I feel that it is appropriate in this first blog entry to post something I've posted here a few times at CF. My journey to atheism.
This is my "testimony" if you will. I've been writing and re-writing this for the last couple of years and I'm still not satisfied with it. It's hard for me to try to distill the journey. But anyhoo...here 'tis.
A little background about me. I’m the youngest of 4 children and the separation in age from my siblings is 11, 10 and 7 years. As a result, I have both the experience of being the youngest child in a family and also being an only child as my nearest sibling, my brother, left home when I was 9. My parents moved with my brother and me from Oklahoma to Arizona when I was 7. We had no family in Arizona. So the influence of my large family in Oklahoma was diminished, and greatly missed, except for the summers that I went back to visit.
My parents, although both raised Southern Baptist, were not devout. In fact, I don’t remember ever going to church with my parents. My mother believed in God, in a way, but also thought that beliefs were a private matter. I suspect my father was an atheist until shortly before he died of cancer. Then he “converted” to Christianity out of fear of going to hell. Prior to his conversion, my father’s only comments about religion had to do with the hypocrisy of believers and how he couldn’t stand going to church. My brother is now and has always been an atheist. My sisters are now and have always been devout Christians of the Southern Baptist kind.
As for me, I gave little thought to it. I went to church with my Grandmother and sisters when I was visiting. But it was mostly out of duty and respect. I found church to be abysmally boring except for my Grandmother’s Bible study group. Those sessions I found fascinating and went to them whenever I could. I had a warm, fuzzy notion of God but it wasn’t very deep and I didn’t think about it much. Religion remained pretty much a nil factor for me until about 20 years ago. I was visiting my sisters and I went to church with them as usual. Except this time, we went early and spent some time in the pastor’s office. My sisters wanted to talk to me about my soul and had asked the pastor to be there to “run interference.”
I look back on this now with anger. While my sisters had all the best intentions, they did this when I was at a very low point in my life. I was recovering from a severe bout of pneumonia, had just broken up with a long-time boyfriend, was working in a low-paying job that I hated and was just generally miserable. It was manipulation, pure and simple, although at the time I didn’t realize it.
The reader’s digest version of that session in the pastor’s office is they asked me a series of questions about being a good person and whether or not I was a sinner. This tried and true evangelical method worked and soon I was sobbing, on my knees and praying the sinner’s prayer. When it was over, there were lots of hugs and I distinctly remember the pastor holding one of my hands gently between his, smiling softly and his eyes brimming with tears. “How do you feel now?” he asked. “Horrible,” I replied. He gently patted my hand and said, “It will be alright…you belong to Jesus now.”
My salvation was announced in the church service. Congratulations all around and everyone was welcoming me to God’s family. Inside, I was hollow and numb and horribly embarrassed. I was given a booklet for new Christians and encouraged to read it, follow it and pray. I did these things. Before I left Oklahoma, I promised my sisters that I would read the Bible…all of it…and that I would find a good “bible believing” church and go to it. I also made a particular promise to my Grandmother that caused me trouble later on.
The next five years were, simply put, bad. I found a Southern Baptist church in Arizona and became a member. I went to service every Sunday and bible study on most Wednesday nights. I prayed and studied and studied and prayed. I enjoyed the fellowship to an extent, but I always felt like an outsider. There was a huge emphasis on a personal relationship with Jesus. I sought that relationship with an open heart and a believing mind, but I never once felt like others said they did. I never once had any kind of epiphany or knowledge that Jesus was in my life. When I spoke with others about this I was told to study harder and pray more. It would happen.
To be continued....
This is my "testimony" if you will. I've been writing and re-writing this for the last couple of years and I'm still not satisfied with it. It's hard for me to try to distill the journey. But anyhoo...here 'tis.
A little background about me. I’m the youngest of 4 children and the separation in age from my siblings is 11, 10 and 7 years. As a result, I have both the experience of being the youngest child in a family and also being an only child as my nearest sibling, my brother, left home when I was 9. My parents moved with my brother and me from Oklahoma to Arizona when I was 7. We had no family in Arizona. So the influence of my large family in Oklahoma was diminished, and greatly missed, except for the summers that I went back to visit.
My parents, although both raised Southern Baptist, were not devout. In fact, I don’t remember ever going to church with my parents. My mother believed in God, in a way, but also thought that beliefs were a private matter. I suspect my father was an atheist until shortly before he died of cancer. Then he “converted” to Christianity out of fear of going to hell. Prior to his conversion, my father’s only comments about religion had to do with the hypocrisy of believers and how he couldn’t stand going to church. My brother is now and has always been an atheist. My sisters are now and have always been devout Christians of the Southern Baptist kind.
As for me, I gave little thought to it. I went to church with my Grandmother and sisters when I was visiting. But it was mostly out of duty and respect. I found church to be abysmally boring except for my Grandmother’s Bible study group. Those sessions I found fascinating and went to them whenever I could. I had a warm, fuzzy notion of God but it wasn’t very deep and I didn’t think about it much. Religion remained pretty much a nil factor for me until about 20 years ago. I was visiting my sisters and I went to church with them as usual. Except this time, we went early and spent some time in the pastor’s office. My sisters wanted to talk to me about my soul and had asked the pastor to be there to “run interference.”
I look back on this now with anger. While my sisters had all the best intentions, they did this when I was at a very low point in my life. I was recovering from a severe bout of pneumonia, had just broken up with a long-time boyfriend, was working in a low-paying job that I hated and was just generally miserable. It was manipulation, pure and simple, although at the time I didn’t realize it.
The reader’s digest version of that session in the pastor’s office is they asked me a series of questions about being a good person and whether or not I was a sinner. This tried and true evangelical method worked and soon I was sobbing, on my knees and praying the sinner’s prayer. When it was over, there were lots of hugs and I distinctly remember the pastor holding one of my hands gently between his, smiling softly and his eyes brimming with tears. “How do you feel now?” he asked. “Horrible,” I replied. He gently patted my hand and said, “It will be alright…you belong to Jesus now.”
My salvation was announced in the church service. Congratulations all around and everyone was welcoming me to God’s family. Inside, I was hollow and numb and horribly embarrassed. I was given a booklet for new Christians and encouraged to read it, follow it and pray. I did these things. Before I left Oklahoma, I promised my sisters that I would read the Bible…all of it…and that I would find a good “bible believing” church and go to it. I also made a particular promise to my Grandmother that caused me trouble later on.
The next five years were, simply put, bad. I found a Southern Baptist church in Arizona and became a member. I went to service every Sunday and bible study on most Wednesday nights. I prayed and studied and studied and prayed. I enjoyed the fellowship to an extent, but I always felt like an outsider. There was a huge emphasis on a personal relationship with Jesus. I sought that relationship with an open heart and a believing mind, but I never once felt like others said they did. I never once had any kind of epiphany or knowledge that Jesus was in my life. When I spoke with others about this I was told to study harder and pray more. It would happen.
To be continued....
