In fact, Boyfriend stayed at my place for the weekend to babysit Bijou for me. More than one eyebrow went up when I told 'em that…
The weekend started out fun. Daughter and her Boyfriend lent us their gorgeous new van for the trip, so we rode in total comfort. We could use their GPS, or our own. Hubby spent quite a few moments over the 3 days getting his iPhone to sync with his computer and with the GPS in the van!
I had a bit of a shock when we checked into our motel. Hubby pointed out that it was, after all, a "no-star" motel… See, I was fresh from 2 weekends ago in Ottawa in a 5-star hotel, and I knew we were on a floor where you need to insert your room key into the elevator so it would even go to our floor…but I didn't realize all those nice little amenities were also part of the stars! Two weeks ago, I was treated to shampoo, conditioner, body lotion, mouthwash, even shoe polish!
This weekend, I was greeted by a single bar of soap.
And of course, I hadn't packed any supplies of my own. So this meant that the morning of the baptism, I had to turn up at church having washed my hair with - soap.
While in the shower, I started to wonder when the last time was that I used soap anywhere on my body, let alone my hair. At home, I have specially scented shampoos, rinses, body washes and scrubs of different fragrances and consistencies. The only bar of "soap" I put in my bathroom was given me by Daughter, from her trip to Europe - a vanilla/almond cube originating from La France, no less!
So now I know what all those stars stand for in the hotel/motel rating system: the number of things you have to bring with you!
On to the baptism.
I thought this branch of my family was Anglican. I knew they had put off the wee guy's baptism till their new church was built, but I still thought we were heading into something "normal", something I could handle for about an hour. Something harmless.
Uh-uh. This was "Christian Reform" - as testimonial-filled, rock-band-led, flag-waving, emotional-altar-calls as it comes.
Stepdad's only remark was that he found it odd there was no altar.
Instead, there was a stage. With twin HD cameras and screens off to either side, and a state-of-the-art sound system that would be the envy of many a modern theatre. There was a five-piece rock band setup, complete with monitor speakers and a protective shield for the drum set, so it couldn't be accidentally knocked over by enthusiastic worshippers.
Enter the band, led by the slightly long-haired, and of course, bearded guy, and finally the preacher, a man whose voice would rival that of Saruman the White. Clearly born and groomed to the life of a tele-evangelist, clearly at home on the big screen, clearly in his element.
The congregation mostly between 20 and 40 - we were definitely among the oldest people in the room. This was a young person's church, lots of energy here, and definitely no room for doubt or negativity.
Stepdad had told me there was to be more than one baptism - there were seven in all, and eleven testimonials. ELEVEN! Not even Billy Graham had eleven people tell their stories in a Sunday morning service!
Three children received the "children's" baptism - where the preacher scoops up the water and wets their heads. My sweet little nephew had opted for baptism by immersion, along with several of the adults. What a brave little guy! Even though I'd been squirming in my seat the whole 90 minutes leading up to this, I couldn't help but admire the sheer boldness of the little fellow. "Good for him," I thought, and "god help him" as well.
His mom, my sister-in-law, spoke to me about their choice of church the next morning, and was truly shocked at my interpretation of what I'd seen. I could have wept, I wanted to say so much: but I held most of it back because their choice was working for them. Just as "you can't put an old head on young shoulders," there just didn't seem to be any point in sharing my fears or experience with her. Hopefully, with a little bit of luck, none of the brainwashing will wound her or her children, or her husband. With a little luck, it could just be "church" for them.
Don't think I sat quietly through the "show", though. Every nerve in my body was screaming for me to get up and yell at everyone, to express my rage in some très dramatic fashion. To throw myself down on the floor, livid with rage, to damage myself and anything I could get my hands on, to the point where either they'd cast some devils out of me or accuse me of speaking in tongues.
Only Hubby's tight grip on my hand and sarcastic observations whispered in my ear helped me to stay calm and live through the experience, plus my determination that my personal difficulties should not ruin my nephew's day.
Part of me wished with all my heart that my mother were still alive, to hear her say afterwards, "It was lovely, wasn't it?" the way she used to. Part of me was glad she was dead, and didn't have to sit through it, since her experience of religion basically mirrored mine. Part of me wished I could somehow summon up the guts to say "it was lovely" and leave it at that.
But I did get through it, though it took all my self-restraint - and a good deal of Hubby's imposed restraint - to get me there. Hubby was also quick to point out that this kind of thing is very attractive to young couples who live in instant "communities" that are really only building developments. Where there isn't any history to ground you to a place, a church like that creates its own feeling of community, instant friendships, ready-made playgroups for the kids.
Why should I spoil my sister-in-law's satisfaction with her church by warning her of the carefully-masked misogyny, the subtle pressure to conform that comes from this kind of worship. I only hope she still welcomes me as family - I've been banished from more than one person's life because of my refusal to "convert". Try disagreeing with someone at Bible Study. Try saying "I don't believe that" and see how long your new friends continue to socialize with you. Try watching your children fall away from you because of your doubts, listening instead to the hundreds of other people's voices that are calling you "backslidden". Because there is always balance, you see. Nothing is ever as completely pleasant as it seems. There is Yin, and there is Yang. In every system.
What a nightmare. It certainly shook me up. All the more for being completely unexpected.
And somewhere along the line, I picked up a bug. (Hubby's joke: "Going to church weakened your immune system!") I missed an entire week of work, and only now am beginning to take notice of my surroundings after three entire days in bed hovering on the edge of a 103° fever.
For two nights in a row, Hubby drove over to my place, bought me groceries, entertained me so I wouldn't feel totally desolate.
So of course, since I'm at basically rock-bottom, I'm questioning my life and my choices. Wondering what I'm doing in a basement apartment (at my age) when I have a loving Husband I could go home to at any moment. Wondering if my life was so unbearable after all, when I found myself drinking so I wouldn't have to interact with any of them.
And that thought rang a bell, reminded me of something…
I've now gone seven full days without a drop of liquor.
And three full days without coffee.
Seven days also without my computer, or contact with any friends. Three days completely indoors, huddled under the duvet for warmth.
No wonder I'm just not myself.
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