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

Evolution of Faith

This has been a Hella-week.  Thanks to Christian’s kind words, I am feeling more positive and back to my original intent.  The intent of this blog is to foster a new way of thinking.  Inspire a bit of hope.  This world has taken leave of its’ senses and is completely out of balance.  When we find ourselves purchasing stab-proof uniforms and bullet-proof backpacks  for our children to go back to school, it’s time to take a good hard look at what’s going on here.  It is a crying shame that we, as the most intelligent creatures on the planet (debatable)…the top of the food chain, cannot commit to turn away from our own fatal flaws.  We do have that ability.  Everything we do is a choice.  I truly believe that addressing the spiritual health of the world is a good place to start.  We cannot right all the world’s wrongs with a spell or a prayer but what is it that prevents us from trying?  I believe that it is our refusal to see through the eyes of another.  Especially in matters of faith.  The concept of *one true way* has done much damage but none of it is irreversible.   Much like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, truth is in the heart of the believer.  No matter the belief. 

 My own faith has gone through a lifelong evolution.  It seems that with everything I learn and experience, my concept of faith and spirituality expands.  From the churches that I attended as a child to the solitary rituals I practice as an adult, each new discovery leads me to a higher understanding.  

The first part of that evolution of faith was church.  Church was a normal part of my early childhood.  I was christened into the Methodist faith as a baby and went to church weekly up to the age of nine.  It wasn’t forced on me or expected of me, it just was.  We got up, dressed up and showed up every Sunday like the rest of our family and neighbors.  Little or no deep thought was behind it.  It was really a bit ike going to work or to school.  Just another part of the routine.  But even as a young child, I didn’t really get it.  But, I didn’t really have to get it.  I just had to go. 

At church, we were ostracized.  In part because, church wasn’t our whole life. The center of our existence was my brother, who laid at home in a hospital bed, unable to care for himself in any way.    We weren’t there for every single service and we didn’t attend potluck dinners.  My mother wasn’t in the choir and my father wasn’t a deacon.  We couldn’t.  My mother attempted to derive some kind of answer through fellowship and faith but in the end was denied it for the very reason she sought it.  I can only assume that members had no idea what to say to us.  No words of encouragement for a family that shouldered a heavy burden.  Despite that feeling of isolation, we continued to attend as that was what my mother had been raised to do.  I cannot speak for my mother, but as for myself, I always felt unwelcome. 

Church members and even the pastor occasionally visited us at home during the week.  They stopped by to pray with my mother and father for some miracle to save my brother.  They rarely stayed for more than ten or fifteen minutes.  Long enough to claim it in their list of good works.  Then they moved on to put stars in their crowns elsewhere.  Places like the volunteer fire department and the PTA held promises of much brighter stars and much bigger crowns.

When I was about eight, a slow change came about in my little United Methodist congregation.  The concept of faith healing was embraced and caught fire rapidly.  Not long after that, our once thoughtful, quiet services were filled with fire and brimstone sermons.  At the end of every service our pastor would announce that it was time for members who *heard the call* to come down to the front of the church to be saved.  Members lined up immediately in droves, shifting from foot to foot as they waited their turn to get down on their knees and dedicated their lives to God and Jesus. We stayed in the pew. Neither of us willing to pretend that we heard a call that we did not hear. 

My mother stopped attending not long after this new way of thinking was introduced.  The righteous behavior of some of the members contributed to her decision not to go anymore.  Many of the men in the church were convinced they had suddenly developed a gift for healing  They set my brother in their sights determined to produce an almighty miracle.  The only thing they produced was a bout of hiccoughs that wracked my brother’s body for well over two weeks.  He hiccoughed so hard that the feeding tube in his stomach was forced from his body twice and he had to be transported to the hospital by ambulance.  He hemorrhaged and vomited due to the unusual intensity and duration of it.  They vowed never to allow it to happen again. 

When they advised the atttending members of their decision, they were accused of being weak in their faith.  They were told that since they didnt believe strongly enough it didn’t work.  It was the last slap in the face my mother ever took from church.  She chose not to go and hasn’t been back since.  I continued to attend because I was now convinced that I was supposed to go.  All my friends did.  All their parents did.  It was part of my life for so long that it just didn’t seem right to stay home on Sunday.  My parents never said I couldn’t.  They went out of their way to make sure I had the opportunity to go every Sunday even if they didn’t.  It didn’t take long for me to draw my own conclusions based on my own experiences.  And so my fear of church began. 

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. 

*Good things* Petal Pusher

We need so much more of things like this.  This man is doing exactly what I’m talking about and doesn’t expect a thing in return.  Check him out.  This man and his grade school sweetheart, married 65 years are doing it right.   

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? 

*Good Things* to Be Thankful For

…and the *Bad Things* they cancel out. 

1.  Window unit air conditioners.  Cancels out oppressive, Mid-south, summer heat and saves energy thereby saving the environment and money.  Having one in each room has saved us this summer.   When we were using central heat and air our electricity bills were between $400 and $500 a month every summer and IT WAS STILL HOT in the house.  Thank the Income Tax Gods for blessing us with enough money to buy some this year so that we could finally be cool.   

2.  Sacred Heart Southern Missions of Hernando, MS.    Cancels out desperate need in a kind, non-judgmental way.  The Sisters in at the Walls Mission helped us so many times when I was in a depserate situation in my second marriage.  They paid our electric bill without condescension or disdain.  They gave us food when we had none.  There is such a feeling of peace in that building.  Recently a dear friend was struggling with finances.  I suggested that she go to them.  She did and they ensured that her electricity wasn’t cut off.     

3.  www.religioustolerance.org.  Cancels out ignorance and misinformation.  A wealth of information for a religiously/spiritually challenged world.  Everything is explained here, form Christianity to Paganism to….yes, eek!…even Satanism.   Time spent here is time well spent.  All you can do here is learn and learning is always a *Good Thing*.

4.  Fridays.  Cancel out Mondays.

5.  Chelsea Clinton/Anne Hathaway/my 14yo daughter Lani the political-religious-social activist/Amanda Bynes.  Cancels out Paris Hilton/Nicole Richie/Britney Spears/Lindsay Lohan.  (Who dont need a link of their own.  We know enough about them already.) 

“Fear less, hope more.   Eat less, chew more.  Whine less, breathe more.   Talk less, say more.   Love more, and all good things will be yours” – Swedish Proverb

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

Religion and Politics

“In religion and politics people’s beliefs and convictions are in almost every case gotten at second-hand, and without examination, from authorities who have not themselves examined the questions at issue but have taken them at second-hand from other” – Mark Twain. 

  

And there you have it.  The foundation for most personal beliefs is that somebody else told us it was right and we said, “Ok.”  Never questioned it.  Never gave it a second thought.  Just have faith.  And for the most part we do.  In something.  If you have faith in something why?  What makes you believe it?  How do you know it to be true?  I not only have faith in something.  I have faith in many things.  You could say that I’m fortunate enough to have all the gods on my side.  I believe what I believe because I do.  In my heart I know it to be true for me.  Whether or not it is true for you too remains to be seen but I guess it could be.  I’m here to learn, to share, to understand and to grow in spirit and heart.  Bringing people together, facilitating peace and fostering tolerance are my mission.  We need voices of reason and here I am ready and willing to try.  Are you?  If you are then let’s hurry up and get this started.  The world is waiting.

Who are you?  What do you believe?  and most of all why?