Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2002-05-30 01:05 am
azurelunatic) wrote2002-05-30 01:05 am
The Church of the Hopeful Door
Backstory: I used to have a fiance, BJ. Male. Christian. One day I went with him to his family's church.
This took place over two different weekends. The first was right after we had gotten engaged, before the formal announcement. I was then and am still Wiccan, just for the record.
BJ's friend RJ had told BJ at one point that it was OK to date a girl after you'd seen her in church, this being the confirmation that wow, she is religiously OK to date. So, to keep RJ from choking too much on the concept of BJ being engaged to a visible witch (I wore the five-pointed star openly and proudly) I agreed to go to RJ's church with BJ.
RJ's church was the local Friends' Church, to be distinguished from the Friends' Meeting. (My father was raised Quaker and still does attend Meeting from time to time.) I came prepared with book, to sit there inoffensively, my presence in the building theoretically being enough to get past RJ's relationship safety triggers.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the service was excellent, with the minister's speech giving me deep insight into some of the things I'd been pondering over for a while. As I sat there, I of course felt the presence of the Divine. I was thrilled, though I'd known intellectually that of course the Christians were in touch with the Divine too; this was just the first chance I'd had to actually experience that for myself in one of their ceremonies.
Encouraged by this experience, I went happily into the situation the following weekend.
Now, BJ was still living with his parents at this point, and his mother had laid down the Law: "While you are living under my roof, you will be attending church." A friend of his had been spending the night that night; since they didn't want to go with the rest of BJ's family, I volunteered to take BJ (and, since BJ insisted that if he had to do it, so did his friend) and his friend to the church and see what the church that BJ's family (and certain of his other friends) attended. George was unhappy about going, as he is a devout atheist, but brought CD player.
The church was called Door of Hope.
BJ and George and I walked into the lobby. There was a dude in the lobby passing out programs. I could feel the difference from the other church. The other church was peaceful and joyful: a sanctuary. I'd come to expect that from churches, as my sister's Thursday night violin study groups took place in a church ever since I could remember. This church was... not. The entire place had a subtle feeling of unease, akin to the feeling you get when the car is no longer running smoothly, but just about to break down in a very nasty way, and you can feel it from the way the engine is operating.
I didn't feel like going into the main meeting hall, as it was very very loud: the variety of church with a rock band. (So was the other one.) So I sat in the lobby, trying to find the Divine energy that I knew must be present in all churches. I had a very hard time getting my dangersense to shut up.
I finally felt calm enough to walk into the actual meeting room of the church, just as the song was about to end. I watched all the people standing up and singing along happily. When the song ended, the prayer leader spoke up, and praised the people on all the nice divine energy they were raising up and their general enthusiasm and their sincere heartfelt prayers, and a bunch of the usual oversalted religious gobbletlygook.
Then came the bit that ... well. "Now for this next song, let's direct our prayers to the Muslim people. Islam has been the playground of Satan for too long. Let's reclaim Islam for God!"
BJ later told me that he interpreted this as a call for prayers to bring the true Light of God to extremists and fanatics who did the hate thing rather than the love thing. That was later. At that moment, my head temperature rose to the steaming point, and I collared BJ and George, and told them, "Anyone who's getting a ride with me, I'm leaving NOW. If you're not out in the car in the next three minutes, you will be getting a ride home with BJ's parents." And I stomped out, slamming through all the doors in my way, only slowing my rage-driven walk when I reached my car.
George got there a bit afterwards, not having quite my walking speed or my pissiness. "Where's BJ?" I demanded.
"Putting the door back together."
"The *what*?"
It seemed that in my haste to leave, I had dissociated the door's easy closing mechanism from itself by slamming it open with no chance to catch up to me, and BJ was putting it back together.
BJ showed up and told me that the guy in the lobby with the programs had come over. "Is she OK?" he'd asked.
"Yeah," BJ said. "Just a little stressed."
"Oh. ...Do you want me to pray with you?"
"...N-no, I don't think that would be such a good idea right now," BJ managed to say.
The next weekend, and all the weeks thereafter that BJ went to church and I went along, we went to the Friends Church or Meeting. I swore not to return to that church ever again expecting a real religious experience, and furthermore, no pastor from that church was to perform any wedding ceremony on me. I shared my experience with RJ, who nodded sagely and said that this was about what he expected from that church...
The conclusions I came to: Christians actually talk to the Divine, at least some of them. Stay away from churches with bad vibes. The Door of Hope is aptly named, now: that's one door that's hoping I never, ever return.
This took place over two different weekends. The first was right after we had gotten engaged, before the formal announcement. I was then and am still Wiccan, just for the record.
BJ's friend RJ had told BJ at one point that it was OK to date a girl after you'd seen her in church, this being the confirmation that wow, she is religiously OK to date. So, to keep RJ from choking too much on the concept of BJ being engaged to a visible witch (I wore the five-pointed star openly and proudly) I agreed to go to RJ's church with BJ.
RJ's church was the local Friends' Church, to be distinguished from the Friends' Meeting. (My father was raised Quaker and still does attend Meeting from time to time.) I came prepared with book, to sit there inoffensively, my presence in the building theoretically being enough to get past RJ's relationship safety triggers.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that the service was excellent, with the minister's speech giving me deep insight into some of the things I'd been pondering over for a while. As I sat there, I of course felt the presence of the Divine. I was thrilled, though I'd known intellectually that of course the Christians were in touch with the Divine too; this was just the first chance I'd had to actually experience that for myself in one of their ceremonies.
Encouraged by this experience, I went happily into the situation the following weekend.
Now, BJ was still living with his parents at this point, and his mother had laid down the Law: "While you are living under my roof, you will be attending church." A friend of his had been spending the night that night; since they didn't want to go with the rest of BJ's family, I volunteered to take BJ (and, since BJ insisted that if he had to do it, so did his friend) and his friend to the church and see what the church that BJ's family (and certain of his other friends) attended. George was unhappy about going, as he is a devout atheist, but brought CD player.
The church was called Door of Hope.
BJ and George and I walked into the lobby. There was a dude in the lobby passing out programs. I could feel the difference from the other church. The other church was peaceful and joyful: a sanctuary. I'd come to expect that from churches, as my sister's Thursday night violin study groups took place in a church ever since I could remember. This church was... not. The entire place had a subtle feeling of unease, akin to the feeling you get when the car is no longer running smoothly, but just about to break down in a very nasty way, and you can feel it from the way the engine is operating.
I didn't feel like going into the main meeting hall, as it was very very loud: the variety of church with a rock band. (So was the other one.) So I sat in the lobby, trying to find the Divine energy that I knew must be present in all churches. I had a very hard time getting my dangersense to shut up.
I finally felt calm enough to walk into the actual meeting room of the church, just as the song was about to end. I watched all the people standing up and singing along happily. When the song ended, the prayer leader spoke up, and praised the people on all the nice divine energy they were raising up and their general enthusiasm and their sincere heartfelt prayers, and a bunch of the usual oversalted religious gobbletlygook.
Then came the bit that ... well. "Now for this next song, let's direct our prayers to the Muslim people. Islam has been the playground of Satan for too long. Let's reclaim Islam for God!"
BJ later told me that he interpreted this as a call for prayers to bring the true Light of God to extremists and fanatics who did the hate thing rather than the love thing. That was later. At that moment, my head temperature rose to the steaming point, and I collared BJ and George, and told them, "Anyone who's getting a ride with me, I'm leaving NOW. If you're not out in the car in the next three minutes, you will be getting a ride home with BJ's parents." And I stomped out, slamming through all the doors in my way, only slowing my rage-driven walk when I reached my car.
George got there a bit afterwards, not having quite my walking speed or my pissiness. "Where's BJ?" I demanded.
"Putting the door back together."
"The *what*?"
It seemed that in my haste to leave, I had dissociated the door's easy closing mechanism from itself by slamming it open with no chance to catch up to me, and BJ was putting it back together.
BJ showed up and told me that the guy in the lobby with the programs had come over. "Is she OK?" he'd asked.
"Yeah," BJ said. "Just a little stressed."
"Oh. ...Do you want me to pray with you?"
"...N-no, I don't think that would be such a good idea right now," BJ managed to say.
The next weekend, and all the weeks thereafter that BJ went to church and I went along, we went to the Friends Church or Meeting. I swore not to return to that church ever again expecting a real religious experience, and furthermore, no pastor from that church was to perform any wedding ceremony on me. I shared my experience with RJ, who nodded sagely and said that this was about what he expected from that church...
The conclusions I came to: Christians actually talk to the Divine, at least some of them. Stay away from churches with bad vibes. The Door of Hope is aptly named, now: that's one door that's hoping I never, ever return.
no subject
no subject
I'm not particularly fond of parents who praise the elder child to the skies no matter what they do, and don't think the younger one can do anything right. I'm not fond of parents who *always* take that tone of voice with their younger children, at least in my presence. (These was in both the sample families.)
This has gotten me started on what looks to be a rant about abused vs. rebellious children, and how confusing it is to the outsider. Looking at the results and the situation in hindsight, it's very clear to me that the constant smackdown of BJ's little brother was emotionally and mentally abusive, and I helped them pick on him some of the time. Yes, the "kid" (he was 18 when BJ and I were dating) was obnoxious. That still didn't mean his family had to jump on him *that* hard for every little thing. I'm sure they showed affection towards him. It's just hard for me to remember it, and my parents noticed it too, and mentioned it, and I didn't pick up on just quite what they were seeing. I could see the difference in him when I did take the time to listen to him and talk with him and interact with him like he was a normal, if loud and puppyish, human being. So I tried to do that when I was there. I just don't think I did enough.