Dogma is abuse

I had reason, recently, to deal with my old church group again, under the worst possible circumstance – the funeral of a very young woman who had died suddenly without prior medical problems. It was a heartbreaking service, and I personally was distraught at her death. I left the church, and the faith, with far more regard and affection for some who remained behind than others, and this particular woman was decidedly one of the former. She encapsulated all that I admire in a person – kind-hearted, generous, compassionate, funny, and optimistic. One of the major fallacies I see in the reason some people have given me for why I left the church, in that I must have been hurt by somebody and therefore be throwing the baby out with the bathwater - is that if a few measly “Christians” behaving badly and being hypocritical was enough to make me leave the church, people like this woman should have been enough to make me stay. She was, if you’ll forgive the cliché, an angel. I was honestly mad about her and I feel such a sense of sudden, violent loss that I scarcely know what to do with myself. It scares me a little, admittedly, that I now no longer have the certainty I once did pertaining to the afterlife. I hope, for my friends’ sake, that there is something after death, as the part of me that requires justice likes to think that there is something out there to reward her for being such a stellar example of a human being. However, she left behind two small boys and a husband, so I think there are some very pressing, practical things we left behind might do to pay homage to her memory.

As usual with this sort of thing, of course, it got me to thinking. It aroused some very conflicting feelings in me. The removal and funeral services were conducted by the church group to which we had both belonged, and naturally there was much reference made to my friend’s strong faith in Jesus, etc. etc. It made me very uncomfortable, and at first I couldn’t put my finger on why. I realised afterwards that I felt I was almost betraying my friend by not holding that faith which she understood to be of paramount importance. I felt almost that I should have been able to force myself to believe as she did, and that that is what she would have wanted. Because outside of that faith, there would be a barrier between us, limiting the depth of our friendship because I was no longer a “buhleeva” – I would be an outsider. And as we all know – or at least those of us who have been members of an evangelical/pentecostal church know – we are nothing without Jesus.

The way they spoke about it at the funeral – it was almost as if this faith was the single most positive, admirable aspect of my friend’s life and person. Her faith was what defined her, and it was presented as her main redeeming facet. The thing is, though, that it wasn’t. My friend was the best kind of human being, with or without Jesus (although I know she would have contended that herself). I listed just a few of her beautiful characteristics before. She had enough going for her sans Jesus to be worthy of our love and admiration. The fact that we now had different belief systems should never have been an issue. People – friends – differ on things all the time, without allowing it to form some cataclysmic rift between them. I think what I am trying to get at is that Christianity uses belief in Jesus Christ as a marker of your humanity, basically – it sorts the human race in all of its beauty and complexity into two very crude categories. Saved, and unsaved -those who are something (because they have Jesus), and those who are - literally – nothing (because they do not have Jesus). It’s that simple. The Bible frequently makes reference to our worthlessness and inherent evil without the intervention of the divine - in other words he who possess the ability to redeem us, and save us from our own depravity, our own thorough uselessness. Outside of the Almighty, we can do nothing. This was an integral part of church rhetoric when I was there – “without Jesus, I am nothing”, “I used to be *insert repulsive term here*, but then I got saved”, “without god, I’d be dead now”, “I could never have done this myself, it’s all god”, “Jesus saved my life, I couldn’t live without him”, “without Jesus my life would be meaningless/empty/without purpose”. I am guilty of saying these things myself, in the past. I have been thinking about it, more and more, and the more thought I give to it the more this particular aspect disturbs me greatly.

It encourages us, both as written in scripture and as used incessantly as a mantra within the group itself, to regard Jesus as our saviour and the source of all that is good in life, and ourselves as incapable of operating satisfactorily without clinging desperately to him. Without Jesus, life is empty and desolate. We might even die, and if we die without Jesus we will be abandoned forever – because without Jesus we cannot be acceptable to god. Even though, he made us to begin with. Even though he made us exactly to his will because he is omnipotent, and to a flawless design because he is omniscient, we disgust him without his son – who is actually himself – to defend our right to exist and be happy to him. There’s a headscratcher for you. I know people will make the argument of free will at this point, and I accept that some people use that free will to be fairly shitty specimens of human beings – but the fact is, not all do. My late friend is an example, and I hope I am too. Some people use that free will to make enormous sacrifices for their fellow man, and are compassionate and good and tolerant. I try to do and be these things myself, and I refuse to be held accountable for original sin. Original sin = bullshit. I am not Eve, so anyone who wants to hold me responsible for her listening to a talking snake, in a scenario that clearly never happened anyway, can fuck right off.

That’s right, fuck off. But only if you think I’m responsible for the actions of a mythical woman.

It makes me wonder what kept me buying this crap for so long. Since I’ve left the church, not only has my life not fallen apart, but I feel more self-sufficient and capable than ever before. My life is not empty and desperate, quite the contrary. I’m not saying I don’t face problems, but rather that refusing to rely for assistance on someone who regards me as inherently worthless has made me much stronger. I CAN do things for myself, I am a very capable woman. Sure, life is shit sometimes, but I’ll do my best, and when I can’t handle things alone there are plenty of non-deities around to help me in the form of friends and family.

But – I have a final point to make. Like I said, I wondered why I bought into this for so long when it’s so clearly a lie. But the more I consider it, the more the dynamic in this instance between “The Saviour” and “The Saved” bears a jarring resemblance to the dynamic between partners in a mentally and emotionally abusive relationship. I grew up within a highly abusive household – my mother was emotionally and mentally abusive towards myself, my father, and my brother. Quite a number of my friends have been involved in abusive relationships, and I have even read a number of testimonies of women who have escaped such relationships. So my experience of such covert abuse is pretty extensive, and now, looking on from the outside, I can see how my relationship with Jesus was like an extension of the worthlessness I was made to feel by my other abusive partner – in my case, my mother.

One of the questions most frequently asked of women – or indeed men – who have escaped abusive relationships is why they didn’t leave sooner. Why they failed to recognise the abuse for what it was immediately and up and leave. It seems so basic, so obvious, to someone looking in from the outside that anyone who makes you feel that way doesn’t deserve you. To the person on the receiving end of the abuse, though, it frequently isn’t obvious at all. Even for those who are abused physically, it often doesn’t begin that way overnight. The abusive partner will begin to gradually erode their victims’ self-esteem and self-reliance, so that when they begin to exert their control and manipulation in a more overt manner, the victim feels paralysed. They have often been isolated from outside influences and sources of support, people who may recognise the situation as abusive and encourage them to leave. They have been told they are worthless/fat/ugly/stupid/useless, and even that they “drive [the abuser] to it”, or that it’s for their own good. They have been given the impression that they cannot leave, either through direct threats of punishment (leave and I’ll kill you/I’ll take the children), or indirect threats (leave and you’ll fail/no-one will believe you/you won’t be able to manage). The victim of the abuse comes to develop a kind of domestic form of “Stockholm Syndrome”, where they engage cognitive dissonance to justify the abuser’s behaviour. They love their partner despite everything, and they do not want to accept that they need to sever ties with them. They are terrified of what will happen if they leave, and they don’t see the alternative, however unhappy they may be in their situation. They might even convince themselves that they are happy.

For me, the above paragraph has innumerable parallels to my relationship with the church/god. I was taught to distrust outside influences (the “world”), lest they corrupt me, so I was less susceptible to discerning real alternatives to the sheltered church life I was living. I was taught that I was nothing without god, I was inherently evil, and without god to redeem me I was little more than a filthy rag. To encourage this, I was taught to perceive my own natural functions – sexual urges being a prime example – as inherently “sinful” and “wrong”... rather than natural, which they actually were. I was taught that if I left I would go to hell (direct threat of punishment), and that my life would fall apart as I failed to manage without divine guidance (indirect threat). I came to love god sincerely, despite my doubts about his behaviour (Stockholm Syndrome/cognitive dissonance), and trust that he knew best, and it was for my own good, despite the fact that a part of me still felt it was nonsensical. Finally, I tried my best to stifle my doubts lest I “fall away”, and tried to convince myself that I was happy. Ultimately, I failed – thankfully – but it’s something to think about. The parallels do not reflect well on Christianity, or indeed on religious dogma as a whole.

It's been a while... again.

Pregnancy.

I've been thinking about it again because I recently had my first full sexual experience. I reached all ten bases - or, however many there are in whatever system you use. I never could figure out that system, all I know is we went all the way!

And it was good. No - scratch that - it was awesome. The guy in question was fun, I felt comfortable with everything, and it was just right. It was the kind of first time you could really hope for. We stayed overnight in a cute guesthouse that was actually more like a boutique hotel, with the kind of baroque décor that really appeals to me, and we just spent the night experimenting, making love, and sleeping before heading down to a leisurely breakfast. We used condoms, of course, and many of them... so my chances of being pregnant now are fairly nonexistent, but I guess it was just an interesting contrast to my few experiences with sexual encounters I had with my ex-fiancé while still a Christian.

I remember at one point convincing myself - largely thanks to a guilty conscience - that I was pregnant after we "fell into sin" one time on holidays. How I managed to convince myself of this, in retrospect, I do not know, because I had my pants on the whole frigging time, but in my hysterical guilt afterwards I was determined that my fiancé's magical man-juice would manage to seep its' way through my pants and impregnate me anyway. By osmosis or something, don't ask me. I was hysterical anyway.

And I tormented myself with the guilt until my blessed period arrived. It's just incredible to think about, looking back, that the hypothetical judgement my fellow "buhleevas" would heap upon me in case of my pregnancy was enough to drive me close to suicide. I was so terrified, so ashamed of myself - the thought of walking into that church, all of them looking - knowing what I had done - facing them all with the tangible evidence of my sin as a literal bump in my form... It made me want to die, and I mean that in the most literal manner possible. I've never told anyone this, but before my period arrived that time, I actually tormented myself into experiencing phantom pregnancy symptoms. I started experiencing a lot of the symptoms of pregnancy as a sort of psychosomatic response to my overwhelming fear I was pregnant, which in turn reinforced my belief I was pregnant, which terrified me even more.

Now, I consider the possibility of my being pregnant - which is rather more likely now that I've actually had sex, you know... and I honestly don't feel anything like the shame or guilt. Sure, I don't want to be pregnant - now wouldn't be a great time for me, and I'm not sure how I'd handle it, but it definitely wouldn't drive me to abortion or suicide. Because you know what? What I do or have done with my body is nobody else's fucking business. I may not be the best potential mom that's ever existed, but should life throw me a lemon in the form of a baby I'm gonna make some damn good lemonade. And you can fuck right off with your tut-tutting and your sideways looks.

When I was still at church, I was led to believe for so long that sex was some life-changing experience. I was force-fed these pitifully poor analogies of sex as being like two pieces of paper being glued together - apparently, you can rip them apart, but pieces of them are still stuck to one another... *eyeroll* In other words, once you give "ze vagine" to someone (or indeed "ze asshole"), you are intrinsically linked to them on some psychological or even spiritual level, that you are not if you abstain from sexual activity with them. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I can now confirm to you that this is bullshit of the highest order. I, for one, feel absolutely no different as a person. Certainly not in any negative sense - I feel a bit more confident about my body now that I've exposed it fully to someone and gotten a thoroughly "firm" response (pun intended), but that's it. I like the guy in question, very much, but we could part ways in the morning and I would mourn it no more than any other breakup. I am in no way "bonded" to him like someone superglued us together, we did not "become one" - we just did the horizontal mambo, and it was very nice.

So, lads and lassies, the moral of the story is - sex is the dog's bollocks! Go for it.