This is the second part in an ongoing series about my conversion to atheism. To start at the beginning, follow this link.
Growing Up God
I was raised as a Christian and was baptized at the age of 9. I wore Christian T-shirts; I was active in the youth group; I can still recite the 10 Commandments. I tithed when I could; I didn't curse or use phrases like "Oh my God". I was devout and fervent. In high school, I accepted the Creation story, believing the Earth to be only about 6,000 years old. I refused to date non-Christians. I led Bible-studies. I went to Christian conferences and retreats where I "experienced" God. I strongly considered a career in ministry. I prayed daily, I witnessed to others, and I believed without shame or apology. When I left high school, people told me that I would be a shining example of God's love to the world, which I took as the highest possible compliment.
I was, in short, the perfect teenage Christian.
This is not to say that I was exempt from the foibles and turbulence of being, you know, a teenager. I had an odd affinity for shock-humor (which I retain), a hefty sense of intellectual pride, and myriad insecurities. Also, I was lonely and awkward, prone to depression, and had some weird Daddy issues (not the Daddy-doesn't-love-me variety, more like the Daddy-doesn't-understand-me and also Daddy-doesn't-believe-in-God-and-is-going-to-Hell issues). Add to all this the over-developed sex drive of any teenage boy and my own personal flavor of strangeness, and things start to get a little weird.
For example, I knew that masturbation was "sinful". And yet, I was a teenage boy; I "sinned" all the damned time. Because I felt guilty about that, I routinely promised God that I would... ahem... resist the urge, and I broke that promise just as routinely. I started superimposing God's retribution onto the world around me. At the tender of age of, I dunno, 14-ish, I was convinced that my inability to resist the urge to masturbate had ultimately resulted in the brain-cancer death of my aunt's first husband. That's fucked-up, right? At 14 (or so), I, me personally, was wracked with guilt over the cancer-death of my uncle. I didn't know how to face my aunt.
But wait, it gets weirder.
I had heard stories about people asking for signs from God when they didn't know what to do. So I tried it: shuffle a deck of cards, pray to God for guidance, and ask a yes-or-no question, using red cards for "yes" and black cards for "no". When the answers started conflicting, I arrived at the only natural conclusion: that I had somehow mis-dialed and was having a conversation with Satan (a conclusion that the cards confirmed for me).
So, in addition to being the perfect Christian teen, I was also a perfectly normal teen: awkward and horny and deeply, deeply troubled. You see, Christianity was supposed to me guidelines and goals and the promise of a more meaningful life and a joyous afterlife. That's the covenant we make when we get dunked in the water, and I believed in it with all my heart. So why did things keep going wrong?
At the end of the day, I was irrevocably human, and like all humans, I overcompensate for my own perceived shortcomings. When I went to college, my reaction to my own failure was to transform into a full-fledged fundamentalist.
So when I fell, I fell hard.
]{p
Growing Up God
I was raised as a Christian and was baptized at the age of 9. I wore Christian T-shirts; I was active in the youth group; I can still recite the 10 Commandments. I tithed when I could; I didn't curse or use phrases like "Oh my God". I was devout and fervent. In high school, I accepted the Creation story, believing the Earth to be only about 6,000 years old. I refused to date non-Christians. I led Bible-studies. I went to Christian conferences and retreats where I "experienced" God. I strongly considered a career in ministry. I prayed daily, I witnessed to others, and I believed without shame or apology. When I left high school, people told me that I would be a shining example of God's love to the world, which I took as the highest possible compliment.
I was, in short, the perfect teenage Christian.
This is not to say that I was exempt from the foibles and turbulence of being, you know, a teenager. I had an odd affinity for shock-humor (which I retain), a hefty sense of intellectual pride, and myriad insecurities. Also, I was lonely and awkward, prone to depression, and had some weird Daddy issues (not the Daddy-doesn't-love-me variety, more like the Daddy-doesn't-understand-me and also Daddy-doesn't-believe-in-God-and-is-going-to-Hell issues). Add to all this the over-developed sex drive of any teenage boy and my own personal flavor of strangeness, and things start to get a little weird.
For example, I knew that masturbation was "sinful". And yet, I was a teenage boy; I "sinned" all the damned time. Because I felt guilty about that, I routinely promised God that I would... ahem... resist the urge, and I broke that promise just as routinely. I started superimposing God's retribution onto the world around me. At the tender of age of, I dunno, 14-ish, I was convinced that my inability to resist the urge to masturbate had ultimately resulted in the brain-cancer death of my aunt's first husband. That's fucked-up, right? At 14 (or so), I, me personally, was wracked with guilt over the cancer-death of my uncle. I didn't know how to face my aunt.
But wait, it gets weirder.
I had heard stories about people asking for signs from God when they didn't know what to do. So I tried it: shuffle a deck of cards, pray to God for guidance, and ask a yes-or-no question, using red cards for "yes" and black cards for "no". When the answers started conflicting, I arrived at the only natural conclusion: that I had somehow mis-dialed and was having a conversation with Satan (a conclusion that the cards confirmed for me).
So, in addition to being the perfect Christian teen, I was also a perfectly normal teen: awkward and horny and deeply, deeply troubled. You see, Christianity was supposed to me guidelines and goals and the promise of a more meaningful life and a joyous afterlife. That's the covenant we make when we get dunked in the water, and I believed in it with all my heart. So why did things keep going wrong?
At the end of the day, I was irrevocably human, and like all humans, I overcompensate for my own perceived shortcomings. When I went to college, my reaction to my own failure was to transform into a full-fledged fundamentalist.
So when I fell, I fell hard.
]{p
2 comments:
You became a fundamentalist? I didn't know that. I don't think I knew that...
You forgot the part where you were president of the Veggie Tales Fan Club.
Yeah, I was hardcore, it was after I left Houston.
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