The
human body does not always respond to pain as quickly as it should. The other
day I was cubing up chicken and sliced off a small piece of my left index
finger before my mind could tell my body, “Wait a minute Hoss, that’s not
chicken you’re cutting anymore.” I felt the pain instantly, but it took some
time for the “cease and desist” order issued by my brain to reach the muscles
in my hands and arms. It may take a while but usually our brains
respond to pain.
Sometimes
though, we can be in pain and never even realize. If the pan is always there our brains will
compensate. Like the proverbial frog
placed in a pot of water which is slowly brought to boiling won’t jump out, we humans
can be placed within painful situation and never get the message we need to hit
the eject button.
While not literally true, the boiling frog
metaphor is an example of something real which happens to humans called
desensitization. When it comes to constant dangers our minds can betray us.
Sometimes, instead of getting out, we adapt. I spent 33 years as the frog in
the pot of fundamentalist religion. I
was in terrible pain and I never even knew until a few years ago.
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I
knew as soon as the phone rang and it was a colleague from the church I worked
for calling, I was in trouble. It was a holiday (Labor Day, maybe?) and he
would not have called unless something was wrong. It could have been any number
of things, being a pastor to the homeless was loaded with calls at inconvenient
times to deal with emergencies, but I knew in my gut the call was about
me. Maybe, I had been expecting it.
Maybe, I was psychic (I’m not psychic).
“Brent, I
am gonna need to come to my office and talk with us.”
“Okay.
Can’t we just talk over the phone?”
“No, I need
you to come here to talk with us.”
“Well, can
you at least tell me what it is we need to talk about?”
“I really
can’t.”
I heard the
distress in my colleague’s voice and I knew I was to be hauled in for an
inquisition. Even though I had been expecting this moment my mind
bounced around like a fishing bobber on a windy lake and my stomach felt like I
had been eating metal shavings for breakfast instead of Kashi Go Lean. I was
nauseated and panicked. I was a paper cut awaiting the lemon juice.
I
drove to the meeting nervously wondering which specific heresy they would
castigate me for. It really could have been any number of things honestly.
Almost everything I had taught during that time period was “heretical”. I had
taught against the doctrine of sacrificial atonement, denied hell was a place
of eternal punishment, disavowed the belief only Christians would go to Heaven,
publicly said I saw nothing wrong with homosexuality, and to put a nice cherry
on top of my apostasy sundae, my wife and I had begun broadening our sexual
horizons together.
We
both had grown up under the oppressive weight of believing there was something
bad about sex, with added damage from both of us being survivors of childhood
sexual abuse. After years of counseling
we both decided could be a very good thing and we had been missing out on just
how good it could be. We wanted the freedom to explore our sexuality and redeem
what had been taken from us in childhood. I will not tell you exactly what we
did in our sexual exploration (this is not that type of story, sorry.) I will
tell you everything we did was responsible, legal, and done together as a
couple. However, what we did were definitely
not things fundamentalist pastors and their wives are allowed to do.
I
had given my accusers plenty of ammunition for their firing squad. In truth it
did not really matter which of my “sins” they would castigate me for, the
results would be the same. I was not going to be a pastor much longer. I had
made my heretical stands and now I would pay the heretic’s price. I would burn
on a pyre.
I
paused in my minivan when I reached my destination and tried to calm my nerves
before heading in. Eventually, I realized
the futility of this attempt. There would be no calm for me and I knew it. Like
a lemming to a cliff, I headed to the office. Two of my church colleagues were
there waiting. They told me they were worried for me because they were aware of
some things I had been participating in which were “ungodly”. I did not deny the
charges.
I
did for a brief foolish moment try to defend myself, try to show my point of
view, but I spoke a foreign language. They had, what they believed to be, the
inerrant words of God on their side. How could I argue with such thinking? I
became a monolith, not moving or speaking; just waiting, listening. They wanted
me to repent. I thought of my ancestor John Proctor who was murdered by zealots
in Salem. Maybe this was fate. I desperately wanted to tell them to go fuck
themselves. I wanted to stand my ground
and burn. Instead, I told them how sorry (I wasn’t sorry) and repentant (I
wasn’t repentant either) I was. I had a wife and kids I needed to care for.
Heretics do not make much of an income.
Because
I repented, I was not immediately forced out. They allowed me to retain my
position in name only (clearly they could not trust me to teach anymore). They
gave me a few months to find a job. The young man I trained to take my place (I
had already made plans to leave the church) would just have to step in about
six months earlier than expected. I got up to leave, and thanked them for their
“mercy”. They begged me not to lose sight of who I once had been. I left. I
stepped through the door and into the sun.
I
stood, shocked. I had give all of me for ten years. Ten years, I cleaned up
after drunks who would stumble in and piss on the floors. Ten years, I broke up
fights. Ten years, I helped addicts try and fail, and try again. Ten years, I
put their God before my wife and children. But, now I was only broken rules and
doctrines, a “sinner”. I realized the
scales upon which religion judged were imbalanced. I felt the cut of religion thirty-three
years too late, and I finally recoiled.
I
realized when it came to religion people were of less importance than God.
Religion often hurt people, who undeniably exist, for love of a God, who may or
may not exist. Humanity is Isaac, and religion is Abraham. People had too often
been placed on the altar as a test of faithfulness.
I
hadn’t hurt anyone. I had loved people
deeply and helped many. I hadn’t embezzled funds. I had sacrificed immensely monetarily. I had
broken no laws. I had simply thought and behaved differently. Religion had not
seen me, it saw only my sin. The unfair judgment had woken me, and I finally jumped out
of the pot. I am lucky, many frogs never make it out.