Preserving a comment for posterity
Jul. 29th, 2008 11:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
velvetpageThis is me, going public with my change of faith. This entry is not filtered. It's not even friends-locked. I do hope that people who read it will respect that.
The comment:
When a right-wing church in Colorado was targeted by a walkaway with significant mental health problems, he was shot to death by a security guard. That is, a CHURCH thought it was a reasonable expenditure of their money, which came from donations of congregants, to hire someone to protect them with guns.
Contrast that with the response of the UU church in Knoxville, Tennessee, where a gunman was subdued and immobilised until the police could arrive, or the response of the Amish schoolgirls who volunteered to go first in the hopes that their younger classmates would be spared, or their parents who made sure the gunman's widow and children were welcome and cared for and had food to eat - and you'll see far more Christian love in the latter two examples than in the first.
It's HARD to be a Unitarian. It's HARD to believe that whatever you decide to practise, faith-wise, is just about as likely to be right as the next guy's religious practice, and it's HARD to really believe that that's okay. It's HARD to know that the people around you look down on you, possibly even pray for your soul or believe you're a cultist, because you insist on being a seeker, who may or may not ever find. It's HARD to remember that not being an evangelical means you have to accept those who are, without trying to convert them to your way of thinking.
In today's climate, attaching yourself to a church and believing what they tell you to believe is relatively easy, at least publicly; what goes on inside your own head may not be so easy, of course. Committing yourself to a lifetime of religious uncertainty is not wishy-washy or "not really believing much of anything." It's laying your soul open for all to see, and that's not a wishy-washy thing to do.
The comment:
When a right-wing church in Colorado was targeted by a walkaway with significant mental health problems, he was shot to death by a security guard. That is, a CHURCH thought it was a reasonable expenditure of their money, which came from donations of congregants, to hire someone to protect them with guns.
Contrast that with the response of the UU church in Knoxville, Tennessee, where a gunman was subdued and immobilised until the police could arrive, or the response of the Amish schoolgirls who volunteered to go first in the hopes that their younger classmates would be spared, or their parents who made sure the gunman's widow and children were welcome and cared for and had food to eat - and you'll see far more Christian love in the latter two examples than in the first.
It's HARD to be a Unitarian. It's HARD to believe that whatever you decide to practise, faith-wise, is just about as likely to be right as the next guy's religious practice, and it's HARD to really believe that that's okay. It's HARD to know that the people around you look down on you, possibly even pray for your soul or believe you're a cultist, because you insist on being a seeker, who may or may not ever find. It's HARD to remember that not being an evangelical means you have to accept those who are, without trying to convert them to your way of thinking.
In today's climate, attaching yourself to a church and believing what they tell you to believe is relatively easy, at least publicly; what goes on inside your own head may not be so easy, of course. Committing yourself to a lifetime of religious uncertainty is not wishy-washy or "not really believing much of anything." It's laying your soul open for all to see, and that's not a wishy-washy thing to do.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-30 01:43 am (UTC)I've always questioned what I was told, and either believed and lived it with everything I had (pushing down the niggling little doubts) or rejected it out of hand. The problem I've been having is that belonging to the Salvation Army led people (especially others in the Army) to assume I believed most of what that church teaches. Just being their felt like a lie, and I feel now like I'm telling the truth. The new problem thus created is that it's a hard truth for my family to hear. They're worried about me, and I can't do anything to alleviate that, because I don't believe the platitudes that might comfort them. That's the hardest part - separating myself from the community I've grown up in, that is integral to the identity of my family.