Forgive Me Father, for I Have Sinned

I didn't grow up as a member of any religion. Though my family members have pretty much regarded the phenomenon of Jesus Christ with dubiousity, we have always believed in God.

My ex-husband became a born-again Christian shortly after my daughter was born, however, and for the sake of providing my daughter with consistency and stability (for we had wacky, tension-filled and tenuous custody arrangements), I became a grudging and resentful semi-regular attendee at the same church.

There's nothing like the feeling you get when you invite the Lord into your life, especially when it's done through duress, coercion and an attempt to smooth things over with a hateful ex for the benefit of the child. At any rate, I squashed my natural tendency to ask too many questions ("...and exactly why am I against gays again?") and my natural abhorrence of overt brainwashing attempts and joined in with as much enthusiasm and tolerance as I could muster, smiling through gritted teeth all the way.

Whether it was because of my obvious resentment or my naturally sinful nature, I experienced no revelation. God did not (nor Jesus, for that matter), reveal Himself with a big dramatic flourish in my life. No burning bush, no chorus of angels...nothing. My flaws were not removed by Heavenly intervention and nothing much changed in my life.

Still, I persevered for about four years. But every once in awhile my attentions would wander in church. Or my natural tendencies would kick in and I'd feel like a hypocrite because I couldn't swallow all the ideas that were being fed to me. So I'd find other ways to keep myself occupied.

And here it is: My list of Ten Things I've Done in Church That I Probably Shouldn't Have, in order of sinfulness:

1. Made up my mental grocery list

2. Counted the number of "awesome"s in the sermon (Eleven in a half hour!)

3. Wondered if there was boozing allowed in Heaven when the pastor started talking about, "Heavenly ferment" when he meant, "Heavenly firmament"

4. Counted the number of white people I could see, without being too obvious, who couldn't clap to the beat

5. Wondered, for an absurdly long time, whether anyone else was wondering whether "monumentous" was a word. When our pastor got the spirit he didn't speak in tongues; he made up words instead. I'm sure he meant either monumental or momentous.

6. Walked in the front door, went directly to the ladies' room, waiting a few minutes, then walked out the back door, trying hard not to run into my ex-husband as I was sneaking out.

7. Did my laundry. The church was directly across the street from a shopping center with a laundromat, I was working more than full-time, and it was either church or laundry until I realized I could do both.

I liked the 'worship' portion of the service (the singing part), so I'd run into the laundry before church, dump a load in, go back for the worship, sneak out between the singing part and the sermon, hightailing it out the back door and running - literally, on foot, back to the laundry, where I'd slap the clothes in the dryer, read a People or US magazine, then run back to church to pick up my daughter. Thank goodness she was in the church classrooms and never knew I wasn't there the whole time. I'd end up picking her up at her classroom, a little out of breath, making up stuff about how the message was pretty good that morning. And she never questioned how the laundry got done.

I figured my half-attendance at church, where I was at least there for the part I enjoyed and could agree on wholeheartedly, was better than nothing.

8. Did my grocery shopping. See #7, above. Same basic strategy.

9. Smoked in the church parking lot. Far away from the doors, granted, but still... Funny, out of all the things on this list, this is the one I feel most weird about.

10. Drank alcohol in church. Vodka, to be exact. At one point in my life I had a love affair with alcohol and I took it to church with me, snuck in the ladies room, and had a nip or two between the worship (which I liked) and the sermon (which I didn't). At least I made it through the entire service that day. At least I think I did. And no, my daughter wasn't with me that Sunday.

There's one last thing that can't go on the list because, technically, it didn't happen at church. Our church would simulcast the services over the internet. On the Sundays when it was too cold or wet to go (I had no car when my daughter was very little and that meant we would walk a mile one-way to church), or on the Sundays I was too lazy, my daughter and I would go to my bedroom, log into the church's website and listen to the sermon over the internet. Now that's not too bad in and of itself, except on those days I'd call it "The Church of the Holy Bedroom" out loud. Probably not the most respectful of attitudes and certainly not a good example for my child, but man, it would crack me up!

So there it is. All the things on my list happened years ago. My daughter is now grown up and, though she spent 13 years attending the same church as her dad, she broke off when she was 15 and attended a more progressive church for a couple of years and now, at age 20, does not attend church. She is, however, pondering what she believes and more importantly, why she believes it.

And my life is much more peaceful. Partly because I'm older and wiser, partly because I have little or no contact with my ex anymore. Partly because I stopped trying to pretend I believed things that were not in my heart. And partly because I do believe, with all my heart, that God is meant for everyone. And I am a child of God and nothing changes that. Ever.

The God of my understanding is a God of love, and He has enough of that love to spread around to black and white, straight and gay, men and women, alcoholics and addicts, unconditionally and without question and without second thought.

The God of my understanding has little tolerance for those who presume to know His mind, little tolerance for those who would have us believe that God is only for a select, chosen few. And if I've done wrong, my sins are between me and God, and His is the only judgment I need ever concern myself with.

It goes without saying, of course, that the God of my understanding is also tremendously forgiving; otherwise I'm in big trouble.