Growing up, I was deeply religious. As a kid, I looked forward to Sunday School and would often ensure we went to church on Sunday. I don’t remember this, but my dad said I used to talk to God. Not pray, just chit chat with the big guy.
I loved Sunday School; my grandma was our teacher. She would bring snacks, and we’d go over different Bible stories and make games out of them. There were songs posted on the walls, and we would learn the different hand motions to go with them. Even now, I still get the “Zacchaeus was a wee little man” song stuck in my head. I may not remember every song or gesture, but when I look back, it was a very pure and sacred time of my life.
I wasn’t a big fan of sermons; we had an old pastor who could drone on forever. But I loved the other parts of the service. We would start with a greeting, taking a couple of minutes to shake hands and murmur “Peace Be With You.” There would be songs, and while nobody was ever in tune, and one woman’s voice drowned out most of the congregation, it left a feeling of completeness. Of community.
I always thought the morals were good. Love thy neighbor, don’t steal, that sort of thing. I don’t want to discount the lessons imparted that do lead towards a better society.
We got a new pastor, my grandma got shouldered out of being in charge of Sunday School, and at one point we stopped going. Our new pastor started preaching at another church, along with ours, and put us on a backburner. And he complained a lot about how Allegany, New York, isn’t California. Like, yeah, Dan, we have snow, shut up.
Still, my mom wanted me to get confirmed. One of my friends converted to Lutheranism, so we did all of the classes together.
Before that, I was still religious. I thought God was there; I believed Jesus somehow performed those miracles. I thought being a Christian meant loving all those around us, and that’s all that mattered.
Then my teacher started disparaging gay marriage. Looking down on single mothers, even though our other teacher was a single mother. Ranting about divorce, even though several people in my class had parents who were divorced, or had gone through a divorce. This shattered the lens I was looking through at the church. After that, our church fell apart from some weird Christian politics, and I never went back.
Now I go to St. Bonaventure University, a Catholic school, and I’ve never been Catholic. Caring for those around you is important, and I appreciate that. The two religion classes, not so much.
Over winter break, I took Intro to the Bible, and I’ve never been less religious.
Stories clearly taken from Mesopotamian culture, forced to fit into a new religion. Genocides are celebrated because they were in the name of God. Suffering endured because God said he would lead his people out, but only after several generations had passed.
In the New Testament, God is shown to be loving through Jesus’ actions. But that does not align with the warrior God of the Old Testament. His jealousy and vengeance overshadowed any generous act that he did.
There was a small part of me clinging to my childhood beliefs. The world was kind then; the stories were censored. But now, knowing what I know, I cannot worship the biblical God.
I can agree that parts of the Bible are good lessons and parts of it are historically accurate. A lot was written by people decades to centuries after an event took place, after it was passed by word of mouth, and then heavily edited into English.
The words being read have been censored and changed to fit politics at different points in history. Using the Bible to support hate speech isn’t new, and won’t end anytime soon. How is hiding bigotry behind Christ upholding Christian values? If God is real, why has the hatred in the world been allowed to run unchecked?
I will not kneel at the altar of a God who won’t protect all of his people.