The beams reach high—to you As if you are not here, in the pew But you don’t mind it You come how we’re able Hallelujah The cross up there reminds me of the ones you put all over Torture as a decoration, hallelujah Like the one you pained for me at that pottery shop When I got myself baptized And Grandma Betty thought it was a waste You were my sanctuary—are? Do I still get to say that? While I learn to stand on the legs you knit for me in your womb? Which sort of makes them yours, I guess And I like that thought, hallelujah And I hope…
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Parenting Through Deconstruction
My children ask me things that I used to have answers to. “Where is [deceased person] now?” “Were Adam and Eve real?” “Why did Jesus ‘have’ to die?” “Who is God’s mom?” “Did God really kill all the firstborn sons in Egypt?” (thanks, Prince of Egypt, for that one… oops) But the questions didn’t come to me then, when I would have turned toward countless Christian-parent resources and colored pictures of Noah’s Ark and talked about how God is just and hates sin, but loves us. The questions come now when I have run almost entirely out of printable answers on which we can color inside bold black lines. I…
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How Marvelous
It smelled clean – cologne and clorox – and the adolescent pheromones ran high. Our carpet echoed our Sister Church in burgundy bold. The chairs interlocked and faced the altar where wide steps landed on a deep stage with room for the most important ones. We stared at the plexiglass protecting the bathtub under a comically tall, thin gold cross. We sang hymns projected on the screens between house-made graphics of giant hands and mountains and rays of sun through clouds. I preferred the hymnal and bobbed my eyes to the notes as we sang mostly on key to majestic piano chords. Home. I felt so at home. I didn’t know…
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Funeral for Used To
I was knit together in the womb of Evangelicalism. I rocked out to Carman’s Yo Kidz! on my walkman, spent my allowance on bumper-stickered Jesus puns, and won an actual trophy with the inscription “Pastor’s Award” for being the best example of a Church Kid in my fundamentalist Christian school. And underneath all the WWJD fare, I stood tall as a true believer. I spoke to God out loud and often. I gave homilies to my stuffed animals on the importance of the 10 commandments. As a teenager I prayed through tears to be spared eternal torment and I was completely sincere when I trudged door to door asking people if…
