Tuesday, June 24, 2008

How the “Bible Club” Ruined My Life

Here I am, a fifty-one year old college professor, still smarting from the wounds inflicted by the righteous when I was a child. It is a slow, festering wound, one that smarts every day— in some way or another. The pain is deceptive. It manifests itself in many ways, a little voice saying I am not good enough, or a sneaking suspicion that a heavy hand might fall on my life and bring it all crashing down on my head.

I guess it all started with Mrs. Sanders (not her real name). She looked around our lower-middle class neighborhood in Kansas City and saw that we children were heading down the road to perdition. Except for the Catholics, who were suspect with her from the start, our neighborhood was not one of churchgoing families. Mrs. Sanders was about to fix that.

She had impeccable fundamentalist credentials. She had graduated from Calvary Bible College, a true fundamentalist enclave in Kansas City. She attended an extremely conservative Baptist church in the wealthier part of town. Not long before, she had left the Southern Baptists, because they simply had lost their fundamentalist edge.

As a young woman, she married Mr. Sanders, who was lacking in “moral uprightness.” She soon had him “tuned-up” and going in the right (her) direction. They lived a large old house with their three children. They carefully avoided the dominant culture. Although the Beatles had just invaded America, everyone in her household kept their dresses appropriately lengthened and, the son and father had new haircuts complete with whitewalls. They were different.

Mrs. Sanders got the idea of the Bible Club from Child Evangelism Fellowship. They taught women, mostly similar to her, how to use games and other activities to attract the youngsters from the neighborhoods in which they resided and get them saved. They were to sing songs, do arts and crafts, and play Bible games. In my neighborhood, it seemed to appeal to kids around eight years old. I was one of those eight year olds.

In the midst of all the fun, came an obligatory part of the Club to which everyone was required to attend. This was when the evangelistic appeal came. The story went like this:

God loves everybody, especially children! Thank goodness for that! You kids are in luck! God wants to do good things in your life. God wants to make you happy and joyful. Everything God wants for you is good!

Now, God, well, God is really good! God is as good as they come. In fact, God is so good; God has never done anything wrong. You know how you sometimes have a bad thought about some friend, or get jealous, our talk back to Mom or Dad? We all do those wrong things.

But God never does anything wrong. God calls that being “holy.” God calls the bad stuff we do “sin.” God loves everybody; in fact, there is only one thing in the whole world God hates and that is sin. God loves you, but God hates your sin.

God says because you have sinned, you have got to be punished. The way God punishes people who sin is by sending them to hell. Hell is an awful place! A terrible place! You stay in the fire in hell forever. Have you ever burned your finger? Well, that is what happens to sinners, and all of you boys and girls are sinners, so you are all going to hell.

Wait! God still loves you. He hates your sin, but he loves you. God is in a real fix! What can God do? The rules God made said you have to go to hell if you sin. However, God loves every boy and girl so very, very much! God thought about the problem. Finally, God figured a way out of his problem.

God’s son, Jesus, is perfect just like God. Therefore, God decided to make a swap. He would send Jesus down to earth to be tormented and nailed to a cross. If you ask God, God will swap Jesus’ punishment for yours and you can get out of hell and find a way to live with God.

On and on she went— every week the same—a mix of games and toys and hellfire. Every week I got increasingly scared of God. She said God would have to send us to hell for stealing even one cookie. I had stolen a few in my day! That is for sure! I did not understand the mixed emotions God had towards me. Did God hate me or love me?

By the time most of us eight year olds had turned ten, she had lost half of her flock. A few more months and the Bible Club went defunct. Most kids just forgot all about it. A few could not. I was one of them. When I became a teenager, I quit school, moved out of my parents’ house and became a hippie. I thought I would just leave all of that “God loves… God hates…” stuff behind, but not so. Such deep and confusing fear is not easily forgotten. After all of these years it still pops up. It pops up in my perfectionism, my melancholy mood, the years of being obsessed with finding the assurance of personal salvation.

After I was married, and Bible Club was long in the past, I looked up Mrs. Sanders. She told me she was just “doing what she could” in those old days. She wondered if the message made any real difference in children’s lives. By then I was an ordained minister in a liberal denomination, I just told her I was a “preacher” now.

She perked-up and smiled. “Jimmy, I guess I sure changed your life!” I replied, “Yes, Mrs. Sanders, you certainly did.” More then you will ever know.

Monday, June 9, 2008

The Metro Ride

I just got back from visiting my son in DC. While my wife and I were touring and Galen was at work, we decided to go back to our hotel in Northern Virginia for a couple of hours before meeting Galen for dinner, so with that, we hopped on the Metro. Little did we know that our ride was destined to be a short one. First, the train stopped at a station "somewhere" and we were told there would be a momentary delay. After five minutes, the driver came clean and announced that, at the next station there were live wires down on the track during the storm. After 5 more minutes, he opened the doors and said, "This train is out of service."


Irene and I got out of the train and stood beside it as everyone else (the train was very full) started walking here and there. After some minutes, a young woman approached us and asked, "Why are you standing here? Do you think the train is going to go again?" All that we could say was that we were standing there because we didn't know what to to do, because we were from Kentucky, where we don't have subways, and we didn't even know where we were. Finally, a sign beside the track displayed the message that a shuttle bus was coming, so we climbed the non-operational escalator.


When we got "up on top," we discovered that we were in a horrible storm. It appeared we were somewhere in Virginia. We waited for fifteen minutes and then pushed with the rest of the crowd to get on the bus. We hoped it was the right one. We really weren't sure.


The bus took us on a Metro station somewhere else in N. Virginia. The bus ride took about 45 minutes, if we had stayed on the Metro we would have been there in 7. I about died on the bus trip during rush hour. I had to stand all of the way. I have rheumatoid arthritis and have had both knees replaced (they still hurt like hell). Anyway, at the station, the Metro was going in one direction, fortunately ours. We got to our hotel. But the storm had played real havoc in the DC suburbs and we had to leave the next morning to return home. We never got that dinner with Galen.


Isn't that a whole lot like leaving fundamentalism? You know something is wrong on the tracks. You're stuck. You're confused. You know you want out. But to get free from the world of fundamentalism, you must battle the crowds, take risks, hurt like hell, and pray you'll find the right train in the end. There are no guarantees. You just know that the way you are going isn't working anymore, even though you are doing just what you were told to do. Also, to be true to yourself, you must often leave those you love behind


I guess the bottom line is this: When the train stops working, you can stand there forever hoping it might run again. Or you can take your chance up on the street and pray like hell that you find your way before the storms of fear and uncertainty paralyze you. That seems to me to be the only choice. No one ever said life was easy!




James Alexander
My story: www.therecoveringfundamentalist.com

Remembering Where We Got the Bible

Recently, I completed the first year of studies for the EFM (Education for Ministry) program sponsored by The Seminary at the University of the South. One may find this program in many Episcopal Churches throughout the US. To date, the EFM program has enrolled over 100, 000 students. It follows a four year cycle, with each year taking up a different theme (Old Testament, New Testament, Church History, and Theology/Philosophy). I just completed the Old Testament component. To say the least, it was (re)eye-opening.


I attended seminary many years ago, and like a whole lot of other ministers, I had forgotten much of what I learned regarding the history of Israel and the composition of the scriptures. Although fundamentalists, as well as the casual Bible reader, might be lead to believe that the whole of the Bible and Israel's religion sprang from the hand of God in one piece, t'ain't so!


Israel, it seems, borrowed pretty heavily from her neighbors. The Biblical writers and, before them, the story tellers, borrowed from many sources, many Canaanite, and recast the stories from a Yahwehist perspective. The twist is always interesting. Many of the trappings of the older cultus of Israel's neighbors stayed pretty well intact, but Yahweh somehow comes out the star of the show. In fact, there is considerable evidence that, at least a good portion of what would become Israel, did not come "out of Egypt" but, rather, "out of Canaan."


During the course of study, I re-learned many things I had forgotten. Was my faith diminished thereby? Hardly! Seeing the religion of Israel and the Christianity as progressive serves to make me more hopeful concerning my own belief system. My belief system is always growing and becoming. When I think of how Israel grew as well, it only serves to give me hope. After all, "practice makes perfect," and practicing my religion gives me clearer insights every day.


It seems we always arriving, but never quite arrive. As the old song says, "It was good enough for Moses, and it's good enough for me!