A River Runs Through It

It’s 10:58 AM Sunday morning and you can almost choke on the dust in the air being shaken off of the bones of the townsfolk. Not some toothless yokels in a barn spitting up each others’ already half chewed tobacco, not quite suburban wistful classism, but that happy medium where the railroad tracks split the folks that have too much pride in their wallets and those that have too much worry about having a wallet at all. Here we are smack dab in the middle of small town America where you step foot on sacred carpet; where everybody knows your name and the donations determine whether or not that name holds merit — the Southern Baptist church. A name as relatively spoken is that which spurns contempt amid an ever changing society, progressively wavering away from the construct of organized religion. Rightfully so. This rural existence centers mostly on God’s law and not much else. Funny enough, the ideals of such have reached far beyond small town America where the beer is good, and the guns are loaded and is concrete across itself in whole. 11:00 o’clock. Will the congregation please stand?

I know that as you’re reading this, any number of thoughts could be crossing your mind. “Where is this going," "Is this some bitter or cynical view of God from another dumb liberal atheist,” or “Am I about to get lectured on the benefits of Christian values?” I will be the first to tell you that none, or possibly even all of those are valid questions. At the risk of calling this some sort of pretentious “think piece,” I’m writing this as a firsthand account of the inside of a system of belief. Hell, who is to even say that this won’t even be some roundabout apology for the way believers have presented themselves to the world. Maybe it’s a personal chest reliever. Some spiritual (Hey, God? It’s me, Margaret. If you’re out there, strike me down for using the word “spiritual”) Vick’s Vapo-Rub to alleviate the nasty cough that is my feelings needing to be channeled somewhere. I’d like to think of it as more of a reaching out. A question begging to be answered only by provoking more questions.

At this point in our lives, we’ve all heard of God. More than likely, quite a few times dressed up in a few different names and—give or take—a hair style or two. I.e. White Jesus. Personally, having spent most of my life within the walls of a church, I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen the devout, I’ve seen those of little faith. But what has always bothered me about this particular sect of bible humpers was the lack thereof. It isn’t very difficult to walk into a room and sniff out the fresh pressed khakis and watch the Holy Ghost slide right off them and onto the floor where He should be expected to wash some humble servant’s athlete’s foot away. Where most of my life I was taught the most important statement in the bible is “God is LOVE” (1 John 4:8), it never really felt so. The notion that a person should believe such at the same time as being surrounded by people that adamantly spew acidic rhetoric about how subjective love should be is as insane as putting trust in two planks of wood draped across each other and whispering worries to the concept attached to it. When in so many separate incidents in so few words, many people within sight and earshot have been looked upon as though and even TOLD hell was their premier destination. Needless to say—and I’m gonna say it anyway—this can’t be love, right? This can’t be what a God so benevolent and merciful meant to be for his likeness in humanity. Or is this just how some or many so CHOOSE to believe?

I think a lot about the various patron saints of Catholicism and how that idea relates to the Greeks or the Nordic creating symbols or deities in attempts to rationalize or explain the mysteries of the world. Should it be so different for anyone else? Maybe this is cynical after all, and possibly just a series of tangents, but wouldn’t it seem that so many fears or this skewed justification of hate platforming off of “God” (let’s use current events of say, LGBTQ+ rights or Muslim immigration) are being held to a golden throne and used as basis of reason. It’s easy to say “this is wrong” when using someone else’ name, writing off what is or isn’t RIGHT or what one doesn’t understand because something higher than you determines it so. Therein lies the confusion. To just let fall this vomit, this hate speech in the name of a higher power that only ever asked of you to do quite literally the opposite in one simple word. Love. But, then again, maybe I’m just some heretical son of a bitch that never really got on board that high horse. Nay, (I’ll let you determine if that’s a horse pun) I’m just someone that put more faith in people, in individuals, rather than an idea someone had centuries ago to explain away the questions nobody really has answers to. For example: “Do I believe in God? Or do I believe in having an excuse to be the Devil?”