I am now back home in my own bed, wishing that I had allergy medicine, trying to process this marathon of a weekend.
Yesterday I went to my old church. Everything feels jumbled in my memory right now, so I will probably just bounce from thing to thing. Hopefully it makes sense.
I had a long talk with John Michael, the director of Hell House from yesterday's entry. The night before my friend was screaming in his face about how Hell House was racist and he, a brown man, had been brainwashed into believing it all.
I explained why she was so upset, but he largely focused on how hurt he was. No one likes being called a racist, so I get that, but he just keep trying to say that Trinity is one of the most racially integrated churches in the metroplex and that he really cares about the people of color that he has portraying drug dealers and rapists. And really, how dare anyone make decisions about a church or a person based on one experience. My friend was the closed minded one when you think about it.
I smiled when I heard all of this because my friends and I discussed this very thing the night before. Evangelicals (and the alt right) really love to weaponize "Liberal Tolerance," claiming that they are the real victims because they are just wanting their precious free speech but they keep getting attacked for it. Though their speech is almost always hateful and inciting, we are the closed minded ones for not listening to them. Evangelicals are really the schoolyard bully that can't take what they give. They are happy to pass moral judgement on anyone, but cannot hear it. John Michael was unable to hear any kind of criticism, even from nice white boy me. I was very nice.
He went on to talk about all of us who have left the church. He asked about my friend Lori who came with me the night before. She was heavily involved in that church, but had left a decade ago to pursue more loving communities. He also asked about my friend Shanelle and seemed genuinely hurt and confused that these two people would have bad feelings about the church. We did so much for them, he said, tears starting to form in his eyes. I just don't get why they hate us.
I wondered then what he would say if I told him that my friend Joey was also planning to visit. Because I don't think it would be the same reaction. Trinity Church loved playing favorites with people. And certain free minded trouble makers were never very welcome. I always thought I was the latter. Or at least just sort of invisible there. Apparently though I was a favorite. Or am at least remembered as a favorite now. I don't know how that makes me feel.
The service itself was that bland beige megachurch format. Inoffensive pop music, a few people dancing in the aisles. The biggest disappointment was that the senior pastor was out of town. I always enjoyed his preaching. I doubt I would agree with any of it, but it was at least intelligent and delivered with impressive style. Instead the sermon was delivered by some hipster asshole evangelist who used a bunch of metaphors to say some normal boring Christian shit that reeked of bad exegesis. Classic Pentecostalism. Everyone ate it up, shouting and murmuring agreement. Big altar call, etc.
My biggest worry was talking to Pastor Tim. It actually kind of loomed over the whole weekend. Every conversation I had with either current or former Trinity folks had a Tim story. It made me glad I never had marriage counseling with him. It made me even more glad I am not a woman. Twice that weekend I had heard that in marriage counseling he makes a point that women don't enjoy sex, but must give it to their husbands whenever they want it.
The former church member repeated that story with ample vitriol and rightful anger. The current church member that told me the story said it with a kind of an eye roll—that's just Tim, you know?—both mentioned that his wife just looked down in embarrassment during that conversation. Kind of how Melania looks all the time.
But there were other Tim stories. Everyone from this church has one. He was the youth pastor for a decade if not longer. He was a former high school basketball coach and never lost that attitude. He demanded excellence and perfection and had no tolerance for those who disagreed. He intimidated the hell out of me. And I lived with his family the whole three years I was there. One of the last times I tried to talk to him about my struggles with faith, he accused me of being gay. I don't think I am doing justice to the fucked up complexity of our relationship, so for the sake of time, I will just say his voice was in my head for a very long time and it never had anything nice to say.
Not so yesterday. He looked so happy to see me. He told me I was his third favorite demon in Hell House (which is...nice) and that of the 21 different students that stayed in his home over the years, I was his favorite.
I told him that he was a big influence on me, and he suddenly looked very sad and said that he clearly wasn't enough of an influence since I had left the faith. He seemed genuinely hurt. I couldn't tell if he was disappointed in me or himself.
I also had a good conversation with Amy, the one who flew me out to Texas, and I finally understood her intentions. She is a hardcore empath, and told me that she was so deeply hurt by the way that Christians have treated people like me and Lori (and Shanelle and Joey and so many others) that she just wanted to love us the way we deserved. She is so encouraging to me because she wants to undo some of the damage done by the church. It was beautiful. I felt bad for suspecting a romantic motive. She told me that she doesn't care if I ever come back to Jesus, she just wants me to know that I am loved. I cried.
We had lunch with some church members. A lot of whom have been reading my blog and love it. It led to a conversation about what the church is doing wrong and what is redeemable from it. Which is more or less the conversation that I had been having since my arrival. It reminded me that there is a real hunger for authentic conversation and wrestling together to figure out what we believe. It affirmed that this is what I need to be doing. But I still don't really know how to do it. That's what I have to figure out now, I guess.
Before we walked into the church yesterday morning, Amy asked if I was okay. She said she knew that this could be a traumatic experience and was worried that it was just going to open old wounds.
I told her that I was deliberately going so as to open old wounds. It was like surgery. I was here to remove some diseased tissue so I could heal more fully.
And there were a few panic attacks and a lot of strong emotion that I don't think I have conveyed well (these entries have been so long, but still so inadequate).
But I do feel lighter now. I feel like I have gotten some real healing.
It makes me excited for whatever comes next.
8:17 a.m. - 2017-10-23
Recent entries:
It's Not Okay, but I am Okay - 2017-11-22
Pent Up - 2017-11-21
Fuck. - 2017-11-11
Stress - 2017-11-05
Alysson Writes - 2017-10-25
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