I’m a Christian and You’re Not

The Wrong Kind Of Heathen

Recently, I had a dialogue with an old acquaintance. A woman I’ve known all my adult life. From Virginia. An Evangelical. I shared with her a dream I had in which she appeared as a caretaker in a hospice, and how attracted I was to that persona.

[su_pullquote]

As a teenager, I was under the delusion that I was better than non-Evangelicals. At least morally. That’s what my mother taught me. And that’s what my religion taught me.

[/su_pullquote]

In real life, I nurtured a small crush on this woman for many years. And I think she knows it. Her response to my dream was that she appeared as an attractive caretaker because she’s a Christian.

But there was a subtext to this response: “I’m a Christian and you’re not!” It’s the reason she resisted my advances years ago — I’m a heathen. Rather, I’m not her particular kind of heathen; because she had no trouble dating a different heathen at that time.

And I’ve been rejected a few more times over the years — before and after — by women who claimed that I wasn’t spiritual enough for them. Meaning, I refused to build my house on the sinking sand of American Evangelicalism.

Not spiritual enough. That’s an odd way of insulting someone, isn’t it? I mean . . . how much IS enough?

After 25 years married to this culture, and another 25 years divorced from it, I’ve seen more than a few of these spiritual chicks, who wouldn’t give me the time of day, go on to try really really hard to convert a bad boy, only to end up starring in that tired melodrama, that takes place in hundreds of Evangelical households every year, called: Hey Dad, I’m Pregnant!

I’m Still Waiting For My Turn

If you’re unfamiliar with this pageant [spoiler alert], here’s how it plays out. The dad behaves like a betrayed lover; which is creepy, when you think about it.

Nevertheless, he gives his precious pumpkin the silent treatment. And then the mom reminds the dad that this is the same scenario in which Pumpkin was brought into the world.

It makes no difference; Dad relishes his self-pity. He slumps in his recliner, blankly intoning the narcissistic parent’s mantra: “What did we do wrong?”

Pumpkin HAS to have the baby, since an abortion would condemn her to hell. [Oddly . . . voting a sexist, egotistical, lying racist into the White House . . . no penalty for that!] So, Pumpkin either gives the baby up for adoption, or she convinces a responsible young man to marry her ASAP and raise another man’s child.

What a bunch of hypocrites! What a bunch of losers! To put it in Donald Trump’s lingo.

And if all of this sounds like a grown man whining over sexual rejection, you would be partially correct. I have no problem admitting that I’m bitter over stepping out of line and losing my turn with these women. There are, after all, some really hot so-called Christian women out there. And there are plenty of men who do remain in line, and do say what they’re supposed to, and do do what their mommies told them, in order to get on Mister Toad’s Wild Ride.

But in the end, I have to live with myself. And I draw a line shy of LYING to get laid.

Blah Blah Blah

But another reason I’m pissed, is because . . . that auld acquaintance not forgot . . . she had been programmed, perhaps from childhood (as I was), to think of herself as detached from people outside her tribe. Embracing the brotherhood of man was (and is) anathema to Fundamentalism.

Furthermore, we were told as young Evangelicals that there was a special clause in our contract — to wit, in order to get to heaven, we had to promote our Christian experience to everyone we met. And we’d better be convincing, too! No room for hesitation because we were afraid of what people might think. If we’re ashamed of Christ on Earth, he’ll be ashamed of us in heaven.

This high-pressure sales technique — and if you think Wells Fargo reps had it tough, at least they weren’t threatened with eternal hellfire from THEIR supervisors (or, maybe they were) — this predatory maxim is known in Evangelical parlance as The Great Commission:

Go ye therefore, and teach all nations . . . to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you . . . blah blah blah . . . .

— Matthew 28:19-20 (KJV)

Lofty language, I know (except for the blah blah blah). But what this means on the ground is, Go ye therefore and teach all nations to think and act exactly like you do. And if they refuse, tell ‘em they’re going to hell!

And converts are expected to do the same. So it’s a multilevel marketing scheme that never runs out of suckers. Because, who isn’t afraid of dying?

Peppy Pixies’ Penis Pouch

I want my teenage years back! Ya know why? Because, for every other kid at school, sex was not evil. They were allowed to take Sex Ed: The Lab Class, while I had to look up stuff in the teen section of a Christian bookstore. And I challenge anyone to find accurate information about sex in a Christian bookstore; much less anything with pictures!

I want back the years I spent punishing myself because of my erotic urges. I was told that God did not want me to feel turned on. That that was the Devil doing that to me. And that I was a wretch because I couldn’t control those feelings. Consequently, each new day presented multiple opportunities for feeling horrible about myself.

It was California in the 1970s, where I lived between the ages of 13 and 18. Specifically, Orange County. Anaheim. Disneyland. The first megachurches. Warm and sunny all the time. Beaches a half-hour away.