Tuesday, December 8, 2009 by angel.

I have been accused of many things by my old fundie cohorts. Among those are placing myself under demonic influence, rebellion, promiscuity, masturbation (guilty!), changing my opinions out of spite, talking to the Devil himself (usually over mimosas), alcoholism, drug abuse, and (my favorite) intolerance.

All of the above have little connection to my version of reality save intolerance.

“Why do you hate Christians?” my mother asks. There is no answer to that question. In it is an already developed determination about my feelings, complete with a judgment as to their validity.

But here, in this forum, there’s no injured mother blinking tears back and blocking out my words even as they are formed. Here, you are my anonymous friends, and to you I will offer my answer - shocking as it may be.

I do NOT hate Christians.

I don’t hate anybody, really. Give me a second to search my soul… Yup. No hatred. Not for anyone. I see the world as a collection of hapless beings mucking their way through the best they can. Sometimes they hurt each other in the process. It’s an illusion of perspective that we have created this idea of right and wrong. Everyone is the hero of his own journey. Even the worst bad guys tend to think they’re somehow good or misunderstood. For the record, I want to note my belief that there are very good people who are Christians, fundies even. Just like there are very good formers and very good muslims and very good buddhists and very good atheists. Shall I go on?

What I take issue with is ANY belief structure that values ignorance over knowledge, that offers people an excuse to act out on their darker inclinations carte blanche - without the stark light of reason to guide them, that does not allow for criticism, evaluation, or evolution of doctrine. In short, I take issue with fundamentalism itself.

The formers I’ve met through the years of my reincarnation fall along a continuum, from intellectually amused by their foray into fundamentalist evangelical Christianity to deeply damaged by the abuses they have endured at the hands of their brothers and sisters in Christ. Like anyone else, I fall somewhere in that continuum. Like all of us, I have heartwarming stories about how my relationship with Jesus Christ helped me hurdle this or that life trauma. I have fond memories of the wonderful people I met and times I shared with them. But, I also bear the scars of not having developed healthy coping mechanisms for issues that exist outside the scope of the tiny evangelical box.

That last part is something a lot of us have in common. A moment in which the neatly packaged box of fundamentalist Christianity failed.

Perhaps it was in crisis. Perhaps during study. But at some point, the facade crumbled, and we were left with a giant conflict between our faith and our reality. We also had a choice: to ignore the problem, will it away through some wild circular logic OR to bravely acknowledge its existence and dig deeper.

We chose to dig.

Keep in mind, if you’re a fundie and you’re reading this - We don’t hate you. We’re not persecuting you. This isn’t about YOU. Keep playing your games with your imaginary friends and pretend spiritual battles. We’re just trying to recover and get on with our lives. With this life.

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Saturday, December 5, 2009 by RMH.

As an intellectual, I realize that the reason for the season isn’t Jesus, as so many people will profess. It is a well-known fact that the birth of Jesus (if we go ahead and assume for a moment that the rest of the story was accurate) was most certainly not in December, for a number of reasons. It is also well-known that the Roman Catholic Church, in an effort to assist the pagans in accepting the new religion of choice, used the existing Feast of the Son of Isis, the Goddess of Nature, which occurred on December 25th. Of course, since Babylonian times, the feast included partying, drinking, eating, and gift-giving. How could you get converts if you took away their favorite holiday? The holiday also coincides with most other cultures, celebrating the winter solstice. The Romans honored Saturn, the God of Agriculture, and the Europeans celebrated Yule, the birth of the Sun God Mithras.

But that’s honestly not what this article is about. It’s about the part of me that still misses my ignorance and the peace it brought this time of year.

As I sat in front of my Christmas tree this morning, adding bows, ribbons, and embellishments to the presents, I listened to Christmas music. And having grown up in a very religious household, and attending a fundamentalist school, I, of course, know all the words to every song by heart. Especially the religious ones. As I began to recall the songs, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, Silent Night, and Hark the Herald Angels Sing, I felt an intense sadness.

My separation from the church, unlike so many others, was not one that was my choice. I realize that had not certain events occurred, I would probably still believe, still attend church, and still find the security in my faith that I did growing up. I would encourage my children this time of year to embrace the birth of Jesus, attend candlelight services, and be filled with the joy of the season. Instead, I shudder at religious symbols, at prayers before Christmas dinners, and all the religious connotations the season brings. My hatred, and yes, I mean that honestly, comes from the time that, as a youth, the church that I had attended my entire life literally pushed me out the door and insisted I not return; all this through no fault of my own. But that is another story for another time.

The realization of where I might be in life, and how it would differ from where I am now was the source of my sadness. This morning, I had to admit to myself that I miss the warm, fuzzy security blanket of religious ignorance. The feeling that someone, somewhere, out there loved me unconditionally, and that all the bad things that happened in life somehow had a purpose.

As I listened to Oh Holy Night, I recalled Christmas Eve’s of my childhood; and I miss it. Now, each day, each action, is my responsibility. I have to live with the consequences and find my own way in the world. I have to lead my children to survive in this world, no unseen figure, no invisible avenger to fall back on or ask for help. I felt the loneliness. I cried. I grieved for easier times.

I envy believers. They have peace I can’t find anymore, a security I don’t feel anymore. But I can’t believe. If there is a g-d out there, and perhaps there is, I don’t know who he is. And while most of the time I feel proud and empowered by my own understanding of the world, today is different. Today, like so many years ago when I was rejected by my church, I am grieving the loss of religion in my life.

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Thursday, July 23, 2009 by angel.

Once upon a time, I taught preschool at a Baptist church.

Preferring to retain my creative liberty in washing their little brains squeaky clean, I generally ignored the assigned curriculum totally… however, there came a day when I was strapped for time and pulled out the fateful pre-packaged visuals in a mad dash for the classroom. So armed, I began giving the kids their lesson.

We were learning the story of Noah’s ark. The 18×24 cards depicted the biblical characters after the flood, skipping happily off of the ark whilst joyous animals frolicked all around them.

As I told the story, I would hold up the appropriate card for the innocent eyes to behold, taking a quick glance for my own reference. It happened, however, that what I perceived in one particular glance registered in my brain at the selfsame moment as the collective gasp of terror from the children.

Following the fanciful frolicking, was an illustration of Noah thanking G-d for safe passage through the flood. Front and center stood an enormous rock alter on which lay a child-sized lamb, with its throat slit open, tongue hanging out, and blood streaming down in velvety serpentine threads. Noah stood behind, arms outstretched toward heaven in joy.

This may have been my first step toward vegetarianism.

Most of the children eventually went to rehab for various drug and self mutilation addictions by the 1st grade. I hear that some of them are doing fine now.

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Saturday, May 30, 2009 by Professor Kool-Aid.

An introduction:My name is Rod, and my story is a peculiar one. To be honest, it is funny how I was raised in the African American Baptist tradition which was Arminian, and then at the end of my undergrad days, I became a Calvinist just to fit in with my friends who were part of Reformed University Fellowship.  They had all of the answers, the cool Christian parties, and the right looks.  All of my life, I had never fit in anywhere, even refused to join a fraternity in college.  But I guess I was exhausted of being the outcast, that man like Mr. Manhattan of the Watchman series, you know, the dark colored, super-intelligent being who just does not look like your average human rocket scientist.  I still get that Mr. Manhattan feeling sometime, but today, I can proudly say, I am my own man, and I am accountable to God alone.  Below are two pieces that explain my  experience. I hope that I can elaborate on these in the weeks and months ahead.Cage StageWhy I Kissed Calvinism Goodbye (full article)

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