I Am The Great Leader: Obeyeth Me!

 One of the wonderful commenters here (and usually dissenting, which is partly what makes her so wonderful) mentioned that I seem to be reactionary.   How ever could she think that, I sarcastically laugh, as I read her words nodding and grinning.  I often wonder where I’ll be in five years—in my head, that is, not physically.  Physically, I vote for somewhere tropical. 

When I first began this personal blog as I exited conservativism (which I didn’t yet know I was doing), some leaders in my “Biblical Womanhood” world told me, in no uncertain terms, to shut it down, which is decidedly different from warmly dissenting, as Leigh Ann has always done an excellent job of doing.  (Examples of the lovely technique for squelching discussion can be found in the comments thread here, for example). 

Wondering about things aloud was decisively not allowed.  Neither was questioning established norms.  Neither was questioning what they said was God’s way, period.  I remember the pain those comments caused me—not the pain at their negative or concerned opinions for me, because I’m pretty thick skinned.  The reason it hurt so badly was because I still thought that way, still thought that there was probably only one right way of looking at everything (and that it was probably the way our little Christian subculture held) and that God would crush whoever deviated from it.  

I can hear someone crying, “She’s just denied absolute truth,” but be reassured: No, I didn’t.  I merely deny that one little Christian sub-culture has a handle on all absolute truth, that’s all. 

The reason I good-naturedly call my previous paradigm the “fundie hood” is because it cultivated a ghetto-like mentality: our way vs. everyone else.  Casual thoughts/statements like, “Oh, that person claims they are Christian, but I’m not sure if they’re a real one or not yet,” sort of give it away, you know?  Everything outside the ghetto was to be feared, whereas everything taught inside the ghetto was to be accepted without question or risk the label of heretic (or relativist, or feminist, or socialist, or…).  Lest you think I’m whining at being taught in ways that did not encourage discussion, let me remind you that in my most wincing memories, I was the teacher, teaching ”God’s Truth” in exactly that way.  The only questions I liked were the sort that you find in a workbook—-the ones looking for a very obvious answer, one that fit perfectly in our little paradigm.     

I met Jesus as a person who struck bottom, a young adult striving for success (in the alternative world of the early 90’s) on the outside, but on the inside was riddled by fear and eaten by insecurity and excelling in the fine art of hyper-self-focus.  I met Jesus and, long story short, the next thing I knew, I was walking on a narrow but well trod path, and I was smiling with this big goofy grin, knowing that no matter what happened, everything would always be okay from here on out.  My robes were washed clean, my heart was light.  He did that. 

And I left it, all in the name of pursuing Him wholly.  It looked good.  It looked great.  It felt good too, those first tantalizing years of finding my righteousness in Things, my identity in how I schooled my kids, in the way I dressed, in the doctrinal position we held on this or that, on the programs or events I was involved with. 

Somewhere, in the midst of it all, as my proud identity began to crumble in the face of my own imperfection, I discovered I wasn’t on that little path anymore, my robes were in tatters, and that it had been a long time since a big goofy grin raised my cheeks.  With my stomach in my throat, I opened my eyes for the first time in years and found that I was following law—–a thief masquerading only as shepherd (having had thousands of years to perfect the fine art of devouring and destroying). 

Escaping him was costly.  My health is still in tatters, and it has taken and is taking a long time to untangle the web.  For example, when those comments came telling me to shut down my blog (until I could become a godly Titus 2 older woman, ad nauseum), to stop wondering anything aloud and daring to question the sweeping authority of Ghetto Home Rules, I could hardly breath reading them because I was still so shaky, still wondering if I’d gotten it all wrong—if God was the destroyer (well, the false shepherd said he was God, and that rather authoritatively), still wondering if I was going to be struck dead for wondering what was outside the ghetto walls.

I guess I write this tonight to say that I believe questioning a (and any) Christian ghetto is perfectly acceptable.  But I also write to say that I’m very much in process, and I think Leigh Ann brings up a valid warning here.  Though I’m sure she didn’t mean it as an actual warning, I wanted to mention it in the name of full disclosure—maybe you should be warned. 

This blog doesn’t exist to show everybody the “right way” to do things or to think about things.  Of course I enjoy readers, in the same way that I enjoy large groups of people in real life, but I don’t think of myself as a teacher when I sit down at the computer and type out a ramble.  When I write, I actually picture myself chattering away in a circle of friends at a loud and happy party—knowing that when I wake up in the morning and check the internet, some of you will have flapped your jaws back at me—all of us together thinking, searching, enjoying the fellowship and the wondering on the greatness and the bigness of Yahweh.   If you’re looking for The Super Christian behind a pulpit, go somewhere else.