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I like Fox News, and they’re better than anything else that’s out there in terms of cable news and mainstream media, but you certainly can’t count on Megyn Kelly to defend a biblical view of roles in the home.  I mean, I don’t know how to describe the energy that came out of Megyn Kelly that day, but it was not a healthy energy.  It was an angry energy, it was a bitter energy, it was an attacking energy, it was like an angry feminist energy.  And it was like she was breathing fire — like she was dragon lady going after these men who were simply sticking up for and defending a biblical view of roles in marriage. — Bryan Fischer, former director of the American Family Association

So, tomorrow Megyn Kelly is going to interview the Duggars.  Which should be interesting, because Megyn Kelly is not a fan of the Duggars’s position that the best way for children to grow up is via heterosexual parents in a home where the husband is dominant and the wife submissive.

She’s not.  At all. Period. Zero.  And I’m wondering if that’s going to come out on Wednesday night, on a night when more than just the Fox News crowd will be watching.

There’s a lot Megyn Kelly is terrible at talking about.  She’s terrible when it comes to religious issues, race issues, slut shaming, lgbtq issues, poverty issues, and…well, just about every single marginalization that does not affect a blond-haired, attractive, wealthy woman who has made a pretty high-profile name for herself in the public eye.

Which means that when it comes to whether or not women should be looked down on if they aren’t homemakers…she’s…well, let’s let Bryan Fischer, former director of the American Family Association, explain it:

I just watched a little bit of Lou Dobbs and Erick Erickson Fox News and I want to tell you, you talk about a feminist on steroids, that’s Megyn Kelly.  She was hot [in context, he meant aggressive, not attractive]!  I mean, you don’t want to get on the wrong side of Megyn Kelly, because she was hot — she thinks these guys are Neanderthals…I like Megyn Kelly, but she is a feminist to the core, she was resentful, she was angry, she was bitter, she was hostile, she was aggressive to these poor guys that were there to defend the biblical view of the role of marriage.  I mean, so just a reminder — I mean I like Fox News, and they’re better than anything else that’s out there in terms of cable news and mainstream media, but you certainly can’t count on Megyn Kelly to defend a biblical view of roles in the home.  I mean, I don’t know how to describe the energy that came out of Megyn Kelly that day, but it was not a healthy energy.  It was an angry energy, it was a bitter energy, it was an attacking energy, it was like an angry feminist energy.  And it was like she was breathing fire — like she was dragon lady going after these men who were simply sticking up for and defending a biblical view of roles in marriage.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EwgX5h0YgYc[/youtube]

Why was he furious?  Well, because of this, in 2013:

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufacEg6Yi2A[/youtube]

It’s a pretty serious take down, I have to admit.  And it keys in on all the things that the Duggars seem to support.  The Duggars believe that women should be submissive in the home.  In the clip, Megyn Kelly says to Erick Erickson, who said that the women’s role in the home is a more submissive one, “What makes you dominant, and me submissive, and who made you scientist-in-chief?” in a fairly sarcastic tone. After his response, Kelly reads from an internet post from Erick Erickson claiming that heterosexual nuclear families in which women stay at home work best according to scientific data.  She then gives the following feedback:

There is data to suggest that children of homosexual couples who are happily married — they are no worse than children of heterosexual couples.  And there is plenty of data to suggest that children of working moms, as opposed to stay-at-home moms, wind up just as healthy and able to thrive in society as the children of stay-at-home mothers.

Erick Erickson disputes the data, and goes on to say that there probably is a difference if you look at another study.  Then he says, “I’m not judging them, and no one should, but –” and Kelly cuts him off.  “You are judging them,” she says.  And he responds, “I’m not judging them.”  And she shakes her head and responds, “You are, you are because you come out very clearly and say that you believe that women who choose to work instead of ‘staying at home to nurture their children’ and instead have the father do that are imposing a worse future on their children than women who make a different choice — the choice you and your wife made.”

Then he says that 75% of the population agrees with him on marital roles.  Her response? “Just because you have people who agree with you doesn’t mean it’s not offensive.”  He tries to talk, but she talks over him, saying, “I know in your blog — (louder, talking over him) I know in your blog you say that it’s feminists and — I don’t know what the word is…some kind of liberal…I don’t know what the word is…some kind of [smirks] eco-liberal, is that what you called them?”  He says the term is “emo-liberal” and tries to explain what it is, but she cuts him off and says that she’s not an emo-liberal and doesn’t describe herself as a feminist (key is “describe herself” — she didn’t say she was not a feminist, interestingly, although she did say she is not an emo-liberal) but went on to say:

I will tell you I was offended by your piece, nonetheless. I didn’t like what you wrote one bit and I do think you are judging people.  You seem like someone saying ‘I’m not, I’m not, I’m not, and by the way judge, judge judge, and by the way science, science and science and fact, fact, fact, fact, fact.’  Well I have a whole — this is a list of studies saying your science is wrong and your facts are wrong.”

Then, without giving Erickson a chance to respond, she turns over to Lou Dobbs, who hosted Erick Erickson on his show.  Lou Dobbs states that marriages are breaking up because men aren’t the breadwinners as much, now that women have more employment and the fields they tend to go into are becoming more available than traditionally male jobs.  When he says that this is causing marriages to break up, Kelly interrupts him.  “Why are you attributing that to women in the workforce?”

And the interview goes on from there.  She goes on to cite several studies an opinions that state that working mothers and stay-at-home fathers have children who are just as outstanding as when it is the other way around — even comparing the prejudice Erick Erickson has to the set-up she discusses to interracial marriage.

So on Wednesday she will interview the Duggars, who think that the husband should lead the family and the wife should be submissive in the home.  They’re the poster children for this viewpoint.  A viewpoint that, if this interview is any indication, Megyn Kelly hates.

There’s been talk about how there will be softball questions, but I have my doubts.  Take her preview of the interview on Fox News, for example.  While there is the sound bite of her saying there will not be a “cross-examination” indicating she’s going to throw softball questions…I have doubts after seeing this in context:

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEnh4vcjPJE[/youtube]

I think there might be a more aggressive interview for the following reasons:

• She makes a strong effort in the clip to distance Republicans from the Duggars — which an aggressive interview would do.
• She focused quite a bit on the victims — indicating the she wants to make sure she doesn’t try to force particulars that might incriminate them.  So she wants to protect the victims — an aggressive interview may serve that, although she would avoid the particulars.
• She says that although information has been improperly released, that fact “doesn’t excuse any of his behavior and it’s not meant to diminish it either.”
• She nods at 6:33 when the person she’s talking to says that there are “legitimate questions” regarding why the Duggars didn’t do more when they found out what their son had done, and when he goes on to say that one question to ask is why they signed up for 19 kids and counting with this in their past, she nods and says, “Yes, absolutely, and I will ask all of that, I will ask them about all of that. Nothing is off limits.”
• Although she said she doesn’t want to get into the specific details of what was done for the sake of the girls (which I agree with, by the way — I don’t want to hear anything about how Josh molested the girls, either), she says there are questions for the parents, Josh Duggar, and the policeman they went to.

So although she will not get into the specific details…she has every reason to ask tough questions, and it seems as if there are some strong indications that she will — as long as she can do so without incriminating the Republican Party and while upholding her other conservative values.

We’ll see what happens.

[Image of Megyn Kelly released into Public Domain by Matt Gagnon]

Baby grazes in backyard.  Image courtesy of Andrew Blight under Creative Commons License

One of the common jokes among atheists is that we eat babies. The joke is meant to expose the stereotypes many give atheists — in countries where religion is dominant (no need to rub it in Scandinavia), a stereotype of atheists is that we worship the devil (that we don’t believe in the devil doesn’t matter) and that we are morally bankrupt.  To us atheists, this is ridiculous, obviously, and we make fun of the stereotype by joking about the worst think we can think of — eating babies.

I mean, seriously.  What could be worse than eating a baby? (Possibly eating a baby without hot sauce and cooked anything less than medium rare (any more and it’s not as tender), but that’s beside the point.  It’s beside the point.  Moving on…)

I mean, this is a joke to say that yeah, you might think we atheists are morally repugnant, but we OBVIOUSLY don’t go around eating babies (except on Sundays during brunch as we conduct our Satanic rites).  It’s a way to make fun of the atheist stereotype with something so horrible and ridiculous that people would turn red in the face and have to admit that they atheists obviously aren’t the devil incarnate.

What kind of sick, twisted fuck would actually take baby eating nonbelievers seriously?

There’s actually an answer to that question, believe it or not.

The answer is, um, God — according, traditionally within Christendom, to Moses.  He (Moses…er, I mean God) was allegedly obsessed with the concept, which is a bit disturbing.  Especially when it concerned people who didn’t get along with his commands, like stoning people same sex, sex.  As Leviticus 26: 27-29 reads:

If … you still do not listen to me but continue to be hostile toward me, then in my anger I will be hostile toward you, and I myself will punish you for your sins seven times over.  You will eat the flesh of your sons and the flesh of your daughters.

Wow.  So it turns out non-believers eating babies was God’s idea, according to Moses, according, likely, to whoever made Moses up.  That’s a bit sick and twisted, if ya ask me.

But wait, there’s more!  Check out these juicy details of the punishments God (in the words of Moses, in the words of the bloke who made Moses up) promises to dole out to people who don’t follow all the commands (like chopping of the hand of a woman who attacks the genitalia of a man who is engaged in a fight with her husband) that God gives them.  According to Deuteronomy 28:53-57:

Because of the suffering your enemy will inflict on you during the siege, you will eat the fruit of the womb, the flesh of the sons and daughters the Lord your God has given you. Even the most gentle and sensitive man among you will have no compassion on his own brother or the wife he loves or his surviving children, and he will not give to one of them any of the flesh of his children that he is eating. It will be all he has left because of the suffering your enemy will inflict on you during the siege of all your cities. The most gentle and sensitive woman among you—so sensitive and gentle that she would not venture to touch the ground with the sole of her foot—will begrudge the husband she loves and her own son or daughter the afterbirth from her womb and the children she bears. For in her dire need she intends to eat them secretly because of the suffering your enemy will inflict on you during the siege of your cities.

So…yeah.  Serves you right nonbelievers.  You don’t follow the God of Moses of the guy who made up Moses, and you’ll dine on babies.  So follow God, goddammit.  Don’t you love your children?  You don’t want to eat them, do you?

And there’s an encore:  In Jeremiah 19:9, God, according to Jeremiah, will punish those who don’t follow him in the following way:

 I will make them eat the flesh of their sons and daughters, and they will eat one another’s flesh because their enemies will press the siege so hard against them to destroy them.

Ha!  The sick, twisted fuck is going to “make them” eat their sons and daughters as punishment for not following him…

So, it turns out, nonbelievers might eat babies…but God seems to get off — due to all the juicy details — on making them do it.

And then in Ezekiel 5:10, Ezekiel says that God says to the non-Judeo Jerusalem that, because the don’t follow Him, the following will happen:

 Therefore in your midst parents will eat their children, and children will eat their parents. I will inflict punishment on you and will scatter all your survivors to the winds.

Now, I know what you atheists are thinking.  Does the Bible have any good baby-eating recipes?  I’m glad you asked.  There’s cooking, which you might have to schedule — same-day boiling keeps the meat fresh, so you may not want to kill both children in the same day (although you want to make sure there’s some kind of safeguard to make sure no one backs out.  As 2 Kings 6:28-29a says, when relaying a conversation between two women being punished by God via a siege for Israel’s sin:

 Then he asked her, “What’s the matter?”

She answered, “This woman said to me, ‘Give up your son so we may eat him today, and tomorrow we’ll eat my son.’ So we cooked my son and ate him. The next day I said to her, ‘Give up your son so we may eat him,’ but she had hidden him.”

As for where you get the dead children — well, the Bible says you can’t murder, but there’s perfectly good meat to be had in rebellious teenagers you’ve stoned to death.  And it’s encouraged right there in the Bible, in Deuteronomy 21:18-21:

If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his father and mother and will not listen to them when they discipline him, his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town. They shall say to the elders, “This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.” Then all the men of his town are to stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.

But maybe you’re not ready to branch out to stoned teenagers yet.  Well, God encourages the deaths of plenty of young, plump infants.  It would be a shame to leave the meat just sitting there.  Take 1 Samuel 15:3, for example where God allegedly, according to Samuel, allegedly, says this:

“Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children andinfants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.”

Nor is this necessarily a sad thing to do.  One method of killing those dangerous enemy infants is throwing them up against rocks — it is a method that comes strongly recommended in Psalm 137:9:

“Happy is the one who seizes yourinfants and dashes them against the rocks.”

God (or the people who made Him up), is kinda into this, as He brings it up again in Isaiah 13:15-18 when talking about what He’s going to do to those Babylonian pagan infants:

Whoever is captured will be thrust through;
    all who are caught will fall by the sword.
Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes;
    their houses will be looted and their wives violated.

See, I will stir up against them the Medes,
    who do not care for silver
    and have no delight in gold.
Their bows will strike down the young men;
    they will have no mercy on infants,
    nor will they look with compassion on children.

Note:  This piece is mostly written tongue in cheek out of response to a recent blog post entitled “Twelve Reasons I Never Argue With Internet Atheists.” I’m addressing this post because it echoes many sentiments I hear regularly thrown at “Internet Atheists” by Internet Christians, and I think this is as good a place as any to address them. Although some items contain my honest thoughts, many of the items are just meant to be a parody. I’ve found that, while many will tolerate slurs towards atheists, it seems fewer are willing to tolerate the same slurs towards Christians without the disclaimer.  Maybe this will expose the double standard.  So, now that that’s done:

Some Christians try to pick a fight with the superior position of my atheism, but I never argue with Christians.  Here’s why:

1. Most of the internet Christians I’ve come across are ignorant – I don’t mean they’re stupid necessarily, or that they are bad people.  I don’t even mean they are uneducated in their particular field. But most of them are ignorant when it comes to atheism.  By this I mean they just don’t know stuff.  I don’t blame them for that, I’m ignorant about how to work an oil rig, how to play the trombone, the rules of badminton and a pile of other stuff.  However, atheism is one of the areas I do know something about, so it’s difficult explaining my position to people who think they know it already, which is why most Internet Christians aren’t worth my time.

2. Most of the internet Christians are “atheist blind” the way a person might be color blind – Arguing that God doesn’t exist with this kind of religious person is like expecting a color blind person to be an art critic.  Furthermore, many of them are blind to the truth regarding the status of God’s (lack of) existence but think they’re not.  Tough one.

3. Arguing atheism doesn’t work – This is why I don’t argue with any religious affiliation.  For a person to understand and connect with atheism they have to go on an honest search themselves and really seek the answers. “Seek and you shall find” and all that. Arguments don’t really fit with the kind of simple acceptance of atheism that I’m looking for.  However, if a person – any person – is an honest enquirer and wants to learn more about atheism, I’ll spend all the time in the world trying to point the way (as long as they don’t express disagreement with what I’m saying).

4. There are better debaters out there – Chances are high that if you’re debating a relative or friend about atheism on the internet, they’re probably not worth your time. Why?  Because they’re on the Internet.  I think the humble way here is to make sure I only discuss these matters with those who approach my caliber, and not the Internet Christian (by  that I mean Christians, like you, you are on the Internet).  There are many atheist sites that you can conduct rational conversations about God and religion (although not all people do).  I would recommend a religious one, like Strange Notions…but commentary against same-sex sex makes it a bit too disturbing for me to really follow through.

5. I’m not that convinced about the usefulness of the “arguments” for atheism – I could argue for atheism very effectively, but I won’t because, you see, the whole not believing in God thing is larger than intellectual argument.  For me it’s just pure awesomeness to “sin” and stuff without having to worry about God or anything. It’s a bigger adventure and grander love affair with nature than anything the narrow-minded internet Christians are really able to connect to in their arguments.  It’s like music — I’d rather just invite people to enjoy atheism with me than have my stance challenged or reexamined.

6. Evidence? What Evidence? – Very often Christians will ask for “evidence” for the nonexistence of God, but I have never been able to ascertain from any of them what they mean by evidence. Do they want scientific evidence of the sort you produce in a laboratory that indicates disembodied consciousness seems an impossibility? Archeological evidence of sites dug up that contradict the biblical accounts?  Documentary evidence of contradictions in the Bible and unreliability of the earliest manuscripts?  Eyewitness evidence (as none of us have seen God or Jesus, for that matter)? Psychological evidence that indicates the Bible’s commands are often psychologically unsound? Forensic evidence indicating that the earth is billions of years old and Jesus was just a man (if he existed), like the rest of us?  You tell me what kind of evidence you want and I’ll try to provide it.  None have (probably because I don’t argue with them). Meh. Fugheddaboudit.

7. I’m called to produce first hand evidence – The most astounding evidence for the nonexistence of God is the work it does in the lives of real people.  It turns them into super humans we call “rational people with their heads on straight.” I’m trying to get to that place in my own life and thus produce irrefutable evidence of God’s nonexistence -proof that will convince the people who meet me and who are touched by my rational and secularly humanistic life.  That’s hard work, and I’m still climbing that mountain.  If I ever get to that point, then my life, I hope, will be my greatest argument for the nonexistence of God for those who have the proper respect for reason and secular humanism.

8. Many Christians aren’t Christians at all –  One of the reasons I don’t argue with Christians is because many of them aren’t even Christians.  They’re just people who hate the idea of there not being a God.  To be honest, the people who aren’t really Christians usually are the best in arguing with atheists, though, because the most honest, up front, and articulate Christian is the one who — let’s face it — has so many doubts that they aren’t really Christians at all.  Deep down inside, they really don’t believe.  I mean, they might call themselves “Christians,” but really they’re just people who like the idea of God but don’t really believe in it. Which is OK, but if the Christians who discuss atheism best are not Christians at all anyway, why waste my time?

9. I usually don’t hold to whatever atheism they reject – When I sometimes do get down to the level of talking to Christians (so “never” doesn’t mean “never”) and ask what they think atheism is, I find that I don’t believe in that atheism either. So they reject an atheism that say morality without God is meaningless.  Or maybe they think atheism is like Stalin’s Russia or Mao’s China.  I don’t hold to that kind of “atheism” either, so it’s a big waste of time dealing with people who present atheism that way.

10.  There’s often a lot of rage, ad hominem attacks, and dumb stuff you have to wade through – Why do Christians think it’s so smart to say stuff like, “If you’re an atheist, why do you hate God so much?”  That sort of wisecrack only shows their own ignorance of the way fictional concepts, like God, are often cause for concern when they impact ancient cultures, connotations in language, literature in general, symbolism, types of literary genre, human psychology etc.  I certainly wouldn’t mind if hey picked up on some of the things atheists I don’t like do, but why can’t they do a better job of it?  When these “arguments” are combined with condescending aggression, holier-than-though arrogance, rude behavior, vulgar concepts of being a s”sinner” and an amazing lack of any sense of humor it makes any discussion with most Christians a rather unpleasant and pointless experience.

11. My atheism is precious to me – I actually don’t believe in a God most people around me believe in, and that influences the way I look at things in ways that are important to me.  These ways are, as I grow older, precious, fragile, and dear to me. They’re like an old Chinese vase that I have inherited from the Buddhists.  It is easily broken, soiled, or marred, and you Christians don’t deserve and should not impose on it.  I would prefer not to bring it out for people who want to actually talk about it or for people who think I’m wrong and want to show me why.

12. Christianity is dull – Christians themselves may be exciting, charming, entertaining and vivacious people.  It is not Christians I object to as much as Christianity. I say it is dull because it is, at its essence, a substitute for and denial of reality. There can be nothing festive about it that has any true meaning.  There can be nothing intriguing or mysterious about it, because it’s not based on truth and is essentially made up to ignore the real world.  It is a negative, because it denies things like secular humanism and other things I like, personally.  It does not allow for positive growth in the individual human spirit.  It is something empty — with a nonexistent God at its center — and not full, like reality.  To me, it looks demotivating, and therefore that’s what it is…which, even worse, makes it uninteresting.

[Image Courtesy Of Mr. Seb under Creative Commons License]

So, this one pisses me off.  It pisses me off because it shows, clearly, the oppressiveness of the concept of Christian grace.

People think that “grace” is the most wonderful concept in Christendom.  But it’s the most offensive, in my opinion, because it is a tool the church can use to give you no recourse against people who have profoundly hurt you.  It is a way the church can say you HAVE to be OK with something someone did that was profoundly offensive.  Most common — among far right movements like Quiverfull and within the Catholic Church — it seems, is the forced forgiveness of child sexual abuse.

You think child sexual abuse is bad?  Get over it.  God forgave that person (especially if it is a man).  Move along; nothing to see here.  Oh, you’re not a Christian?  You’re LGBT?  Sorry, but the church is going to bear down on you, hard, and say that you’re an ugly-hearted degenerate who is unable to control his or her sexual desires around children, whether there is proof that you actually or more at risk for molesting children or not. Sorry, our magic wand of God’s grace isn’t bestowed to you, sinner.  But repent and say that our imaginary friend who loves you so much he wants to control every aspect of your life is the ruler of the universe, and we can use him to force people to be OK with whatever child you decide to sexually abuse.

And people deny this is true when it is right in front of our faces and has happened for years. Louis CK has a skit in which the Catholic Church is portrayed as an excuse for priests to “fuck little boys in the ass,” which has a strong ring of truth to it.

But you need to forgive.  They apologized, God’s grace and all that, so you need to forgive…as they turn around and judge those outside of their church as abominations.

Now, some people might thing this attitude is infuriating and break with the whole church altogether.  But that’s not allowed here.  No, no, no, no.  If the man is important to the church, you gotta forgive him.  Don’t be upset.

Well, fuck that shit.  I’m pissed off after reading this story, and I think all those concerned have every fucking right to be pissed off, and if you’re more fucking pissed off that I’m fucking pissed off than at the situation, fuck you for being part of the goddamn problem.

There’s this guy named Matt Chandler who lives right smack-dab in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, where I live.  He is the Pastor of this huge, contemporary megachurch called The Village Church.  And it’s nice, clean, and contemporary in feel, which is why it has over 10,000 members.

He’s also the author or co-author of several bestselling books that have high 4.5 to 5 star ratings on Amazon.  He’s kind of a big deal — and is a picture of a clean cut, fresh-looking pastor.

So, anyways, there’s this couple at the church Matt Chandler pastors whose names are Jordan Root and Karen Hinckley (formerly Root).  They aren’t just a side couple.  They’ve attended the church for three years.  For they even were sent on a missionary trip to Southeast Asia last August, which is a pretty heavy investment in the church and indicates a very strong connection to the people who attend the congregation.

According to Jordan Root’s former wife Karen Hinckley, Jordan Root was pretty well connected. In her words on May 21, 2015:

Jordan sought and gained access to a large number of children, many of whom represent some of the most vulnerable populations of children in our society. His ability to successfully manipulate others is evidenced by the complete trust that was placed in him by many parents, companies, churches, and organizations over the course of these years.

So he’s pretty well connected to children and the community (although The Village Church claims he never served the children there in any capacity).  And he had been viewing child pornography for years.

So the church and his wife found out about the child pornography in December, due to a confession by Jordan Root.

Which was smart.  Because Jordan Root knew how church worked, it seems.  He knew he’d be forgiven, it seems.  He may have also known that because the church said he was covered by God’s grace, it would force his wife to forgive him.

You don’t want to lose all your friends, do you Karen?  You don’t want to be isolated?  You don’t want people to stop inviting you over, to shun you in the Supermarket, to blacklist you from employment, do you? Then ignore that your husband, who has sought out hanging out with children for the years you’ve been married to him, has just brazenly — well, with an “apology” and “repentence” — went to the church and you and confessed to watching child sexual abuse for entertainment for years.

Get over it, Karen.  God did.  Because we said so.  But if you don’t, then God won’t forgive you, because we said so.

The upsetting thing is that God doesn’t even exist.  He doesn’t even bloody exist.  He’s just a tool to force Karen to stay married to her husband.   Can you imagine the marital counseling based on a nonexistent God?

…and be sure to be a good wife to him, Karen, as he “repents.”  As he seeks out more children to hang around. Say you love him, Karen. Have sex with him, Karen. Because we — I mean, our fucking imaginary friend we call “God” — has extended grace to him, Karen.  So what right do you have to say that’s not good enough, Karen?  What’s your spiritual problem, Karen?  Haven’t you done things just as bad, Karen?  Who are you to throw the first stone, Karen? Do you need more marriage counseling, Karen? You should be thankful, Karen, that he “repented” in front of the whole bloody church, Karen.  Don’t ask too many questions about the children of the past, Karen.  Trust God in this relationship.

Because God’s grace is sufficient to shut you up, Karen.  For the rest of your goddamn life, Karen.  Till death do you part, Karen, because that’s what marriage is.

And if you don’t, Karen, I’m afraid we’ll have to make an example of what happens to those who don’t recognize the grace of God to every woman watching.  It’s for their own good, Karen.

Yes, that’s what happened. Or, as The Village Church put it in Christianeze in a “private” email to members on May 25, 2015 (this is the source of several other quotes):

There is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1) and, therefore, no condemnation for Jordan. He has confessed his sin, and through the finished, redemptive work of Christ, Jordan is washed clean of all unrighteousness ( 1 John 1:9), met with forgiveness and granted fellowship with the body ( 2 Cor 2:5-8).  With that said, grace and love sometimes take the form of discipline and consequence (Hebrews 12:5-11) reminds us that God’s intent for discipline, as a good and loving Father, is the restoration and holiness of His children. The road of discipline is difficult, but when walked faithfully, there is a good end to it.

What is this road?  The church later says that their hope was that “after an appropriate [apparently as determined by the church, not Karen] time of healing and repentence, the married couple would eventually be able to come back together for the sake of pursuing possible reconciliation.”  It then states:

While there MIGHT be situations that end in the dissolution of a marriage, we ALWAYS hope for the power of the gospel to bring about a story of forgiveness and reconciliation. [Emphasis added]

Might be?  How about “ARE”? ALWAYS hope for forgiveness and reconciliation?  That doesn’t seem fair to Karen wanting to leave.

In addition, although they were upset with Karen for seeking permanent separation from her husband, they themselves sought permanent separation from him in several ways.  In their words:

Restriction from Designated Facilities of The Village Church

While grace is present for Jordan, he cannot and will not have access to designated facilities at The Village for his safety and the safety of our church. Some of the specific security protocols related to The Village include:

o   He is restricted to attending only the Dallas campus.

o   He is not permitted to enter any children’s facilities at the Dallas campus.

o   He must be accompanied by an approved Covenant Member while at the Dallas campus.

o   He must check in with staff or security before services.

I’ve wondered, for awhile, why Christians think that accusing me of being angry at their religion is actually an argument against my objections.  I mean, even if I were abnormally angry (which, according to a recent study, it seems us atheists, contrary to Christian perception, are not) I have absolutely no rational reason I can come up with that makes that good enough reason to think I’m wrong.  But Christians often seem to think it is — on the surface, the reasoning often seems to be that, because I’m angry, my argument is flawed and I can be dismissed.

I didn’t know how that worked, until I saw it from an angle at which it actually makes a lot of sense.

Oftentimes, it doesn’t seem as if it’s my anger that Christian are trying to separate themselves from.  It’s theirs.

Think about it.  Most of us atheists (at least, here in the Bible Belt — your mileage may vary) are used to Christians saying we are angry or something when we, for example, say their God is nothing more than an imaginary friend.

But wait a second.  Isn’t it obvious that the mere fact that I call the deity of a Christian an imaginary friend often doesn’t mean I’m angry? It can often mean that I think calling this deity “God” is profoundly mistaken.

So why, when I say the Deity is an “imaginary friend” does the Christian accuse ME of anger?  Because, I suspect, they are angry at the possibility that they are wrong.  And yet, we atheists rarely call you out on being angry.  Of course, we call you out on a lot of other things.  When you accuse us of being angry, many of us agree.  We’ll also focus on the fact that we think you are wrong.  But we seldom will call you angry and use that as an excuse to walk off in a huff.

Christians seem to do it all the time.

It’s almost as if there is this insecurity in much of Christendom, and they tend to be angry at its exposure.  They see that the criticism of religion makes them angry, but they can’t say that, because that exposes a lack of faith or trust that God is in charge.  They may not even want to admit their anger to themselves.  So they often leave or try to otherwise dismiss situation that makes them angry. But the atheist is still in that situation, and so the Christian links the atheist with the feelings of anger they’re trying to avoid.  This would explain why accusing atheists of being angry is good enough reason, in many minds, to stop conversing with them.  It’s not the atheist’s anger they are trying to keep from experiencing; it’s their own.

Although I’ve seen several atheists deny that they’re angry, there doesn’t seem to be a strong corollary in atheism to the fear-filled, projected anger many Christians seem to have.  Unlike many Christians, I don’t see many atheists using the accusation that others are angry to end rational conversation.  In fact, as a Christian, that phenomenon is part of what made atheism attractive to me — and Christianity so frustrating.  Maybe I’m missing out on the atheists who will end a conversation simply because the religious person they are talking to is angry; it’s possible.  But this seems to be, at least predominantly, an attitude among the religious — and, again, even when I was religious I noticed this.

The really curious thing is that Christians, supposedly, have the very least to be angry at — that is, if they believe that what they believe is true.  I mean, they believe in this great and holy God.  The insecurity I seem to see does not seem to come from someone who thinks there’s a great God who has ultimate power over all existence.  It seems like that of someone who has an imaginary friend that they really, really, really wish was real.  Someone with a fragile belief that this imaginary friend was real that they really want to protect.

But maybe if they actually realized that it was the fear of their own discomfort with their anger at their insecurities being exposed that is the issue, and not the anger of the atheists, they would be able to leave the imaginary friend and more fully embrace a real one.  Which is why I’m not afraid of making Christians angry sometimes, even when fear causes them to use their own projections of anger and insecurity to tune me out.  Sometimes the truth is hard to hear, but shining light on the insecurities within a world of lies can still bring it to light, it seems.

As Gloria Steinem, an atheist, once put it: “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”

[Image Courtesy of Craig Sunter under Creative Commons License]

(Warning: Contains Spoilers)

The recent developments in The Game Of Thrones  have put religion on a pedestal in Queen Cersei’s world — and it turns out that they have a source.

The religion that is practiced in Westeros — the continent mostly ruled by the Iron Throne of The Seven Kingdoms — is called The Faith of the Seven.  To give you a quick recap — the minor character of the first Septon was torn to pieces in season two by the hungry of Westeros, and was replaced by a second High Septon, who was a corrupt hypocrite closely linked with politics — he is caught in a brothel and disposed of by Queen Cersei, who puts him in the dungeon of the Red Keep, which is her castle’s dungion (perhaps partly because he was appointed by her brother Tyrion, who has grown out of favor after killing their father and after being falsely accused of killing her son and former King of Westeros, the rather obnoxious Jeoffrey).  Replacing him, via Queen Cersei’s influence, is The Sparrow, a seemingly humble man who is upset at the corruption of The Faith of the Seven, and head of The Sparrows, a group of peasants who seem to be upset with the hypocritical political puppets and luxuries perpetuated by the High Septons of The Faith of the Seven.  The Sparrow is originally used by Queen Cersei to remove the threat of her son’s, the young King Tommen’s, wife Margaery, as she ensures that The Sparrow will condemn Margaery’s brother Loras for having sex with a man (which he did), and in turn condemn Margaery for lying to cover up for him (which he also did) — as a result, as of the latest episode Margaery and her brother are imprisoned, awaiting trial.  At the end of the latest episode, the power Queen Cersei has given The Sparrow backfires, as Lancel, someone she committed adultery with, has become a follower of The Sparrow and revealed their adulterous affair.  As a result, she, too, is thrown into jail.

In short, the history of The Faith of the Seven is one of a struggle for power.  In the hands of the crown, religion does the crown’s bidding. In the hands of a “true believer” like The Sparrow, religion becomes a constant threat with highly questionable judgment.

Recently, in an interview with Entertainment Weekly, George R.R. Martin revealed that The Faith of the Seven was actually modeled on a church.  In his words:

The Sparrows are my version of the medieval Catholic Church, with its own fantasy twist. If you look at the history of the church in the Middle Ages, you had periods where you had very worldly and corrupt popes and bishops. People who were not spiritual, but were politicians. They were playing their own version of the game of thrones, and they were in bed with the kings and the lords. But you also had periods of religious revival or reform—the greatest of them being the Protestant Reformation, which led to the splitting of the church—where there were two or three rival popes each denouncing the other as legitimate. That’s what you’re seeing here in Westeros. The two previous High Septons we’ve seen, the first was very corrupt in his own way, and he was torn apart by the mob during the food riots [in season 2]. The one Tyrion appoints in his stead is less corrupt but is ineffectual and doesn’t make any waves. Cersei distrusts him because Tyrion appointed him. So now she has to deal with a militant and aggressive Protestant Reformation, if you will, that’s determined to resurrect a faith that was destroyed centuries ago by the Targaryens.

And none of these are awesome.  One takes food from the poor.  The second is a puppet of the state.  The third is overzealous and aggressive in its enforcement of religious standards.

The criticism here seems on point.  Indeed, The Faith of the Seven — which combines seven manifestations of one diety — seems to have aspects of the Trinity, which George R. R. Martin also found confusing.  Again, from the same article, he stated:

Instead of the Trinity of the Catholic Church, you have the Seven, where there is one god with seven aspects. In Catholicism, you have three aspects—the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. I remember as a kid, I was always confused by that. ‘So there are three gods?’ No, one god, but with three aspects. I was still confused: ‘So he’s his own father and own son?’

Indeed, it is confusing.  It is interesting, however, that Martin examines religion in such detail when his own attitude seems so skeptical.  He provides an answer for that, as well, when asked if he is religious:

I suppose I’m a lapsed Catholic. You would consider me an atheist or agnostic. I find religion and spirituality fascinating. I would like to believe this isn’t the end and there’s something more, but I can’t convince the rational part of me that that makes any sense whatsoever.

I can’t convince the rational part of me that it makes sense, either.  It seems to be wrapped up in personal fears and hopes and politics and, oftentimes, corruption. In other words…so far, The Faith of the Seven seems a perfect portrait of institutionalized religion, thus far, that seem in line with my own skepticism towards religion.  It will be interesting to witness future developments.

[Image Courtesy of Gage Skidmore under Creative Commons License]

Although I’m a pretty vocal antitheistic atheist, I have to admit I feel a little out of place surrounded by many progressive Christian and atheist responses to the Josh Duggar discussion.  For awhile I just ignored the story, hoping it would blow over.  But it’s still going strong. And I have some things to say, so I’m going to go ahead and push through these tears and type them.

I wish I could join with the jeering and the glee.  I really do.  It would be easier than what I’m feeling right now.  But I grew up Quiverfull, as the oldest in a family with seven kids (including six younger sisters, and I would never dream of doing anything with them remotely close to what Josh Duggar did) so this story hits closer to home.  I don’t write about growing up Quiverfull often, because people think they get it when they don’t. It’s a world very few people who haven’t experienced it seem to understand, but I’m going to give it another shot.

The main thing most people don’t seem to understand is that there is a deep sense of trust that the principles you learn from the Advanced Training Institute (ATI) and other Quiverfull resources will make your family better.  You genuinely trust that it will make your marriage stronger, your relationship with your children richer, your children’s relationship to their parents and to each other far better in quality than anything the rest of the world is doing. I know this because of my own parents’ enthusiasm, which was passionate enough enough to influence several other families to become Quiverfull.

I think that’s what a lot of people don’t get. Being a fundamentalist to that extent is hard work.  These are people who often invest more time and energy into their children than most people do (the indoctrination is a full-time job for mom, especially), although it is clearly invested in the wrong direction.  I don’t think anyone should follow their example, but the parents often deeply love their children and trust that what they are doing is best for them.

And while they are caring for their children in the way they have been convinced to think is best, they frequently experience a lot of backlash.  People are constantly telling them that they are ridiculous and silly for following God in the ways they are trying to do so.  They always have Something to Prove.  The pressure is overwhelming, at times.

So, as I grew up the oldest in a family of seven who was raised Quiverfull through high school, this was my life. I wouldn’t call it torture for me to grow up Quiverfull (as it obviously was for the Duggars and many others — although it was difficult), so much as it was just what I knew, what I trusted, and what I thought was right.  It took me about ten years after leaving a Quiverfull environment to gradually leave religion altogether.  I was painfully wrong.  But I know, I think, what it was like to be wrong and not know it.

What I’m going to say here may be somewhat controversial.  I’m as antitheist as they come in many ways, but I understand, I think, why the Duggars did what they did.

It’s like this:  When you’re Quiverfull, you feel like you’re part of something bigger and grander than yourself.  You’re a cog in a larger machine, so to speak.  And you feel, constantly, like maybe you don’t belong — but at the same time, you have to belong.  Because this operation, when everything is working smoothly, is the fulfillment of all the best things about humankind.  The ideal is much like a duck or a pocketwatch — on the outside, smooth, graceful, and working, but for that beautiful picture of tranquility and simplicity to be maintained, you have to work furiously underneath.  That picture of tranquility and simplicity — you’re trying to perpetuate it; it’s what you believe in.  You’re in love with it, and it dominates your vision — kinda like a bright light shining directly into your eyes, blinding you to the imperfections.

And in the midst of the joy, beauty, discipline, and dedication to make this all work, inconsistencies look like setbacks.  Maybe you don’t have the perfect family beneath the smooth exterior — but the problem is not with the overall system, which is beautiful and serene and perfection incarnate.  The problem is with your operation of the machinery.  So you try to take care of everything quietly, behind the scenes, in order to protect the overall picture, because you still believe in it.

That’s why, when your son molests an underage child, your first thought is, “How is this going to ruin the overall picture?”  Not just for those on the outside looking — you’re lying to yourself, arguably, even more than you’re lying to the outside world. You don’t want to stop believing that this life you’ve dedicated so much time and energy to doesn’t “work” the way it’s supposed to, so it’s hard for you to see the mistake as being significant, let alone encourage the rest of the world to see it that way.  No, it’s a small tweak in the machinery that needs to be adjusted…

Now, that’s terrible.  I’m not saying it isn’t.  But what I am saying is that if we are going to go beyond gleefully laughing at the problem and towards actually diagnosing and solving it, it helps to know the nature of the beast we’re working with.

As a side note, this phenomenon has actually been proven.  Namely, if someone in your in-group does something wrong, like cheat on a test, you are more likely to overlook and even copy the behavior than if someone in your outgroup does the same thing.

As psychologist Dan Ariely put it:

If somebody from our in-group cheats and we see them cheating, we feel it’s more appropriate, as a group, to behave this way. But if it’s somebody from another group, these terrible people — I mean somebody we don’t want to associate ourselves with, from another group — all of a sudden people’s awareness of honesty goes up and people cheat even less.

So if your in-group is doing something bad, they’re a blind spot, and you’ll see the offense as much less of a deal than if someone in the out-group is doing it.  Why?  Because you want to protect your in-group.  You believe in the superiority of your in-group.  It does not necessarily mean that you’re innately a worse person than the average Joe.  It does mean that you want to protect the operation of your in-group because you see it as an overall benefit — an ends-justify-the-means view.

The way the parents responded indicated that this is the case.  The horrendous double standard they have here in seeming hand-wringing over the possibility of lgbt individuals engaging in child abuse, for example, shows the difference in judgment in high relief. Also, their hesitance in dealing with the issue indicated that they wanted to keep it under wraps. They saw their son’s behavior and thought it wouldn’t happen again.  Then they went to their in-group, the elders in their church, when it happened again.  As it kept happening, they went to Jim Hutchens, an Arkansas state trooper who happened to be a family friend…and who is also in prison for child pornography at the moment.  They “punished” their son via labor for another family friend and swept it under the rug.  All of this shows that they were trying their hardest to keep the machinery going.

And I know how beautiful that image they believed in looks, I know how hard those parents worked, I know how much trust they placed in a system that doesn’t work, because I grew up in it and had several friends who did as well…

I think it’s possible to see things from different angles.  I think it’s possible to see what happened to the Duggar family as sad, and at the same time be angry at their double standard.  I think it’s possible to understand that the parents thought they were doing what was in the best interests of the Greater Good, and at the same time grieve for the five girls who were horrendously fondled.  I think it’s possible to call someone a hypocrite and at the same time understand the reasons behind the hypocrisy.  I believe it’s possible to see black and white without thinking that one or the other is the only shade that colors the picture of what happened.

So I look at this as a mess, as sad all around, and as horrendously complicated in its raw simplicity.

There are two fixes that I don’t think will work, completely.

One is a forgiveness that encourages people to pretend that what happened didn’t happen — and that, worse, perpetuates the hypocrisy by seeking to cover up moral transgressions in the in-group while exposing them in out-groups.  No. We need to take a careful look at the Quiverfull movement, because things like this are a bit of a trend.  We need to see if this issue is systematic (as it seems to be), and we need to help the victims, and we need to remind the Fundamentalists that double standards are unwarranted.  We can’t forget what happened.

The other is to laugh and jeer.  And as someone who grew up Quiverfull and was laughed and jeered at, along with the rest of his family, for growing up that way, I can tell you that this will do a lot of harm and will only cause the families to craft a harder shell and retreat further into themselves.

What I wish would happen is understanding.  And trying to mend all the wounds — especially those of the abused — without ignoring them or forgetting they are there or trying intentionally to put salt on them.  I’m not saying that we’re morally obligated to do that; we aren’t.  But I do think, possibly, that if we’re going to get the Quiverfull community out of the shadows, some understanding may be needed.  Something that tells them that if they leave the movement, there are people they can trust.

I’m not sure I would have left myself if I had never known that.

Thanks for reading.

[Image Via Axel Naud under Creative Commons License]

When I thought about soldiers dying in war, for some reason, I thought death was this grim thing, with sad music in the background, huge granite monuments, somber-faced salutes, and this whole arena of deep sacredness to it all.  Which is why the death of my friend in 2013 didn’t make sense.  It didn’t fit.

I kinda still thought of him as a kid. He laughed and joked a lot.  He was ridiculously funny — I remember that when I used to to tutor in math — always jolly and cutting up, always laughing and smiling with a love that overflowed to everyone around him.  For a couple years, he was like the younger brother I never had.  Then we went our separate ways, as people do, and lost touch for several years.  But I’d see his ridiculous antics on Facebook, see the light in his dancing eyes the few times we got to meet, heard others talk about him with smiles, and knew that just by his being here he made the world brighter.  He was focused and did well in school and in his career, but he was so full of jokes and laughter that you wouldn’t really be able to tell.  Like I said, I still thought of him as a kid.  I thought that we’d maybe hang out once he got back from his Afghanistan tour, and we’d talk and laugh and catch up. It wasn’t, like, a big deal.  The kid was too friendly and outgoing and full of life to not have a full fifty years or so ahead of him.

Most people think they’re invincible in their twenties; this guy, without really trying, convinced us all that it was true.

And I hesitate to be too somber here.  On his Facebook page, people are still posting on his wall, cutting up jokes, etc.  Talk to his friends in person, and they’re liable to talk about him with more laughter than tears.  But still…it seems that one of the most common things said is that we don’t know how to make it make sense.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s no narrative I can access in which this death makes sense.  A name etched in granite doesn’t make it make any sense.  This blog post isn’t going to make it make sense.  It’s a piss-poor script for a life.

Why the hell did he die?

One of the ways some people have tried to make it make sense is by saying they’ll see him in heaven.  And, to be honest — his death happened about the time I left Christianity, so I wished I could believe that, for awhile, to be dead honest with you.  I mean, I couldn’t stand being around God, really, and there are a few problems with the idea of hell, but it would be awesome to die and see him standing there, waiting for me, grinning from ear to ear, giving me a hard time about taking everything so seriously in this blog post.

(But then, a couple weeks later, I had a friend who hung himself in his parents’ basement who, according to the theology I had grown up with, probably went to hell, and I was relieved not to be a Christian then…but that’s a bit beside the point.  Anyway…)

I don’t believe in heaven, though.  I think this is it.  So yeah, that makes the death of my friend hard.

There was a beauty in it, though.  He was a First Lieutenant, and he died because he was approached by a suicide bomber.  He went to check it out, saving most of his men — who would have died if the suicide bomber had continued approaching.  There’s meaning there in someone who had such an easy connection to everyone around him that that kind of sacrifice was something he would do without hesitation.  He wanted to protect his men and his country — the strong connection he displayed through the jokes and the smile and the outgoing enthusiasm made his heroism no surprise to those who knew him.  Of course he would have his friends’ back.

So that’s beautiful.  Something to recognize and learn from — dedication is not always in hollowed halls of somber tones.  Dedication to humanity is also found in the laughter and smiles we share.  If you want a bumper sticker, there ya go.

But that beautiful message doesn’t take away the cold, hard reality that I’ll never see him again. The death still doesn’t make sense…and, again, I’m never going to see him.  The world lost someone who made the world brighter, and that’s a shame no matter what spin you put on it.

I think that the fact that I’ll never see my friend again causes me to look at this life a bit differently.  I look at his life and I see that there is value in protecting people you care about.  And then I also look at it and I think that we need to be sure that this protection is actually protection.  Like, deaths in combat are sad, and we shouldn’t have people die deaths that they don’t need to die. But we also need to honor sacrifices that people have made.  And we need to respect our veterans and those who come back home with PTSD — I only experienced one friends’ death that I didn’t witness and hadn’t been in contact with for years, and it deeply affected me.  How much more psychologically affected would a soldier be who saw someone like my friend and others die?  Especially when you’re young…

I’m ambivalent about war.  I’d prefer we kill as few people as possible, and I’m more skeptical than most people concerning the need for various wars.  And my friend’s death makes me hate war more.  But my friend’s sacrifice makes me respect him more, and gives me a deep sense of humility and gratitude.

And the fact that I’ll never see him again makes both of those things — the criticism of the need for war, and the sense of deep humility and gratitude for the troops who sacrificed their lives for their comrades and, by extension, for me — very important to me in a way that doesn’t exactly harmonize or resolve.

So the anger from the fact that I’ll never see my friend prompts me to respect the sacrifice of the men and women in the military.  At the same time, I will not allow the grief over the death of my friend and respect of his sacrifice to be manipulated into an obligation to write off criticism of current or future wars that will send more people to their deaths.

It’s a reminder to respect and protect others; that’s a legacy he’s left me with.  And the reminder that this need not be a somber drudgery, just as thinking about him gives me a smile through the tears.

Happy Memorial Day.

[Image Courtesy Of Easa Shamih under Creative Commons License — significantly cropped from original]

The hardest thing I had to give up when I left Christianity was the concept of heaven.  To be sure, I do think that existence would eventually be boring regardless of the state I found myself in — eternity was a long time to live (although I’ll admit — as a believer I thought this wouldn’t really be an issue).  But there was also a disappointment that there were many family members and friends I would never see again.

I have to say — I think this is one of the reasons some I know cling to religion so tightly.  It’s this tenuous connection that they have towards the dead that gives them a vested interest in making sure belief in God and heaven and the rest is protected.

If I were in charge, I’d have to say that I would make death a bit more poetic, satisfying, and beautiful than it currently is. Because the death of someone I love…there’s nothing poetic about it.  It’s just a bare fact of existence that seems like it should be something more, so we try to make more out of it, but it’s just there — this equation in the way you live your life that just seems unsolvable, that doesn’t really make sense.  And somehow you have to keep living with the knowledge that there is something in life, a bare fact of existence, that, on some fundamental level of experience, just doesn’t make sense.

Not believing in heaven feels strange to me, I admit.  The idea was such a fundamental part of the way I viewed things that leaving the belief felt unnatural — a bit like the way you would feel you had a missing limb for awhile after losing it.  But at the same time, there was a sense of relief and acceptance — like there wasn’t any pressure on me to live as if there was a heaven, something I had always had doubts about.  In ways that are a bit hard to fully explain, not believing in heaven made the world here and now much more important and authentic to me.

The easiest thing to give up, by contrast, was the concept of hell.  Usually bringing this up has many Christians insisting that the image I have of hell isn’t accurate — there seems to be more attempts to sanitize the concept of hell, in my experience, than any other concept in the Bible.  I think this speaks to how uncomfortable the basic concept is — it’s unpleasant to think that people are going to heaven, while others are going to hell (regardless of the way you define “hell”).

The most common thing I hear from Christians is that people shouldn’t worry about hell.  God’s going to be just and it’ll all make sense when we die.  But even the trust that it’s OK for this being to send some people to hell based on his own judgment (which is supposedly just, whatever it is) is disturbing — especially since the judgment of this supposed being doesn’t have to answer to anybody.  Like, when I read a book that says there’s all these things that God doesn’t like that I do, and that calls me a “sinner” when I’m not…your statement that you are simply trusting God’s judgment really puts a damper on our relationship.  I mean, the encouragement “just trust God — no point in asking questions” has, in my experience, caused people to judge me based on what a book says, and all rebuttals are met with a shrug and, “God’s just”….over and above my own defense of who I am.  It’s frustrating.

Furthermore, the encouragement to trust God’s judgment above our own experience and sense of empathy is, if God doesn’t exist, an encouragement to trust a fictional being that is created by a few people, and for that trust to actually trump our actual real-life experiences and relationships.

During my last few years as a Christian, this approach of “just trust God’s judgment” wasn’t enough for me.  I was always trying to look behind the curtain.  Also, I was beginning to trust my own love and valuation of other people so much that God’s supposed opinion of how worthy they were to go to heaven began to matter less and less.  The refrain, “Oh, if you saw it from God’s view it would all make sense” was an increasingly difficult position to take…my own empathy and trust in the beauty of other people I knew began bleeding through, and I began to see that the Bible — and the God in it — had less and less to do with the empathetic view of people that was growing in my heart.

And I eventually came to see that, although people are occasionally wrong, and although they do malicious things once in a while…no one deserves eternity in hell.  So it’s a real relief not to believe in it.

And it’s really nice to live for the world that actually exists without feeling as if this life will be judged by a higher power.

It’s simpler.  I enjoy life as it comes, embrace people who make this life better, and more soberly and honestly appreciate the lives of those who have gone before, knowing that there is only one me and that, for awhile, I contributed another verse to existence in a unique way that no one can replace and that doesn’t seem likely to come around again.

Leaving the concept of hell has given me a lot of peace.  Asking me if I miss the concept of heaven (as an abstractly beautiful place — I wouldn’t want to spend a moment with the God of the Bible up there) is like asking me if I wish I could believe there were a million dollars in my bank account.  Sure, it would be nice to see a couple buddies who have passed on after I die.  But many things are there that indicate that isn’t the case, and that death is just a part of existence that is is simply “there.”  This honesty makes it easier to live with myself and with others; there’s not this nagging view that I’m starring in my own Truman Show.  Things are more peaceful, in a way, when I don’t have to twist my mind to think things that don’t seem real…leaving a lot more brainspace to get to the business of living a life that is, at least to me, much more authentic.

Thanks for reading.

[Image via Hartwig HKD under Creative Commons License]

The first time, after my deconversion, that I saw this video, I cried and didn’t know why.  Every time I see it, I tear up.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UYa6gbDcx18[/youtube]

Since then, I’ve had time to think about why that first reaction was so powerful, and a major reason is that it’s a reminder of something awesome about not being a Christian. I am not a sinner who needs grace to justify his being in the world. I’m not part of a human race that crucified the greatest man who ever lived.  I no longer think that my sins drove the nails through his hands.

I used to sit, silently, in deep meditation, every communion, in deep gratitude for what I thought Jesus did for me.  Although I didn’t admit it at the time, it was humiliating to have that gratitude.  The trauma of realizing how Jesus suffered crippled my psychology, I think.  I don’t think it does this to everyone — but if you really feel, deep inside, what Jesus did for you, profoundly and sincerely…I think your sense of gratitude would also be perpetual and overwhelming.  And with every smile and laugh in relief, you’re reminded that the fact you need grace is your fault.

It’s like being accused of murder, and then getting pardoned for it.  You’re grateful for the pardon, but every week you go to a building and thank the one who pardoned you.  You also hear constantly about how terrible what you did was, and how incredibly nice it was to be pardoned.  This makes you cry in gratitude.  It changes your life and the way you see yourself on a fundamental level.

And then, one day, you notice things don’t look right.  Maybe there’s some evidence that you were sleeping at home at the time of the murder.  Maybe there’s evidence that the person you murdered didn’t really exist in the first place.  Maybe there’s evidence that the accusation of murder was a mixture of conspiracy and coincidence that ballooned into a framing of you for this terrible, terrible murder.

And you eventually, after 28 years of thinking, every day, that you needed this grace desperately,  find out that the murder of this great, great human being was not your fault.  In fact, it didn’t even happen nearly the way it was described, if it happened at all.  If it did happen, it happened 2000 years ago and had nothing, at all, whatsoever, to do with you.

Maybe you would fall to your knees and cry and smile in relief.  Maybe all those years of psychological torment would fade away.  Maybe you would collapse in the sheer shock that this…all of this…was not your fault.

That’s what it was like for me.

But the difficult thing is that I still see people in Christianity who are lied to.  Who are told they are guilty of the worst murder in history because of their supposed sins.  Who are controlled by the lie, and grateful to the very people who perpetuate it because they voice “forgiveness” for it.

So there’s anger in seeing it.  There’s anger in people still trying to tell others they are guilty, and that if they are ungrateful for the “pardon” their sins will land them an eternity of torment.

That does make me upset.  After all, these aren’t people I just heard about yesterday.  I grew up with them.  They’re my close family and friends. I’ve experienced what they are experiencing.  And I want to help.

But then again…it’s not my fault that Christianity isn’t true.  It was created before I was born and I was trapped in it for 28 years.  It happened and it’s terrible.

But…it’s not my fault that it isn’t true.

It’s not my fault that people have been framed for a murder they didn’t commit.

So I work against it, and I try to convince them, but the realization that it’s not my fault keeps me going with some semblance of inner peace.

[Image Credit: Waiting for the Word under Creative Commons License]