Asking Questions

I was dragged to church my entire life until I left home at 17.

(For more than you ever wanted to know about my religious experiences, you can go visit Bruce's blog and read part 1 and part 2 of my story. )

Church on Sunday mornings.
A 'fellowship' potluck or picnic at least once a month.
Bible study on Wednesday evenings.

I hated it. I hated getting up early (that has never changed, I'm nearly 60 years old and getting up early is still near the top of my 'I hate that' list) and getting dressed up for Sunday services. It was often chilly and usually drafty in the buildings where we met, I had to wear nylons and a dress to church.

Every Sunday from October to June, I froze my ass off.

I asked once why I couldn’t wear something comfortable like my brothers instead of having to wear a dress and nylons and be cold.

“Why does God even care what I wear?” I asked.

The answer was, “You are disrespectful. Now hurry up, we’re late.” from my harried mother.

Her curt response may have been due to the fact that she was still trying to brush one brother’s unruly hair and get shoes on my other brother while my dad sat out front in the car and honked the horn.

Where I grew up, church was almost everyone's social club.
Not mine, the same asshole kids I went to school with were in church, too.
Small towns, which parents look at and say, "Oh what a lovely place to raise children!" are not the utopian ideal to the kids who are stuck there, lemme tell ya.

Asking questions was not looked at as a positive thing in those churches we attended.
You may find it difficult to believe that I wasn't outspoken and snarky as a young teen, especially as irreverent and smart-assy as I am now, but it's true.

I was quiet, stayed on the fringes of just about everything and tried to be a good kid.

So when I was about 12, I asked my Sunday school teacher (in front of the whole class), "Why did Jesus have to die for MY sins? I've never done anything that deserves a death penalty!"

Some of the other kids were quick to ask, too.
"Yeah, how come?"
"I never did anything that bad."

I don't remember what the teacher said exactly, it was some bullshit about 'the sins of mankind' and then he moved on to some other thing.

After church services that evening, as we were all getting ready for bed at home, my dad told me that if I had 'big questions' about church and sin that I should come and ask him privately instead of causing other kids to doubt. 

I know what he meant now, but I really didn't get it then.

I have feelings about people whose faith is so weak that someone asking an honest question would lead them astray, but I guess there are weak-minded people here and there.

I didn't remember that I was supposed to ask awkward questions at home rather than Sunday school. It wasn't long before I asked if people actually believed that kangaroos and koalas hopped all the way to Noah's house so they could get a ride on the ark and then hopped all the way home again after the flood was over.

The rest of the kids found that hysterical, although I wasn't trying to be funny.
The teacher did not find it humorous at all.

Once again my dad reminded me that, "We can discuss these things at home."

The trouble with that was that I never remembered before I started the question out loud, then I felt funny if I didn't finish, so I finished.

"Who did Adam and Eve's sons marry? They couldn't marry their sisters, could they?"

One of my brother's classmates died in a house fire over the Christmas holidays.
"Isn't God all-powerful?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then why did Darcy die in a fire? Didn't he like her?"

I never did get a straight answer to that one.

I stopped asking questions a long time ago.

I'm not religious. I don't believe in any gods.

I'm fine with other people believing whatever they want as long as they're not bothering me with it. I hate having people knock on my door trying to sell me cleaning supplies, vacuum cleaners, political candidates or religion.

I did not raise my kids in church, although I told them many times over the years that if they were interested in going, I would take them. They did attend with my parents a few times.

It never occurred to me to warn either one about the loud outbursts that happened in the services, I grew up with it and although I find it crazy now, it just seemed like part of the deal then.

So when they came home from a visit to Eastern Oregon and regaled me with tales from the wingnuts, I apologized to them for not better-preparing them for the experience.

They had a lot of questions.