Journey of a Janus pt 5, Did we read the same book?
(Warning, if you are new here...this is a multiple part article, I would encourage you to read the archives and today has me using a little bit more insight into my teenage years, so take my own actions with a grain of salt back then. I promise when this is all done I will link them all together.)
From where we started last time a few days ago...
So I had to find a church, Pastor Goode assured me it is important that I stay with the "body." Which is a odd way of saying (At least to me), that I needed to stay connected with others.
I did not understand at the time why he was so worried about me doing this, but about 15 years later it makes sense now.
So for a while I tried the Baskin Robbins approach, where I would try going to a lot of different churches to see how it worked. In truth I probably should of given some of them more of a chance; I didn't go to some because I found out I was the only person under 100 years old in a few of them, some didn't teach anything and were too loose with their faith and it felt more like after school bowling team, some were not just strict but utterly insane. (I will not tell you which church, but when you need to put a restraining order on a "pastor" because you leave the church and he doesn't stop calling you and telling you that you are "hell bound" on your answering machine...go to another church.)
The last church I stayed at for two years, because some pastor told me that no church was perfect so find one and stick with it. It was a very strict and legalistic church, and I fought the urge to leave because I promised I would give it a chance. This was the church that called me "Brother Janus" all the time, which for a long time afterwards annoyed me. (But times change, see here for the story.) All the flimsy handshakes and Brother Janusing made me feel like some sort of monk.
To sum up some of the details of my church experience, so that you know where I am coming from. You do know I hate listing numbers though.
1. They are a formal dress church, the "Wear your Sunday Best" church that inspired slightly painful memories when I watched Eric's movie -Just go to October 22, if you need to find a specific reference to Sunday Bests...read the whole blog while you are there maybe.)
I actually had to borrow money from my Grandma to buy a suit so they would stop treating me like the spawn of Satan. I didn't have a suit and was not working at that age full time, so when in doubt call Grandma.
2. They believed that the King James Version is the only version of Bible that is legitimate for us to read. When I brought my NIV one time (New International Version, for those not into Bible initials) I remember the looks of fear and reproach I received because I did not have the "true version." I wasn't a Bible scholar back then either, but I am pretty sure that Jesus spoke a different language than Shakespearean English. (at least maybe in Judea region around 30 A.D. or so.)
3. The most distressing part for me was the intolerance. Basically they felt that people at this church would be the only ones to be spared from the wrath and every other denomination or whom did certain sins could never be forgiven and would be "hell bound." The youth minister even used a slurs to describe people that did certain sins that he thought were unforgivable.
That is just the tip of the iceberg, but this is not a flamefest, and I do not intend it to become one. I must admit that I still get some raw nerves when I speak and talk of this place. I did not quit it until after over two long years, and I tried my hardest to fit in and adjust. I heard others talking about the Holy Spirit flowing, and I honestly would of loved to feel that there. First I got the suit, then I got a haircut, but I never really got the hang of it.
I heard about the love of God at least two nights a week, but to be honest I didn't really see it that often other than written down in the program. Everyone seemed to be gossiping, thumping the bible like it was a baseball bat, and only seemed to be holy for about an hour of service, and then everything would go back to normal after the closing prayer.
I remember not sleeping at night sometimes wondering if God was going throw me out of heaven because I wasn't good enough. I read about the Pharisees and all the woes to them for being false and hypocritical, as I looked at my borrowed King James Version bible and the suit I bought so I could fit in with the rest of the group. I realized that this wasn't who I really was, and that maybe church wasn't for me and maybe I would burn in hell like they said. I began to think that if heaven would only be full of people like this, maybe I would be better off in hell.
At this point family troubles with my extended family brewed and exploded, and in a short while my life turned upside down. My parents couldn't reach through to me, counseling failed, and after a few months of absence without hearing so much as a peep from anyone there that might not even noticed, I tried to turn to my church for assistance. I tried to talk to the youth pastor about my trouble, but he didn't seem to care less even though I made an appointment. Then he told me that my hair looked a little shaggy and lectured me on respect for God's house. I finally lost it and said, "Look, I don't give a damn about my hair alright!"
Which then made him lose all sense of control over his perfectly forced holiness, and the condescending smile faded away and I thought he was going to hit me across the face. I admit that what I said was not appropriate but I was also tired of being lectured and wanted some sort of "Holy Spiriting." Instead I was told that Christians didn't say such things, and was thrown out of the office.
I made a phone call to an old friend and went to what would be my last Sunday school there. It was customary for people that were filled with the spirit to share a passage of the bible to the entire class if they should so choose, and I decided for the first time in the entire few years I had been here to give public speaking a try.
Now looking back I realized that this was not a loving nor Godly thing to do, but I was so fed but with the church and everything to do with it I was going to give them a memorable farewell. So I did a lesson on Numbers 22 and prepared to show them my abilities as a pastor.
Numbers 22:21-39 is a section in my old King James Version that is titled "Balaam's ass" and is actually a pretty neat story in any translation. It's about a guy that rides on his donkey and an angel of the lord stands in his way and the donkey refuses to walk past the angel. Balaam gets angry and whips the donkey and can't get him to move. Finally after a while the donkey asks him why he was whipping him, and Balaam answers him "Because you are making me look like a fool." I figure Balaam must be really frustrated and not paying attention because if my donkey spoke to me I would probably fall off in shock.
So using the "True version" I spoke about Balaam and his ass whom he called worthless I believe at least once, and whipped. This was very childish and very harsh of me, but I said it with complete deadpan and such conviction that I did not betray any lack of sincerity. Though many of the kids from the class and the youth pastor was well aware of what I was doing, but no one dared stop me from reading the word of God.
The senior pastor was clueless and was shouting Amen repeatedly during my scriptural reading, while the youth pastor started sweating and wishing he could hide. At the end of the lesson they have time for people to ask questions, the youth pastor tried to usher me off the stage but the senior pastor (his father) wanted to ask a question.
"So Janus, why did you pick that passage to read," he asked with an enthusiastic smile.
"I picked it because it shows that God can give even an ass the ability to speak and once in a while help us reach wisdom," I said without missing a beat and looking straight into the eyes of the youth pastor who was doing all he could not to come up to the pulpit and hit me with something.
With that someone started the prayer, and I slipped out of the room and went to the parking lot to a running car with Pastor Goode waiting in his trucking uniform. I ripped off my necktie with crosses on it and threw it in the trash and got into the car.
"Had a rough day my brother?" Pastor Goode asked me.
"Please don't call me that anymore," I said giving him a look of anger and ice, that startled him, "Could I have a ride home please."
"Sure...Janus," he said silently driving me home and not daring to say a word.
Looking back I feel bad for my treatment of my old friend, I wish I could say that I went to another church the next week and things got better soon after. For years though I wandered and grew more jaded until I stopped praying, reading, or having anything to do with God. Don't be nervous though, because even if we want to forget our old friend God...he doesn't stop loving you and he did reach me eventually. Which you will hear more about next time.
From where we started last time a few days ago...
So I had to find a church, Pastor Goode assured me it is important that I stay with the "body." Which is a odd way of saying (At least to me), that I needed to stay connected with others.
I did not understand at the time why he was so worried about me doing this, but about 15 years later it makes sense now.
So for a while I tried the Baskin Robbins approach, where I would try going to a lot of different churches to see how it worked. In truth I probably should of given some of them more of a chance; I didn't go to some because I found out I was the only person under 100 years old in a few of them, some didn't teach anything and were too loose with their faith and it felt more like after school bowling team, some were not just strict but utterly insane. (I will not tell you which church, but when you need to put a restraining order on a "pastor" because you leave the church and he doesn't stop calling you and telling you that you are "hell bound" on your answering machine...go to another church.)
The last church I stayed at for two years, because some pastor told me that no church was perfect so find one and stick with it. It was a very strict and legalistic church, and I fought the urge to leave because I promised I would give it a chance. This was the church that called me "Brother Janus" all the time, which for a long time afterwards annoyed me. (But times change, see here for the story.) All the flimsy handshakes and Brother Janusing made me feel like some sort of monk.
To sum up some of the details of my church experience, so that you know where I am coming from. You do know I hate listing numbers though.
1. They are a formal dress church, the "Wear your Sunday Best" church that inspired slightly painful memories when I watched Eric's movie -Just go to October 22, if you need to find a specific reference to Sunday Bests...read the whole blog while you are there maybe.)
I actually had to borrow money from my Grandma to buy a suit so they would stop treating me like the spawn of Satan. I didn't have a suit and was not working at that age full time, so when in doubt call Grandma.
2. They believed that the King James Version is the only version of Bible that is legitimate for us to read. When I brought my NIV one time (New International Version, for those not into Bible initials) I remember the looks of fear and reproach I received because I did not have the "true version." I wasn't a Bible scholar back then either, but I am pretty sure that Jesus spoke a different language than Shakespearean English. (at least maybe in Judea region around 30 A.D. or so.)
3. The most distressing part for me was the intolerance. Basically they felt that people at this church would be the only ones to be spared from the wrath and every other denomination or whom did certain sins could never be forgiven and would be "hell bound." The youth minister even used a slurs to describe people that did certain sins that he thought were unforgivable.
That is just the tip of the iceberg, but this is not a flamefest, and I do not intend it to become one. I must admit that I still get some raw nerves when I speak and talk of this place. I did not quit it until after over two long years, and I tried my hardest to fit in and adjust. I heard others talking about the Holy Spirit flowing, and I honestly would of loved to feel that there. First I got the suit, then I got a haircut, but I never really got the hang of it.
I heard about the love of God at least two nights a week, but to be honest I didn't really see it that often other than written down in the program. Everyone seemed to be gossiping, thumping the bible like it was a baseball bat, and only seemed to be holy for about an hour of service, and then everything would go back to normal after the closing prayer.
I remember not sleeping at night sometimes wondering if God was going throw me out of heaven because I wasn't good enough. I read about the Pharisees and all the woes to them for being false and hypocritical, as I looked at my borrowed King James Version bible and the suit I bought so I could fit in with the rest of the group. I realized that this wasn't who I really was, and that maybe church wasn't for me and maybe I would burn in hell like they said. I began to think that if heaven would only be full of people like this, maybe I would be better off in hell.
At this point family troubles with my extended family brewed and exploded, and in a short while my life turned upside down. My parents couldn't reach through to me, counseling failed, and after a few months of absence without hearing so much as a peep from anyone there that might not even noticed, I tried to turn to my church for assistance. I tried to talk to the youth pastor about my trouble, but he didn't seem to care less even though I made an appointment. Then he told me that my hair looked a little shaggy and lectured me on respect for God's house. I finally lost it and said, "Look, I don't give a damn about my hair alright!"
Which then made him lose all sense of control over his perfectly forced holiness, and the condescending smile faded away and I thought he was going to hit me across the face. I admit that what I said was not appropriate but I was also tired of being lectured and wanted some sort of "Holy Spiriting." Instead I was told that Christians didn't say such things, and was thrown out of the office.
I made a phone call to an old friend and went to what would be my last Sunday school there. It was customary for people that were filled with the spirit to share a passage of the bible to the entire class if they should so choose, and I decided for the first time in the entire few years I had been here to give public speaking a try.
Now looking back I realized that this was not a loving nor Godly thing to do, but I was so fed but with the church and everything to do with it I was going to give them a memorable farewell. So I did a lesson on Numbers 22 and prepared to show them my abilities as a pastor.
Numbers 22:21-39 is a section in my old King James Version that is titled "Balaam's ass" and is actually a pretty neat story in any translation. It's about a guy that rides on his donkey and an angel of the lord stands in his way and the donkey refuses to walk past the angel. Balaam gets angry and whips the donkey and can't get him to move. Finally after a while the donkey asks him why he was whipping him, and Balaam answers him "Because you are making me look like a fool." I figure Balaam must be really frustrated and not paying attention because if my donkey spoke to me I would probably fall off in shock.
So using the "True version" I spoke about Balaam and his ass whom he called worthless I believe at least once, and whipped. This was very childish and very harsh of me, but I said it with complete deadpan and such conviction that I did not betray any lack of sincerity. Though many of the kids from the class and the youth pastor was well aware of what I was doing, but no one dared stop me from reading the word of God.
The senior pastor was clueless and was shouting Amen repeatedly during my scriptural reading, while the youth pastor started sweating and wishing he could hide. At the end of the lesson they have time for people to ask questions, the youth pastor tried to usher me off the stage but the senior pastor (his father) wanted to ask a question.
"So Janus, why did you pick that passage to read," he asked with an enthusiastic smile.
"I picked it because it shows that God can give even an ass the ability to speak and once in a while help us reach wisdom," I said without missing a beat and looking straight into the eyes of the youth pastor who was doing all he could not to come up to the pulpit and hit me with something.
With that someone started the prayer, and I slipped out of the room and went to the parking lot to a running car with Pastor Goode waiting in his trucking uniform. I ripped off my necktie with crosses on it and threw it in the trash and got into the car.
"Had a rough day my brother?" Pastor Goode asked me.
"Please don't call me that anymore," I said giving him a look of anger and ice, that startled him, "Could I have a ride home please."
"Sure...Janus," he said silently driving me home and not daring to say a word.
Looking back I feel bad for my treatment of my old friend, I wish I could say that I went to another church the next week and things got better soon after. For years though I wandered and grew more jaded until I stopped praying, reading, or having anything to do with God. Don't be nervous though, because even if we want to forget our old friend God...he doesn't stop loving you and he did reach me eventually. Which you will hear more about next time.
posted by Janus Torrell at 10:04 PM
4 Comments:
I like.
Sounds like you were going through a really bad time, Janus. Not just with the church, but with your life. I'm sorry those years were so bad for you.
Frodo
The sad thing is that sometimes when we seek some kind of support from people in a church, they feel they have to counsel you in very stringent rules and according to the official position of the church. It never occurs to them to talk to you as one human being to another.
The nice thing about God is that He makes the rules but doesn't beat you with them. Sometimes seeking counsel from the church is less than comforting. But if you turn to God directly with your questions, the answers could surprise you.
Thanks all for commenting, sorry I am a bit slow on the uptake.
glad you like Harry
I didn't like them either Frodo, but it did help me become, for better or worse who I am now, so its good to look back and see where I came from.
True Ned, I definatly will remember to seek God first or at least someone that I know goes straight to the source
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