It seems all my friends are atheists, convinced that if they can’t hold it in their hands then it must not exist. If they can’t feel the texture or smell the scent then the reality of it is in question entirely. To me this seems short-sighted. I certainly don’t believe in the same God that my narrow-minded protestant parents seem so convinced is keeping track of every masturbatory emission but I have a hard time believing that all of this life and technology and what’s-all was happened upon incidentally based upon the collision of two objects de Space ala some big boom.
Something bigger than me put things in order, maybe they tuned out soon afterwards and have lost track of the experiment or maybe they’re really not as interested in whether we’re doing the right things. Maybe they don’t consider the right things to be the same right things that holy men have pushed down my throat for the past 30 years.
Maybe we’re running around here tithing the church that is monetarily and spiritually pushing conservative values and agendas erroneously while we look like the silly American trying to drink out of a bidet. I can’t buy into the God of the American protestant party that thinks we force all children to be born into the world regardless of the circumstances. I can’t buy into the divisiveness that follows when you start blaming homosexuals for all the perils endangering civilized wedded bliss. And I certainly don’t think God drew the arbitrary geo-political lines that men like to enforce with force in order to keep populace divided.
But just because modern Christianity has been derailed by false prophets and idolaters I can’t completely dissuade myself of the spirituality I feel at certain times when faced with the immaculate beauty of nature on a clear mountain morning, or the unadulterated joy that can be witnessed in a child’s eyes when they laugh, or the way beauty reaches out and grabs you in the deepest depths of an hallucinogenic experience.
My rents raised me in a church that forbade dancing, absolutely disallowed inebriants, and demanded obedience in the form of monetary tithing to the tune of 10 percent. I never figured out if they expected that from the gross or if they would overlook the portion that was automatically “tithed” to the government and at a slightly steeper rate for my middle class parents than what the church required.
I meant to find out, I really tried to learn. Went so far as to enlist in the Southern Nazarene University. After a year with Gods own gifted it became apparent to me that I was that bad influence that so many of them had learned about in Sunday School and so quietly slipped off the day after my second semester and found myself a paying job in Uncle Sam’s Army. Truly a saving grace for a malcontent like me, nothing relieves the stress and anger of being less than expected all of your life like laying down 800 rounds a minute with a machine gun. Get some, indeed!
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