Removal of My Chip on the Shoulder

I just decided to see if I could finally do it--walk into a church service, my protective barriers down and my judgmental self adjourned.

I knew that my experiences in such places in the past were created out of my own perceptions and guardedness--and it was a guardedness on my part that felt as though it went way beyond this singular lifetime.

Granted, I remember a friend in the fourth grade who was concerned that I was "going to hell" because I'd never been baptized. Her concern caused me to search my own heart and mind to determine if I wanted to worship a god who made such conditions. I came to the conclusion that God had already baptized me using the rain from heaven. I later read that Holy water used to be the water priests washed their feet in--and I decided my rainwater was the better deal. Grin.

My sister and I used to attend various church services from time to time after my boyfriend's death. A priest and a minister in our little part of the state both gave sermons that I enjoyed. And then one day I got a phone call from one of the ladies in an "outreach" effort, and even though being the shy person that I was at the time, I had no qualms in firmly telling her, "NO! I am not interested!" I remember the silence on the other end of the line. No one was ever going to convert me--ha!

As I shared earlier, I went to Freeman Education seminars and took part in some activities with other groups of people. I recall one particular incident where a fellow juryman asked me to ask his own question of a defendant in a trial--putting words in my mouth. This was in setting up a common law court--and the man feeding me words saw himself as an older, and more experienced, devout Christian, who was magnanimously trying to teach me the ropes. Bless him for that moment, because it stuck with me.

I did not like asking a judgmental question--it especially did not resonate with me--of another person. I nicely (heaven forbid, I shake things up a bit and make a scene) asked it then--but, afterwards, I was so ashamed of myself for not speaking my heart instead, that I made the choice from then on that that was not going to happen again.

I also discovered I didn't like the mentality of groups of people--they seemed to not think for themselves or from their hearts. So that is why I never joined a Bible study group--I had too many previous experiences listening to what others said various scriptures meant. Too many of them had an ego-driven agenda on either side of an argument.

I determined to read the Bible on my own--and to let the meanings reveal themselves to me personally.

I was born into a family with a very diverse background of Christian faiths. My grandmother (Dad's side) was Presbyterian and my grandfather was Catholic. They chose to allow their children free choice in each one's faith. My mother's dad left Finland partly because the religious structure was so rigid there at the time.

I have Mormon, Catholic, Lutheran, Methodist, Assembly of God, and Non-denominational family members. And then there was our bunch--ha! I kind of relished our "heathen" image.

The truth is, I don't think one of us didn't believe in God, or that there was something greater than our human life. My mom's favorite reminder was, "Never judge another until you've walked a mile in his moccasins." We knew the story of Jesus and I used to try to stay awake until midnight, as a child, in hopes of seeing the Star of Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. We had a Bible and we had a children's book of Bible stories, which I remember looking at often.

I remember going to the movie theater in town to see the story of Jesus. I was really quite young at the time--it's a vague memory but with high impact. Due to the crucifixion scene being so sad and bloody and dark, I said to Mom afterwards (because of what she'd told me about movies previously that were troubling to me), "That didn't really happen, did it? It was just pretend?"

But this time Mom said, "Yes, that did happen."

I was repulsed by that image--to this day, I still shudder at anything that gory. In the early nineties, my husband and I went to a Good Friday service at an Evangelical church just kitty-corner from where we lived in the cities. They gave us all nails to hammer into the cross to remind us of what we did to Jesus--it was revolting and awful--I was already dealing with so much personal guilt and shame. That was like the last straw. I never returned. I was really ticked off at that. I thought church was supposed to be a place of peace, of safety, of comfort. I determined to stick to my walks in the pastures and around the lakes.

*I'm adding in this anecdote in February 2013: 
On my way home from the grocery store, I noticed the sign outside a church on my route. It read:

"God made the first valentine--out of two boards and 3 nails."????

Seriously...humorously...it sounds like an extremely horrifyingly-gory valentine. No thanks!

On my ten-and-a-half hour drive to go home to be with Dad the last 3 1/2 weeks of his life, I had the very strong feeling that Jesus need not have suffered such a horrible death. I believe his death was interpreted as a sacrificial necessity because the cultures at that time practiced sacrifice, and because the powers that were wanted to retain control of the masses. I didn't see the loving Father/God that I loved expecting that from any child of His. And I wasn't expecting my dad to suffer a long, miserable and pain-filled transition from life to death either. And I tried to share that idea with Dad, though I knew it was ultimately his choice as to how it happened--and I was ready to honor him in that.

My dad's transition was a huge life-changing moment for me. One that I will write about later. Let's just say that it's the reason I'm writing all of this now.

So, I had a HUGE chip on my shoulder regarding organized religion. And I worked long and hard to put myself in the proverbial moccasins of those who attend church. I've recognized for a long time that I had to be willing to shift my perspective, though my "little human" ego liked her little podium and her self-righteous indignation and victimhood. I'd been living the drama for so long, I was comfortable in it. It was my default setting.

So, yesterday's journey to church was monumental. Yes, it was still a busy, business-like place and yes, the doctrine and tradition was still there. And churches today are struggling for membership--and I felt that, too. And I felt the deep apology for "being human--a worthless sinner." But beneath ALL of that, I most strongly felt what I'd been seeking all my life, too--every single person there was desiring to be a kind and good and worthy person, just like me.

Everyone has his/her own way of finding the answers that satisfy. Some do it by going to church once a week--and it works for them. Who am I to deny anyone that which brings them personal peace and enlightenment and joy? And some are finding it in religious institutions. I still like my pastures, personally, but I also love connecting and socializing with people, too. I certainly don't want to limit myself to one type of individual who is just like me--I stagnate in that environment. And for me, it's all about growth, love unconditional, compassion, joy and honor.

I finally sat in that pew, breathing easily, enjoying the music and the sermon and people--my guard down, my heart open. And finally--there it was--I felt sincere gratitude for all those church-going individuals who've touched my life--they got me here to this incredible moment.