Yep–me and Governor Pence got something in common. Not much. But it’s something. I feel the need to clarify. Though, truth be told, his clarification last week of the ridiculous bill in Indiana deeming it basically ok to
discriminate state your hypocritical religious beliefs as reason for refusing to provide services to others left a lot to be desired. And, again, I would pose the question, who orders pizza for a wedding????? Gay or straight???? I mean really.
I just realized me and the good Governor Pence have something else in common. My paternal grandmother was a Pence. Georgia (Pence) Burnett. Hmm. Let’s just hope there are gobs more than seven degrees of separation between me and the honorable Gov.
On to my clarification: I was raised a Christian. Roman-Catholic to be exact. So any issues I have with Christianity aren’t simply because I’m a hater. What am I? One who does not suffer intolerance and hypocrisy easily. Hypocrisy of purported Christians is nails on a chalkboard to me. Makes me crazy. Bat-guano crazy to be honest. I spent many, MANY Sunday mornings and summer weeks (Vacation Bible School) in catechism classes. For those of you unlucky enough not to be Roman Catholic, catechism is basically classes for the masses, usually the youngsters–Catholicism 101 if you will.
Let me be clear. I love the Catholic church. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Pope Francis. He is the dude. I love him almost as much as I love our President. President Obama and Pope Francis–two dudes who did. Back to the Catholic church. I love the Catholic church. I know, I already said that. I’m making a point. The church for me was a sanctuary growing up. Sunday mass was a refuge. It was always the same, week after week, year after year. Sure, the seasons changed, the holy days changed, the sermons changed, unfortunately sometimes the priests changed, but in general, the church didn’t. It was just there. A comforting home from the chaotic times of my growing up years. Enough said there. Do I agree with some of the archaic principles and practices of the Catholic church? Heck no. But I love the Catholic church. Not ever going to change.
That being said. I do NOT love those Christians who talk REALLY loudly about their faith, and how we all need to think and be just like them, and how everyone who isn’t like them or who doesn’t believe like them is going to hell in a hand basket. News flash. There is no hell. Hades is not underground with fire pits and whatnot. Myths. Scary stories told to get people in line.
Boy, I digress.
Where I was going with my clarification was this: I’m not hatin’ on Christians. I am extremely tired of the bigotry, the discrimination, the holier-than-thou attitudes, the cramming down our throats of the IDIOTIC, ASININE idea that this is a Christian nation founded on Christian principles. Even my 8 year old daughter knows about the separation of church and state. And that Thomas Jefferson specifically wrote that into the Declaration of Independence for a reason. Good grief. The Pilgrims/Puritans who landed at Plymouth Rock? Christian maybe. But certainly full of themselves and acting as if they were superior to everyone else as well. I don’t know what it was like to live in that time in England. Maybe I would have wanted to get away from good King George too. But they were after “purifying” the religion because it was too tainted. And then they tried to persecute those who didn’t go along with that. How is that different from today?
Again, give it up. This is not a Christian nation. Never was. Not really going to be. I read a post about the number of Christians and the number of Muslims and soon the Muslims will surpass the Christians. I don’t think the graphic was for just the United States, but for the numbers in the world. Wish I could find that source, I’d send you to it to see what I’m talking about.
OK, enough clarification.
So I took the dear daughter to church on Easter morning, dutiful Catholic that I am, and things were going swimmingly (the secret to Catholic mass on Easter morning is to get there at least 30 minutes early and to go to the 8:00 am mass as the 10:00 am mass is a High Mass and will last longer) and I was thinking this was such a good experience for her. To maybe get a feeling of the security and peace and calm that I did when I was her age. And then things went to hell in a hand basket……well, that may be a bit harsh. And may cause you to have a horrid mental picture. It wasn’t that bad. Let’s dial down the hyperbole shall we? Things got a little, well, skewed. The priest was doing rather well, I thought, in his homily. Very creative I thought and mentally I was giving him kudos for tying in the story of the man lost at sea (Jordan or something like that) and how he was just found on Holy Thursday and called home after being declared dead for a few months. Get it? See where we’re headed? “Rising from the dead” so to speak. SO TO SPEAK. I thought to myself “clever, sir, very clever.” But then. BUT THEN: he went on to say (and I knew he was headed here, but I didn’t know he was going to do it this way) that Jesus did the same thing, only he rose from the dead, IN HIS BODY. He really rose from the dead, he said. In his physical body. He was practically shouting this now and I had to keep my jaw from dropping because the church was full and my daughter was sitting there and my mother (who goes to this church every week) didn’t need to have her adult daughter create a scene. But seriously. I have spent a long time teaching my daughter about life and death, and the finality of death, and the impracticality of “rising from the dead,” etc, etc, etc. I don’t even let her watch The Walking Dead with me (I know–why WOULD I do that?). Because eight-year-old children don’t need to think that if someone dies, it’s ok, they’re just going to come back to life in three days. Cause the man at church said so. Facepalm. But when he doubled down and said it again, I double face palmed.
He did not rise up again, after being dead (and not just mostly dead, but really, most sincerely dead–mashup of Billy Crystal and the Munchkins). That is a physical impossibility.
Unless……..of course………..he turned into a…….wait for it…………Walker. Yep. A zombie. Jesus Christ Zombie. (Get it, like Jesus Christ Superstar? A new musical.)
I know. The sacrilege is, well, sacrilegious. Sorry mom. I couldn’t help myself. And don’t blame me. The priest said so.
See how I did that? Brought it all back to zombies.
Have a lovely spring day.