The Rude Pundit told a story about his experience with early attempts at religious indoctrination. It reminded me of a funny (to me, now) experience I had when I was 6 or 7 years old.
Although we were only nominally Catholic, my only church experience thus far had been going to midnight and Easter masses. For me, it was not a religious experience, as I hadn’t a clue what was going on. I just liked the smell of the incense and the cadence of the prayers. Because we didn’t regularly attend mass, it was exotic and exciting.
So, when Jodi Sabinske asked me to go to Sunday school with her, I figured, what the hell? It sounded like fun. My mom was reluctant to let me go, as we weren’t religious and she didn’t want my head filled up with a bunch of nonsense. I remember promising her that I wouldn’t let that happen, though at that age, I’m sure I hadn’t a clue what she meant. I picked up on the fact that she felt there was something slightly unsavory and dangerous about it, but I wasn’t old enough to figure out why. I think that probably made me even more curious, and more determined to embark on what was sure to be a grand aventure*.
So one Sunday, I got on the white and blue church bus with Jodi. We must have been toward the beginning of the route, because we seemed to spend half the morning driving around and picking up kids. Then, we drove out of town and into the nearby countryside, finally coming to the First Barn of Jeebus. I’d never seen anything like it before. To me, church was an old stone building with stained glass, not a shiny-new, cavernous, aluminum-sided barn.
After my shock at the hangar-like ginormity of the FBoJ, the second thing that surprised me was that inside, it was set up like a school, not a church. The interior of the building was a warren of passageways and classrooms, with a large auditorium at one end. Everyone met in the auditorium for a short welcome service, then broke up into age-appropriate groups and went to their classrooms for Bible study.
Oh my, the Bible Study… Some of the stories were acted out by groups of high school aged kids, in a manner not entirely unlike that of the Legz Akimbo Theatre Company. Others were told with the aid of a large felt board. I had only a passing acquaintance with the Bible then, so the stories–like the Tower of Babel and Lot and His Daughters–were all new and fascinating to me. And, a little scary, but that was, I’m sure, intentional. I remember that there was a lot of emphasis placed on the Old Testament, and on God’s wrath. The God of the FBoJ was, I thought, a big, giant bully. I thought he sounded like an abusive, psychopathic parent–someone to walk on egg shells around, lest you get your ears boxed for some arbitrary reason.
But, still, I continued to go to Sunday school. See, the folks at that church knew how to sucker kids into attending. Every Sunday, we got some sort of treat. Sometimes, it would be a 2L bottle of soda or a whole watermelon. Other times it would be a trip to an amusement park or to a stable to go horseback riding. One time, they brought in a bunch of camels and elephants for us to ride after Sunday school. Every week, it was something different, so I’m sure lots of kids showed up just to see what the Treat of the Week would be.
I probably would have attended indefinitely–and may have been assimilated–except the FBoJ finally tripped my bullshit meter. One Sunday, one of the ministers came to our room to direct our Bible study class, instead of the Legz Akimbo for Jeebus Players. The minister told all the girls wearing pants to stand up. Most of the girls wore dresses, but it was the ’70s, so there were a few of us in jeans or slacks. I never wore dresses, so I was one of the girls who were singled out. We had to stand while being regaled with all manner of nightmare-inducing descriptions of Hell. We were told that we would be going there if we didn’t start wearing dresses. The preacher went down the line, from girl to girl, making us promise to never wear pants again. I refused. I told him that God didn’t care what people wore, and that I was going to continue wearing jeans. All the other girls were allowed to sit down, but I was told that I would have to stand for the rest of the class. I would have done it, because it was worth it to make it clear that I refused to A) lie or B) give in to what I figured was no better than blackmail. But, I didn’t end up standing the rest of the day. I told the minister that I didn’t believe in his Hell, and that I surely wouldn’t be going there, but that he was welcome to it. Then, I went and sat in the hallway for the rest of the day.
I never went back to Sunday school.
Teh Enb.
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* And, I do mean adventure. It may not have seemed to be a so very big deal at the time, but the experience had a profound effect on me. It gave me–at an early age–the understanding that other people’s realities can be vastly different from mine. It also was the first time I’d had an Important Experience of my own. I’d been allowed to go off to God knows where, with God knows who, and study God knows what, and I was responsible for all of it. Third, I learned that I was Allowed to stand up to patriarchy-spewing asswagons. That’s an awful lot of power for a 6-7 year-old girlchild to wield.
red paper boat 