Untrue Believers

When was I transported to a parallel universe where Christians are hateful, intolerant, armed and dangerous assholes? Maybe it's always been this way and I just didn't get it. When I was a child, I thought as a child, I guess.

 

It's been a long time since I went to church. I was confirmed as a Lutheran but stopped attending soon after my first communion. I'm not sure I ever truly believed. I knew it was important to my mother though so I went along. Even as a 12-year old I had a more or less academic relationship with religion and god. I thought getting 19 out of 20 questions right on a Sunday School quiz was an A- even if the one question I answered incorrectly was, "Do you believe Jesus was the son of God?"

The thing is, I wasn't trying to be a smart ass. It wasn't some hip affectation. I had yet to realize I wasn't a Christian much less an atheist. I was surprised as anyone when my Sunday School teacher – let's call her Mrs. Epipen – returned our quizzes in the following Sunday's class, made eye contact with me and said, "…and there were some very interesting answers…"

I knew what the correct answer was, of course, in the same way that I knew the chemical formula of water was H2O. I knew the material. I'd simply filled out my answers too quickly and had failed to check my work before turning in my paper.

I had two thoughts as I considered the red X next to question #1 (that's right, it was the very first question on the quiz). First, I could've had a 100. I'm not the most competitive person on the planet and never have been but still, I could've had the A. I got over that pretty quickly because it was still a 95. A-. Then came the sudden realization that I'd made myself the very special project of Mrs. Epipen. She was going to save my young soul from the devil one hour at a time, each and every Sunday.

It was a long summer.

Nothing is worse than being saved when you don't need saving. Every week I humbly and enthusiastically accepted salvation and yet somehow Mrs. Epipen sensed my lack of sincerity. I was nailing the quizzes but it seemed Mrs. Epipen knew my relationship with Jesus was purely transactional.

The Jesus story was a pretty good one but I was an early and avid reader and I'd read better. I remember I was particularly fond of "The Black Arrow" by Robert Louis Stevenson. Anyway, I was doing this for my mother. And the promise that once confirmed, I would only need to attend church at Christmas and Easter. Like my dad getting the oil changed in the Mercury, once I was confirmed, I would only need factory-recommended maintenance to keep things running smoothly in my spiritual life.

Quick Aside: I struggled with the story of the prodigal son, primarily because I never saw myself in the title role. I was the good son, the one who stayed home, did his chores, and maintained an A- average in Sunday School. It always bothered me that the prodigal son gets a big party when he came home and the good son didn't get bupkis. I get it now, of course. No matter how far you wander from the path of the righteous (your boring brother), you will always be welcomed back by God (your father), who will throw a big party with a DJ and those sautéed scallops wrapped in bacon, cheese puffs and something vegan (and your boring brother should stop sulking and just be happy you're back; it's not like he got cut out of the will or anything).

Anyway, I managed to become confirmed. Mrs. Epipen seemed satisfied that I did believe Jesus was the son of God. I took communion. I became bitter when my mother didn't force my sister or brother to attend Sunday School or become confirmed Lutherans. I also became bitter after I left for college and learned that my parents had bought a car for my sister and brother. Then again, I was in college. I had met the woman of my dreams and we were having sex like rabbits.

Fair trade.

In retrospect, it's clear to me now that I never really was a Christian but I did travel among them for a time and became familiar with their music and literature. Until recently, though, I don't think I'd actually seen anyone act like a Christian.

I'd known people who said they were Christians but hardly acted like Christ in any meaningful way or even in any trivial way. They spent time with wealth management advisors and blamed the poor for their poverty. They convinced themselves that if Jesus was a baker he would only make cakes for heterosexual couples. They recommended that ministers get strapped so they could kill the next nut with a gun who entered their church. Without even a hint of irony, they killed doctors who performed abortions. They hated gays and Jews and Mexicans and Muslims and just about anyone who didn't live in their gated communities. They deified John Gault. They demonized science. But mostly they hated. They watched the Westboro Church commit unspeakable acts and said nothing. They hated and hated and hated and loved only themselves. When they weren't hating they busied themselves day trading and cleaning their guns.

Okay, I'm being over simplistic.

I'm being judgmental.

I'm being unfair.

Even Donald Trump admitted that there might be some good Mexicans.

As I recently learned there are real Christians who testify not only through their words but through their acts. But they stand in stark contrast to those who present themselves as their leaders on the political stage who promote a sanctimonious and reprehensible philosophy of exclusion, suspicion, animosity and divisiveness.  

Sometimes I hope I'm wrong. Sometimes I hope there's a heaven but more so I hope there's a hell, though admittedly it's difficult for me to understand why a loving god would damn people for all eternity to swim laps in a lake of fire. Still, if heaven then hell.

If whoever was taking notes for Jesus' Sermon on the Mount got it right, it's pretty clear who's going where.