Jesus Loves the Little Heathen of The World
Tales of A Third Grade Heretic — Part 1
When I was 8 years old, I asked my parents to let me attend a Christian institution known as Vacation Bible School. I was as an easy recruit (initially) for Church-sponsored functions — I heard beyond the promised hype of craft projects and pizza socials — I was hungry for hard-core religious experience.
My serious dedication is evidenced by the above Perfect Attendance Certificate I scanned from my mother’s records and included here.
Church-Sanctioned Spirit Possession
Someone had explained to me the Southern Baptist phenomenon of Being Saved, in which any average child on Earth can experience a life-long form of holy possession by the Son of God Himself — simply by asking for it.
This was incredible news! I already knew I was protected by an enormously tall lady who looked like Catwoman in a nightgown - my little brother and I lived in a house we knew to be haunted, had seen ghosts several times, regularly encountered a White Cat that was not a cat at all, and no child ever believed in, stalked, and engaged with fairies more than me.
Not only did I applaud my belief in fairies to save Tinkerbell when Peter Pan came on TV, I dressed up in full green Peter Pan attire — green tights and felt elf shoes — one of a handful of “Halloween” costumes that I found reason to wear on several other occasions throughout the year. Considering that I had never set foot in a Catholic Church until I was 19, my intense longing from the age of 5 to “go as” a Catholic Priest or Franciscan Monk for Halloween does make me question the notion of past-life memories.
Born Pagan
Margot Adler, in her incredible work on modern Neo-Paganism Drawing Down the Moon, finds a common thread among the witches she interviewed — an instinct for engaging in spontaneous ritual theater at a very early age, despite socialization toward any particular religious tradition.
I certainly built enough henges in the woods behind our house, charged enough mystical paraphernalia — wands, crystals, arrowheads, amulets, potion bottles — and entertained an audience of invisible spirit guides and guardian angels with an artistic commitment and devotion only rivaled by my current blogging schedule…
And while all these mystical experiences would be quickly dismissed or, at best, patronized by adults — and I knew not to discuss such things with unsympathetic audiences — here was a similar magical experience that was not only socially-acceptable, it was praised, encouraged — an absolute sin if you missed out on it.
You didn’t need to tell me twice — sign me up!
As if that wasn’t promising enough, the Baptist Church attended by most families in our neighborhood was called Mars Hill — which I took as an affirmation of my desire to one day be part of the future mission to colonize the Red Planet. I really thought Being Saved would propel me in my aspirations to become a Priest and an Astronaut — simultaneously!
Yes, it took me three decades to renovate the disappointment…
It would be a few years before I came to understand that in polite white Christian America, there is a thin line between piety and stigma. You’re supposed to be a good Christian — but you’re not supposed to be too good AT it.
Damned if You Do
The same behavior that defines the believer also damns the mystic.
- Believe in God, pray every day — just don’t tell anyone if He answers you
- Stand up in Church and sing — but without emotion or fervor — do not speak in tongues or writhe in ecstasy — if by chance you really FEEL something, for God’s sake, keep it to yourself
- Do not rest until you’ve forced your belief on everyone you encounter — but don’t make the mistake of behaving like you mean it — ask What Would Jesus Do? and if all else fails, set an example of what NOT to do by reminding everyone what judgment feels like
It never occurred to me that witches shouldn’t attend Sunday School. Apparently — Thank God — it still hasn’t.
Stay tuned for more confessions of humor and hypocrisy in Part 2 of Tales of A Third Grade Heretic, in which I raise my hand and open my big mouth to undermine the teachings of the Southern Baptist Church by asking Sunday School teachers to address challenging philosophical questions like
- “Is Mother Nature God’s Wife?”
- “How can it be Heaven if our pets aren’t there?”
- “If God didn’t want Adam and Eve to eat those Trees, why didn’t He plant them somewhere else?”
And find out why I got sent to the Church Psychologist for portraying Adam and Eve in the buff — after my naive, passionate artistic response to the assignment “Create Your Own Illustrations for Bible Stories.”
Seek Wisdom - Practice Love
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Wow… How is it, Slade, that you can get me to laugh at something so sad?!
How awful to have your expectations dashed so pitilessly. It really seems as though the church lost its way a very, very long time ago, and is reduced to a social club. But to be truthful, it’s not quite as simple as that. There are, of course, Baptist preachers who claim to have God’s ear and can get quite worked up while preaching. The difference, I guess (?), is that they’ve gone to divinity school, so it’s socially acceptable for them to talk to God.
Jeff,
Thanks for laughing.
: )
I wanted to share some war stories and battle scars with the sense of humor that time and distance allow.
With these personal memoirs about growing up in the Christian South, I hope to show that your sense of spirit is independent of - and predates - religious education; that my personal relationship to God could never be completely shaken or discouraged; that no matter how disappointing the promises of any church may be, no matter how ill-fitting the various costumes, no matter how blocked you find the pathway, if you want to get somewhere badly enough, you will find a way that gets you there.
When you run out of Other People’s Ways to try, the one path you’re still left with is the one that you can never lose.
That was hilarious!!! And terrible, of course–I can’t wait for Part 2.
My parents half-heartedly took us to church because they felt obligated. Since we didn’t go when we lived overseas, I missed the 2-year confirmation class at our protestant church. They asked me when we came back if I wanted to do it with the younger kids, and I said No Thanks.
But my little sister decided to go through with it. She wanted to really delve into it instead of dismissing it outright. Anyway, I went to her confirmation with the rest of her class. The kids were alphabetized, so she had to go last. Each child had a sponsor (mainly little old ladies), and as they were confirmed, the sponsor would read a Bible verse chosen by the child to illustrate how they felt about officially joining the church. So, we all had to sit through a dozen snarky quotes about how much Jesus loves us and to be nice people; they were all kiss-up quotes meant to please the reverend and the sponsors.
Then, at long last, it was my sister’s turn. Her poor sponsor looked a bit awkward reading the first few verses of Genesis. You should have seen the looks on people’s faces! Yes, it was a Bible quote, but it did not fit in. Her point was that she was on the beginning of her journey, that she could not possibly be an expert, and that she had an actual brain instead of a well-honed kiss-up reflex. I think it was the contrast that made her quote so jaw-dropping: first or last, she would make more of an impact than had she been buried in the middle.
Then they all took their first communion. I think it was also her last.
Emily,
I LOVE this story about your sister’s choice of Bible Verse.
I’m cracking myself up considering all the potentially awful possibilities that could go down in this scenario.
Imagine if she’d chosen, say, a fire and brimstone passage from Revelations… : )
Have you read John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany? (If you haven’t, it’s quite simply one of the greatest contemporary novels of all time - I’ve recommended it to people of varying sensibilities, generations - you name it - everyone is blown away by it… Read It Before You Die )
Anyway - there’s a hysterical Chapter - in the middle of the book - reads like a short story - about the minister’s wife producing and directing a group of children in the most ill-fated Nativity Pageant in the history of Church theatre…
It is pee-in-your-pants HILARIOUS.
This subject is great fun to explore - there must be TONS of stories like this out there… I would love anyone who reads this to submit their own mortifying religious memories.
Keep ‘em coming - I am encouraged to keep sharing mine…
Slade - Hilarious! I grew up in the Southern Baptist Church - you speak the truth! I think I always knew there was more to it, even as a child. I was the one in Sunday School asking things like, “Where were we before we were born? ‘Cause eternal life is forever, right? So it has no beginning, right? So where were we? What were we doing?” Or “Why do the children (in far away, illiterate, unfortunate countries) have to burn in hell for never hearing about Jesus? That’s not fair! It’s not their fault they don’t live here and go to Sunday School.”
Ahhh, yes. The shoe salesman masquerading as a SS teacher got more than they asked for from me!
Lola,
I love your Sunday School Questions:
“Where were we before we were born?” is a great philosophical question.
Adults underestimate the spiritual sophistication of children - I feel like the simplification, the “dumbing down” of religion for consumption by children is ultimately meant to protect the adults from the Unanswerable and the Uncomfortable absence of sure Truth.
Wouldn’t it be fun to see a full collection of these types of questions? I wish I had access to all the willing Sunday School teachers out there, I would ask them to name the most memorable stumpers they’ve encountered From The Mouths of Babes.
“Why do [some] children have to burn in Hell for never having heard about Jesus?” This is one I know for sure weighed heavily on my mind as a kid.
I’m afraid the response to that question is the justification for converting people. Only a shade away from the thought process that says saving people’s souls may sometimes involve murdering them.
Something that really amused me about your comment - and you probably didn’t even intend it - the abbreviation of Sunday School to SS.
My brain saw SS and immediately responded with the Nazi context.
: )
So, what were the answers you received in response to these questions?
Hmmm…Nazi context might not be too far off…
:)
My memory is fuzzy on replies, probably because they were along the lines of “OhhhhKaaaaayyyyy, so who would like some kool-aid?” Or threats to tell my parents I was being irreverent and disrespectful. Now there’s something that happened a time or two…Come to think of it, that still happens!
Lola,
So funny, so true…
The response I received most often was “Sit DOWN!”
[…] There is an uneasy relationship between those of the established religions, and those who we might call lightworkers. Slade at Shift your Spirits has written a wonderful article called ‘Jesus loves the Little Heathen of the World’ which exemplifies just this. Yet when you read through Slade’s writings, and the writings of other lightworkers like Dr. Wayne Dyer, or Louise Hay, or Gina Allan, it quickly becomes apparent that these people are all working from love, to love, with love. […]
K-L,
That’s quite a list in which to include me - I am truly honored. I would love to hang with Hay House bunch!
[…] If you look at my Vacation Bible School certificate from Mars Hill Baptist Church, you’ll see that I have indeed been called Slade all my life. […]
[…] As a young pagan visiting Baptist Bible School, I annoyed the teachers by asking questions like “If God is our Father, where’s our Mother?” and “Is Mother Nature God’s Wife?” From a purely literary perspective, the cast of Heavenly characters should have been the Father, the Son, and… the Holy Mother, right? What kind of family are we talking about here? Who wrote this story? […]