I am coming to the conclusion that a significant portion of the stress, anxiety, and fear that I have experienced in 33 years of life has been a direct result of my religious beliefs and experiences.
As a child, I was terrified of hell.It is a fear that plagued me in my nightmares, haunted me as I lay awake at night, and followed me through adolescence and into adulthood.Even today, burning to death is my top irrational fear.
The fear of being “left behind” attacked me from time to time.Occasionally, I would be surprised to find myself left alone in the house.Rather than rationally assume that the others had stepped outside or gone to the store, I would panic and frantically search everywhere for them in order to reassure myself that I had not missed the rapture.The terror was real.I also worried that my family might be excommunicated if the pastor ever discovered that my dad dipped Skoal.Then what would happen to us if the rapture took place before we could become members of another congregation?
I remember the visiting evangelists, not so different from Jonathan Edwards, asking us night after night during revival services “do you know that you know that you know?” that you are saved.I asked God for forgiveness and salvation on multiple occasions because of my uncertainty and dread.A continual barrage of hell-and-guilt messages directed toward a compliant child with a vivid imagination is immoral.
Through the years, I understood God to be an all-seeing policeman and the Christian life to be a list of rules to follow and sins to avoid.And, in spite of my best efforts to meet these standards, I found myself regularly guilt-ridden, ashamed, afraid, and disappointed.
In my early twenties, I became convinced that God could be known intimately, if we seek, seek, seek him with enough intensity, effort, and commitment.And although in many ways this became the quest of my life, I also spent years writhing in self-doubt and frustration.Where are you, God?What do I need to do to be worthy of your presence, your voice?Why can’t I hear you?Why can’t I feel you?
When Madeleine, my younger daughter, was born with significant health problems, we had to return to the States, giving up our life-long missionary plans in Central Asia. My theology had no answers for me.In the days and weeks and months that followed, my one thought toward God was “Betrayed!”Rather than a comfort when it was most desperately needed, his unwillingness or inability to help was a dagger in my back.As I sorted through the pain and confusion, I decided that either God was an asshole or my understanding of him was woefully inadequate and inaccurate.I eventually tended toward the second option and embraced my ignorance.But this was hardly more comforting.Like falling dominoes or a pulled sweater’s thread, once one belief was shaken another would follow, and then another.“If this belief is false, then what else have I believed that is wrong?”The impact of a worldview and belief system caving in on itself is exceptionally painful emotionally and mentally.Little is left.So much that brought certainty and security vanishes as a vapor.
There is a huge difference between the life of Jesus and all the religious systems we mistake for him.After writing this tonight, I’m asking myself two questions:How can I continue to move away from a religion of fear and toward a life of joy, love, and community?How might I raise my girls with healthier perceptions of life and God than I had?
