I grew up fundie evangelical Christian. I was told repeatedly that I would go to hell for having sex. And other things, but that was the biggie when I was a teenager. My youth pastor made it very clear how big a sin premarital sex was. I remember he once said that it was better to not even kiss because it could lead to sex. Which, even at the age of thirteen, I knew was ludicrous. Or rather, I knew that there were so many steps between kissing and sex. He was a piece of work in many ways, and this was one of them. I never really believed in the Christian God, but I spent a large chunk of my childhood desperately wanting to believe. And thinking something was wrong with me because I didn’t.
I used to pray at night that God would make me a boy because I hated being so restricted as a girl. Let me be clear. I don’t feel like a man. I know I’m not a man. I don’t actually want to be a man–and I never did. I just did not want to be a girl/woman because of all the things I was not supposed to do. Top of the list was climbing trees at the age of eight. Running around and shouting in glee are two other. Sitting with my legs open in yet another. Not ever having to wear a dress is at the top of the list, too.
I would pray earnestly for God to change my gender, and I was crushed every morning when he hadn’t. It must have been because I hadn’t prayed hard enough! That was a trope pushed hard in my church, too. If God didn’t do what you requested, it was because you didn’t have enough faith/didn’t pray hard enough.
I had sex for the first time when I was twenty and that was also when I lost my religion. Or rather, when the wool fell from my eyes. Because, you see, the thing that I had been warned against my entire life, that was classified as the very worst thing I could do and would send me to hell for infinity, was one of the best feelings I ever had in my life. I wanted to do it over and over again until I was rubbed raw.
Once I realized how I’d been lied to, there was no going back. I started questioning everything else I’d been taught and the chips went flying everywhere. See, that’s the problem with perpetuating a lie at the core of your religion. Once that gets exposed, it’s impossible to make up for it. This was emphasized so much when I was in church, there was no way they could hand wave it away.
When I was in my mid-twenties, the parent church (Taiwanese. Both the parent church and our church) sent their youth/younger people team here as they did when I was a youth. Back then, I enjoyed meeting the other teens, but not for any religious reason. When I was in my twenties, it was a whole different matter. I was living with my mom and she cried to the team that I had ‘strayed from God’. They gathered around me in the basement and asked me if they could pray for me. I was freaking out, but didn’t feel as if I could say no.
Then they asked if they could put their hands on me. I said no for that, thankfully, but I had to deal with them surrounding me and praying at me (yes, at me). Some began speaking in tongues. It was a bizarre experience, and, quite frankly, frightening. Like, what the fuck else were they going to do to me? Fortunately, that was the extent of their tomfoolery, but pro tip: this did not do anything to make me more amenable to returning to the fold.
I don’t really think about religion much at all. It comes up because my mother is a devout Christian. My father is a Christian in name only. Or rather, for what he gets out of it. He prays to God when he has a problem and expects God to take care of it. My father has a very basic and facile religious belief. Much like superstitious folklore.
One time, he was here on o visit. He said to me, “Do you know the one thing that Mom worries about most in the world?” My heart started sinking because I knew it was going to be a guilt trip of some sort. He would have no other reason to bring it up. he said her biggest worry was me not being a Christian. I knew it was going to have something to do with me failing in some way, and I should have guessed that was it. I immediately retorted, “If that’s her biggest problem, then she’s very lucky.” Not the most diplomatic of answers, but come on. Besides, it’s pretty rich for him to talk about faith. At least I’m honest in my nonbelief. He’s hiding behind his ‘faith’ and yes, it’s absolutely not real.
One of the biggest fights we ever had was over religion. We were driving somewhere and it was a year or two after I renounced Christianity. She was blabbing on and on about God this and Jesus that, no matter how I tried to change the subject. She would just. Not. Shut. Up. Remember, this was when I was furious at Christianity and having trouble hiding it. So when she would not stop talking about God I said very loudly, “I don’t give a FUCK about your god.”
She slammed on the breaks and told me to get out of the car. Which I gladly did, slamming the door behind me. I walked home, which was about a half mile away. By the time I got back, she was there. Neither of us mentioned it again. I regretted what I said, but I will add that she would not let me change the subject. And, yes, that’s what I really felt about her god at that time.
By the time I hit my forties, I had mellowed out considerably. I still didn’t believe, but I wasn’t mad at god any longer, either. Whatever got people through the night was fine with me as long as it didn’t impinge on someone else’s civil rights or autonomy. Yes, those are very pointed exceptions–especially in our current political climate.
I called myself agnostic with my general belief that there is something bigger than us, but it’s not a GOD, per se. I don’t think the universe just happened to pop into existence by itself, but I do believe in the Big Bang. I think if there is a god, it’s very laissez-faire. It doesn’t care about me as an individual or about humans as a species. No more or less than it cares about, say, the mountains. Maybe less. I preferred to think of myself as areligous because at the end of the day, it just doesn’t really matter to me.
Then my medical trauma happened and it changed my thinking drastically. My mom sent me a video of an American doctor who went through a medical event that put him in a coma for months. He wasn’t expected to live. He suddenly awoke, and he described what happened to him. He said a pretty brunette woman with a warm smile and a bright glow around her welcomed him with open arms, embraced him, and told him he was loved.
The doctor, a lifelong atheist, said that made him believe that there was a god and he posited that everyone else he knew who had NDE (near death experiences) felt the same way.
I call bullshit. Not that he felt that way, but that everyone else felt exactly the same? Well, ok, if he experienced confirmation bias or only hung out with people like him. Because I’m here to tell you, I did NOT find god in my experience. Before I get into that, though, I would think a doctor would have more critical thinking skills. His description of his ‘angel’ (I think he called her that) is probably a nurse (and disappointingly prosaic) and he was in a hospital. There is going to be a lot of light. I can attest to that.
Look. If he wants to interpret that as a sign of god, that’s fine. I’m not going to ‘well actually’ his NDE (yes, yes I am). My issue is that he made a sweeping generalization about other people who also had NDEs.
I’m here to say that I saw jack and shit before I woke up. My mom asked about bright lights, and, no. I didn’t see any of those UNTIL I woke up. Then I saw plenty of them. One minute, I wasn’t–and then I was. I opened my eyes, jolted up, and freaked the fuck out. I was scared, disoriented, and ready to fight someone. Who? I don’t know, but I was sure someone needed fighting.
There was no afterlife. And, yes, I technically did die twice. My experience cemented that there is something bigger out there, but it’s not a religion-specific god. It’s love. It’s us pulling together as a collective and doing something good for the universe.