Man cannot live by bread alone but by every word which proceeds from the mouth of Katie. And by mouth, I of course mean hands. So read on, little ones, and fill yourself full on this month of March, starting from the bottom of the page.
March 6th, 2003: Warning: The following is not intended for over-the-edge Christians who become offended at my every intake of breath.
I think that one of the very worst things in the entire world is to, as they say, get a taste of one's own medicine. I spent 20 years of my life as a Christian, you know. I was raised in the Christian church by a Christian family who taught me to condemn sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. As a child, I never had much of a passion for Jesus, really. I hated that he was so presumptuous as to force everyone to capitalise all 420 of his names. I just understood that not following him would mean going to Hell, becoming a heathen, and listening to lots of Metallica. Yes, the pastor of my church actually told a story during one of his sermons about a boy who tied himself to a set of railroad tracks to commit suicide and did so because the Metallica in his Walkman told him to. I was brainwashed.
But then in middle school—6th and 7th grades—I actually heard Metallica for myself and learned that they weren't going to make me sacrifice kittens. And when an adult in my church stood up one Sunday morning and told the entire congregation that we as Christians had to rise up against Marilyn Manson and not permit him to play a concert in our state, I scoffed. I realised that these people had probably never listened to the bands for themselves and were just regurgitating Christian propaganda. The Christian church's anti-Disney crusade helped to separate me a little more.
But I really wanted to believe in God. Having a relationship with him could only be a good thing, I thought. I wasn't really risking anything: at worst, it would turn out to be one elaborate sham and I would have woken up early every Sunday morning for nothing; at best, I would be accepted into Heaven with my dead pets and relatives. So I continued with my lukewarm faith, hoping that it would grow hotter with more time I spent with Christians at retreats and such.
And it did, to the point that I was horrified when my best friend, Tracey, told me late one night that she didn't believe in God anymore. We were freshmen in high school and had just come back from a Christian immersion weekend that was supposed to signal new growth with Christ. I wrote countless letters to her with the intention of convincing her that her soul was in danger, that life was meaningless without a relationship with Jesus. She replied that she could still manage to be a good person even if she wasn't a Christian, that one can't force herself to believe. I was fanatical; she was simply declarative. She knew that she couldn't tell her mom; I knew that having to keep it a secret was proof that it was wrong. I didn't understand how she could have let it happen; she didn't understand why I couldn't accept her as she was.
I was concerned that being around Tracey too much would turn me into one of her kind. But we remained best friends through high school to the point that we claimed to be joined at the hip, and my faith remained unchanged. Until I got to college, that is. My freshman year at OSU, I lived with two very Christian girls, three very Catholic girls, and two girls trying to get on the right footing with God. It overwhelmed me. I didn't like being told by a few of them that listening to Nine Inch Nails was going to send me straight to Hell, and I didn't like being judged for the half-glass of beer that I would drink at the frat parties that I went to. I was ridiculed by some of them for hanging out with alcoholics rather than Jesus freaks, even though I wasn’t participating in any drunken activities. But rather than reject my roommates, I only felt a greater need to increase my time spent at church and Bible study.
Last year, I lived with a couple of girls who were all sort-of Christians, and seeing the way they acted made me want to put myself into a totally different category than theirs. All of the Christian organizations on campus made me sick to my stomach, so I quitted them and chose to just read my Bible every night and go to church every Sunday.
It wasn't before long that I realised why I was going to church, though—my friends kept me coming. I loved driving there with my friend Jonathan every week to meet up with our group. We would go out for ice cream or make pizza at his house and sit around watching Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network afterward, and I got to know him so well during that time. Realising that this was the wrong reason to keep coming, I decided to go on a mission trip to New York City through the church with my friend The BIG K.N. to see if maybe missions were my thing. Katie had prayed about it and decided that God was calling her to go. I, on the other hand, figured out that I was just excited about a cheap trip to NYC.
The trip, which took place at the beginning of June of 2002, was absolutely great and absolutely horrible. The city was beautiful and exciting, but the people missioning with me totally turned me off. All they wanted to do was pray, and it seemed to me that they were praying about the most ridiculous things. When you fall and scrape your knee, you wash it off and move on, right? No, these people thought that an entire evening of worship was needed, because clearly our good work was making Satan fearful. One girl claimed that he was blinding her because her relationship with God was growing. She said that she could feel the devil clawing at her eyes, pulling on them while at the same time choking her. Honestly, all I could think was that it was a sad yelp for attention. But I was also angry that other people thought that their prayers could help her and I knew that mine couldn't. I didn't know whether to be jealous of their powers or to mock them for their foolish beliefs.
That, coupled with the fact that reading my Bible had caused me to discover that this God who was supposed to be so loving was actually so spiteful and arrogant, made up my mind for me. By the end of the trip, I was a full-fledged unbeliever. I hadn't only been turned away from Christians but from Christianity in general. And honestly, I was okay with it. I still went to church to hang out with Jonathan all through the summer but stopped going once he went away for his first year of college. And I've only been back once since. I think that I'm much happier in some ways. I no longer feel guilty for not listening to the right kind of music and not hanging out with the right kind of people and not going to every church-related function. I don't feel pressured to try to keep my faith on the level of everyone else's, which makes me much more self-assured. The only problem is that I just don't know if I'm right on wrong. I don't believe in God, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't exist.
Now for the point of the story, getting a taste of my own medicine. Yesterday at work, I saw a girl walking around with the cross of ashes drawn on her forehead for Ash Wednesday. I was taken aback by her appearance for a moment and relayed my feelings to one of my co-workers. She asked, "So, you're not Catholic, then?" and then stopped and inquired, "Are you anything?" I told her that I'm sort of an atheist for the moment, and she formed a cross with her fingers in front of my face to ward me off and said, "Stay away from me!" She kind of did it in a joking manner, but I could also tell that she was serious in a way. Then, last night at a symposium about the U.S.’s impending war with Iraq, the people at my table were all talking about the Christianity classes they’re taking and the churches they’re attending, and I felt like such an outcast. It was so amusing to think back to high school and how scared I was of and for my atheist best friend, scared that she would turn me “bad” and scared that she wouldn’t be accepted by our other friends anymore. And now I’m the one people are scared of, and I guess I’m sort of scared for myself.
See, the thing is—in a way, I’d like to raise my kids in the church. I really think that religion is a great thing in that it teaches people that goodness will be rewarded. The thought of my ending up in Hell truly frightened me as a kid, and I’m quite sure that I avoided a great deal of corruption because of it. I just wish that whole Jesus/brainwashing aspect wasn’t there. And it’s not that I doubt that parents can teach their kids to be good without bringing Satan into the mix. He sure does help, though. So I really need a nice, open-minded Christian boy who will accept that I’m in a period of unbelief and offer to have children with me anyway. Or I need to start my own religion that scares people into being good in some way yet doesn’t involve any sort of deities. Brilliant, right? Work on that.