Things I've Gotten In Trouble For Saying

One time I said that my strapping, six-foot-four cousin would get raped by a Smurf and it would turn his butt blue. His mother did not like that one. (Normally I do not at all like rape jokes, but when the rapist is imaginary, when it could literally never happen in real life, I think that's a little different. For example, when God raped Mary...)

When I was ten years old, I screamed, "Who's your mama?!" in a department store and beat the air with a giant spatula. I'd like to say it was my immature ten-year-old friend who put me up to it, but it was actually my mother's immature thirty-year-old friend.

I told my brother that a race-car driver was called a pimp. "I'm a pimp too!" he screeched to my dad, with all the enthusiasm of a naive six-year-old.

When I was in elementary school (at a Christian school) we were having a serious discussion about heaven and the afterlife. It was refreshing that the teacher seemed to be honest with us, letting down her religious facade and expressing her own uncertainties. "But what if it's not true?" I asked. "What then?"
"So what? You've lived a good life," she snapped. "Now take out your history books." Just like that, the emotionally honest discussion was over.

At a family reunion when I was seven, an older cousin kept teasing and tormenting me after I had told him repeatedly to stop. I called him the devil to his face. My reasoning went thus: "He is hurting my feelings and it doesn't bother him at all. In fact, he likes it! He likes hurting my feelings, therefore he is just like the devil."
I apologized later, to save my own skin, but to this day I am not sorry I said it. When a child is in tears and calling someone the devil, a monster, Hitler, etc, or saying that they are afraid of someone, that child is hurting immensely inside. If their hurt is ignored, belittled, or punished, it can stay with them for the rest of their lives.

The cousin with the blue butt wasn't the devil, by the way. To a lesser extent, I sometimes think I'm Blue-Butt's devil. Fortunately, none of my teasing has ended in tears so far. I like to think I know when to stop.

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Talking About The Thing We're Not Talking About

At a recent family gathering, I spilled food on my hands and excused myself from the table to wash them. When I came back, one relative of mine was saying, "She said, 'You pray for my kids and I'll pray for your kids.'"
Since she often relates stories she has heard from others, I asked curiously, "Why? Whose kids were these?" She changed the subject.
I was glad it was not my mother who had said that.

On another such occasion, another relative of mine had asked indignantly whether we knew what the initials "G.C.B." stood for.
"No," my mother said, confused.
"What is it?" I asked.
She refused to answer, looking away. It was plain that she was not pleased with whatever it was.
On the drive home my mother remembered: "Good Christian Bitches."
It was too offensive not to bring up, but too vulgar to be uttered aloud, even as "Good Christian B-words."

I have pretty much figured out the things I can and cannot say, but this is another social dilemma altogether. How do we talk about the thing we're not talking about?

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Advice To My Atheist Self

 See also the previous post, Advice To My Christian Self.

Our journeys in life take us to unexpected places. There was a time that I thought I would never end up an atheist, though there was always a part of me that rebelled against the religious indoctrination I had been subjected to. I learned so much along the way, and I know I have so much left to learn. But when I learned these things, my life became so much freer:

1. Always be on your own side. There is nothing inherently bad about you. You deserve every good thing that you can get for yourself.  It's all right that you're not perfect, that you can only do so much. Be easy on yourself, as you would a best friend.

2. Listen to and trust yourself. There is a reason you are thinking that blasphemous thought. Whatever you do, don't silence yourself. You will literally drive yourself crazy trying to control your thoughts.

3. Don't feel bad about anything. What you are feeling probably is not healthy. Guilt should be temporary, until you make things right, and should only surface if you have truly hurt somebody. Other people do not have a right to get hurt over your own thoughts and actions that do not affect them.

4. Don't feel like you have to share everything. Most of my family does not know I'm an atheist; my family is such that it would not be wise to share that information at this time. Every family, workplace, and even church, is different, and your situation may not be conducive to an open and accepting dialogue. Again, you don't have to feel bad about this.

5. Don't be afraid of words. "Atheist" can be a scary word. A superstitious part of you may think you are severing all ties with God and sending yourself to hell. But remember you can always change your mind, if later you are scared. Also remember that you don't have to tell anyone; "atheist" to me is still often said like a secret mantra in my mind. Whatever you believe, or don't believe, can be as private as you wish.

Above all, don't replace one religion with another; in other words, don't think that you have to agree with everything a fellow atheist says, or allow yourself to be insecure wondering if you're a "real" atheist. Let your life lead you where it will, and enjoy the journey along the way.

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Advice To My Christian Self

 See also the next post, Advice To My Atheist Self.

As a young teenager and product of Christian schools, I lived with constant anxiety and perfectionism. I wish that someone had told me these things then, and that I had had the ability to put them into practice.

1. Trying harder will not make you closer to God. "If I could just pray more, or maybe fast, if I could just read the Bible again, maybe I should start memorizing verses--oh, don't do all that, just relax and wait for that still small voice, but I can't relax, I just wish He would reveal Himself to me..." I was so desperate to feel close to God, as everyone else seemed to be. I was looking for love and comfort, and I am still learning how to give those things to myself.

2. Your life is not impure or polluted. Getting rid of things you think are impure or demonic will not get you closer to God. God is not being prevented from revealing himself to you because of a toy or a movie. After getting rid of almost everything I was fond of, it made no difference. He was still a million miles away.

3. If you just "think" or feel like God is telling you to do something, don't assume. Not because it's really the devil, but you could have a lot of embarrassing or awkward situations for nothing. You could also waste a lot of time and effort. Think before you act, and don't feel pressured to "just do something."

4. Don't worry about your thoughts. A teacher told me once that the devil wanted me to think about anything other than God. I was so sad not to be able to pretend I was a superhero anymore. Later I stressed myself out constantly and found it impossible to relax because I was scared to death of committing sin in my mind.

5. Don't trust God, trust yourself. You may not always believe the way you do now about your religion. Ironically, when I stopped trusting God, that's when I started trusting life. I trust that if there is some truth that I'm missing, eventually I will find it.

Above all, I would have had a much easier time of it if I had learned to simply relax. If I had stopped being a Christian, and learned to be a kid.

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Evil?

I once heard a Christian acquaintance describing how a friend of his preferred to go to church late, in order to skip the worship music. "That just goes to show," he said, "that evil can't stand good."
Evil? Maybe the worship music just sucked. Then again, that may just be the "evil" in me talking.
As a child I attended a Christian school which was heavy on the Bible verses. Even when I was a Christian, my eyes would glaze over at the mention of any biblical quote. I was so burnt out, and still am, with the Bible and other aspects of Christianity, that I cringe and feel physically ill every time the subject comes up; it feels like a rug-burn on my mind.
Christians sometimes talk about having a heart that is "calloused and hardened." For many years I constantly worried about myself and my own heart, because the Bible said many things that caused me distress and made me wonder what kind of monster I was serving.
Prayers seemed designed to rob me of any self-worth; I had the impression that God was deliberately ignoring me and taking delight in the pain he caused.
I could never relax because blasphemous or sexual thoughts would pop into my mind whenever I dropped my guard, no doubt because I tried so hard not to think them.
I lived in constant fear of sinning, grieving God, making him mad, distancing myself from him, straying away. I was constantly aware that I was a horrible human being, unworthy of any of his love, a wretched and vile worm.
Finally it all became too much to handle, and I fell into a deep depression.
Looking back on it now, on the other side of the "dark days," I am glad that my faith was broken. It was the first step towards freedom.
There were always little things that bothered me: Why didn't God simply reveal himself to us? Why hide? Why can't an all-powerful god save everyone from hell? What if (when I was feeling really courageous) the Bible was not written by God?
As soon as these thoughts came, I would banish them, sometimes "bind them in the name of Jesus," fearing they were from the devil--or worse, that they weren't.
I can't stand too large a dose of religion, and I know I can't be the only one. Does this really make me evil?

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To Each Their Own

My grandparents attend church faithfully every Sunday, sitting patiently in their seats for two hours, not fidgeting at all (so much self-control!). They sit still, so very, very still. Occasionally they look around to see who else is there that they know, who brought their daughter or nephew this week, who's missing, etc. I rarely hear them talking about the sermon itself, at least in front of me, and I don't know how much it matters to them.
Their church is their social club and community. Two of their children attend, with their spouses and families, and all of them have been attending together for nearly fifteen years now. They have seen the leadership of the church change hands many times, many spats and transitions and changes to the format and message. Still they faithfully attend, like clockwork, every week. They have a place there, a sense of belonging.
My mother has not attended church in years, mostly because she can't find one that pleases her. She wonders, where is one that is powerful but not emotional, that preaches "The Word" but doesn't take the exclusionary parts too seriously? She would rather go to no church at all than to one that is unsatisfactory to her.
I don't think that she has ever completely agreed with a pastor about everything, or simply taken his word for anything. The message or style of preaching is usually what turns her off about a given church. She has been fond of the word "discernment."
 Whereas for most of our family it seems so easy to be Christian, for my mother (and for me) it has never come easily. What did God mean by this, why does it say this here, what if it's not true...?
While my grandparents' beliefs have stayed pretty much the same, hers have evolved over time. They still believe in the Rapture; she now believes that Christians have got it wrong. They still believe in hell; she thinks that Jesus was referring to the garbage dumps, occasionally set on fire, outside of Jerusalem. They talk about sin, while she says that love is love.
She is fiercely independent in her thinking, and I am fortunate to have been raised by her and to have turned out, I think, much like her, though I take it a step further and now consider myself an atheist.
I don't believe in a "true" style of Christianity, but I respect one that evolves over time, that stresses love more than "purity," that encourages people to think for themselves. I also believe that this style, ironically, produces more atheists in the end. I know that it has at least produced one.

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When You Don't Feel Like An Atheist

The other day I actually found myself praying. I was taking a test in one of my classes, and it was little more than a "Please help me," uttered in the privacy of my own mind, but nevertheless it was almost automatic, and served to both make me feel better and haunt me at the same time.
What was I doing? I was an atheist; I knew better than this. I had examined the evidence for God and found it too flimsy to believe. I prided myself on total honesty, on never having to lie to myself or avoid the bitter truth. Why did I still need this leftover superstition?
Afterwards, during a break, I went out on a deck that adjoins the classroom. I was glad to be out there alone, to have a moment to think. I leaned on the railing, enjoying the view of the natural scenery adorning the spread-out college campus. And I was truly grateful that it was not God's green earth. "What am I?" I thought to myself.
From a quiet place within me came the answer: "I am someone who does not want to be alone."
I had suffered a temporary lapse in confidence, and was reaching out for help. I wanted a greater mind than mine guiding my hand. I had wanted, just for that moment, a higher power to lean on.
All of my atheist idols (an oxymoron, I know)--Jaclyn Glenn, Penn Jilette, Hemant Mehta--all seemed so confident, so sure of themselves and their godlessness. What about someone like me, someone who lapsed back into their faith on occasion? What was I to do? What was I?
I decided not to be troubled by own temporary lack of disbelief. It didn't matter, in the end, if I had an imaginary friend and knew it. Perhaps I was simply praying to my higher self, reaching out, or rather in, for comfort as I would to a best friend. Whatever I am, whatever I end up being, I have to be on my own side.
Yesterday in class we had a whole new set of problems. As I dived right into them, I found myself thinking, "Please help me." Then, a moment later, "Wait a minute--I don't need this. I don't need help!"
I could handle it all by myself.

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