Christmas reminds me that at one point in my life I was a real Christian, and that on a cellular level I probably still am one. I'm fairly certain, for example, that next time someone close to me dies, I am probably going to reach for "Amazing Grace" first and the
Heart Sutra later.
I read in a book somewhere that everyone has their own personal Jesus. My Jesus was the guy in the Gospel of Matthew who preached the Sermon on the Mount. He was based on the character Ted Neely (pictured) played in
Jesus Christ Superstar. Passionate, charismatic, uncompromising yet conflicted, and totally unmaterialistic.
The way it happened for me was, at a certain point I started take to heart all the stuff I was taught in Sunday School at my Presbyterian church. I was about twelve, and for the first time I experienced how much easier my life was when I didn't do everything out of my immediate selfish desires. That whole "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" thing made perfect sense to me. I read the Bible at night in bed with a candle. I almost didn't want anyone to know. Faith was easy for me, because right away I found that trying to do what Jesus taught made me feel lighter and happier.
Unfortunately I didn't read the fine print before I got on board. I didn't realize that my church was more interested in the death of Jesus than the life of Jesus, and that it taught that if you DON'T believe that Jesus died for your sins you are going to go to hell. I also discovered that, after graduating from sixth grade Sunday school, I would hear more and more what St. Paul had to say and less about what Jesus taught.
I quickly jumped into the deep end of the pool and tried to adopt those beliefs. I started hanging out with people who believed the earth was 6,000 years old, and I listened to this radio station on the far right end of the radio dial that featured a psycho-Calvinist named
Brother Harold Camping who scared the living crap out of me. For one thing, he had the entire Bible memorized. A caller would ask a question about Nehemiah 2:14 or something, and he knew exactly what it was, word for word. He also taught that God picks the people who are going to believe and be saved, and that he also chooses to make other people choose not to believe and therefore go to hell (this is in the Bible, by the way. See Romans 9), and because he knew the entire Bible by heart, I figured he must be right.
After awhile my faith became untenable. I couldn't believe that my Jewish friends were all going to hell. Plus, Brother Camping and that whole predestination thing really flipped me out. Eventually I lost my faith, which threw me into a massive depression. The irony of losing my faith was that I didn't believe in Christianity anymore, but I still worried that I was going to hell. At the same time I also started to notice that I was starting to have crushes on girls, which I knew would also get you damned, so I just took it as proof that I wasn't one of the elect and that I was done for (to be continued).
Next: The Schism (below)
posted by Lisa Moscatiello #
7:14 AM |
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