Earlier this year when my daughter returned home from spending time with her father and his family, she informed me that she wanted to become Christian. This was not a completely unexpected surprise, as my ex-husband’s family are very much evangelical Christians. In fact, this generally happens every time she comes home from time there, but usually fades within a few weeks. This time, not so much.
Being a person of an open mind, and a belief that one’s path to one’s understanding of God is personal, I found myself in quite a predicament. On the one hand, dictating another’s personal path is not within me; on the other hand, through my own personal experience, I have found many Christian denominations to be the absolute epitome of the evil they claim to be saving the world from. In short, I was very conflicted with how to handle the situation.
In the end, logic and reason, with a dash of sanity and compassion, won out. I spent a lot of time talking with my daughter about the positive aspects of religion, as well as the negative aspects. I worked a deal with her, in which she could follow the path that her heart and soul called her to, provided she let me continue to follow mine without badgering or belittling. I also explained to her very clearly that according to the church she wished to become a part of, I, her mother, was surely destined for hell as I do not, and will not, accept any outside of myself as my personal savior. And that I’m perfectly at peace with that, so let’s just leave it be.
A friend of hers invited her to youth group one night, and it all fell into place after that. She began putting a lot of time into her church activities. Youth group, Sunday services, Sunday school, extra activities, the works. I must admit that I am impressed with her desire to truly experience her new found faith and be as involved as possible. And, I’ll also admit that Episcopalian is not a bad choice. Had it been Baptist or Pentecostal, well, I can imagine the conversations would have flowed a lot differently.
And then time, as time does, flowed forward. She began asking about being baptized. I admit, I twitched. I struggled. But in the end, I followed my conscious and supported her decision.
On Sunday morning, I woke up at 7:30 and climbed in the shower. I stood there with the water flowing over me and prayed for guidance and strength. See, you must understand, my distaste for Christianity is based on my own upbringing, and the fact that as a child the Catholic church, and the Christian god, failed me. Badly. As a child, I begged and pleaded, prayed and submitted, did everything they told me to do, and still there was no escape. I asked the church for help, and was told that those sort of things should never be discussed. I begged God, I begged Jesus, I begged Mary. And still, no escape. My life was a living hell, and that was where God appeared to want me to be. At 14, the church asked me to leave. And while I have not been officially ex-communicated, I am not allowed communion. No matter how many confessions, I am never allowed communion again. So, you know, fuck you. I don’t want to eat the flesh of your false idol anyway. I simply wish to be left alone.
And so, I prayed to the god of my own understanding, to the ancient mother, for serenity and strength because Episcopalian is basically Catholic-lite. Less Mary, more jeans. Please, let there be no triggers that will send me back into time, into a place where even Sabres fear to tread. Let nothing happen that will remind me of that hell, and if it does, please let me be able to face it with my head high and remember that I am not that child anymore and no one can ever hurt me that way again. Please and thank you and let’s get through this, shall we?
We arrived at the church and I spent some time talking with the parents of her friend and was then introduced to Father Rob. A very interesting and dynamic man, but the internal jury is still out on him. He explained what they would be doing, and what role he would like me to take. As I walked into the church, I fully expected a little bit of thunder or lightning, the Christian god showing his distaste for the Devil’s Daughter coming into his sanctuary. It would have been funny at the very least, but nothing.
The service was as expected, a lot of rote ritualization that I still have memorized from my childhood. And then came the moment, where I placed the spiritual growth of my youngest child into the hands of others. I doubt they had any true realization of what my tears actually meant. Afterwards, my daughter participated in communion for the first time in her life. She asked me to join her, but I quietly told her that while I support her choice and path, I do not share her faith. And so I merely watched her, this beautiful young girl raised with the concept of female divinity, of the beauty inherent in women, consume the spiritual flesh of a god who failed me.
I cannot describe that moment for you, words fail me.
After the service, I had a quick cup of coffee, socialized briefly with a couple of folks I know from around the community, and silently made my escape. I was, of course, invited to come back. But I think we all know the answer to that.
I will admit that there is certainly a void in my life at present. There is within me a deep aching that I cannot articulate very well. But that emptiness cannot be filled by a religion that I find alien. There is no room for me in Christianity, and there is no room for it within me. But I pray that it serves my daughter and does not fail her. If it does, there will be hell to pay.
