EoF Part III – Heathen

Here is part I.

Part II is here.

Might want to read those first if you haven’t already.  Makes more sense that way.

So, I quit going to church of my own volition around the age of 9.  Well, I say *quit going to church*. I quit going to that church.   I still attended other churches with friends now and then. Sunday school, vacation bible school, etc.   Not very often mind you.  It was kind of like taking time off between high school and college to see the world.  Liberating is a good word to describe it.  I remember feeling deliciously decadent on Sunday mornings because I slept late and got in the big, swimming pool in the backyard, early in the morning,  all by myself.  Those are some of the most vivid moments of my life.  Floating around the water on my back looking into a vivid blue inifinite sky.  Sparks of bright sunlight refelcting off ripples in the water. Just me and the sun and the warm summer breeze and Rock 103 on the radio.  That was my time with God.  I didn’t know it yet but it would come to make perfect sense to me later on.   And, boy oh boy, were all my friends jealous.  I felt a little bit like a celebrity. 

It was a revelation to find that all those kids that I thought luhhhhved to go to church every Sunday were bored and miserable and didn’t really want to be there either. I was in shock.  They complained and said things like *you’re so lucky* and *I wish my parents would let me stay home too.*  I never explained to any of them what happened.  I just felt fortunate to be out from under the discomfort and stress.  The irony of it was that I actually wanted to go to church. Being a creature of habit, I liked the routine of it.   I wanted friendship and a common bond with the kids that attended but it was never offered.  As a child, I found comfort in saying the same prayer every night.  I knew God heard me way back then.  That was before any conscious memory of the church telling me that He didn’t.

Up until my teens, I didnt think much of the fact that I quit going to church.  It just didnt seem all that important.  I still prayed before I went to sleep at night.   I still asked God for forgiveness.  I still considered myself Christian because, I didnt think there was another option in northern Mississippi.  The only places to worship in our county were churches and most of those were Protestant.  There was only one cathedral  (there are only 2 to my knowledge now) and of course no mosques or synagogues.  I read about mythology -Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Aztec, Indian, Native American, Incan- at that time but I was too young to make the correlation between mythology and religion.  It started to become obvious to me that one spiritual scenario was every bit as plausible as another.  My young logic was that no one has ever died and lived to tell about it so ultimately no one really knows.  And then my brother died. 

Part IV – Rebel with a Cause

I’m on a Mission

…a mission from the gods.  Here’s my plan.  

 Once a week.

Break out the phone book.

Open to the section containing places of worship (ANY places of worship; ie, temples, synagogues, churches, covens, etc).

 Pick one at random.

Show up at the appropriate time. 

 Listen with an open mind and an open heart.

Meet people. 

Ask questions and learn.

Speak with clergy, deacons and other church elders to learn more. 

Share what I learn with others.

 Here are my issues.

Don’t want to be converted or become a member.  I already know what I believe.

I am very very excruciatingly shy. 

Not wanting to offend others in any way or be perceived as intrusive. 

Having the option to come back and learn more if I choose to do so.

Sharing what I learn honestly and openly without offense.

Here are my questions:

How do I get past the shy thing?

Should I call or just show up?

Should I push the envelope?  (Look different in some way.  Bring attention to myself.  Ask difficult questions.  Open for suggestions as to how to handle this aspect.)

I don’t know that I ever could but, I’d love to do this.  Am I crazy?

Calling all Baptists

This post is bound to offend.  It is not intended to offend but I am certain that it will.  Baptists tend to be very easy to offend, at least in this part of the country.  Saturday afternoon,  several members of a local Baptist church came by the trailer park.  It’s a BIG BOX Baptist church and I call it the Christian factory as rude and intolerant as that may sound.  Given some of their methods I can see it as nothing else.  The point of this post is to elaborate on what I perceive as an extreme attempt at increasing their congregation at the cost of dignity and respect for their own faith.  I am very interested in knowing if these are techniques are commonly used at other Baptist churches around the country. 

 This particular church frequents our trailer park.  They walk the blacktop dressed in their Sunday best and witness to all the poor, lost souls that they meet along the way.  On Saturday, they spoke to my son about faith and heaven and being *saved*.  My son,  being allgnostic and open to all religions, was willing to listen.  He listened and even agreed to possibly attend a service in the future.  During the course of the conversation,  the young Baptist asked my son if he would be willing to say a short prayer with him to ensure his entry into heaven.  My son being the polite, non-offensive young man that he is, complied and now is assured a place beyond the pearly gates.  All because he repeated a short prayer recited by this young man.  This is where I start to have a problem understanding.  This is also where I begin to wonder if this young Baptist has any real understanding of his own faith. 

According to what he told my son, just saying the words of this short prayer was evidence of salvation.  He did mention (as a bit of an afterthought) that my son should *mean what he said* in order for it to work.  My understanding of the Christian concept of salvation is that it is supposed to change your life from that moment.  You should in essence be reborn as a better person.  I have experienced my own pagan salvation and it did change my life and my entire way of thinking.  Prayer without good intent is no more than words.  *Repeat after me* is not enough. 

This church is known to use other strange means to cultivate attendance, particularly among younger generations.  They gave away a skateboard one summer.  Each kid filled out a card and a random name was drawn following Sunday morning services.  An expensive Zero pro-board.  My son rode the bus that Sunday and actually won the board.  He was ecstatic but it didn’t make him go back. 

 Yet another tactic the neighborhood kids told me about (all of my kids have attended services at this particular church - with my blessing – as I truly believe that they must make their own decisions without my input.  Our beliefs are as unique as our DNA and fingerprints) is even more extreme.  The youth director that rode the bus on Sundays told the kids that if they got enough people to fill up the bus, he would swallow a live goldfish.  They kids pulled it off and the director did as promised.  We refer to  it as *Jackass for Jesus*.   Yet another rude analogy but with this kind of behavior what else should it be called.  Money and mountains of candy have also been used as rewards for bringing more friends to Sunday services.  Once the money, the candy, the skateboards and the goldfish were no longer an option, many of the kids opted not to attend.

The most disturbing part of all, is that since most of these kids don’t have *Sunday best* (mostly due to financial issues) and since their parents choose not to attend, they are bussed to a church where they are ignored.  All the effort seems to be a numbers game of some kind.  Do churches get money from the state like schools?  Based on the number of people who attend? I’m asking because I don’t know, not to be sarcastic.  If so,  then I can see a possible ulterior motive.  If not, then what’s the point? Why lead a child to Christ only to ignore them when they get there.  I clearly remember the cliques and the social segregation I observed at the Methodist church I attended as a child. It contributed greatly to my decision not to go any more, a decision I made at the age of nine…on my own…with no influence from my mother and father.  The entire congregation washed their hands of us after that.  My mother and father were referred to as heathens for not forcing me to go.  We’ve been proud heathens ever since. 

 Maybe some gracious Baptist out there with more knowledge than I possess can explain exactly how this is supposed to work.  Bear in mind, that I’m not here to argue.  I am here to understand.  Baptists of the world, will you please help me out. 

The Concept of Allgnosticism

Growing up in the Bible Belt was a life-shaping experience that led to the development a unique belief system.  We  call it allgnosticism.  Where an agnostic person doubts the validity of any religion, I turn that 180 degrees and say to you,  there is some truth and goodness to all religions.    That truth and goodness is often perverted by those who seek power and control.  Such is human nature.  We are a greedy lot.  A young girl recently tried to tell my 14yo daughter that she “couldn’t do that.”  All I can say is why not? 

How I arrived at my conlcusion is complicated and convoluted.  That’s a very, very long post (quite possibly a whole book) for another night when I don’t have to go school clothes shopping at 7:30AM.  (By the way, I am soon to have a real job at the new Best Buy that is opening less than 15 minutes from my house AND a bit of unexpected extra $$ may get us through the pending school year after all.  Thank the gods for Nonna’s, tarot cards and overtime.  Blessings rarely come at opportune moments for us so you can’t imagine how thankful I am right now) 

I want something with substance.  A world where doing the right thing gets as much attention as doing the wrong thing.  Where hands are joined in an effort to create a better place. Maybe what I want is Utopia.  Maybe it is impossible.  I prefer to believe that it isn’t.  The human race is capable of so much more than we know.  So much more than we are able to comprehend.  Unless of course we commit to find out just how much we can achieve.  It all starts with one person.  One idea.  One moment.  One step.  The power and belief….the conviction of just one soul can be a mighty powerful thing.  Imagine the power of 1,000,000 souls.  Who needs oil or electricity with that kind of power?  With that kind of power we could probably teleport. 

Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. – Albus Dumbledore

Allgnosticism is tolerance and understanding and learning.  It is agreeing to disagree and, vowing to not just respect,  but honor and exalt our differences.  I have a plan.  If I ever overcome my fears it is likely to have remarkable results.  My vision reaches far into the future to a better place for our children and their children and their children’s children.  I have had the unmitigated gall to call myself a prophet before.  Dare I say it again?  I think I will. 

 And so my quest finally begins…..care to join me? 

The State of Me

I guess I should introduce myself.  I’m really no different from most.  At least from most of the people I know.  I’m a 36 year old mother (My name is Diane) , common law wife and everyday chick.  I live in poverty, in a condemnable, fire-hazard-of-a-trailer with my three kids and my consort of the last ten years, David.  I walked out of my job in July of this year, fearing that something detrimental was about to occur due to illegal and unethical practices that I witnessed while under their employ.  It was a small business and when I quit, only nine employees remained.   Sure enough a week and a half following my departure, the *company* (and I use that term lightly) laid off six more people.  The remaining three were the upper echelons of mismanagement.  Last I heard, they were being investigated by the IRS.  The DOT won’t be far behind. 

I don’t have a degree in anything except high school and trailer park.  I seem to attract the negative so I have to consider myself a positive.  Trying to better myself through learning and understanding others is an integral part of my life.  Though I have found that most are not interested in the facets of faith.  My own faith has gone through many significant changes throughout the course of my life. 

I went from a semi-idyllic childhood ( I say semi- because I grew up with a terminally ill brother who passed away when he was only 27) to an uber-despondent adulthood.  I have seen death – my father, my brother, both grandmothers, my first husband and the father of my two oldest chidren, two dear friends and countless others)  I have been abused both physically and emotionally. And I have been poor.  No electricity, no running water, nothin to eat but potatoes and Ramen Noodles poor.  I still am.   Daily, I struggle with the notion of giving up and resigning myself to this less than  desirable fate.   So far, I have been unable to do that.  Must be the Scot-Irish in me.

And here I am.  Wondering what we are going to eat for the next week.  Fearing the possum will get in the house again tonight.  Hoping that the mosqitoes that come up through the holes in the floor don’t give us all West Nile virus  Wondering where the money for school clothes and supplies for my kids will come from before next week.  Praying that my 17yo son will make it through this year of school ( he quit last year and is planning to go back) and be in even worse shape than his hind-sighted mother.  My hindsight vision must be at least 20/2.  But isnt it always? 

 That is only the tip of my own personal iceberg.  What I’ve done.  What I’ve seen. What I’ll never do and never see.   I am patient and tolerant, sometimes, cynical and bitter.  It’s hard not to be when you are constantly running uphill .  But I still believe that I can make a difference.  I write.  I can express myself and find some solace in knowing that someone cares enough to read it. 

 I belong to a subculture in the US.  A group that barely exists despite its large numbers.  We are invisible and silent because we feel there is no need to speak up.  A group that can’t afford to eat but doesn’t qualify for food stamps. One that has no insurance and no forseeable opportunity to obtain it.  We live without electricity when we don’t have the money to pay it because we have no choice.   For the past three years, we have spent summer in the kudzu jungle of Northern Mississippi with no air conditioning and still had $500 utility bills to pay.   This winter we look forward to having no heat again.

Something has to keep our heads above water.  Our country is on fire, literally and figuratively.  Is it a sign form the gods?   Unless we all speak up, on the ills, the wrongs and the religious, political and personal injustices we keep experiencing nothing will ever change. 

Make a commitment to do something good and right today.  Agree to disagree.  Get your head out of the TV and do something REAL.  Make a change.  A change that matters.  Embrace a new culture or religion.  Plant a seed.  Strengthen a relationship.  Commit random acts of kindness.  Take out the trash for an elderly neighbor or relative.  Tell your Mom how much you really love her.  Do something that matters.  Something that will make a difference for the better.  Vow to do it not today but EVERY day. Imagine the difference it would make if we all did. 

“You may say, I’m a dreamer.  But I’m not the only one.  I hope some day, you will join us and the world will live as one” – John Lennon