Caitie's Quick and Easy "Theology Course In A Blog"

[badatapologies]

When I was in my late-single-digits, my mom and grandma inexplicably insisted I start going to church. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that by age seven I was already trotting around in makeup and my sister's frocks on a semi-regular basis, that by the third grade I had already started shaving my eyebrows off and penciling in new ones, that I was both inappropriately girly and just a huge weirdo regardless of gender. Indeed, you're struggling to imagine which reason they ultimately chose for wanting to impress upon me the multitude of punitive horrors at the ready disposal of the sourpuss god of Abraham. But you would be wrong. It wasn't a "Scared Straight" thing. There might have been some minor hope of temporary holiness, but mostly I think they just wanted to get rid of me for a few hours each week. They certainly weren't religious people and I never saw either one of them enter a church a day in their lives. But they were steadfast in making sure I went.

I didn't mind much, at first. It was like the world's lamest book club. Maybe I was just too young to take much note of anything, but it all seemed innocuous (if preposterous, even then. Two of every animal, on a homemade wooden boat? So what, all the different varieties of elephants and hippos, then? And wouldn't they eat each other? And who scoops 40 days of every-animal-in-the-world crap? Even if it worked, the next generation of sibling-humping animals would all be twelve-toed redneck morons!) But hey, there were free cookies and punch, what did I care? Plus, I got to sing and act in church plays, which I assumed would lead to an extremely holy career as a gigantic superstar about whom horrible musicals would be written.

But, like the gathering menace in a bad TV movie, things slowly turned. Pastor Jim's sermons started being less about the Way, the Truth and the Light, and more about the looming hordes of abortionists, sodomites and Satan-worshipping liberal secular humanists out to put a chickenhawk in every garage and a cock in every mouth. The little Norman Rockwell picture-postcard images of Jesus carrying a lamb were gradually replaced by graphic pictures of aborted fetuses (with clever first-person narratives ostensibly written by the fetus.) Week by week, month by month, the little neighborhood church became a whitebread terror cell for Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority. I knew it was nuts, but neither my mom nor my grandma would listen to me. They carted me off to the Jesus H. Christ Nuthouse for Girls every Sunday, dropped me on the curb and went back to the racetrack.

By late November of 1980, things reached a fever pitch. Drunk with bloodlust after the election of their golden idol, Ronald Reagan, they began to organize weekly book and record burnings in the parking lot. Huck Finn, Vonnegut, Salinger, Judy Blume, all of Satan's earthly literary wags, onto the fire, little paper flecks of their demonic words floating up towards heaven (where one can only assume they were reassembled and burned again?) But the book burning was just an appetizer. Nobody reads anymore. Music was the main course. Pastor Jim would even go so far as to play excerpts from the records first, so we could establish exactly which of the Seven Deadly Sins the musicians had committed. We're not talking Twisted Sister here, people. Elvis Presley earned his glazed, deep-fried place in Hell for making himself into a false idol by singing "Love Me Tender" instead of directing his listeners to love God tender. (Actually, I hear God likes it rough, but.) Pastor Jim said that God had killed Elvis on the toilet for this little transgression, and that a similar fate would befall all other singers who dared challenge Jesus.

And then, eyes ablaze, face red and bloated like a hot house tomato, he pulled out the pièce de résistance of long playing evil. John Lennon's Imagine. He placed it on the turntable with a warped reverence, as if his soul depended on it. He lowered the needle onto the wax tenderly, lovingly, not wanting to miss a note. An incantation. The song began. I'd never heard it before.

Stanza by stanza, word by word, Pastor Jim calculated Lennon's damnation with methodical precision. No heaven? No Hell? No possessions? No religion? A brotherhood of man?! Atheism. Communism. Sacrilege. And of course, as a Beatle, Lennon had been a False Idol. He said he was "bigger than Jesus"! Plus, he boned an impure foreigner. "Race traitor!" Pastor Jim raged, pounding the pulpit like Khrushchev as the bonfire outside burned bright, waiting to receive Lennon's black offering. Yes, God was firing up a special place in Hell for John Lennon, and all who support him. His time was coming. Count on it!


Lennon was dead the next day.


I was terrified, of course. It had not escaped my notice that God's "enemies list" included all your various sexual deviants, your homosexuals, your cross-gender behavior. I didn't know quite what to label myself, but I knew I was damned by some definition. And I liked to sing. Plus, I owned two Beatles records! I knew I was doomed, that on some dark night while I slept, a murderous Jesus was going to sneak in my window and snap my neck like a twig, or send one of his followers to shoot me, or who knows what else. I kid you not. I was so scared, I can't do justice to the palpable terror. I sat there gasping for air, heart pounding so hard. The rules of the game were clear: God kills. Efficiently. Ruthlessly. I swore off rock music immediately. I figured maybe I could try and work on the queerness as a long-term project. I laid there all night praying for forgiveness before it was too late.

The next afternoon I went over to my mom's house. The news was on, talking about Lennon's murder, and the mass outpouring of grief and loss and love for the man. My mom sat silent, an eerie stillness, watching the tiny black and white screen. I stared at her, baffled.

"What's so great about that guy?" I asked, thick with my newfound Jesus-approved smugness.


And then something unbelievable happened. My mom started to cry. I'd never seen it before. I have only rarely seen it since. She's not big on crying.

"He was a great man," she said, finally. "He was a very great man."

I started to tell her about what Pastor Jim had said about Lennon and Elvis. She half-heard me. She told me how Pastor Jim was an idiot, and how great Lennon had been, and that burning books and records was a very stupid idea. And then she went in the bedroom alone, closed the door, and cried.

I walked back to my house, angry and confused and crying, but mostly angry. I felt bad for making my mom cry with my idiotic remark, but I was madder at someone else. Suddenly it all came into focus. The "ark"?! Cain's wife!? If there are only Adam and Eve to start with, isn't Cain fucking his sister? Giants in the land of Nod? Leviticus? Killing the firstborn? No evolution? Killing Elvis for "Love Me Tender"? Making me a boy when clearly I was a girl in every practical sense? It hit me so hard I could feel it in my body: God is a fucking halfwit! God kills puppies! God makes cancer! God turns a blind eye to evil stepfathers! God killed John Lennon for no good reason! God made my mom cry! And if I had anything to say about it, that son of a bitch was gonna pay.

I had a moment of abject terror when the anger subsided, when I realized what I'd been thinking. I'd committed a hundred mortal sins in the space of three minutes. I swallowed hard and waited for the executioner. The lightning bolt. The deranged gunman. The atomic blast.

Nothing.

Out of sheer spite, I tried a few more sacrilegious thoughts. Nothing happened. Impulsively, I shouted the Lord's name in vain. Waited. Watched my last seconds tick by on my wristwatch. The world went on as normal. A few birds chirped happily. The sky was still blue. I felt a huge weight off my back. I took a deep breath. Freedom. Freedom to think. Freedom to say rude things. Freedom to be wrong, even. I had to laugh. I'd been had! Great and powerful Oz, my ass.

I never looked at life the same way again. Inoculated with a healthy dose of doubt, Pastor Jim's flaming fetus sideshow had lost its power over me, and I dove headfirst into mythology and comparative theology and pop music and Judy Blume, so that I'd be well-armed against all such demagogues and charlatans in the future. It took a few months before I was finally able to stop going to church entirely. My grandma was tough to convince. She never did understand.


It was three weeks to Christmas. I asked for John Lennon records.

Comments

[tericol.livejournal.com]

That wheelchair dude is Jared Harris. He's Richard Harris' son.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I meant to see "Two Of Us" when it came out, but I missed it. I'll seek it out. Thanks for the tip.

[chaptal.livejournal.com]

(Caitie)

What a post. You have a gift.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Is it my gift...or my curse?

Thanks, Ed.

[chaptal.livejournal.com]

A curse? Oh stop that you!

[ticktockmary.livejournal.com]

This is great. I think I'll re-read it now, and again a bit later.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Thanks, Mary. :)

[randazanda.livejournal.com]

Amazing entry. Absolutely amazing.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Thanks. :)

[miffimifster.livejournal.com]

Incredible! You actually went through that book-burning, record-burning shit? Wow! The ignorance just boggles the mind...

We have a friend here, who's recently just turned religious on us... not just spiritual, but devoted/evangelical - scary. It is very disturbing to see that happen to a person who had otherwise seemed quite intelligent... It's like seeing them possessed. I hope he snaps out of it.

Thank you, for yet another great read.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

I did. Well, mind you, I never burned anything, but yes, the church I attended burned a few libraries' and record stores' worth of books and music. I remember it all too vividly.

I totally understand a desire for a spiritual life, a desire to know God or know if there is a God or just to be in spiritual harmony with nature if that's all there is. What I don't understand is the authoritarian, crazy-books-command-our-lives, kill-the-infidels mob mentality. Life is difficult, and I think reason can only bear so much. The aloneness when life gets hard, it's quite literally maddening. I think most people eventually need a God...whether there is one or not is beside the point. I do wish they'd imagine a more benevolent and loving model. I hope your friend snaps out of it, too. But I suppose people find comfort where they must.

Thanks for the kind words, and for reading.

[sprklngdimnd.livejournal.com]

Amazing.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Hey, thank you. Good to see you around here. I hope things are going well... see you in a couple of weeks!

I imagine

[carrieliebe.livejournal.com]

John Lennon was a gift that you gave to me. You probably don't know that. I was raised on the Beatles, but mom's favorite was always Paul and our house didn't have any of their recordings after they split. I have a perfectly clear memory of us (and Scott) going to see Imagine when it was released in the theatre. All three of us left in tears. These days, especially these days, my feelings for Lennon generally choke any words I might have. I often wonder if the world would be a better place if he were still here with us. I am pretty sure it would. Maybe my life's path would have brought me to my love of this man and what he stood for. It is equally likely that that my exposure in the theatre that night helped to shape my life's path. I thank you for that...and of course our hero, John.

Re: I imagine

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

This meant a lot to me. Thank you for saying it.

I remember that night really well, the three of us. I drove by there not too long ago, where that theatre used to be, and I couldn't help but think of the night we saw Imagine. I hadn't known that it meant that much to you, and I'm really glad. He was a person of great character and principle, just as you are. Like attracts like.

In moments of hubris, I would like to think maybe I brought some good to your life (as you certainly did to mine) but I think the truth is, those good things (like Lennon) were always going to be on your life path, always going to be there for you, regardless. I was just fortunate enough to get to be a small part of it.

[revme.livejournal.com]

..wow -- the Race Traitor thing? I'm assuming that's not hyperbole since it's not raised as such. but, jeeezuz. I'm kinda lucky in that I was raised more-or-less atheist (if I ever asked, my mom would say we were "Christian" with no definition of franchise). So I never had to deal with any of that kinda stuff. Which is good, but geez. It was just one of those things where religion was never talked about but I knew the stories, of course, from our culture, and they always struck me as pretty silly.

In fact, my mother would yell at me when she caught me watching various TBN kids shows when I was around 8-10ish. I would watch them because they were funny and terrible. And she was apparently afraid I'd be brainwashed by that idiocy couched in downright bad theology. I just found it funny, and whenever she'd go to the store, I'd flip over to TBN until she came back.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Although the exact phrase "race traitor" was never used, he did launch into a much longer and less entertaining rant which amounted to the same thing. There was no open white supremacy-type rhetoric, just the sort of commonplace racism that spewed from your typical white suburban Republican churchgoer circa 1980.

The stories are silly, were silly. Some of them have value, but for the most part I knew they were ludicrous the whole time. I thought they knew it too, I thought it was all a mututally agreed upon myth, like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Regis Philbin. I was horrified when I realized they were serious.

TBN is another story and a whole world of delights, especially back in my geezer day when Jim and Tammy Faye (and their children Tammy Sue and Jay) were on the PTL Club all the time. It was a simpler, better time. They were greedy and vain and cheesy showbiz ridiculous, but they weren't overtly hateful or incendiary. They wanted attention and money and I think they also genuinely believed in Jesus in a peaceful, open way no televangelist or Christian media personality has since. Which is why them built him a $20 million resort and theme park. I kinda miss 'em. I have a bunch of Tammy's albums.

And I'm sure I don't need to tell you my very favorite thing about TBN and 70s Christianity in general. Three words: Davey And Goliath. It was practically a documentary.

[revme.livejournal.com]

Davey & Goliath is probably the only thing on TBN that I don't enjoy ironically -- meaning that I actually enjoy it. It seems to hit the best spots of religion, y'know? It's basically "Hey, don't be a jerk", which works for me, whether or not "because it makes God sad" is attached. It's a far sight better from shit like The Gospel BIll Show which actually had an episode on Faith Healing. (being a good thing, natch.) Eaaaaaaaaagh.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

I'm not a huge irony person anymore. When I was much younger I engaged in my share of snark (and I'm certainly not above it once in a while when something awesomely ridiculous comes along), but most of the things I enjoy, I genuinely enjoy. D&G included. (Probably why I am not a big fan of Moral Orel, which could have been brilliant but instead is just mean-spirited and unfunny beyond belief. Huge missed opportunity.)

Mind you, it's hard not to engage the irony when dealing with Tammy Faye. But (given her longstanding tolerance of GLBT folks) I have genuine affection for even her. Most of the time, things I'm supposed to enjoy ironically (reality TV or something), lately I just cut to the chase and hate it, or if I secretly love it (like, say, ABBA or Paul Williams or the Osmonds or the Carpenters or something) I just go ahead and love it, and forget the hipster irony pose. Life's too short, and in the end, you've got nobody to impress but yourself.

For the most part, D&G does get the parables/values right, it's not gratingly overbearing about The Lord, and it also captures that awkward, painful time in childhood where you honestly want to do the right thing, yet somehow everything you do turns out wrong. And needless to say I am crazy for the art direction and just the whole art of stop-motion animation. Clokey is one of the unhailed masters of animation. Don't even get me started on Gumby...

[revme.livejournal.com]

I'm not really as into Irony anymore either, but I still am a fan. But a lot of the stuff I enjoy like that that folks might think is ironic (D&G, The Carpenters, The Monkees, t.A.T.u.) is _SO INCREDIBLY_ for real that it's almost to the point where my non-ironic appreciation of it is in itself ironic, the way I will defend those things to the death and all. Oddly enough, though, I really deeply enjoy Moral Orel (though I haven't seen the new season yet), and I don't really find it too awfully mean-spirited. The thing I like about it is that it ISN'T a direct parody of D&G, and I think that would have sunk it instantly. Orel doesn't need a talkin' dog, cat, shoehorn, etc. And I don't know -- I thought the Christmas Episode was just beautiful the way that they did the whole documentary-style film shoot on the parents fighting, and then the last final shot where there WASN'T A PUNCHLINE. Oh my god that was so well done. It just held on Orel in the snow internally battling with his faith and at least outwardly accepting it and waiting for a sign from God that never comes.

Definitely w/r/t Clokey, too -- at the Art Clokey Retrospective Thingy they showed some of his experiemental animation (Gumbtasia among others) which was really really great. I'm not as into Gumby (at least the character), but it's fun to watch (at least, for me, in small doses) and the actual MASTERY of it is so utterly clear and wonderful. The only thing that made me sad about that retrospective (aside from missing the documentary that it was playing as a double-feature with) was that D&G were only represented by a recent thing where Davey & Goliath go snowboarding which actually looked a bit more CG than actual Clay.

And yes -- that's what I tell people; if I were Christian, my kids would have all the Davey & Goliath stuff on DVD and whatnot. And even now that I'm an Atheist, if I had kids they might STILL have that D&G stuff -- at least the later ones which were even less about The Lord Our God and even MORE about being a good citizen/not a racist/etc. Seriously, if the TBN Kids TV Shows were more in the D&G vein, it'd be pretty impossible to find fault with them. I'd actually encourage kids of any stripe to watch them, instead of discouraging actual Christians from watching them. Since instead of actually teaching good values and the Good Things with Christianity, they are all about the Otherness Of Non-Christians and actual Deeply Damaging Things like believing in Faith Healing which you know ACTUALLY HURTS PEOPLE. It's more about, like most of TBN, the Scam Parts of Christianity rather than the Lovin' and Tolerance An' Peace 'n' Such. Which pisses me off so hard.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

To be fair, I've only seen a couple of Moral Orels, and I probably wasn't watching with the right mindset (because I assumed it was intended as a direct D&G parody). The only thing I really got from it was that it was sort of making fun of/showing the hypocricy of the D&G-type values, and I got the sense it was saying, like, "ha ha, stupid kid, see, there is no God," which to me is just as overbearing as TBN insisting people are stupid and evil for not believing. But I'll give it another look, because I am dumb as a post and sometimes I make snap judgements.

The unaltered Gumbys from the 60s, which are almost impossible to find, are the best. In the late 80s they overhauled the entire series, changed the theme, dubbed in new (terrible) voices, replaced the original weird soundtracks with lame Korg synthesizer music, and vastly edited the content to remove anything even remotely politically incorrect or potentially child-warping. A total whitewash. Even the so-called "restored" Rhino box set that's out contains the 80s soundtrack, not the original. Sad. Anyway, the old rough ones are so imaginative and strange and handmade and surreal, much more Gumbasia than the "marketing" image of Gumby.

"Faith Healing" has always baffled me because if God is so powerful and so damned concerned for your welfare, why did he let you get sick in the first place? Wait, that's Satan talking. I just saw (the real) Bedazzled again the other day and am now possessed by the Satanic spirit of Peter Cook.

Needless to say I have at least one Davey and Goliath DVD around here someplace, packed in some box somewhere, waiting to move again.

[revme.livejournal.com]

Yeah -- you might check it out again. It's really more a parody of fundamentalism than actual belief. Nothing off the top of my head from the series is really that Belief Itself is wrong, just that These Folks Are Wrong And Also Pretty Sad, Really. (It's by a few of the Mr. Show guys, so I _think_ they're probably from an Atheist POV, but it really is more about the disconnect between what being a Christian is -- loving everyone, being tolerant, etc -- and what Fundies tend to do.)

But yeah -- I think if Moral Orel were more a direct Davey & Goliath parody it wouldn't work, since there really isn't much wrong with D&G to really point out. (In fact, I'm blanking on what it would be, really.) Though I like that they're using the form.

If you do seek it out, I really recommend the Xmas special, though. THat was the first one I saw/aired and even though it IS the season finale, it's what really made me go "WOW. This is really well done." (And IIRC, that's one of the episodes that's got a nod to the Crucifucks, so it's hard to go wrong there.)

I think that it was the old ones that they showed at the thing, because I was pretty surprised since it was the redone ones I'd seen for so long. by the way -- is Gumbtasia/Clokey's more experimental stuff on DVD?

[mcpino.livejournal.com]

Brava.

Thank you.

Once again, you prove that words have the power.

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Once again, you prove that words have the power.

I am the Chernobyl of literature. Lots of power, buried under a heap of dangerous rubbish. :)

Thanks much for the kind words, as always.

Remember when TMI meant Three Mile Island?

[mcpino.livejournal.com]

I am the Chernobyl of literature.

If this is so, I gladly bask myself in the radioactive glow.

Re: Remember when TMI meant Three Mile Island?

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

Management is not responsible for any extra toes you may grow while reading mcbrennan.

[shegeek1000101.livejournal.com]

Hon, git yer self over to http://www.scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/ now- you'll find some kindred spirits.