I Wish I Missed My Church

Tanwyn's post "Confession" inspired me to respond. However, as a long running gag, it seems like whatever we do we either agree 100% or disagree 100%. And this is one area where we disagree strongly.

I don't miss my church at all. I wish I did. At the time I had the opportunity for some wonderful church experiences, I declined them in favor of some horrible church experiences.

My church was filled with wonderful people and terrible books. The assumption was made that you would read the books, you would study the books, you would claim you believed the books, and then you would use the sense God gave a rock to know better than to follow the books.

I didn't know this, I followed the books.

And the books were nasty. I owned literally thousands of dollars in books of the Evangelistic subculture, which I spent hours reading and re-reading. And they were terrible, twisted, dark things. Between that and the family I grew up in, I internalized some of the most terrible ideas and concepts. I simply lacked the sophistication to realize that we were supposed to say we believed every word of our church charter. We weren't actually supposed to believe the thing, much less all the "guidebooks" I read.

The books I read were toxic, and they poisoned my mind. I came to believe terrible things about the nature of the world, people, and God. I exchanged truth for a lie and delighted in suffering. At one point, I realized that I didn't love God, not one bit. And as I worked through that, I came to decide that it was because I had reached a point of progress at which love for God was meant to be discarded. I decided I was ready to face the belief God was remote, and unlike us, and did not require our love, only our worship and obedience, for two very dark definitions of worship and obedience.

This was the cult before the cult. This was the damage that would make my time in an abusive organization happen. This was when I let hatred into my heart, and came to glory in the suffering of others, but in the real actual now and the imagined hereafter. Any hopes I had for normal development, or relationships, or even actually discovering who I was were dashed under a desire to follow the books. Because no one knew I didn't know any better.

I came to hate and despise women, although I wouldn't have known to admit that was what I was doing at the time. I hated and despised anyone who chose different things than me out of life, or beliefs, or took risks I didn't wish to. Only the parts of me too taboo for discussion escaped, and they didn't unscathed.

And I did this all to myself. Had I followed the example of those around me, I could have had wonderful experiences and joyous memories. But instead I turned to the books, and tried to align myself with them. And in turning away from that which makes us human, became monster. But I was too young to know this, too young to separate ideal from practice. Too young to that hypocrisy can, in certain circumstances, be a virtue.

In time, I would learn better, but at high cost. Among it, I can't miss the church of my youth, as I never really experienced it, only it's reading list. And that saddens me even now.