I preached last night. In what seemed like a life time. I preached. It felt good deep inside of my chest, my heart. It felt good. It leapt out of me like the surprising fright of a loosed jack-in-the-box. My audience attentive, listening intently, gaining understanding and insight. They affirmed what seemed like new knowledge to the three that stood before me. You could see it in their eyes and in their nods. It felt good.
It was horrifying.
I felt dirty, like an impostor. That feeling you get after having sex as a teenager having been told your whole life that you shouldn’t have sex, sex is bad, bad things happen after sex.
I felt that sting, that horrible, shameful sting.
It has not made me want to do better, to clean up my life, to “do the right thing”. To walk with Jesus once more. No, it makes me feel broken because of the echoes of the guilt programming of my clerical past. Possibly not of any one person’s doing but of the collective.
That moment of preaching was involuntary like getting an erection in your 5th period math class in High School. Nothing triggered it, a pretty girl did not walk by, I was thinking about math for christ’s sake. The words were in me and projected out of me like glorious, stupendous, religious vomit.
It felt good. Like some sort of verbal and spiritual masturbation and then…the guilt.
I awoke to a post on my wall. “Wanted you to know I’m prayin for you. Hope all is well. God put you on my heart this mornin. Love you.”
What trickery is this? What cosmically twisted words are these? I respond with a “Cool, thanks :D”. Not expressing my deep seated horror at a statement tike that. Don’t talk to the bad guy. The cosmic Daddy that delights in spanking, disciplining, hurting his children. Don’t tell on me. Damn it.
He’s not even my Dad. He said he fucking adopted me. Telling me that this is some sort of greater love than that of my real Dad. This is not the God of my forefathers but that of the Hebrews. Not the kids down the street but on the other side of the fucking world. The cosmic dictator that has thrown more bolts of disaster than Zeus ever could.
The echoes. The echoes. The echoes of the past ring loud and clear. “If you see anything other than a God of the compassion in the bible, then you need to re read the bible.”
At every glance, every pass, every stroke of the scribes pen that has been translated and mistranslated again and again. I see wrath, anger, hatred, favoritism, exclusivity, and elitism.
“Who are you to judge God and His word?”
Who am I not but that which God created me. To think intuitively, to not be duped. To not be bamboozled or taken advantage of. My GOD, dear judgmental people, I am not of your ilk. I don’t think like you, I never have. I don’t get your twisted form of religiosity cloaked in the guise of “relationship”.
I don’t want your chains, those painfully scarring chains. I’ve seen the church and as Israel was in the past so she is now…a whore.
The counterfeit wife and lover.
I’ve been betrayed by that which was suppose to be my body, the body of Christ! Christ?
You’d think that the church of the west, which permeates all cultures now, was a direct descendant of Judas. A dead ringer of his kiss on the lips of those that profess to love the very one they are betraying.
Pain, betrayal, butchery of the soul. These are the words that tear at my heart each time someone says, “Where do you go to church.”, “you should come visit my church.” “The Church is full of people and people are fallible.”.
There is so much more to tell.
However, I can already sense the judgement being wrought by my words, this transparency.
I’m am more vulnerable and more free than I have ever been, true to myself, true to whom I think God want’s me to be.
Yet very deeply saddened and bitter and angry.
Washing away…washing away…wash it away…