[ Golden Gater Online - September 11, 1997 ]
Christians say the darndest things.
Take last weekend, for example. Armed with a bottle of wine and the promise of an authentic Finnish sauna, I set out to Castro Valley with the girlfriend for some foolin' around at my folks' place while they were out of town.
I awoke Sunday morning to find my auntie had played hooky from church, embarking instead on a reconnaissance mission for God. She crept around the house, found the one unlocked door and sneaked in, ostensibly to let the dogs out. But she had already seen enough -- you know, a boozing, unmarried couple shacking up overnight -- and was convinced that I had defiled the sanctity of my parent's home. It was now a backwoods Babylon, a suburban Sodom, a goddamned sin-shanty on the outskirts of Gomorrah. We had a brief conversation; it went like this:
"I want you to know, Eric, that I still pray to God for you."
"Uhhh... what?!?"
"I pray that you will change your lifestyle. There is still time, you know."
I could have followed my girlfriend's lead and started laughing, but I realized I had to tread carefully. This woman was obviously insane.
"Look. I don't mind if you come here for the dogs, but I really don't need to hear this. Sorry we both happen to be here at the same time."
She looked at the floor and mumbled something about salvation or damnation, and the possibility of my pass to the Kingdom of Heaven getting revoked.
My morning was ruined.
Christians have no authority. Church services are a crash course in morality, teaching parishioners how to quickly spot and reprove sinners. After their weekly lesson, the floodgates are opened and legions of amateur sin-sleuths hit the streets like a swarm of locusts. They nail their victims with a one-two punch of guilt and hellfire. They speak in a strange, all-knowing vernacular that defies logic, relying on anachronistic Bible passages and parables to install God and delete Satan. I might listen to an ethics professor, but I'll take no grief from a hack.
No explanation of why things are sinful is ever offered. They judge actions without applying any context, and punish the sinner with endless badgering. I'll accept vertical impalement on a red-hot pitchfork as penance for crimes I've committed, but I won't stand trial in an impromptu kangaroo court. My ears may be deaf to the word of God, but their eyes are myopic to reason and tolerance. Rather than attempt to see things clearly, they hold a pane of stained-glass in front of them and insist everyone else should look through it as well.
And the worst part is, it's done under the guise of helping the accosted "sinner," seen here as a spiritual leper in need of healing. Christians seek to elevate the masses to their level, which carries an unsaid but clearly implied insult -- that they are on a higher level in the first place. People are reduced into three categories: Those like them, those who want to be like them and the damned. It's a self-serving, childish game, but I would much rather play "Kick the Can" than "Follow the Leader." Some say they're "born again," or they've "seen the light." I say they stuffed their heads all the way back into the warm comforting darkness of the womb.
If I wrote out a list of "sins," having religion wouldn't be one of them. It's a tolerable hobby. Pressing people to pick up a hobby against their will, however, is near unforgivable. I won't turn the other cheek when someone tells me I'm inferior because I don't eat Christ-biscuits, turn toward Mecca or rub some fat guy's belly. I'll proudly confess my sins -- I'm a glutton for lustful self-indulgence and an advocate of wrath. See you in Hell.
[ Golden Gater - September 11, 1997 ]