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

EoF Part II – Fear of Church

 Might want to start here if you haven’t read it already.

As I continued to go to church on my own, my sense of isolation became more pronounced.  Our pastor barely took notice of me.  The elderly couple that I rode withon Sundays were always the kindest souls in the congregation.  I joined the youth choir as I had a love of music and singing.  But even among those my own age, I felt different.  Most of the kids who attended my church didn’t go to school with me.  They attended a private Presbyterian school in Memphis, while I went to local public schools in my county so we knew little of each other.  (Presbyterian and Methodist were synonymous back them or at least it seemed so to me) In youth choir, we traveled the local area singing at nursing homes and the like.  I remember sitting on the bus or riding in vehicles with people that I knew but didn’t know.  It was like being invisible.  No one asked how my family was.  No one asked much of anything at all. 

During the service on Sunday, I usually sat alone.  In the midst of the congregation, I was the fat little girl whose parents were wrong for leaving and taking their checkbook with them.  I was looked upon with suspicion, further proof in my mind that I didnt belong.  And then at the end of the service *the call* would be issued again.  And I never heard it.  All eyes in the congregation turned to me every week, likely wondering why I didn’t move forward. I think I must have been the only one that hadn’t sought the counsel of the pastor. 

I wanted to scream, “Whaddya want me to do??? Lie??? In church??? Not me.  Oh, Hell no.”  So there I was 8 or 9 years old and thinking that God didnt want me.  He must not.  He didn’t speak to me like he did every one else.  He never called me so I was sure I must be the spawn of the Devil.  It became so uncomfortable, that I actually feared going to service.  Choir practice wasnt too bad.  It was about singing not sinning. 

I always wondered, if anybody really heard that *call* or if they just pretended or imagined it.  I was not bad, in fact I was just the opposite.  The epitome of the good child with manners and good grades and respectful nature. Did God not have my number?  Was I not important to Him as well?   Why would God not want me?  Being a child and feeling rejected by the most powerful omnipotent being the universe was a bit disconcerting.  No longer able to tolerate the accusing stares and the lack of compassion,  I went to my mom and dad at the age of nine and said I didn’t want to go back.  My parents said that was fine with them. 

Shortly thereafter, I overheard my parents saying that the people from the church came by to see why I didn’t attend Sunday services anymore.  When my parents told them, they accused my mom and dad of being *heathens* (a label that I wear proudly now  that were setting me up on a road straight to Hell.  At that moment, I washed my hands of that church.  The church that thrives to this day. It’s membership has grown exponentially since the late 70’s when I left.  Many of the members are the same people who attended when I did.  I have often considered returning there just to see if it is still the judgmental, hypocritical, intolerant environment that I remember.  I wonder if they would even remember me.  I just bet some of them would.  Don’t know if they would admit it or not but I just bet. 

EoF Part III/Heathen- Coming soon