There's something wrong with the world today
I don't know what it is
There's something wrong with our eyes
We're seeing things in a different way
and God knows it ain't His
It sure ain't no surprise. -Aerosmith
My dad, Ernie Christie Jr, loved Jesus. You know how people say they love Jesus, but then they're afraid to stand up for their faith? Yeah, my dad wasn't like that, not like other people. Ernie was quick to let his emotions out. He would stand up for his faith. He would fight for his faith. Well, he would start swinging his fists over a joke. He would kill my pets for eating his food off the counter. But, when it came to talking about Jesus, Ernie Christie relied on his words. I watched him deliver many a sermon to many a fisherman, many a homeless drunk, and many a prostitute. He didn't seem concerned with their approval or disapproval, just the message in his heart. Some of it was a little crazy, but some of it was really insightful, forging perspectives on God that neither the church nor my rabid atheism have been able to dismantle, at least for me. How's that for a teaser? Ah, but I'm digressing. I want to highlight his impulsivity relative to his internal prohibitions and his internal prohibitions relative to his social surroundings.
Ernie was pretty bold about the teachings of Jesus with people who didn't frighten him, but I remember feeling awkward for him as I watched him ingloriously suppress himself to seem "well-behaved" in church. After he got out of prison, Grandma would encourage him to dress up and go. It only happened a few times. I remember observing him in that environment. He looked stifled and neutered, afraid to misstep. I'm sure now that he was sitting in those pews, boiling inside, yearning to regain his strength, stand tall, and turn over their idols and sacraments, all of which he considered an affront to the Jesus he loved. Dad was vocal with me about his opinions after the services. "Those people wouldn't have known Jesus if they ran over him on the way to Sunday School this morning. Damn homeless bums!"
Who doesn't stifle themselves in church? The devout may become completely out of touch with the feeling, having traded their right to fight for personal authenticity in exchange for a simple, settled false confidence or, rather, a denial of their abject submission. At 12 years of age, I had happily accepted the religious role which had been proscribed for me, already beginning to shame myself for any internal discomfort. Did I feel stifled? It must have been a weakness of my flesh. Obviously, conformity to Baptist propriety was God's will for me and everyone.
One time, Jesus drove people out of the temple, and it's still remembered. Maybe that kind of rebellion is not too common. I'll go easy on my dad for being shy. I went to church every week while my dad was in prison. At the time, I didn't understand his appreciation for the angry side of my happy, smiling savior.
I felt comfortable in church during that time in my life. It was my most comfortable social circle. Everyone loved Sammy. I could be flamboyant and speak freely. Of course, I was just really good at giving the crowd what they wanted. At age 12, I wasn't thinking for myself, so speaking freely was little more than clever parroting of what I had heard before. Dad's silent discomfort in church and angry vocal apologetics on the boat docks or at the bar were confusing for me. We just didn't feel the same way about Christianity. I loved Jesus. He loved the character in the gospels. All that whipping of people and turning over of tables in the temple made me uncomfortable.
When I was eighteen, I got him to let me attend a wednesday night Bible-study group for people my age. We met in the home of a very wonderful family. They showed me lots of love. Dad seemed suspicious, but talking about girls there that I liked seemed to ease him into reluctant acceptance.
After a few years, the group moved, trading welcoming home for cold church basement, loving family for organized leadership. When the new leader asked me to consider becoming a lay ( non-paid) leader in the group, Dad broke his silence. He thought it was wrong. The true follower of Christ wouldn't accept. "The greatest among you will be the servant of all." I argued that I would be serving.
"Then why be called a leader?" he asked.
I married a girl in that group, had children, and generally gravitated toward church service and leadership. Over the years, Dad became more supportive and less judgmental about my mainstream approach to following Jesus.
I cheated on that girl, repeatedly, and ended up leaving family and church altogether.
Years later, as a pot-smoking atheist with a girlfriend 20 years my junior, I felt the call to attend a church.
North Carolina voters were being dragged to the polls over some perceived need among believers to make sure gay people couldn't marry in North Carolina. It was already illegal, but, I guess the church needed to make it extra super bad. They were talking about it like they needed to stand up for Jesus by limiting the lives of those they judged. I had been hearing the two-faced rationale for months. It's hard to fight with folks who talk about how much they don't judge gay people when justifying their support of one man one woman marriage.
But then, the LORD provided for me...
A little Baptist church, two weeks before voting day, had posted on their front yard bulletin "This house is against the amendment." I saw it and planned to attend.
To be continued....
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