religion – The Book of Her

The Hypocripha

Once upon a time, I asked a Pastor’s Kid – what can God do for me now? Like Heaven is great and all but I kind of cannot wait here. What help can I get *now*?

I shouldn’t have seen his lack of answer, his honesty, as the red flag that it was. I had been raised in this religion after all. I was asking him, “what have I missed all this time?” and despite being a PASTOR’S KID who was going to SEMINARY he didn’t know. Had not a single answer for what the god he professed to worship and had made a lifelong commitment to spending ETERNITY WITH and he couldn’t tell me what good it would do me in this world. That should have been enough to keep me away but gosh darn it he had the cutest green eyes and the most annoying smirk.

That stupid jawline and infectiously cocky attitude set me back a decade from discovering who I truly was, what I truly believed. I clung to that delusion so, so hard because there were some dreams I just didn’t think I could survive losing. But that is neither here nor there.

What that experience, that whole chapter of my life, really, taught me is how absolutely ingrained it is to dive deep into the “mysteries” of the triune god and turn the blindest eye you ever did see to the absolutely obvious and effusive amount of contradictions. That is the true definition of a believer. Someone who has become “saved” when they can profess to see the clarity in the absolute jumble of nonsense that is the American Christian religion.

Allow me to paint you a picture of this. Let us say you are living life quite peacefully in your corner of the world. There are some hardships sure. Life has its ups and downs. Emergencies. Scars. Triumphs. Life. And then one day, you are invaded. Conquered. Forced into abject slavery. Raped. Families separated. Your children, sold. And wholesale slaughter. You are forced on your knees to worship the god of the people who have ruined everything. Who have killed people you loved. You die hating that god. You go to hell. Because those people were Christians and that god was the one true god, they just got the representation wrong but *Jesus would have given them (the oppressed, not the oppressor) some revelation of who he was so they could be saved.

**Being something that has not one single backing in scripture but that any reasonable, even remotely empathetic person would know that this situation is *bit* much to ask of someone to know before they unknowingly choose their eternity. Even adding that meant-to-be-comforting addition, that’s… psychotic. Cruel. Twisted.

Let’s try again. You are a person taught that you are the chosen people meant to save the world. Your empathy is slowly numbed out of you by being taught, over and over, that women and children and anyone who does not have your exact melanin content are subhuman and worthy of nothing but your rule. You embrace this. It makes you feel big. You see people being hurt but no longer care. You see that owning them can make you wealthy beyond reckoning. You begin their wholesale slaughter. And you do it in the name of the god that chose you. You do it because you are cleansing the devil in their hearts. And making obscene amounts of cash with every death and sale. On your death bed, you ask to be saved by the god that was preached to you and though you got the interpretation of it wrong, to the tune of thousands of deaths by your hand alone, and never with any intention of ever lifting a finger to right even the smallest of wrongs wrought by your hand – you go to heaven. Congrats. These are the rules.

And the rules are perfect. You cannot contradict the rules. Because god is all good. And thusly his rules must be fair. They must be just. They must be. But they aren’t.

I used to wonder how a god of pure love and light could have such fucking hypocrites as followers. Until the kool-aid began to fade from my system, and I began to see what was, instead of the deeper mysteries I had chosen to focus on instead.

No, they are just like him. They model him perfectly. All they ask of you is all their god asks of them – turn a blind eye. Do not see the cruelty in slavery, defend it as the order god enacted after the flood because despite just killing off the entire population of the world, save one family, god gets so mad at one of the remaining people that he curses them and every goddamn descendent of theirs for the remaining 6k+ years. Tad bit petty, don’t you think? Like. Really? But then again, when you think about it, it’s just par for the course. He literally cursed all of humanity, billions upon billions of people – not to mention the rest of creation, even if only on earth (which would be absolutely absurd), has led to the suffering of TRILLIONS of animals in the knowledge that only a handful of them, a drop in the ocean of humanity, would meet his conditions for salvation – from his own wrath. LIKE.

(Important note: first, god lied to them and then got mad when they didn’t listen.)

God: If you leave me, not only will I put you into an eternal torment, I will afflict every generation of your descendants FOR ALL TIME.

Literally, anyone who has studied psychology at all: WELL THAT’S TOXIC AF.

The church isn’t not being like the god they profess when they silence the abused instead of the abuser, they are mirroring him. When they are on the wrong side of history, it’s because they are benefiting from this particular translation of their holy book and are wholly uninterested in truth but in remaining “right”.

I bring this to attention as I have been seeing a number of Xtians claim that things were better when people had a healthy fear of god. Which is a very strange code for believing that people are “breaking gods rules” by not subjecting themselves and their families to abject abuse by Xtians nor following the American Christian’s rewritten version of Xtian History because people don’t take hell seriously enough.

We were xtians guys. We were uber devoted. We followed the rules better than anyone. We prayed ourselves away. We took hell extremely seriously. I read the entirety of John Piper’s book refuting Rob Bell’s Erasing Hell. I would cry in bed, agonizing over the concept of purgatory, terrified even of that cleansing fire. (And if you want to say well purgatory isn’t real, then congrats, you too are deciding which parts of Xtian theology to pick and choose not based on biblican backing but on emotional preferences.) I forced myself into small boxes to try and cut off the parts of me that caused me to sin and doubt. I was praised for doing so, even as men in power refused to do any such thing and just bolted down the locks on my cage while they continued to poison and pollute everything they touched.

So for anyone that thinks that this is a phase or a tantrum – no. This is carefully, in full knowledge and awareness of what the Xtian belief of the consequences of my choices are – deliberate rejection of not only American Xtianity, but of the Xtian god in his entirety. Not because of how he is represented by American Xtians, no, while sad, pathetic, and frankly vomit worthy – he is *not* mis-represented by American Xtians. That is what all of my studying revealed. Despite the self proclamation of “all good” and “holy” and “pure” and “love” – all evidence, anecdotal and systematic, points to the exact opposite.

Thusly.

I choose any future, eternal or otherwise, to be as far away from the Xtian god as possible.

If that god made this brain to come to this conclusion then even in this worst case scenario – I’m gonna enjoy the absolute H. E. DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS out of the next 60 years before an eternal torment. Which, logically, is the better option than slowly suffocating my soul for the next 60 years before putting myself through a different eternal torment by being stuck WORSHIPPING the most chad bro god since Zeus. No. Fucking. Thanks.

So, next time it occurs to you to tell someone that they just aren’t thinking through their choices – especially when it comes to your religious viewpoint – try to wrap your very inflexible brain around the fact that they have probably thought about it 10x more than you have. And that rather than saying a gods damned thing, you might want to take a second and listen to someone who has gone through the dark night of the soul and awoken whole and awake on the other side.

But hell, you do you boo.

Perfectly Alright

Community. A term I have known, longed for, been deluded about, and rediscovered. I have been told since before memory that church was community. And since I could remember, I didn’t fit into it. I was not cool enough. I used to think it was holiness or piousness, but upon reflection, that’s fucking absurd. I did nightly devotionals, memorized scripture without anyone telling me to, read theology books for fun. The “accepted ones” had… other hobbies. No, it was definitely because I was an awkward, anxious bitch who couldn’t be chill for her life. Oh and poor. Adopted by some of the rich kids, sure, but definitely the charity case.

I don’t know if American Christians are even capable of community. Because community is impossible without whole-hearted acceptance of the “other”. Unless there are people who are not like you in your community, it’s just a club. And like any club, it is defined by it’s exclusivity.

Whereas witches… I’m not saying there aren’t exclusive, gatekeeping white witches out there. There are. I’ve met them. They suck. But most witches I know are the most welcoming people I’ve ever met. There is no one way to be a witch. There is no one color of witch. No one aesthetic. No one sexuality. No one pantheon (or lack thereof). No one path. So many that overlap and mix and mingle.

I went to a witch’s market today and it was glorious. A) there was cool shit everywhere. The talent of these witches! The art! B) The compliments! Everyone there was admiring everyone else there. “I love your dress!” “Your shoes!” “This is divine!” Short witches, fat witches, skinny witches, tall witches, goth witches, fairy witches, stone witches, card witches, fire witches, old witches, baby witches, atheist witches, goddess witches, green witches, and every other type of witch I could imagine. And we were *jiving* with each other. Celebrating. Lifting up. Supporting. Amplifying.

Honestly, I think it’s because everyone there has one thing in common: finding our own way. Or at least trying to. Not the mysteries of the universe. Not the secret to success, or the key to the afterlife, and certainly not an arbitrary list of rules written and rewritten by white men in positions of power. We are each on our own path and acknowledge and celebrate that rather than trying to get people on our path, the goal is to help them on theirs.

My favorite part though, has to be the style. No one has styles like the marginalized. The expression. The sheer, blissful audacity. The *authenticity*.

Oh, right, and I forgot the very best part. *No one there gave a single shit if anyone else was a witch.* Not a witch? Cool. Don’t need to be. No pressure. Want to talk? Want to do *this* witch thing but aren’t feeling *that*? Cool. Whatever you are comfortable with. Have questions? Have emotional baggage? Awesome, we all do. Let’s begin unpacking it together. Maybe being a witch isn’t for you. And it is for me. And that’s perfectly alright.

Freedom

“We are FREE in Christ Jesus!” Is a sentence I have heard more times than I have had sex and I’m almost 8 years into my marriage soooooo. A lot. I’ve heard it a lot. And frankly, even if you weren’t raised evangelical – I bet you have too.

Freedom is thrown around by the church like a tie die hacky sack at a shoegaze concert in Colorado. Or, like how my son used to shout “Frog!” loudly at the top of his lungs while not being able to pronounce an r and his g’s definitely sounded like k’s every single time he saw another person for almost 4 months. That’s right. It was my favorite. However, when the church uses it, it is neither entertaining nor does it brighten my spirits. Almost entirely because they are saying it wrong.

Again, this is not a thing I have against Jesus. I like Jesus. It’s the church who claims him that I have a problem with. Because things freedom does not look like:

Heavily policing what women wear in order to enforce a strict code of modesty and begin the indoctrination that their bodies are dirty, dangerous, made exclusively for the enjoyment of men and of bearing children for those men, and that male happiness and indeed thoughts and actions are dependent on our ability to cover up skin.

Being taught that any hobbies that would not have a place in a new Little Women reboot are useless, and indeed sinful because they waste time and women’s time is never to be wasted – by her – on something she enjoys that does not have an element of productivity for others in it.

Being taught that women are obedient first, and everything else that is good and quiet second. The only way she will be blessed is to be submissive to a man, indeed many men, including her pastor, father, future husband, and sometimes brothers and sons depending on denomination.

Being taught to ignore your own experiences and suppress your own intuitive connection with the divine. Granted, this is more like a part b to the point above, but distinct enough it needs its own paragraph. If you have so much as a conversation with the divine that one of the men over you would find questionable, you are to immediately dismiss that conversation and assume you are being tricked by the devil. IF what you believe/realized/received/connected to was REALLY the good one, then He will reveal Himself to the man in authority over you and thusly give you blessing. Otherwise, trust any man in authority over you more than yourself. Always. Else you will most likely burn in hell.

Rejecting any personal aesthetic that involves attention or an affinity for any color not prominent in the rainbow or an Easter palate. Self care is a small list that begins and ends with prayer and might have ‘eat a salad’ or ‘drink some water’ or ‘exercise’ in between. Any sort of indulgence is a waste and selfish.

Peace is more valuable than truth. Especially when that truth is personal and the peace involves anyone else. There is only one truth that should be proclaimed whenever possible, “Jesus is Lord” and I swear there is a secret but well known rule that you get brownie points if it’s written in cursive on a T shirt bought from a grocery store. But seriously, racist grandpa? Shush yourself, he is Jesus’ problem. Petty aunt who passive aggressively compares the grandchildren in a ranking system? Smile and nod. Gropy uncle who aggressively hugs every kid and strips them of their personal autonomy? Children don’t have any say over themselves since they were born sinful, manipulative little turd nuggets so you should blatantly encourage them to not listen to that voice that tells them to stay away from dangerous people and hug their uncle.

Importantly all of these truths can be boiled down into one: do not be yourself. Be a quiet, giving blob of selflessness that constantly allows yourself to silenced while forcing yourself into a cookie cutter mold of a fictional woman from the 1800’s with an endlessly sunny disposition and a penchant for getting walked on.

*side note* Men do not have it easy either. They are discouraged from having emotions, showing emotions, wearing color, being unique in any way, showing weakness, displaying anything other than americanized masculinity, or having close friends that do not attend the same church, or are on a team together, or are women they do not intend to marry, or are not appearing masculine enough. Also the happiness, financial stability, and eternal souls of their nuclear family rests solely on their shoulders. Like they get to enjoy sex but have to keep themselves locked away too.

And locking ourselves away is the opposite of freedom. It is why we are depressed, lonely, and secretive. We have to be secretive because otherwise we die and we don’t actually want to. We want to live. We want to be free. We want to be everything we are. We want to be everything we are made to be. Because deep down we know we were made this way. We’re just told it’s wrong. That we’re wrong. And we’re not.

We’re not. We’re not. We were not born sinful turd nuggets. We were born impressionable, adorable whole people with likes and dislikes and intuition and curiosity chock full of wonder and questions. We internalized so much because we wanted so badly to be good and loved by the man in the sky who said he loved us so long as we were nothing like he made us to be. Or for parental approval. Maybe both. Kids are complicated.

The point is: it’s hard to realize all of this and live out the unlearning because our very vocabulary was fucked with. We were taught freedom and loyalty and unconditional love (agape, you’re welcome) and wholeness and clean and safe and all of those things were somehow twisted into meaning other things.

I am still working on it. Daily. To untangle all this garbage in my mind. Sometimes, doing so feels absolutely absurd. Because it’s often just pointless rebellion, like laying on the floor of my living room that desperately needs to be cleaned and vacuumed and instead shouting “I am more important than this!” at the top of my lungs while spread eagle in over-sized sweatpants. (Truly, I am a *joy* to live with.) But doing that kind of absurd rebellion always reminds me how absurd it is that what I am doing is rebellion. And that helps me breathe a little easier. And get my shoulders down from my ear lobes. And see that the divine truly does not care if I wear black on national holidays.

And that goddess is not in a building. But goddess also isn’t in the people in that building either. That goddess is everywhere and absent all at once and no one can tell us about ourselves (unless they are well trained therapists, in which case my advice is to listen) and life is half of what we make of it and then literally half advertizing (thanks capitalism) and half all of the shit that happens to us and the people that happen to us and how we definitely happen to them. And it’s messy. It is all so fucking messy and THAT is so much more pure than the people shaped cages we are told to be.

Be free. Really free. And really messy.