(TW: religion, homophobia, sexual abuse)
A couple weeks ago, around Halloween, a few counselors and I re-watched the classic It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown (watch it, if you haven’t). Now, the whole thing is a blast, but there’s one particular quote from Linus that’s my favorite:
“I’ve learned there are three things you don’t discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve done a pretty crappy job at that.
I mean, it’s not all my fault. After all, I’m a political science major and you don’t just not talk about The Great Pumpkin.
But religion? Yeah, that’s a tough one.
It was a big deal for me. I still remember clandestinely listening to Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida” in my room. I remember my solemn vows of faith after watching Jesus get his ass handed to him over and over in The Passion of Christ. I still remember the nice old ladies who’d kiss my cheek and treat me like a saint for holding the door open for them at church.
For another thing,it gave my life meaning and direction. I was unashamed of the gospel. I could talk for hours about apologetics: original sin, defending the existence of God, that sort of thing. And I could show off on a drum-kit as much as I would have liked in the heat of a worship service.
But there was something wrong. It took me a long time to see it, and even longer to say something about it. Yet in all of the emotionality and spirituality, there were cancers:
I saw people who would rush to protect the unborn, but not the neighbors beside them in cages and poverty. I saw all of this talk of mercy and forgiveness laced with fire and brimstone. The idea was to love, but if one was to love the wrong person of the wrong gender, then it was a cardinal sin. I saw white savior complexes. I saw a drive for religious freedom, but for me, not for thee. I saw a call for sexual purity when sexual abuse is continually pushed under the rug. I was taught to see faith as something above the “world”, yet here I saw nationalism, fascism, and faith intertwine.
And I ate all that shit up for years until I couldn’t anymore.
Call it a crisis of faith.
I could tell you a million ways I feel guilt for supporting all of this and for standing by as it happened, but at the end of the day, it’s not my house that’s on fire.
Nonetheless, it’s created a complicated situation for me where a part of me is angry and would like nothing more than to abandon that life and that faith. After all, God’s a big guy, he can take it. Yet there’s another part of me that just wants to hold on to what made sense and felt safe.
If it’s any small comfort though, I can’t imagine I’m the only one who feels this way. There’s a lot of people like me, desperate for spirituality, but for the kind that speaks love not hate.
Am I a Christian? I don’t know. Yes and no. It’s a loaded label.
I can’t say I feel quite as comfortable in churches as I used to or that I’m quite the pious individual that I used to be, but I still discover God in my own little ways.
I discover God hidden in a smile. Hidden in hard talks. Hidden in nature and beauty and song. Hidden in the tears of the oppressed. Hidden in deja vus. Hidden in the color of the sky. Hidden in little miracles.
It’s not the same. It’s not quite as loud and showy but, but at the risk of sounding incredulous, it’ll do.
The Waterhole 
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