OLD BLOG: Day of Silence

April 26, 2006

So I am observing the National Day of Silence today.  If you don't know about it, here's a web site: http://www.dayofsilence.org/
I suppose writing this blog may be a violation of the spirit of remaining silent, but I feel like I should go ahead and post this.

It's hard to be silent. Just the everyday sort of things, like "hello", are hard not to say. And people think you're rude or there's something wrong until you give them the little "Day of Silence" card that tells what you're doing. It's hard to imagine not talking about something important. I tend to talk to whoever will listen if there's something going on in my life.
Something I noticed today is that I never stopped thinking about not talking, even when I normally wouldn't have been talking. Also, it's very difficult to participate fully in whatever is going on. It's almost a sort of self-imposed exile. I don't normally do a lot—go out, talk on the phone, whatever—so maybe this is easier for me than for some others. But if I did have a social life, I might just want to not do those things. That would be easier.
I, as a heterosexual person, have never really had to make a choice whether to reveal my sexual preference to anyone or keep it to myself. It's just assumed. I think a lot of straight people have never given it a thought. What must it be like to have to decide to publically express a part of you so basic as gender preference? Just think how often we talk about someone we just met who we like, or just went out with and it was good or bad or whatever. How often do we casually mention our significant other? What would it be like to feel uncomfortable with public displays of affection, not for some personal reason, but for fear of what might happen if people found out and didn't like it? If they didn't like the way you are and didn't want you around their children, etc?
That's what this day is about for me: having a slight beginning of an idea of living in silence. But tomorrow I'll be speaking again. I could even speak right now, and nothing would happen. I'm writing this blog about it right now, and I don't have to worry that something bad is going to happen because of it. So I don’t know what it's like. I never will.

OLD BLOG: Jesus and me (abridged)

Monday, April 24, 2006

We're not friends, Jesus and me. I tried, but I guess he just didn't like me. So, fine. I accept that. I made the effort. Twice.
The first time, I was about 8 or so, and my great-uncle was visiting our church to do a revival. (I've got several preachers in my family, most notably both my parents. Some people say "that explains a lot" when they find this out about me.) Well, at the end of some meeting, there was an altar call: you know, come forward and blah, blah, blah. So I did: Jesus come into my heart, be my Savior, whatever. It's been a while, so I don't remember all the details. I'd always heard that having Jesus in your life changes everything and that you can feel his presence. But (like Diana in A Chorus Line) I felt nothing. Maybe I was too young then to really develop a relationship with him, and he knew it. But in that book about him, didn't he say "Suffer (allow) the little children to come unto me."? I guess Jesus was giving me mixed messages.
Even though I had said the words and done the kneeling-praying-thing and meant it, it didn't work. I knew I wasn't saved and didn't really pretend to be. Of course I went to church all the time. My parents were the ministers, so of course my siblings and I were always there.
I guess from about age 8 to 16-ish I sat through countless altar calls, just sitting there sometimes feeling nothing and other times feeling guilty. There'd be somebody up at the pulpit talking about how "there's somebody out there that needs to be saved". And the congregation would be singing one chorus over and over. I really think that's a form of hypnosis. Add in the whole guilt thing and the great release of tension in giving in to what you know you're "supposed" to do, and it's no wonder there are so many people who think of Jesus as their savior. Plus there's the not having to worry about your afterlife and a sense of belong to a group of people who are living the right way, just like you. It's powerful stuff.

So...attempt number 2 came when I was about 16 or so. I was at a big regional church conference with thousands of people. And, of course, at the end of the Sunday morning service there was a HUGE altar call. This turned out to be one of those altar calls when I felt guilty. I don't remember why specifically or what was said or sung (over and over), but it all got to me. I fought it, but it was easily one of the longest altar calls I'd ever been through, and I gave in. I got out of my seat (which was the hardest part) and made my way down to the main level and to the altar.
By the time I got there I already felt a bit less guilt or whatever. I think the act of giving up and giving in releases a huge burden. But I was there so I knelt and prayed... and prayed... and prayed... And I meant it. When I first started, I wanted Jesus to come into my heart and forgive my sins—all of that. But the longer I stayed there, the less I felt. Eventually I got up and was going to go back to my seat, when I was herded into a side room. I hadn't seen it before, but there were these sort of altar guards posted to be sure that after you cry at the altar, you had to go talk to somebody about it. Pretty smart: get their names and addresses and keep track of the new converts.
That is actually what happened. They put me at a table with this guy who asked what I was praying about, and I told him I was asking Jesus into my heart. He asked, "for the first time?" and I said yes. It was all kind of creepy. He wanted to know my name and address so somebody could keep in touch with me. I'd never heard of that sort of thing, and since I wasn't feeling like anything had actually happened at the altar (I didn't tell the guy that), I was very skeptical about this whole thing. The church I grew up in isn't generally considered a cult, but this struck me as a little cult-y. So I told the guy that I didn't want anyone to keep in touch with me, and I wouldn't give him anything except my first name. Eventually he let me go, but I suspect he wasn't too convinced about my "conversion".

After that, I didn't have any more near-Jesus experiences. I became pretty cynical about the whole thing. And then I started reading about religion. That really did it. The standard protestant Jesus doesn't have much of a chance with people who are suspicious about him and who've read about religion from various points of view.
The real problem with Jesus is all the baggage—the institutional baggage—that he carries with him. Jesus himself?—probably not a bad guy. But "the church" is very problematic. When you look at world history the last 2000 years and the role the church has played, it's lamentable that the version of Christianity that won out wasn't a kinder, gentler version—like Gnosticism.
Jesus seems to get along fine with and be a good friend to some people. And he can help some have a better life: clean themselves up, be a "good" person, whatever. I don't have a problem with that necessarily. But he's done nothing for me. And even though there's a lot of "new" information emerging about alternate forms of Christianity and "new" versions and explanations of Jesus, I don't think I'm ever going to friends with him.