What if there is a Jesus and he’s actually awesome and not
just the mascot for that crazy group of folks called Christians? See, I’d love
to have rest for my weary soul. I wouldn’t mind at all if all the broken pieces
of my past that make up the man I am today got humpty dumptied back together
again. But, my life as a Pastor’s son and/or the time I served in church only
fucked me up more. And that’s hard to do, because I was already good and fucked
up.
I want to believe in a Jesus. But, he’s got to be better
than the people I used to church with. And that’s the thing…the whole time I
was religious I thought I existed to fix the fucked up. I had the answers. I
had the Jesus. It was the unsaved that needed me to teach them a lesson. Man, I
didn’t have a fucking clue that I was the one who needed the fixing.
And maybe that’s the point. When I was an asshole Christian,
I didn’t know that’s what I was. I thought I was doing the right thing. I
bought what everybody else in my world bought. Sell me a savior. We can all
read words in unison. We can sing hymns and if we really mean it, we can close
our eyes and lift our hands up in the air. Gross.
It’s been 6 plus years since I’ve been to church and it’s
unlikely that today I’m going to break my streak and put on my Easter bonnet
and hang out with my old people. But, man I never think, “god damn…I miss that.”
It was awful..this American Christianity…this watered-down version of what I
still believe is a great thing…it’s just that the version being practiced in
mass today misses the boat so badly.
I remember the sense of relief I got after I left the church
when I told my story to other fucked up people. There wasn’t this bullshit “I’ll
pray for you” response. The response was real, it was “I’m fucked up too.” That’s
when you can get somewhere. Otherwise there’s an agenda…oh you’re fucked up…perfect…you’re
going to be my project. I'm not going to tell you how fucked up I am, but I am going to get my Bible study to pray for you so that
you will come to church.
And then what? Pretend like most other Christains? Hide the
fucked up pieces of yourself because everyone else at church has it together? Feel
good about yourself because you’re turning the gays straight and the heathens
heavenly? Come on. Jesus came to find the lost, but what if it’s the church that’s
lost and not the “sinners”?
If I remember anything about the Bible, it’s that Jesus was
understanding and there for the fucked up. The religious people…the “we’ve got
our shit together” folks…Jesus wasn't a big fan of theirs. Because, what need did they have for a Savior?
And maybe that’s why church made me closterphobic. I couldn’t
sing loud enough or study the Bible hard enough to shake the feeling that I’m
never going to have my shit together. The truth is now what it was then…I don’t
have a fucking clue and I’m in fucking pain. Yeah…see… “go to church” doesn’t
fix that. “Read the Bible” isn’t the answer.
There’s this way I used to do life where answers like that
were commonplace. We didn’t have to think or acknowledge the open wounds that
all of us walk around with. We just became fucking robots going through the
motions.
I vividly remember that feeling when I decided to stop going
through the motions. I was at Bible study and just didn’t care about the bull
shit that was coming out of everyone’s mouth. One of the guys gave it to me
pretty good…a kind of “what’s wrong with you/snap out of it” speech. What was
wrong with me was that I wasn’t going to fucking be like them anymore.
Life changed for me when I got away from that finger
pointing mentality that I was raised with. “You’re fucked up, come to church”
wasn’t working for me. It was time to replace that with pointing the finger at
myself. When I can talk to people on a real level and we can drop the bullshit
and just live out the “I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up” reality, that’s when
life is good.
Give me story time at the corner bar over church any day of
the week. Because, you see…I’m a recovering Christian. I’m a recovering ass
hole. I don’t get it. But, what I do get is something happens when we’re real.
And that’s what I want to give my kids. The real. I’m not
going to make my kids sit in a pew and watch me wear some uncomfortable khaki pants. I’m not going to force them to take pictures at the Hy-Vee brunch pretending to be happy and then tag Jesus in the photos I post on
facebook. But, I am going to tell my kids that I hope there’s a Jesus who’s
real...one who’s better than the church makes him out to be. I don’t want them
to settle for someone else’s religious experience. I want them to have their own.
And I pray to God that it’s better than mine.
I haven’t blogged in forever. This is choppy and all over
the place, but what got me wanting to write was this song by Noah Gunderson.
Check it out…he says it way better than I do…
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