/Father's Day celebration. They are very conservative, especially one certain relative, so I cheered myself up beforehand by painting my nails:

"Relentlessly Gay"

My mom and I had discussed, extensively, the possibility that one of them would bring up the recent Supreme Court ruling on (and in favor of) gay marriage. My mom planned to say, "How is it hurting you?" and "Oh, what was that country that just got wiped off the map for supporting gay marriage? Oh yeah, Canada!"
The "label" that comes closest to describing my feelings and attractions is bisexual, so I wanted to say, "Well, I love it! Now I'm not a second-class citizen anymore," and officially come out to them. (Though I have been wearing two gay rights pins and a bisexual flag pin for a while now, I don't think they would know the bisexual flag.)
"I don't care, I love my rainbow girl!" My mom said, the night before.
"Yeah, I know," I sighed, for that was old news to me. Later I would decide to paint my nails and actually be a rainbow girl.
No one brought the subject up, per se, to my or my mother's knowledge. But I also had other plans for that day...
I had been given a hand-me-down shirt by one of my mother's friends, something that her daughter didn't want. It was already the gayest shirt I had ever seen (which was hilarious, given the homophobes that it was depicting!) and it looked like this:

It is light pink, and the term "beard" refers to a gay person's opposite-sex boyfriend or girlfriend, that they date so that they can stay in the closet.
I had always wanted to buy some fabric paint and "gay it up" even more, possibly wearing it around our family. Then I thought, "Why can't I buy some paint tomorrow, and paint it on their lawn, in front of everyone?"
I didn't plan to tell everyone what I was doing, just letting them see it, if they were outside. But everyone wanted to stay in the house and keep cool. Besides, I thought of other mischief to do, and so while everyone was opening birthday presents (multiple birthdays), I snuck out and started spray-painting it.
The dog was out and would surely get in my way, if the shirt was on the grass, so I put the finishing touches on it, on the hood of my homophobic relative's (I'll call him an uncle to simplify things) newly-bought 1988 Volkswagen Cabriolet. 
My mom says, "That's a gay car," because she says that gay men love this style of Volkswagen. Kind of creepy, when you think about it, since Volkswagens were invented by the Nazis, who put gay men in death camps.
The bottles of paint were tiny (in cheap plastic squirt bottles), I was holding them literally an inch above the shirt, and I had put a thick piece of corrugated cardboard between the layers of the shirt, so I wasn't worried at all about getting any paint on his car. He will never know, until I choose to tell him, in a few years, and since I didn't damage the car at all, he can't call the police.
What he does and says, and did to my cousins and me as he bullied us as children, hurts a little less when I think about the "terrible" secret I'm now holding over him. Those are two of his biggest fears--gays and people not showing the proper reverence to his cars.
I later gave it more coats of paint, to make the letters stand out. So far, it looks like this:

Eventually, it will be obvious that it says, "Love Rules," though it takes many coats, and I may have to add a heart or something above the "L". I want to make stencils and put an American flag on one shoulder, and a rainbow flag on the other. I'm going to color in their beards. I also want to write in permanent marker, on the back, "In The Closet:" with a list of homophobic celebrities, and possibly relatives too.



So after desecrating a holy relic on his car, I stashed the shirt in my mom's old van and went back inside. In the living room I saw my cousin Blue-Butt, who last Christmas had tried to physically intimidate me in an argument, but quickly backed down when I wouldn't back down. It had been one of my proudest moments, though I was conflicted at the time.
"Hey, Blue," I asked casually, "can I see your tattoo?"
He got a very scared look on his face. "Shhhh!" he said softly, putting a finger to his lips. He reminded me faintly of an adult cautioning a child, and I wondered if he saw me that way, though I am three years older than him.
"Oh." I nodded and sat down at the table in the dining room. He had been sitting next to my grandfather, who worries almost constantly, especially about hell, but who is also very hard of hearing. All the other people in the living room seemed, to me, to be engrossed in loud conversations with each other.
After about a minute, Blue walked past me into the kitchen. "AJ!" he said, just loud enough. When I looked up, he gestured for me to follow him.
"I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone," he explained.
I followed him into the deserted laundry room. "I'm sorry, I thought everyone knew," I shrugged. I knew that Uncle 'Phobe had been self-righteous and upset with him, and that our grandfather had worried (of course!), but I thought that it had all blown over by now, given that it didn't seem to be awkward between him and these people.
"They don't know I have it." He pulled up his sleeve to reveal an inspirational quote: "Whoever cannot face Death without fear, is not worthy of Life."
"Oh, cool," I murmured, for I did like the old-fashioned script.
"When I told them I was getting it, they got really upset. Uncle 'Phobe was really mad, and they wouldn't talk to me for about a month and a half," he explained dramatically.
"That's crap!" I said. "It's not like it's 'Hail Satan 666.'" (To answer your question, yes, maybe someday...)
"I know, right?" he agreed as he left the kitchen. His brother, Red-Butt, was passing through and apparently heard, so I guess Red knew and could keep a secret.
"Green's dogs are just so cute," I smiled when I returned to the table. "I just love them." I was referring to Blue's girlfriend; every time Blue visits from college, he inundates us with pictures of her dogs on his cellphone. I had so far been spared the Dog Show, but I knew he had new ones.
I later thought about that quote, and wondered if he feared their disapproval more than he feared death.

Later I joined my mother and my Uncle 'Phobe outside, for the house was getting stuffy and crowded. He inevitably (as he always does) managed to turn the conversation onto his favorite topic, which is: How We're All Fucked.
"Obamacare is designed to kill people--I believe that!" he said. Then the usual stuff about Obama's inevitable martial law; the End Times; and how he knew that God was in control and that this stuff was inevitable, but that it still scared him. He brought up a new argument he had recently heard, about the penal system.
 "'We have to keep track of criminals', 'We have to keep track of pets.,'" he said, patting the same dog that had witnessed me committing blasphemy against the Robertsons on his car, "Pretty soon, we'll have to keep track of everyone...except the gay couple down the street," he added bitterly. (Don't know if he was referring to an actual couple.)
I could not believe my ears. He thinks that gay people will not be compelled to take the mark of the beast! 
Does that mean that gay people will be the only ones to go to heaven? Or that (straight, homophobic) Christians will say that they are gay in order to avoid it? It's not exactly denying Christ, after all, just blending in (and I've even seen movies where believers make fake marks, which could possibly be construed as denying Christ).
I would think that he would think gay people would be the first ones to want to take it. And how does it damn people if they're forced against their will--without even the option of execution? Or if they don't know what it is, when they take it? That seems greatly unjust and unfair of God to me.
I can argue against moral arguments (and I would be arguing for myself, because I wanted to, more than for him), but how could I possibly argue with someone's fear? Especially if I can't even follow his line of reasoning, and if he selects what to believe based upon his fears, which I believe he is doing.
I'm still figuring out how to deal with my very fearful and trembling family, but at least I got a few good stories out of it.


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I Have A Pseudofaith Underneath My Atheism

I wrote recently about what I would do if my child were an evangelical, and convinced I was going to hell. I couldn't stop thinking about that scenario since finding a book called "Letters From A Skeptic," by Dr. Gregory A. Boyd and Edward K. Boyd, about that very situation.
I imagine that an evangelical child, friend, etc, of mine would have a harder time convincing me than the co-author had of convincing his father (and it was a long correspondence), because I don't just take the evangelical Christian version of God as a given, as the default version. I have what I call my "If List," based on what I know of goodness, love, and loving behavior.

I remember my Christian homeschooling textbooks, Accelerated Christian Education curriculum, mentioning a story from the middle ages, The Holy War (really!),by John Bunyan (At least, that's what John Bunyan tells us in the introduction, as he says he didn't steal the story from anyone!). This story portrays the attack on the town of Mansoul, by a figure who was most obviously Jesus. Years later, I had a chance to download a copy for free (for it's not copyrighted, obviously) and read it for myself, so I did.
Mansoul's defenses were nothing more than its wickedness and stubbornness, it seems. The residents didn't want to listen, so the forces of Jesus took a battering ram to the Ear Gate, in spite of the town's protests. Many Christians have since adopted that style, and use it heavily to this day.

Christians often want to "break through" their family members' unbelief, and they often think that that is all that is necessary to get them to accept evangelicalism. Because to them, evangelicalism is Christianity, or it is a belief in God. They take it for granted that to accept some of the "Truth(TM)," you have to accept all of it (their beliefs) as true. I have seen famous Christian apologists in debates do this same exact thing.
Edward K. Boyd took it for granted at the start that if God existed, it was his son's version of God. That his son knew more about a potential god, and what that god would look like, than he did.
Now, I know that he is probably very proud of his son, especially having a kid who is so well-educated in religion, and probably a good and loving person too...but does that mean his son was right, even if God existed? Does that mean that Edward Boyd should not have come to his own conclusions, independent of what his son believed? If he cheats off his son's test paper, what if his son is wrong?
If my evangelical loved ones were ever to prove to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was a god; if they were to totally and utterly obliterate my atheism for all time...they would still fear for my soul. I know they would--I have conservative evangelical relations, and they don't even know that I'm an atheist (yet), and yet my parents and I have still been treated as if we were "lost."

My atheism is just one, relatively thin, layer, on top. And my belief in love, and what I know of loving behavior, is much, much stronger than my belief that God is unlikely to exist. Atheism is just statistics to me, just what I think of the world, while the inner layer is my deeply-cherished values. Obliterating my views of statistics and evidence is not enough to make me question my values.
Since writing the post "If," I have become aware that I have some sort of secondary beliefs, a conditional belief system of "If God is real, she is like this..."
Atheism is my main "category," that I would put myself in, but unlike what seems to be the case with most other atheists, I have a secondary category, a backup system, in case God is proven to exist (and nothing more). I would probably either be "spiritual" or at most, a progressive Christian.

I have been asked before why I care about the conduct or beliefs of Christians (sometimes about or towards other Christians), when I'm not one, and also once politely told, about a debate online regarding a certain topic (homosexuality and gay Christians, as usual), "This topic concerns Christians, not really atheists."
I was flabbergasted! Guess which Christian in this debate was the evangelical? None of the progressive Christians were bothered by my being there (of course, I was disagreeing with the evangelical, which is probably why I wasn't welcome, in his opinion). I told him that I thought a lot about what God would look like, if God was real (and good), and asked him why my being an atheist meant that I wasn't welcome there and couldn't have an opinion on this subject?
I guess that shut him up. He ignored that comment and went on to others.

When I first thought about this thing I had, other than atheism, I thought of the word, "Pseudopod." An insect or amoeba often has something that looks like a foot, that acts like a foot, but is not quite a foot. A pseudopod.
I have a thing that acts like a faith, that often looks like a faith, but is not a faith. A pseudofaith. I only believe in this pseudofaith if God can be proven to exist.
Some would say that the presence of my pseudofaith means or proves that I'm not really an atheist. I imagine that both some atheists and some theists might have a problem with it.
But I don't really care. This is what I know of love. And more than I'm an atheist, more than anything...I believe in love.
And if I go to hell for that, so be it. At least I will know that I loved.

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If My Child Were An Evangelical

I decided to call this post, "If My Child Were An Evangelical," rather than, "If My Child Were A Christian." I used to be more anti-theist, but I've met some wonderful pro-LGBTQ, feminist, universalist, and science-friendly Christians in the past year, and I know now that it's possible to be a happy and decent person, and still be a Christian (for some, at least).
I came across an old book recently, called "Letters From A Skeptic," (1994) by Dr. Gregory A. Boyd and his father, Edward K. Boyd. Since perusing it, I can't stop thinking about what I would do, if I were in the (then) skeptical father's position.
The father, Edward, makes a big mistake, that I see a lot of atheists make, in that he decides what he thinks about a theoretical "God" based on what others--his son--tells him about God. Even if his son convinces him that God exists, it still only proves a deist or theist position. It doesn't prove Christianity, and certainly not evangelical Christianity, at all.

I have a "buddy" online who is a Christian universalist. He believes that God will show Himself to everybody eventually, and that since God is love, "No one will be able to resist Him!"
I'm sure that my buddy thinks that I am merely in my pre-Christian (or post-Christian, pre-Christian), stage, but it doesn't really bother me. He lives his life, I live mine, and maybe God will show up for me one day. If he's right, it won't be unpleasant for me, and I'll be okay, either way.
He doesn't have to convince me of anything, or make me do or pray anything. And I don't have to convince him of anything. It's one of the perks of being a universalist and a non-anti-theist (except evangelicalism/fundamentalism).
This man's son, however, does believe in hell. So he feels compelled to convince his father of a slew of evangelical beliefs, not the least of which is that God is actually good for, or in spite of, sending or allowing people to go to hell. A tall order, especially if one is compelled to do it, or know that their loved ones will be tortured for eternity with no hope of rescue.

So in the (non-fiction) book, the son, a bible scholar and apologist, writes his dad a letter and tells him that he wants to correspond about the subject of Christianity. His dad agrees, and opens the floor with the question, "Why has Christianity done so much harm?"
In addition to assuming that "Christianity" means his son's particular brand of evangelical Christianity, that his son knows more about a potential god than he does, and that any transcendent being would have to be all-powerful in this realm, his first mistake was opening the floor, in my opinion. I argue with Christians online all the time (usually, in fact, on behalf of Christians); I don't want to argue with my loved ones. If my child really wanted to debate me, I would have to say, "You first," and let them pick the topic.
But first I would want to sit them down and ask them about their obvious beliefs in hell. What makes them think that I'm in danger, when I've been a Christian, tried sincerely to get close to God, and still sincerely seek the truth? Why wouldn't God know that, and deal with/judge me accordingly?

I had a similar conversation once, when I was about twelve or thirteen, with my paternal grandmother. She told me her beliefs about God, which were more of spiritual than an evangelical nature, and then asked, "So now do you feel better about this?"
I said yes, because I wanted to please her and didn't want to make her mad or hurt her feelings, but I really was bothered by her "wishy-washy" beliefs.
So I would want to make sure that my child could tell me how they really feel. I don't want them to feel that they can't confide in me, or that I would try to make them feel guilty or manipulate them, or that I only accept one answer.
If they really felt I was going to hell, I would try to reassure them that I sincerely wanted to find the truth, if there was a truth to be found, and I might even pray with them, that we would both find the truth, whatever it was. I think if it was for my child, I wouldn't be bothered by prayer. Even if no one else heard it, it would make my kid feel better.

But I would also challenge their notions of hell. Or rather, of how they think people go about avoiding it. Do I have to say that I believe in God and Jesus, when I don't? Do I have to "profess Christ," and thereby lie about what I think is likely to be true?
And then, do I have to go to a church I can't stand, that preaches things I don't agree with morally or intellectually? Read as fully divine a bible that I think was at least influenced by fallible human beings? Pray, when I don't think there is likely anyone there to hear me? Talk about and think about God as if "He" actually existed, when I think it's more likely that God doesn't exist? Convince others of something I don't that even believe myself?
In other words, do I have to pretend to believe everything they believe, and do everything they do because of those beliefs, or burn in hell for eternity? Do I have be their intellectual clones in order to please their version of God?
Am I going to hell if I'm not conservative and don't vote Republican? What if I don't believe in the Rapture? What if I don't believe in hell, or don't believe that sending or allowing someone to go to hell is morally right at all? What if I'm not a young-earth creationist? What if I identify as a feminist--and am pro-choice too? What if I don't submit to my husband? What if I have a wife instead--because since discovering that I was bisexual, that's a very real possibility if I ever get married.
It's a lot more complicated than Jack Chick would have everyone believe. 
I already have family who seems to think that the only "saved" Christians are their intellectual clones. Doing research about religion, for some of them, seems to consist of listening to not one, but TWO(!) evangelical radio preachers! They don't even like to do research about other views within Christianity. I hope to raise my child better than that, if I ever adopt one (because I could never waste my own eggs when so many children need homes, and the earth is overpopulated already), though it's ultimately their responsibility where they end up.
I can't stop thinking about what I would do if I had a child who was truly convinced I was going to hell. I know it's a reality for a lot of people, and I'm not sure how to comfort my potential kid (or little brother who is like a kid to me in a lot of ways), while still being honest. I know that I would have to be honest, both for myself and to set an example for them. Even if it hurts them.
I do know one thing, though: The most important thing that I could teach my evangelical child is that they are loved--if not by God, then most certainly by me. 


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Christian Desperation

I recently came across a post on the atheist blog "Love, Joy, Feminism," entitled, "When Demons Are Real, and it brought back some painful memories for me. Author Libby Ann says that as a child, she was raised to believe that demons were real, and all around her, battling unseen with God's forces. That's pretty much how I saw it, too, as a child but especially as a young teenager.
Yet the teachings about demons were only one more thing that I desperately grasped at in an attempt to finally feel like I was getting close to God. I remember the year I was thirteen (when I was only a couple of years out of Christian school, and homeschooling through materials sold to my family and graded by that same school, and helping to raise the neighbor's baby) as particularly rough, though I had a hard time of it throughout my teen years. There was so much of my life at the time that was very stressful, though I didn't recognize it then, and feeling like a bad Christian just aggravated everything tenfold.
My mother and I were watching a lot of Christian television, where it seemed everyone on TV claimed to basically have audible, or nearly audible, conversations with God. They would ask him a question, and he would answer. They used phrases like "And God told me..." "and the Lord said..." and "I sensed God's message..."
Which all made me wonder, why wasn't God talking to me this way? Was there something wrong with me, or the way I prayed, that he couldn't, or wouldn't, answer me?
Perhaps it was that I wasn't spending enough time with God. So I spent much time praying, reading the bible, and "listening" for God's voice, trying to silence my own thoughts. I even fasted for a few hours or most of a day at a time. Sometimes I would even lay down under my bed, trying to pray all night. I hated that tactic, though I still did it, thinking that God would like it.
I read that other people had "prayer closets," so I shut myself into my tiny closet with my bible, kneeling and praying in the dark. I even wrote out lists of people to pray for and taped them up inside the closet door, though I could barely see them in the dark.
I tried to be a "prayer warrior," though it was mind-numbing. I read many Christian books, and decided to only read the King James bible. I heard somebody say, on a Christian music station, that their son listened to it 24-7, constantly, so I tried that. It lasted about a day, because I just wanted some peace and quiet.
My mother and I tried to worship to Christian music stations in the car. A lot of the time, it felt like I was trying to force something that wasn't there.
We prayed, on our knees, late at night, speaking in tongues and crying out to God. That didn't work either.
I tried to just "rest in the Lord" and not try so hard, but it did nothing. There was no feeling of God's presence, at least not one that I knew of definitively (though I would have told you I did know definitively, if challenged).
Speaking of conversation, I constantly talked about God, as if trying to prove something to myself. Even when God wasn't the subject, I tried to force him into the conversation. I thought I was being a good Christian and a good witness that way.
(Even writing this post makes me feel weary, remembering how I used to feel while trying so hard, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and time-wise too.)
Probably the hardest part of it was the constant conversation with God, that I thought I had, and had to have, in my head. Everyone knows how awkward and exhausting it is to try to keep up a conversation with someone who is very quiet and doesn't talk much. Imagine if this person was there constantly, and didn't talk at all.
I couldn't just have a thought, because every thought was like a message to God, or at least God was listening in on it, so I had to have the proper amount of politeness and respect for him, even in spontaneous thoughts.
Today, I have many negative thoughts about the people I love, as well as many positive thoughts about them. But it's one thing to think something negative, another to decide if it's important enough to say something to the person. Imagine if every negative thought, every internal criticism or judgment, every little thing, was known to the person you were thinking about. How often would you feel compelled to explain yourself, apologize, or mention their good qualities? That was what it was like with God. It was exhausting, and that's not even talking about the embarrassing sexual or gross thoughts, or what I thought about other people.
I think I had undiagnosed depression for a long time. I had poor health, and couldn't get to sleep, because I just couldn't relax, for fear saying something bad in my thoughts. Sometimes I think I still have that problem, in a way.
When we were discussing something similar recently, my mom commented to me, "I think you were the victim of spiritual abuse."
I think we both were. Everything I went through, in those years, my mom went through with me.
I was afraid, for a time, that everything I had was demonic. When I was about twelve or thirteen, I got rid of my favorite childhood toys because I thought they were an idol. I enjoyed them, and the characters they represented, more than I enjoyed prayer and bible study, so they had to go. I was so unhappy, but I thought this would finally please God. I was so desperate, that I was giving up the things I loved and wasn't being myself. No one is worth that much.
Fortunately for me, I later found out that my mom had saved them, unable to part with the memories they represented.
"I hope you're not mad," she said to me about a year or two later, as we discussed how overboard and out-of-balance we were before, "but I saved your Toy Story toys."
Mad? I was ecstatic! She had even saved them in their Barney bag!
I am grateful for that to this day. I don't know what I would do without Woody and Buzz. At least with toys, I always knew where I stood with them.

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Ultra-Modest, Feminist, Pro-Gay, Science-Loving Christian Helps Me Build My Atheist Club

About two months ago, I attended a "Safe Space Workshop" for LGBTQ allies on my community college campus. I met a lot of interesting people there. One of them made me a little nervous at first, because of her waist-length hair and ultra-modest, ankle-length skirt. I thought for sure that she would be trouble. My suspicions seemed to be confirmed when she said that she was a Christian.
She mentioned at one point that her daughter was bi, and that she had told her daughter that the rules were the same for a girlfriend staying over, as for having a boyfriend stay over. I was a bit surprised by that, and surprised even more when she laughed, "Yeah, I get into a lot of arguments, because I'm a very outspoken feminist!"
At the end of the workshop, I raised my hand and mentioned that I was starting an "atheists and friends" club at the school, and that if anyone there was a student and comfortable with signing the petition form, I would appreciate it.
"I want to talk to you about that--I think I could help you!" she said eagerly. So I went over to her side of the room and talked with her. Apparently she worked at the college, and was eager to help the new and unofficial clubs.
"I have an atheist son who says he's a Satanist," she smiled, rolling her eyes. "I don't think he is, he just says that because I'm very vocal about my Christianity."
"Well, I heard that the guy who founded that whole movement, started it as kind of a joke," I nodded.
She seemed, strangely enough, like one of the nicest, most open-minded Christians I had ever met. So a few days later, I went to visit her at her office, as she had wanted me to.
She was wearing another ankle-length skirt when I went to her office to see her.
"Oh, I have a question for the Gay-Straight Alliance club, too," I mentioned after some pleasantries, "We want to do a series on gay Christianity," sadly not my idea,"because so many people think that it's either/or, and I was wondering if you knew anybody who might be interested in talking about it."
"Sure, I would love to talk about it," she answered, smiling, "if you don't mind straight-up answers from the Bible."
"Oh, okay," I nodded, trying to hide my slight apprehension, for anti-gay Christians often love to say that their views are the only biblical views out there.
"You know that, in ancient languages, they didn't have as many words as we have today?" she asked, perhaps sensing what I was thinking.
"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," I said, recalling how other modern languages often don't have as many words as English, since the British had colonies all around the world at one time and picked up words from all over.
"There's this verse in Matthew, Matthew 19:12, where Jesus talks about eunuchs, and a eunuch, in those days, it didn't just refer to someone who's been cut, it also referred to genderqueer people."
"It did?" I repeated, fascinated.
"Yes, so when He talks about eunuchs, He says that some are born eunuchs, others are made eunuchs, because kings would have eunuchs to guard their harems, things like that, and some choose to be eunuchs for God. And in verse six, He says, 'What God has joined together, let no man separate,' so He was talking about eunuch marriages too. And He also says, 'He who is able to accept this, let him accept it,' so He was saying that His message was for those who understood it."
"Really?! Wow, I had no idea!" I have always been fascinated by the "roots" of the bible, especially when it contradicts everything modern Christians hold as sacred, and this has not changed now that I'm an atheist.
"Yes, and He also says, 'Those who are able to hear this, will hear this.' So He's saying that some people will understand what He means, and others won't."
"Wow, that's amazing!" I'm sure that I gave her a little hope that I might not be an atheist forever, since I reacted this way, but I really have no problem with some people's conception of Jesus. I just don't think God is likely to exist, with what we know now, and what we're probably likely to discover in the future.
I had heard something like Jesus endorsing same-sex marriage in the gospels, but it had never all been explained to me so clearly before, I suppose.
"I like to argue about this with people online," she laughed. 
"Well, yeah, me, too," I admitted.
"Just get another name, and it's fun," she said.
We talked about bake sales for the Gay-Straight Alliance club, and she talked about all of the elaborate cakes she used to make for her children's special occasions. I wished all Christians who baked had her heart.
 She mentioned her atheist son again, at another point in the conversation. "He's always like, 'Bill Nye! Neil DeGrasse Tyson!', and I'm like, 'I like those guys too!" she explained.
"Yeah, Bill Nye's kind of cute," I smiled, a little self-consciously.
"They're both pretty good-looking," she agreed. "I just tell my son, there's just so many universes, and so many galaxies, that it's very likely that there's a transcendent being in at least one of them," she said.
"I guess so," I nodded, not wanting to get into a debate with someone I liked so much already, and who could help two clubs I was involved in. She also had a point, though I'm not sure there is a "transcendent being" intervening in this world.
The topic somehow got onto the afterlife. "I mean, I hope there's an afterlife, it's a little scary to think about not existing," I said, getting a little emotional.
"You won't know it," she shrugged.
"I guess not."
As I left, she shook my hand and regarded me with a motherly smile. She wasn't condescending, though, so I didn't think of it as offensive. Maybe I reminded her of her atheist son or her bi daughter.
I was still shaking my head in disbelief as I walked out of there. It was amazing to me, that someone could dress like Quiverfull and be like Freedhearts (a pro-gay Christian site, which she hadn't heard of, and which I had suggested to her).
Wow, I thought as I left, I didn't know I could be so judgmental.

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You Say Gay "Marriage," I Say Christian "Love"

I don't really argue with people about the existence of God. That isn't what bothers me about religion. Ironically, I most often find myself arguing online with Christians, on behalf of Christians--with anti-equality Christians, on behalf of gay Christians.
I wanted to put many of my thoughts on this subject in a convenient article form, so that I or others could link to it in a debate, or sum up the points made here. Or so that others could share their thoughts, if I've missed something or even if they have good arguments against my position. Remember that in addition to the article, every comment will be seen by those reading this, so feel free to contribute.


A Problem Of Definitions

First, I have to correct their false notions of what the word gay actually means. Anti-equality Christians (because that's what they are, when it comes down to it!) seem to think that "gay" means the exact same thing, to put it bluntly, as "gay fucker."
Heterosexist Christians like to say that there's no such thing as a gay Christian. Well, yes, of course there is, just like there is such a thing as a straight Christian. Does the fact that they're straight mean that they're banging every girl (or guy) that they can? Of course not; they at least try to abide by the standards they believe God has for them, which is all anyone (including God) could reasonably expect. Likewise for gay Christians.
There is a website called the Gay Christian Network, and from them I learned that there are two sides to pro-equality Christianity, Side A and Side B.
Side A believes that marriage is for everybody: That you may have to wait to have sex until getting married (or having the equivalent marriage ceremony, where it's not legal yet), but that marriage is for everyone, that God doesn't play favorites.
Side B believes that celibacy is a gift from God, and that that's what He's called gay Christians to practice. Some Side B gay Christians date or enter marriages or "covenants" with other Side B gay Christians, but without any sex at all.
My concern here would be making sure that it actually is THEIR choice, and THEIR beliefs, and not what they feel like they have to do because other people (including their partners) might expect it, or because they're afraid of God's wrath. I also hope that it's totally voluntary, what they truly want, and they don't end up subconsciously, involuntarily, resenting God for making them gay and putting such a heavy burden on them (as I would, in that position).
Anyway, when I talk to anti-equality Christians, I often ask them about Side B Christians who are in completely chaste marriages--if they would deny rights to their brothers and sisters in Christ who aren't even "sinning."
All of these homophobic (yes, I called them that, on purpose, because they are adverse to everything and everyone gay, not just "sin") Christians whom I've talked to don't even understand the question. One person went on a long rant about "sodomy" and how it's bad and a sin. I told him to please answer the question as I actually phrased it, and to stop talking about the sex that was not even happening in this scenario. Would he deny legal rights to his brothers and sisters in Christ who weren't even "sinning"?
He said that he thought God had said that marriage had to be people becoming "one flesh," and that that could only happen between a man and a woman.
"So your brothers and sisters in Christ can't even visit each other in the hospital because you think that marriage automatically equals sex?" I asked. "Why would God create YOU for the sacrament of marriage, and another of His children for something inferior?"
He had no answer for me. The discussion ended with that.
Another guy said, "Let's cut to the chase: Homosexual activists want to destroy Christians." He then elaborated on the "gay agenda," which I always thought included terrible things like happiness, physical safety, and legal and social equality.
I asked him to please "cut to the chase" and answer my question, which I then repeated. No reply.
This all baffles and frustrates me. If homosexual sex is supposed to be the great sin, then why is "being gay" a sin, when "being straight" is not? Why all the fixation on sex? And why do they think that there's only one type of gay person, when there is clearly not only one type of straight person?
When bigots (because that's what they are, whether they know it or not--bigots don't know that they're bigots!) hear the words "I'm gay," what they really hear is "SEX SEX SEX SEX SEX PORN!"
Even from their brothers and sisters in Christ! It's one thing to degrade me as an atheist, but if they don't even give their fellow Christians the benefit of the doubt, something is truly wrong here!
They also degrade their own Savior by this attitude, because the bible says that Jesus was "tempted in every way like as we are, but without sin..." So their savior didn't "sin," but He most definitely WAS (according to the bible and atheist (?) writer Frank Schaeffer) partially gay (bi- or pansexual)! Otherwise (and this is my take on it), how could Jesus be tempted in every way? Or is temptation the same thing as sin now? Because if it is, then these ignorant Christians themselves would be sinning in some way almost constantly, and they might as well just give in to temptation and actually do the deeds, because they're already sinning.


Created Inferior

They would say, of course, that all Christians are children of God, much loved, and created with equal worth. But their version of God does not treat his children equally.
Their version of God creates some for the satisfaction and companionship (and lovemaking!) of marriage, while others he forces to choose between a lifetime of loneliness, and an eternity in hell. He punishes them with this terrible "choice," in fact, because of the way he himself created them! Does that sound like love to you? Because that sounds like abuse to me.
I have never seen any CONVENIENTLY straight Christian address my "lifetime of loneliness, or eternity in hell," choice. They don't have an answer for me. I ask them to give me an actual reason why God would do that, other than "holiness," which basically means that God thinks it's icky (as if he's five years old), so he's going to burn people in hell for all eternity, just for his own preferences. I've only been arguing about this issue for almost a year, but I think that their silences are very telling.


If I Can't Force Celibacy On You, Why Can You Force It On Others?

In the last section, I called these people "conveniently straight." Conveniently, their god doesn't force celibacy on them, only on others. Conveniently, they have always had the option of marriage, love, companionship, children, and sex, and others have never had those options and never will. Conveniently, the rules only apply to others, whom they are free to bludgeon with these so-called rules. I like to remind them of this.
"What if I demanded that you commit to lifelong celibacy, because of MY beliefs that you'll burn in hell otherwise?" I ask. "If it's too much for me to ask of you, then why are you asking that of others? And why do you think God does?"
And conveniently...no reply.


That Is NOT A Light Burden And An Easy Yoke!
 
Jesus said that "my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." But is this a light burden and an easy yoke that straight-supremacists (because they are!) want to impose upon others? Conveniently, this is not a cross that they have to carry at all, only others.
Or is their behavior more like that of the Pharisees, who put burdens upon people that they could hardly carry, and didn't lift a finger to ease them?
Celibacy is described as a gift from God, not something that fallible, sinful humans can force onto other people.  Christians are called not to judge others, and it's not just me, an atheist, saying that. Only God can judge who is right with Him and who is not.
In this article, a loving Christian says that we are not to take the place of Jesus in the story of the woman caught in adultery--that that is not our place, to play god. We are all either the woman or the ones who want to stone her. Only Jesus has the authority to say, "Go and sin no more." I would highly recommend reading the article, or anything on the Christian, pro-LGBTQ Patheos blog Freedhearts.

I have so much more to say on this subject, but for the sake of brevity, and my own emotions, I will leave it for now. I hope I've given anti-gay Christians something to think about, and Christian and other allies more ammo, to give others something to think about. Whether you agree or disagree, or think I've left something out, feel free to leave a comment.


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When "God" Wants You In A Box

 Note: This is not about God killing people and putting them in coffins. You can relax now.

There were many years, after I had a kind of crises of faith, that I didn't know what I was, and I didn't know how my relationship to God was (when I thought of God as real, which was only sometimes). I had tried, and failed, to fit into the evangelical box, and now, because of that, was God done with me--or prevented from having a relationship with me because of my "sins"?
The hardest part about my faith was the praying, and almost constantly talking to God in my thoughts. I couldn't think certain thoughts because they were sinful, blasphemous or otherwise unacceptable, and it was exhausting to keep these thoughts out. I couldn't think of people on TV shows saying "Oh my God," or about the fact that Jesus was probably naked on the cross, and I couldn't have sympathy for LGBTQ people when the subject of hate crimes or human rights came up without an internal caveat that they were still not "doing" (I put it in quotes now, because homosexuality, etc, is what someone is) what God wanted for them. In fact, I couldn't be in favor of gay rights either, even if it made sense to me.
I couldn't think anything bad about the bible, even that it was merely mistaken, and I certainly couldn't think about its disrespect of women and its extra rules for women in church and in marriage. I was proud to be a feminist (because what modern woman is not a feminist, and grateful for feminism?), and strove to be strong and confident as a woman, but I couldn't be too feminist, too outspoken, and I certainly worried about having to "submit" if I ever got married.
All of these caveats, all of these internal sanctions on what I could and could not think, constantly trying to make my thoughts Christian and prayerful, and trying to keep up a running conversation with God (who didn't respond very clearly), were exhausting. And yet I couldn't relax, because I had to be vigilant and take my thoughts captive, and so it became harder and harder to get to sleep. I suffered depression, poor health, and insomnia, mostly because of the mandates of "God."

A woman in my theater class has a nephew with special needs, behavioral and mental health issues, and says that the school district thought of him as a monster because he couldn't fit into "the box" of their expectations.
I thought that God had a tiny, odd-shaped box for me to fit into. I thought I had to be a certain kind of person, a certain kind of Christian, which I discovered did not come naturally to me.
I heard the message to "be yourself" from Christian and secular culture alike, as well as feminist literature. But I couldn't "be myself" too much, because that was my "sin nature." I thought that what was in fact me, was not me, and had to be fought against with all my strength--or I would slip into sin and "fall away" from God, or become a shallow Christian or a bad Christian or a bad person.
This is the big question for struggling evangelicals: How much is "you," and must be embraced, and how much is your "sin nature," and must be vehemently fought against?
Whenever I put "God" in quotes, I am talking about somebody else's version of God. Now I am the things that "God" hates. I am technically an atheist, because even though I have a spiritual side and think of God sometimes, my practical side tells me that there's probably not a higher power for us. Even though I've never even been kissed, at twenty-four, I am very sexual and I have a huge appetite for fantasy and masturbation. I have very strong emotions, and they often come out in strong words and cursing.
I am a woman, and in the bible I get the impression that women are literally damned if they do, damned if they don't. There are so many rules and so much confusion, and women are also literally told, in the bible, that they are more wicked than men.
I think that if God is all-powerful, that she is a bastard, because of all the crap that goes on in the world today, and I refer to God as "she" because I don't think that any good god would be so sexist that the word "she" would be an insult.
I'm not very "feminine" or flirty in my mannerisms, I love to argue, I love alternative points of view about God or gods, and I'm bisexual, which I thought for a long time was just feminism (still a feminist, only now I'm a bisexual feminist). I don't fit in the typical evangelical Christian mold at all.
And it was so hard for me when I started to discover all of this. I spent too many years unsure of what I was, but knowing that I was definitely not a "Christian."
And after I had tried so hard, too! Was it all some cruel joke, that I was destined to fall away from God and go to hell, after having such great intentions? I wanted nothing more than to get close to God, for my relationship with God to be easy and not a constant struggle with myself, like so many people claimed to have. But it was not to be--after all that effort, it was not to be! That was so unfair!
I couldn't even stand to look at a Christian book in a thrift shop for many years. I couldn't even look at a Christian book or a bible, because it was much too painful. I was hurting and bristling every time I glanced at a Christian billboard or cross by the side of the road. I tried to watch atheist videos a few years ago, curious about what they had to say, but I had to turn them off very quickly, because they would start talking about religion--or worse, talking to a Christian trying to witness to them or use apologetics on them. I couldn't stand the subject, because it hurt my heart too badly.
I felt a strong connection with the song "Losing My Religion" by REM, because of the sadness in the words. I wanted to be good, but I couldn't be what I was supposed to be. I couldn't be what everyone wanted and expected me to be, including, I thought, God.

I disappeared into music and thinking of stories about superheroes. To this day, when I hear many REM songs that I know (as well as many other songs), I think of DC's Captain Marvel, and it makes me happy.
It bothers me a lot when people judge me for not fitting into the evangelical Christian box, especially some of my family, but I try to tell myself that they don't know how sincere I was. They haven't been where I have been, they haven't gone through what I have gone through. They don't know how hard I tried, and they don't know my intentions, even to this day.
I just want to know the truth, and if God is anything like what they imagine, I don't want anything to do with him. And if God is like anything like what I imagine, I have nothing against her. I don't necessarily want a relationship with either of them, with what I've been through, and I don't necessarily think that either of them would even exist, but my god would understand.

"But his mind is wide open, and far beyond that of the average kid," my classmate says of her nephew. "And I find that amazing."
I don't fit into the tiny, narrow evangelical box, and I have determined that I will never again try to fit. But maybe that's okay. If her nephew can be amazing, then maybe I don't have to fit into the box to be a worthwhile human being.
And you don't either. It's time to kick the box off the stage.

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