Faith, church and nonsense

I grew up in the church - actually and literally grew up there. My Grandfather was the Pastor of the church I went to as a girl so we would be there on Sunday mornings for church service, Wednesday nights for prayer and Friday nights for Bible study. My dad was a deacon and led worship with his guitar with music from those old 80's Maranatha praise song books. My very own aunt and uncle were real-life missionaries and I always thought I was especially Christian cool because not many other kids I knew had actual missionaries in their families.  My mom sang "special music" almost every Sunday, her voice as powerful as the great Sandi Patti. My Sunday school teacher Alice taught Bible stories with paper figures on felt boards.  We always had to memorize a verse every week and recite them first thing Sunday morning for a gold star. My daddy read me a story every night out of The Big Storybook Picture Bible and Grammy made all of my Sunday dresses in precious patterned fabrics where there was always a white collar and a bow.

When I was in middle school, my Grandfather took a Pastoral position in a rural country town and we found a new non-denominational church to attend. The church building was made of white stone and nestled in dozens of huge oak trees that created a canopy to walk under with dark green ivy peeking over all of the sidewalks between the different buildings on campus. I grew up with Christian friends and my closest friends were always from youth group and Sunday school.  To this very day, I am still friends with a guy I've known since the 7th grade and somehow we've always stayed friends because "Friends are Friends Forever." (If you know, you know.) I sported my WWJD bracelet and Christian tees that were supposed to communicate to the world, I'm a really good Christian. I have several friends on social media that I went to church with in middle and high school, with memories of playing Barbarian Women at youth group, moshing to Jesus Freak by DC Talk, scavenger hunts, car washes and spaghetti fundraisers where we served meals and hoped people would donate money to go on a "service" beach trip which was actually a beach trip where on a Saturday afternoon, we washed cars for free in parking lot except for a couple of the bad kids who snuck off to make out and buy sno-cones. Youth group was a whole thing that looked like teenagers learning about God, but in reality it was all about who was crushing on who and who was wearing what, strange, hilarious games, Christian rock music and junk food. Tell me I'm not wrong.

Everything made sense then. Even God. Rules felt clear. Doctrine was black and white. A woman's "place" in the church was understood and rarely challenged. There was always a tasteful balance of hymns and modern worship songs to satisfy the old folks steeped in tradition. Kids obeyed their parents and families all lived in clean suburban neighborhoods where they hosted barbecues and Bible studies and Fellowship Feasts and pre-marital counseling. You didn't associate much with anyone you didn't see outside of Sunday mornings.  Those people were politely and nicely looked down on because they obviously weren't serious about their faith. That was never spoken out loud, but it was clearly seen and understood, even by my adolescent self.

I always got excited when I met another girl who didn't fit the churchy box in the neat and tidy ways that were acceptable. I felt more connected to someone who also liked things that weren't necessarily approved of in Christian circles like Beverly Hills 90210, secular music and collecting Troll dolls because they were cute (not because they represented some kind of evil or witchcraft and yes I was told this). Once I made a friend named Molly who was the coolest chick I'd ever known.  She loved the Beatles and had all of these random things plastered to her bedroom wall - magazine clippsings, art, movie stubs, restaurant napkins, deflated mylar balloons. I ended up modeling my own bedroom just like her because I wanted to be Molly-awesome. She was the coolest and she also said shit sometimes and I loved how she seemed to not care that I heard and she didn't act embarassed that she had used foul language in front of me. She had opinions and vocalized them.  And sometimes, SHE TALKED BACK to her dad. In front of me. The girl was an enigma.

At nearly every retreat, camp and conference I attended, I would "recommit" my life to God. I was mostly good and good at making all of the goodly good choices. I learned I had to cover up my boobs, not wear anything too short that highlighted my butt, and keep my purity intact until my wedding night. Pornography was presented as a man's struggle and was greatly frowned upon, however, "girls didn't have to worry about that, because porn is a guy thing." Women were expected to submit to their husbands no matter what and I always wondered how that was okay, when one boy always came to church with bruises and black eyes because his father physically abused him. I checked my boxes and knew all of the phrases, Scriptures to quote and all of the perfect spiritual answers to give at Bible Study.

Problems were always and only solved with prayer. We would lay hands on someone sick or hurting, and for major illnesses, church pastorswould anoint others with oil. Anyone who went through any kind of trial and hardship were told things like - God has a plan! God won't give you more than you can handle! Stay strong in the Lord and you will get through this! There was always a Scripture to quote that was supposed to uplift and encourage one another and I often wondered why things felt the opposite of what they were saying. God has a plan - but literally, what the hell? I definitely feel like I have more than I can handle on my plate right now. If I don't stay strong in the Lord, will He leave me and I'll be left to figure this out on my own? Is He even here helping me? Others words of encouragement ended up making me feel like faith was so much work because I had to remember to read my Bible and pray every day, not to be anxious or worry about anything, go to church every time there was anything to be there for, maintain my purity, dress appropriately and always be as good as possible. 

A specific and well defined worldview was expected of all Christians. All of us were supposed to be conservative republicans, vote pro-life and view all non-heterosexuals as an abomination. We could go to church and fellowship with people of other races, but we white Christian folks better only marry other white Christian folks. (I found this out in my early 20's when I had shown interest in an african-american man). You were supposed to always tithe 10% of your income to the church and it was rather embarassing if you had nothing to put in the plate that was passed around. The Bible said to care for the poor, the widow and the orphan - and churches did that, as long as it was with the right organization that had bylaws and mission statements that aligned with theirs. It had to fit neatly into the church budget and didn't cost them too much of course.

Everything was understandable and if you didn't understand it, you simply needed to study your Bible more. There was an underlying theology that while we have been saved by grace and salvation is a free gift from God, we absolutely had to maintain said salvation so we always appeared as the good, holy and fruit-bearing Christians we said we were. I lived most of my life believing that what I was doing wasn't enough and maybe I sinned so much because I wasn't ever really saved like I thought I was. I asked God to save me a thousand different times just in case it didn't take the last time I asked.

All of this was etched into my DNA from the moment I came into this world. I didn't question any of it because it all made sense and everything I heard was from my Grandfather-Pastor, Christian parents, church members, Sunday school teachers and Bible study leaders and obviously they were right about everything. 

All of this worked for me though.  

Until it didn't.

(To be continued...)