Losing My Religion?

Several people have asked about my religious beliefs, or lack thereof, so I decided to write a post about it. A very simple and very not urbane answer would be to say that as a child of bullying my tolerance for and ability to spot bullshit was cranked up to 11 at a young age. When bullies would threaten to kick my ass one day after school then two days later tell me I wasn't so bad or some such bullshit to make themselves feel better for having tormented me, a bell would go off in my head that might as well have been Paul Revere on horseback shouting into my bedroom window in the middle of the night only this scream did not say "The British Are Coming!" it said "Alert! Alert! This guy is full of shit!" So I became adept and sensitive to those moments when people were trying to dazzle me with bullshit. And simply put, religion happens to be a place where a whole lot of bullshit is shoveled about. But I digress. Let me backtrack. When I was about 5 I very clearly remember being sent to Sunday school every week for a period so that I could be "closer to God". Of course, at that point, I hadn't been bullied yet so I wasn't nearly as cynical as the shining bit of humanity sat writing this today. My mother has always been a Fair Weather Sunday Christian, so that was how we were raised. We didn't go to Church every week or very often, ever, but we would go twice a month perhaps and every holiday. Even as a little boy I hated the false pretense of Church. I hated dressing up in a button shirt and a tie and why would God care anyway whether or not I wore that or my Def Leppard Union Jack t-shirt to mass? The important thing was that he wanted me there, correct? But Mom sent me dutifully off to Sunday School where I had to dress up every week and sing hymns and learn about Christ's teachings. To be honest (and fair), I don't remember much about the actual school, just that I hated dressing up and I pretty much hated reading Bible verses but the singing was all right. 1 thing that very clearly does stand out, however, is my teacher discussing the father of one of my fellow students with another parent. The man in question was a drug user who had gone to jail and was trying to get clean. I can't recall the exact words she used, but I remember they were angry and dismissive and pretty much consigned the father to humanity's scrap heap and that even as a child that small I understood the dichotomy between human compassion that Christ supposedly preached and the bitter, cynical tone of my teacher's voice. It didn't make sense. Eventually, my mother relented when I complained that I didn't want to dress up and go read about God but stay home and watch Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein instead and I was never sent to Sunday School again. But a seed had been planted in my young little head. Not doubt exactly. Not yet. But distrust. As I got older and became able to reason for myself, my doubt and distrust grew. They were not helped at all by the fact that organized religion did not seem to want me. At least if I was honest about who I was. Or even about what kind of music I listened to. Or what kind of clothes I liked to wear. Even as a young teen I remember sitting in Church on Christmas Eve and having a quiet conversation with a friend of the family (a very devout, religious person) about the show Hollywood Wives, which if no one recalls was a trashy Jackie Collins book made into an even trashier tv miniseries starring Anthony Hopkins (!) and Suzanne Somers. One of the characters in the book was a gay hair salon owner who takes in one of the main characters. The woman told me how much she had loved the book and that character, but she took great pains to express her reluctance, telling me: "He's my favorite character and he's a very good person. BUT he's gay." That but was sort of like a door closing, if it had even been open any longer. Why would a supposedly caring, Christian person say that this character was her favorite but feel the need to add that "BUT"? And yet, as I got older, I heard more and more of this exclusionary language. We're all familiar with it. God loves you. Unless you're gay. If you're gay, you'd better repent and get on a reality show called "My Husband's Not Gay" and try very hard not to want to suck a dick anymore because if not you've got nothing but fire and brimstone in your future my friend. And yet so many of the people I would be seated amongst every Christmas mass (before I was old enough to start refusing to go) were beastly, horrible people guilty of any number of sins who shouldn't have been judging the family dog let alone another human being. They were bitter racists who complained about not only fags but niggers and spics (their words, not mine) as well. These were words I heard hurled around me all day in the school hallway. Used by contemptible bullies. Why were religious people who were apparently supposed to be living an enlightened life using these same words? Bullshit. Which is one of the major factors in organized religion as I came to find out. Everywhere I turned, a person holding a Bible was either spouting words of hate towards lesbians and gays (and even though I hadn't come out at that point, I knew full well that I had more in common with them than the person holding the Bible passing judgement) or telling me I was wrong to listen to Motley Crue. Judgement was everywhere, and I didn't find it all that enlightening. These staunch homophobic Christian politicians all over the tv didn't help matters any. So many of them were vehemently against social progress of any kind as far as queers were concerned. And yet so many of them would get caught weeks later sucking some young aide off in a Congressional bathroom. Why on Earth would anyone give any credence to what they had to say? And yet so many people did. And still do. It just seems like a massive bullshit story to me. And I've never liked eating bullshit. Not when I was 12 and Russell Keith would slap my face and then pretend to be my friend so he could slap it again a few minutes later and certainly not when I was old enough to know better. I very clearly remember being 14 (and pretty sure that my daily masturbating to David Lee Roth gyrating in assless leather pants on MTV meant more than I was willing to admit then) and taking a trip to South Carolina when it seemed that my step-Dad might be getting a promotion that would move us there. We were house scouting, essentially. We met numerous people during that long weekend. And one of the first questions they would ask would always be "What Church do you go to?" and when we explained that we didn't really go to Church the look of abject horror on their faces was highly disturbing. To them we were doomed. But I knew, ironically, that I had actually been saved. From bullshit. Lets face it, there's bullshit everywhere. Its not like religion has a claim on it. But lets just say they're currently trying to corner the market. I also concede that not all religious people shovel bullshit. I realize there are decent, loving, accepting Christians (and Jews, and Muslims, etc) out there who simply believe what they believe but don't let it turn them into a hateful bigot. I'm proud of them. I imagine it must be very hard. I sort of fell into the agnostic category for all of the reasons I have stated and also because I look at God the same way I look at ghosts and other supernatural phenomena. I believe they COULD be possible, and people I trust dearly have told me that they have seen them so I know they believe it, but never having seen them myself, I have to fall back on "There is no data". I guess atheists would say thats a copout and brand me as someone unwilling to commit, but I don't see it that way. I simply see it as keeping my options open and having an open mind. I sometimes, in times of depression, find myself talking to whomever might be listening up above whether it be God, or Fate, or my Nana who died 5 years ago, and asking for strength. As a rational person I realize that it could be that none of those entities heard what I had to say and simply thinking about them gave me the strength to get through my problems myself. And some might argue that this is the whole point of religion and Faith. But I did that myself, without dressing up and handing out money in a collection plate and hearing other people pass judgement on people like me. Simply put, I don't need religion to tell me how to live. I'm capable of being a loving, compassionate human being all on my own. That doesn't mean I begrudge other people having their own beliefs. I never have. I begrudge any people, religious or not, for hating and bullying and judging. Thats not just against Christian values. Its against human values.