I'm really happy to be able to trade war stories here, most people I know are either religious or couldn't be bothered. Mine's kind of a long story, but here it goes…
I was raised in the church. Many of my first memories (all of which are quite vivid) are religion-based. My mother was the daughter of a Catholic and a Methodist, but was given a completely Catholic education so that's where my story starts. I was given the baptismal name "Gabriel" (after the archangel, also the namesake of the church in which I was baptized) although this name only appears on church documents. I was the altar boy that assisted at my sister's baptism as well.
When I was about 5 years old, we stopped going to church. I remember being incredibly happy about this, mostly because as a 5 year old I was terribly bored every Sunday morning. I always remember being terribly worried any time we passed by the church in the family car that my mother would suddenly remember to go to church (being young and naive, I thought she'd been forgetting to go). This went on for a little over a year. Then, suddenly, my mother announced that she'd found a new church (Lutheran) and that we would all begin going to church again. The next thing I knew, my family was standing in front of the congregation for an initiation ceremony. As an official member of the church, I was now expected to give money and go through the church's Sunday school program.
The sundays of the next few years were spent waking up at 7.00 sharp, putting on my nicest shirt (no t-shirts allowed, unless of course they had a religious message) and scrounging around the house for as many coins as I could find (I was expected to give a minimum of 75 cents every Sunday). Sunday school was kind of a bore, but I liked it a lot better than sitting in the Catholic church pew. The biggest difference was that it was geared toward the young mind. The Catholic services were all ritual and tradition, which a little kid doesn't necessarily pick up on. In Sunday school, the stuff started to make sense. All the kids would sit in on the church service every first Sunday of the month, and slowly but surely I began to understand what was happening, and even more so believe it. I became absolutely pious.
By the time I was 10, I was constantly volunteering around the church. Clean-up days, ushering at services, even helping to make the coffee for the adults afterward. I would go to all the events, gatherings, and concerts. I prayed as soon as I woke up, before every meal, and before I went to bed at night. Cross necklaces, t-shirts, christian CDs. I was a religious wreck. I made my communion that year and was given about $500 worth of gift money, which I put away and didn't touch for years.
Then things began to change. My perfect Davey and Goliath world started to fall apart. Between the ages of 10 and 13 I had a lot of personal struggles in my life, both external and internal. The family as a whole went through a lot of hard times, and suddenly my prayers had no effect. It was also around this time that I was put into the church confirmation program. I went through 2 years of intense bible study. This was hardcore christian education. Gone was the basic fluff of Sunday school, there was certainly no sugar coating here. I was made to read the bible cover to cover. At 13, I could completely understand what I was reading now (I had always been a relatively smart kid, just thoroughly misguided). None of it made sense. I asked questions in class but they were often deflected or danced around, and if I continued to dig for a real response I'd be reprimanded. I'd get in trouble if I didn't just nod my head and say "yes, pastor." I needed to find an answer, so I started to spend less time reading the bible and more time exploring. One day I found what I was looking for, a revelation that changed my entire life:
Believing in God was not the only option.
This new word came flooding into my life. Atheist. What did it mean? Could I become it? What would happen if I did? Of course, half of what I was reading did seem quite right. I didn't see half of the hypocrisy or judgment I was reading about. Everyone in my church was just lovely, disgustingly lovely for that matter. All sunshine and peaches and cream. Yet again, I would learn that falling out of sync with the rest of the crowd will get you into trouble.
When I was 13, I came out as gay. Now don't get me wrong, I always new I liked men (when I was 5, I had the BIGGEST crush on Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic) but I had no idea what gay even was, let alone that it was "bad." It was just a non-factor in my life; my parents saw no need to talk about it and of course back then you would never see that publicly displayed anywhere. At 13, however, I knew a little better. Coming out was absolutely rough. My mother did her best to accept it, partially thanks to her willingness to educate herself about it (she went to PFLAG and GLSEN meetings). Of course, she wanted above all to make sure I didn't fall out of "God's grace," something that I think still worries her. My father was less accepting at the time. We're on much better terms now but we don't talk about it. At that time, however, everything seemed like it was falling apart. With all the confusion and stress in my life, I started experimenting with drugs, alcohol and self harm etc. I eventually attempted to kill myself and ended up in the hospital. My mother immediately called a priest.
I went through a month of rehabilitation during which time I was separated from my family, the church, and their influence. I had a lot of down time in which I could simply think. I was offered religious services in treatment, but I turned them down every time. I recall my mother requested that I have time with a religious authority, but as per program rules only I could decide whether or not I wanted it. It was absolutely liberating. I came out of there a much better, much more rational person. Naturally, I was sent back to confirmation class before I was even sent back to public school.
This is when everything really changed, when I really saw the true nature of the beast. What I had been through was no secret. Everything was told to the church, and everything was gossiped about. The pastor knew about my sexuality, and soon so did everyone else. Suddenly, there were parents of people I'd known for years recommending I be evaluated for continuation, given home instruction, or outright removed from the program. People didn't want to talk to me. What was once "christian fellowship" was now distrust and in some cases straight up hate. That said, I was allowed to continue in the program. I finished it at the behest of my mother.
There's this strange tradition, if you can call it that, of the kids being confirmed fainting after being blessed during the confirmation ceremony. The congregation often declares this as the children being overtaken by the holy spirit. I think this has more to do with fasting the night before/morning of the ceremony, having to wear a heavy polyester robe in the Summer heat, and overall nervousness. I watched as one by one my fellow classmates received a blessing and promptly passed out. Then came my turn. A brief bible passage was read out in my name, and I was given a blessing as the pastor placed a hand on my head. I stayed upright. Nothing moved for a bit. I felt like everyone was watching, waiting. I didn't budge. I looked upward, with the pastor staring down at me as if I'd cursed the book itself. Suddenly, the ceremony started up again and the pastor returned to giving out the blessings, each accompanied by the thud of a newly confirmed teen. I was the only one not to go down.
After my confirmation, I made no attempt to hide my beliefs. I was done going through the motions. After many long discussions (and even more arguments) I was finally allowed to stop attending church, save for holidays and special occasions (weddings, baptisms, funerals). I'm 20 now, and a college student, and I have to say I'm much happier and far less delusional as an atheist (I now try to fix my problems, it works a lot better than my old method of hoping for help from above). I get along a lot better with my parents now. They're much better about all of my other quirks than they are about my atheism, however.
And I've never told this story in its entirety before, I think. Very therapeutic. Thanks for reading it!
I was raised in the church. Many of my first memories (all of which are quite vivid) are religion-based. My mother was the daughter of a Catholic and a Methodist, but was given a completely Catholic education so that's where my story starts. I was given the baptismal name "Gabriel" (after the archangel, also the namesake of the church in which I was baptized) although this name only appears on church documents. I was the altar boy that assisted at my sister's baptism as well.
When I was about 5 years old, we stopped going to church. I remember being incredibly happy about this, mostly because as a 5 year old I was terribly bored every Sunday morning. I always remember being terribly worried any time we passed by the church in the family car that my mother would suddenly remember to go to church (being young and naive, I thought she'd been forgetting to go). This went on for a little over a year. Then, suddenly, my mother announced that she'd found a new church (Lutheran) and that we would all begin going to church again. The next thing I knew, my family was standing in front of the congregation for an initiation ceremony. As an official member of the church, I was now expected to give money and go through the church's Sunday school program.
The sundays of the next few years were spent waking up at 7.00 sharp, putting on my nicest shirt (no t-shirts allowed, unless of course they had a religious message) and scrounging around the house for as many coins as I could find (I was expected to give a minimum of 75 cents every Sunday). Sunday school was kind of a bore, but I liked it a lot better than sitting in the Catholic church pew. The biggest difference was that it was geared toward the young mind. The Catholic services were all ritual and tradition, which a little kid doesn't necessarily pick up on. In Sunday school, the stuff started to make sense. All the kids would sit in on the church service every first Sunday of the month, and slowly but surely I began to understand what was happening, and even more so believe it. I became absolutely pious.
By the time I was 10, I was constantly volunteering around the church. Clean-up days, ushering at services, even helping to make the coffee for the adults afterward. I would go to all the events, gatherings, and concerts. I prayed as soon as I woke up, before every meal, and before I went to bed at night. Cross necklaces, t-shirts, christian CDs. I was a religious wreck. I made my communion that year and was given about $500 worth of gift money, which I put away and didn't touch for years.
Then things began to change. My perfect Davey and Goliath world started to fall apart. Between the ages of 10 and 13 I had a lot of personal struggles in my life, both external and internal. The family as a whole went through a lot of hard times, and suddenly my prayers had no effect. It was also around this time that I was put into the church confirmation program. I went through 2 years of intense bible study. This was hardcore christian education. Gone was the basic fluff of Sunday school, there was certainly no sugar coating here. I was made to read the bible cover to cover. At 13, I could completely understand what I was reading now (I had always been a relatively smart kid, just thoroughly misguided). None of it made sense. I asked questions in class but they were often deflected or danced around, and if I continued to dig for a real response I'd be reprimanded. I'd get in trouble if I didn't just nod my head and say "yes, pastor." I needed to find an answer, so I started to spend less time reading the bible and more time exploring. One day I found what I was looking for, a revelation that changed my entire life:
Believing in God was not the only option.
This new word came flooding into my life. Atheist. What did it mean? Could I become it? What would happen if I did? Of course, half of what I was reading did seem quite right. I didn't see half of the hypocrisy or judgment I was reading about. Everyone in my church was just lovely, disgustingly lovely for that matter. All sunshine and peaches and cream. Yet again, I would learn that falling out of sync with the rest of the crowd will get you into trouble.
When I was 13, I came out as gay. Now don't get me wrong, I always new I liked men (when I was 5, I had the BIGGEST crush on Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic) but I had no idea what gay even was, let alone that it was "bad." It was just a non-factor in my life; my parents saw no need to talk about it and of course back then you would never see that publicly displayed anywhere. At 13, however, I knew a little better. Coming out was absolutely rough. My mother did her best to accept it, partially thanks to her willingness to educate herself about it (she went to PFLAG and GLSEN meetings). Of course, she wanted above all to make sure I didn't fall out of "God's grace," something that I think still worries her. My father was less accepting at the time. We're on much better terms now but we don't talk about it. At that time, however, everything seemed like it was falling apart. With all the confusion and stress in my life, I started experimenting with drugs, alcohol and self harm etc. I eventually attempted to kill myself and ended up in the hospital. My mother immediately called a priest.
I went through a month of rehabilitation during which time I was separated from my family, the church, and their influence. I had a lot of down time in which I could simply think. I was offered religious services in treatment, but I turned them down every time. I recall my mother requested that I have time with a religious authority, but as per program rules only I could decide whether or not I wanted it. It was absolutely liberating. I came out of there a much better, much more rational person. Naturally, I was sent back to confirmation class before I was even sent back to public school.
This is when everything really changed, when I really saw the true nature of the beast. What I had been through was no secret. Everything was told to the church, and everything was gossiped about. The pastor knew about my sexuality, and soon so did everyone else. Suddenly, there were parents of people I'd known for years recommending I be evaluated for continuation, given home instruction, or outright removed from the program. People didn't want to talk to me. What was once "christian fellowship" was now distrust and in some cases straight up hate. That said, I was allowed to continue in the program. I finished it at the behest of my mother.
There's this strange tradition, if you can call it that, of the kids being confirmed fainting after being blessed during the confirmation ceremony. The congregation often declares this as the children being overtaken by the holy spirit. I think this has more to do with fasting the night before/morning of the ceremony, having to wear a heavy polyester robe in the Summer heat, and overall nervousness. I watched as one by one my fellow classmates received a blessing and promptly passed out. Then came my turn. A brief bible passage was read out in my name, and I was given a blessing as the pastor placed a hand on my head. I stayed upright. Nothing moved for a bit. I felt like everyone was watching, waiting. I didn't budge. I looked upward, with the pastor staring down at me as if I'd cursed the book itself. Suddenly, the ceremony started up again and the pastor returned to giving out the blessings, each accompanied by the thud of a newly confirmed teen. I was the only one not to go down.
After my confirmation, I made no attempt to hide my beliefs. I was done going through the motions. After many long discussions (and even more arguments) I was finally allowed to stop attending church, save for holidays and special occasions (weddings, baptisms, funerals). I'm 20 now, and a college student, and I have to say I'm much happier and far less delusional as an atheist (I now try to fix my problems, it works a lot better than my old method of hoping for help from above). I get along a lot better with my parents now. They're much better about all of my other quirks than they are about my atheism, however.
And I've never told this story in its entirety before, I think. Very therapeutic. Thanks for reading it!
![[Image: mybannerglitter06eee094.gif]](https://images.weserv.nl/?url=i118.photobucket.com%2Falbums%2Fo112%2Fpussinboots_photos%2FBikes%2Fmybannerglitter06eee094.gif)
