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When I was about 11 years old, I
sat in the pews one fine Sunday, as most Sundays are in Southern California,
and listened to the sermon given by the preacher at our local Southern Baptist
Church. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t remember the details of the sermon,
except that it was on evolution and the Biblical creation story, and how the
Biblical story wins. It was about Adam and Eve (one bit I do remember) and various
other elements of the war being fought by Bible literalists and non-literalists
(and non-Christians). I do remember being shocked at what an idiot the preacher
was, really and honestly shocked that anyone could be so ignorant. When we got
home and were walking up the path to our front door, I made a remark about it
within the hearing of my parents. Being a thoughtful and intelligent child at
that age, I may well have used the word stupid to describe the preacher and his
views. This did not go over well with my dad, who immediately scolded me for my
choice of words, though I don’t think he followed through on any opinion of the
sermon itself.
I’m not sure why that memory
sticks with me when so many others do not, but it is clear to me, with my
pre-teen/early teen focus on science, the space program, and dinosaurs, I had
already seen the light shone by the scientific method. And sure enough, that
light would come back to bite me on the butt many times in the future. In many
ways, I am a believer, or at least, I want to believe. I remember that
somewhere near this time, I decided to take that long walk down the aisle one Sunday
morning and “accept Jesus as my Personal Savior.” Several of my friends had
done the same thing, and I suspect that my young mind objected to not being
included in that special club. I remember being very uncomfortable about
changing in the room before and after the baptism (so much for Jesus being
first on my mind), what with the preacher being there too. The result was
sitting through the rest of the service (what there was of it) with wet
underwear. Everyone seemed awfully excited and happy for me, but I don’t
remember being or feeling any different.
So I was certainly willing to
have the stories I had heard in Sunday School be real, but there were
limitations. Adam and Eve, the talking snake, the Garden of Eden, and many of
the other tales were rather hard for me to take in whole without choking. The blood
baths ordered by God seemed easier to believe, and most of the non-miraculous
entries had that ring of truth given the state of humans and civilizations back
in Biblical days. Heck, we had just been through the Cuban missile crisis, and
JFK had been shot, and I could watch WWII movies and T.V shows almost every
night, so a bunch of wars fought for God seemed within the realm of reason.
Clearly, as a believer, I had a ways to go, but Jesus seemed like a sure thing.
Everyone I knew believed in Jesus; that had to count for something, and I didn’t
even know that not believing in God (or gods) was an option.
Of course, there was nowhere near
this level of analysis done by me at eleven. The stories of Old Testament miracles
seemed unlikely and had that fairy tale quality, while the New Testament Jesus
stories were miracles of a more manageable level, and seemed more personal. All
that said, I still had my doubts, and the notion of a God watching over me 24/7
was a little eerie, at least when I thought of it. So to sum up, I believed in
God, Jesus and had no idea what the Holy Ghost was supposed to do, was shaky in
my belief of the larger O.T. miracles and more accepting of the more personal miracles
including those that were done to help the Hebrews/Jews/Israelites get what
they were promised.
Who knew that in only a few short
years, I would begin to question everything I had been taught and begin my path
to freedom from Christianity and religion?
