How About Them Apples? (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
applespice) wrote2011-05-17 08:21 pm
applespice) wrote2011-05-17 08:21 pm
Entry tags:
LJ Idol - Week 26 - Turtles All The Way Down
When I tell people that I grew up Pentecostal, there are a few reactions that I typically get. There is always at least one joker who thinks he's going to be the first person ever to ask me if I’ve handled snakes (I haven’t). Some people have no idea what I’m talking about. Others have vaguely heard of Pentecostals, but don't know much about them. The most common reaction, though, is a semi-disgusted, semi-terrified stare, as if I’m going to break out into tongues or start rolling on the floor in paroxysms of religious fervor any second. If the final reaction would have been yours, don’t worry – I am no longer Pentecostal and I don't take it personally.
Truthfully, I didn’t even realize there was anything weird about being Pentecostal for a long time. I think I was probably eleven before the full significance of my difference started to come clear to me. Before that, sure, I had noticed that I was the only little girl at school who didn’t wear pants, or jewelry, or have my hair cut. Apart from that, though, I was still a fairly normal kid, and other kids accepted me (albeit in the role of elementary-aged brainiac).
Even at eleven, when I began to feel the shame of wearing super-modest, handmade clothes and never having the right haircut (because I’d never had a haircut), most of my life was still palatable to me. My limited world was all I had ever known, and I didn’t think to look outside it. Attending three to five church services a week wasn’t strange to me, just necessarily tedious. Seeing people dance in church aisles and weep openly while the pastor preached wasn’t scary; just a typical Sunday night. And speaking in tongues wasn't eccentric – it was salvation.
I “spoke in tongues” for the first time when I was eight years old. I remember being held up at the church altar, dozens of hands on my back and shoulders and head, a hundred voices in my ear telling me to keep praying, keep repenting. What did I have to repent for, anyway? Not waiting my turn for the swings at recess? But I remember feeling so proud when everyone congratulated me on being saved. It would take another decade to admit that I had only muttered gibberish up there at the altar that night – because I didn’t want to let everyone down, and because I was terrified of Hell.
I was sixteen when I began to really question my faith. The tiny world I had inhabited for so long was suddenly blossoming into a fantastic realm crowded with people of all stripes – most of them, according to my church, among the legions of the damned. My friends were good people, I knew that. Why should they be condemned to Hell (still my greatest fear, eight years later) for things they couldn’t help, like loving someone of the same gender? Or for insignificant trespasses (like swearing, wearing short skirts, or putting on makeup) that had no bearing on who they were?
I didn’t understand, and so I asked. I asked religious teachers, church elders, veterans of a thousand Bible studies. And none of them – not a single one – could really explain to me why. Not that they didn’t try, of course, but nothing they said ever made the least bit of sense.
In undergrad I learned the dictionary definition of “circular logic,” but by that time I was already well aware of its tactical use in a real-world argument.
“It’s true because it’s in the Bible.”
“How do you know that the Bible is true?”
“Because the Bible says so.”
These people were supposed to be Bible scholars, and that’s the best they could come up with? I was not impressed.
Still, I heard worse during my years of questioning. I heard that all feminists were lesbians (a barb directed at me by a Sunday School teacher when I self-identified as the former – though by that time I had realized that there was nothing wrong with being a lesbian, which took any sting out of his would-be “insult”). I was told repeatedly to “hate the sin, not the sinner,” a phrase that I loathe to this day. I was chastised for speaking out against the concept that thinking about committing a sin was just as bad as actually doing it – though admittedly, part of that may be because I stood up in front of the youth group and asked that if that was so, did that mean I should go ahead and murder my little sister, as the thought had crossed my mind more than a few times?
My breaking point came during a Bible study one Thursday night. I was barely eighteen, and barely hanging on to the tattered remnants of my religion – once the defining factor of my life. Two years of questions hadn’t turned up any answers for me. At best, I had found willful ignorance. At worst, I uncovered homophobia, misogyny, racism, and a resistance to openmindedness so strong that Jesus’ own words couldn’t convince these people to love someone they considered a sinner.
That night we studied the creation story. There was plenty of stuff about Eden, of course, and the seven days of God’s creation. Never one to keep my mouth shut, I decided to hit them with a theory that I had heard recently (and that I have since discovered is fairly common in certain theological circles) – that Earth was not created in a mere seven days, but over eons, and that God worked with science (practically a dirty word in the Pentecostal church I attended) and set evolution in motion.
I should have known better. Not only was the idea dismissed (after being laughed at), but I was told that I was committing a sin by even entertaining it as an option. The Bible study leader was aghast. And me? I’d had enough.
I don’t know why this relatively minor occurrence was what pushed me over the edge, but it is what I will always remember as being the moment that I stopped being Pentecostal. For two years, I clung to the beliefs I had grown up with as they grew increasingly slippery, but on that night I realized I didn’t want them anymore. It just wasn’t in me to suck it up and accept a place in that closed, intolerant world. It was Bibles all the way down, and for me that just wasn’t – and isn’t – enough.
I still believe there’s something out there. Whether it’s God or something else, I couldn’t say. I feel weird even giving it a name. And I’d really feel weird – downright wrong, in fact – if I were to judge other people on its behalf.
Nowadays, if I judge someone or something, it’s all on me. If I make the wrong decision or think the wrong thing, it's my fault. I’m the one who has to own up to it. On the one hand, this is pretty scary. It means that I don’t have anyone else to blame for my mistakes. On the other, I feel freer now than I ever have.
I don't hate Pentecostals, or even Pentecostalism as a denomination. Most Pentecostals are decent people just trying to make their way in the world, like I am - like we all are. I can't stand the judgment and I can't stand the proselytizing, but I'm sure there are plenty of things about me that Pentecostals can't stand, either. It's not about what you can't stand, though - it's about what you stand on. And while the ground sometimes feels shakier now that I've left the comforting closet of my former faith, overall I've found that I much prefer walking on the outside.
Truthfully, I didn’t even realize there was anything weird about being Pentecostal for a long time. I think I was probably eleven before the full significance of my difference started to come clear to me. Before that, sure, I had noticed that I was the only little girl at school who didn’t wear pants, or jewelry, or have my hair cut. Apart from that, though, I was still a fairly normal kid, and other kids accepted me (albeit in the role of elementary-aged brainiac).
Even at eleven, when I began to feel the shame of wearing super-modest, handmade clothes and never having the right haircut (because I’d never had a haircut), most of my life was still palatable to me. My limited world was all I had ever known, and I didn’t think to look outside it. Attending three to five church services a week wasn’t strange to me, just necessarily tedious. Seeing people dance in church aisles and weep openly while the pastor preached wasn’t scary; just a typical Sunday night. And speaking in tongues wasn't eccentric – it was salvation.
I “spoke in tongues” for the first time when I was eight years old. I remember being held up at the church altar, dozens of hands on my back and shoulders and head, a hundred voices in my ear telling me to keep praying, keep repenting. What did I have to repent for, anyway? Not waiting my turn for the swings at recess? But I remember feeling so proud when everyone congratulated me on being saved. It would take another decade to admit that I had only muttered gibberish up there at the altar that night – because I didn’t want to let everyone down, and because I was terrified of Hell.
I was sixteen when I began to really question my faith. The tiny world I had inhabited for so long was suddenly blossoming into a fantastic realm crowded with people of all stripes – most of them, according to my church, among the legions of the damned. My friends were good people, I knew that. Why should they be condemned to Hell (still my greatest fear, eight years later) for things they couldn’t help, like loving someone of the same gender? Or for insignificant trespasses (like swearing, wearing short skirts, or putting on makeup) that had no bearing on who they were?
I didn’t understand, and so I asked. I asked religious teachers, church elders, veterans of a thousand Bible studies. And none of them – not a single one – could really explain to me why. Not that they didn’t try, of course, but nothing they said ever made the least bit of sense.
In undergrad I learned the dictionary definition of “circular logic,” but by that time I was already well aware of its tactical use in a real-world argument.
“It’s true because it’s in the Bible.”
“How do you know that the Bible is true?”
“Because the Bible says so.”
These people were supposed to be Bible scholars, and that’s the best they could come up with? I was not impressed.
Still, I heard worse during my years of questioning. I heard that all feminists were lesbians (a barb directed at me by a Sunday School teacher when I self-identified as the former – though by that time I had realized that there was nothing wrong with being a lesbian, which took any sting out of his would-be “insult”). I was told repeatedly to “hate the sin, not the sinner,” a phrase that I loathe to this day. I was chastised for speaking out against the concept that thinking about committing a sin was just as bad as actually doing it – though admittedly, part of that may be because I stood up in front of the youth group and asked that if that was so, did that mean I should go ahead and murder my little sister, as the thought had crossed my mind more than a few times?
My breaking point came during a Bible study one Thursday night. I was barely eighteen, and barely hanging on to the tattered remnants of my religion – once the defining factor of my life. Two years of questions hadn’t turned up any answers for me. At best, I had found willful ignorance. At worst, I uncovered homophobia, misogyny, racism, and a resistance to openmindedness so strong that Jesus’ own words couldn’t convince these people to love someone they considered a sinner.
That night we studied the creation story. There was plenty of stuff about Eden, of course, and the seven days of God’s creation. Never one to keep my mouth shut, I decided to hit them with a theory that I had heard recently (and that I have since discovered is fairly common in certain theological circles) – that Earth was not created in a mere seven days, but over eons, and that God worked with science (practically a dirty word in the Pentecostal church I attended) and set evolution in motion.
I should have known better. Not only was the idea dismissed (after being laughed at), but I was told that I was committing a sin by even entertaining it as an option. The Bible study leader was aghast. And me? I’d had enough.
I don’t know why this relatively minor occurrence was what pushed me over the edge, but it is what I will always remember as being the moment that I stopped being Pentecostal. For two years, I clung to the beliefs I had grown up with as they grew increasingly slippery, but on that night I realized I didn’t want them anymore. It just wasn’t in me to suck it up and accept a place in that closed, intolerant world. It was Bibles all the way down, and for me that just wasn’t – and isn’t – enough.
I still believe there’s something out there. Whether it’s God or something else, I couldn’t say. I feel weird even giving it a name. And I’d really feel weird – downright wrong, in fact – if I were to judge other people on its behalf.
Nowadays, if I judge someone or something, it’s all on me. If I make the wrong decision or think the wrong thing, it's my fault. I’m the one who has to own up to it. On the one hand, this is pretty scary. It means that I don’t have anyone else to blame for my mistakes. On the other, I feel freer now than I ever have.
I don't hate Pentecostals, or even Pentecostalism as a denomination. Most Pentecostals are decent people just trying to make their way in the world, like I am - like we all are. I can't stand the judgment and I can't stand the proselytizing, but I'm sure there are plenty of things about me that Pentecostals can't stand, either. It's not about what you can't stand, though - it's about what you stand on. And while the ground sometimes feels shakier now that I've left the comforting closet of my former faith, overall I've found that I much prefer walking on the outside.
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Chris and I have talked about maybe visiting some Episcopalian churches in the area, though. We'll see if that goes anywhere.
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Some websearching with the term "emerging church" should find you some possibilities in your area.
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Thank you!
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I've been taking a lot more liberal approach to scriptures in recent years. As for Creation, by adhering to the literal letter of old Hebrew legends, we ignore what God has written upon creation itself (in the rock strata, in DNA) -- and thus are calling God a liar. And I don't have much patience for people who believe that if the story of Noah is not 100 percent literally true, then passages like "Thou Shalt Not Kill" are invalidated, so we must believe it ALL as written (and certain "authorities" interpret it) or all is lost. The Bible is not a spellbook that traps God inside like some genie.
... but that's just what I think. =)
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I agree entirely with this, and I love your phrasing to boot. I have never understood why God/higher being(s) couldn't coincide with science. I have a great respect for science and hard evidence (even if I can and do think in the abstract a lot of the time), and have always disliked the way that the churches I attended growing up dismissed it out of hand.
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That's the exact answer that one of the guys in my Design Studio would give for his beliefs. Creationism, GLBT people being sick, all of that because according to him ~the bible says so~.
Aside from that though- I have to say- it really is interesting hearing other people's religion experiences.
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Because I'm a bitch.
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Myself, I think when I learned that the garden of Eden story (and other things as well) came from older, polytheistic religion and had been written on tablets pre-dating the Bible, I could not see a reason to believe in the Bible as such a matter of fact thing. Anyway, I ended up with a minor in ancient history in college...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumerian_creation_myth
So anyway, I'm agnostic... I guess my feeling could be summed up by saying that the world as we are seeing it, is truly incredible, but if I proclaimed to know any cosmic truths (or alternately, claimed know that there could be no god), it would be very dishonest. All of that, is beyond the realm of what I know... :P
But yeah, my screen name that I use is Vishnu, aka, Rama/Krishna, from the Sailormoon anime. He's a compassion deity, and he loves Lakshmi (another deity so old she appears in multiple religions... also known as Aphrodite) and so do I... she's my favorite deity, sort of a symbol for true love, which definitely has the most meaning to me, even though I don't really believe she exists or anything. So yeah, I tend to collect Venus statues and stuff like that. :)
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That's basically how I feel about it. I don't think I could ever say for certain what's out there - it's so vast... how could I possibly know? All I know is what I feel.
I know what you mean about deities having meaning, even if you don't believe they exist. I've always loved Hermes (god of travellers, messengers, wit, athletes, and literature?? How could I not) - so much so that I plan on getting tattoos of his wings in the future. :)
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I tend to avoid entries on (any) religion, usually. It makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I've been brought up in a non-religious family (some of whom have very good reason to be wary of religion), but did attend a Church of England school (only because it was the best nearby school) and I never got my head around the fact that we should "behave as God wants us to/behave as to the bible" and even, in answer to my insatiable curiosity, "all pagan religions are evil" - I guess I just think that "good/evil" comes from the person, and that people should do their best to make the right decisions for the overall happiness and well being of everyone involved because they want to, not for fear of being "punished" by mythology.
I also think we probably ain't going nowhere but the memories of those we loved when we die, and I'm okay with that.
I guess because I've never been "inside" any religion, I'm not sure I'll ever quite understand it. People always look at me strangely when I say I only believe in the "things that people do".
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I understand what you mean... most of the time I avoid religious entries (and political ones). It can get very volatile very quickly. I honestly hope I didn't offend anyone with this post, but when I saw the topic it immediately sprang to mind and I wanted to write it out.
I never got my head around the fact that we should "behave as God wants us to/behave as to the bible" and even, in answer to my insatiable curiosity, "all pagan religions are evil" - I guess I just think that "good/evil" comes from the person, and that people should do their best to make the right decisions for the overall happiness and well being of everyone involved because they want to, not for fear of being "punished" by mythology.
I understand completely - and agree.
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I've thought about this, but you've worded it so much better. I mean, even though I'm Christian (so I know there's a whole thing about treating others the way you'd like to be treated) - I still think it's hypocritical if a person says they do what they do because they believe it's what God would want them to do- but then turn around and say that they'd pretty much be a jackass if God didn't exist. :/
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When I moved to Madison to go to university, I somehow ended up living in a building called Pres House... owned by the Presbyterian Church. I found it kind of hilarious. One of my roommates was quite religious, and she was the only one I liked out of the four of them, so I found myself going to Campus Crusades with her a few times. They had these various speakers.... and they usually made me angry. I remember one of them talking about Ministry, and how important it is to go out and make other people accept Jesus as their savior, and who wants to go to Mongolia this summer to build houses as a way to bribe people into Christianity? (Okay, that's not how he put it, but it's how it seemed to me.) I stopped going with her.
I ended up living in the same apartment the following year, because... I hate looking for apartments, but different roommates. And one of them, once again, was super religious. She was looking into different organizations on campus, and two girls came to our apartment to talk to her. She wasn't there at the time, and they asked to come in, and so me and my other roommate talked to them, and asked them hard questions, and they couldn't answer them. And if I ever had to ask Lauren a question (my religious roommate), she could never answer satisfactorily either. And I have found that over and over again. They claim that their Bible is true, but there is so much they don't know or understand. There are so many questions they don't even bother to think about, because they just believe what they're told.
I don't care what people choose to believe in... but understand what it is first.
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I admit I don't know a lot about Penecostals in general, but I always think it's interesting to read and listen to other people's stories about their religion.
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Christianity makes no sense to me though. As an outsider, it is not a very coherent system in my eyes.
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All religious systems kind of confuse me, if I'm honest. I understand why people are drawn to them, and I fully appreciate the desire to believe in something (especially something that is going to take care of you and make life better), but it seems like every religion has something about it that throws me askew.
Still, I'm keeping my eyes open, just in case!
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My dad threw this one at me when I went home for Christmas and discovered how deeply involved in the Catholic church he'd become. I asked him his thoughts on homosexuality and gay marriage and that's what he said to me. You can bet I was pretty furious. My dad used to seem so much more openminded and I have no idea what really led him to this point. Even my sister, who had been the most religious in our family, is being bothered by what's become of our father as he gets so wrapped up in religion.
I don't have a problem with religious people and religion as a whole, but that sort of closed-mindedness does bother me.
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I was raised Catholic though, grew up on the Catholic school system and whatnot. Which is what my open topic entry is about (while also tying in to turtles a bit.)
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Love your Emma icon!!
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Strong entry. :-)
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Thank you.
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Mostly I just think it's amazing to watch how people process these times in their life.
And this is one of the more eloquent bits of processing I've seen in a long time.
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My college roommate and two of our housemates were Pentecostal. To "save me" was their pet project our freshman year -- I went to the services, etc., but never spoke in tongues.
I never could completely get into it. It has nothing to do with my belief in God. I think it was the "theatrics" which turned me off more than anything. But obviously it works for many people.
The irony is that neither my roommate nor the housemates now consider themselves Pentecostal. Christian, yes. Speaking in tongues, no.
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When I left the church in my freshman year of college, one of my aunts made it her mission to bring me back to the fold. She was going to send her two daughters, my cousins, to basically kidnap me one Sunday morning to make me go to church. My mom told her off for it and she didn't bring it up again.
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I'm pretty sure somebody in the Bible said "judge not lest ye be judged", and yet...
I loved this entry.
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Great entry, and very heartfelt.
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Yeah, I'm still judging them by calling them "bizarre," but I don't mean that as a demeaning word choice so much as a "whoa, cool" word choice.
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