Often enough on a previous blog, I found myself saying that while I have my problems with the God of Christianity, I more often have problems with his followers. Case in point, the cult that calls itself Westboro Baptist Church. God hates everyone in their view.

Now this isn't to say the WBC is alone in the reason I feel Christ's followers have proven to be more a problem to me, than Christ has. I was raised in a Baptist church for eighteen years, these people were as close to me as family, if not closer in some cases, and I was effectively knifed in the back, thrown into the torment of church politics, and more or less exiled. Situations like that, thrust from the Dominionist view for sins such as liberalism, and expressing interest in other religions...I've never quite recovered. In the three years hence, I've been love-bombed twice by them, trying to get me back "into the fold" as it were.

I have yet to remove myself from the membership rolls, as I hesitate to severe the final tie to my childhood companions, to those, whom a majority of, will no longer speak to me, or gaze upon me. Why do I insist on this misplaced loyalty? Because I am precisely that, a loyal individual, who does not shirk my loyalties quickly. I love that church, I love the people who stabbed me in the back, I love those whom gossiped about me--saying I worshiped angels and demons. I love the history of that place, where my family stretched back four generations.

I want to hate them, I want to despise them, but I cannot bring myself to. When I gaze upon them, I feel pity, and I feel sorrow. I remember all the good times we had when smaller, I remember the fun, I remember the sorrowful times as well; skipping class for the first time to go to a friend's father's funeral (an act, that while bad in the eyes of the educational system, earned the utmost respect of my grandmother). I remember helping with Vacation Bible School, I remember going to church camp and retreats. I remember that feeling of "being on fire".

I remember the first time that changed. "Religions to Beware Of" class...I played Devil's Advocate throughout. My reputation was forever stained by that, but I found I could not allow people to be bashed without the chance to defend themselves. Years went by, and I remember George Bush getting greater applause than Christ when we watched Passion of the Christ, followed by a political video. I remember being pressured to vote for him...and the ostracization that occurred when I said I most likely wouldn't.

Why do I still long to go back to that church? The same reason people never leave an abusive relationship I suppose, afraid not to, feeling as though one needs it, etc. In my walk with Christ...there were many wonderful moments that I will never forget, almost all of them at Camp, not the church. I prayed with a man who would later be martyred in his homeland, for the salvation of our fathers. I felt the moving of the Holy Spirit in the same place, watching as enemy cabins who intentionally sought to harm each other during sports earlier, joined their weeping voices in singing songs of praise to Him. I dared God to give me a sign, to allow the lights to fail so that I might see the stars in all their glory for the first time in my life -- He didn't that year, but two years later at the same Camp, that did happen, exactly two years to the day. It was also at the camp that I encountered the practice of Lectio Divina, that would keep me loyal to Him over the years. And it was also at that Camp, that I first felt her touch.

Sincerely,

A Baptist Campus Ministries Ex-President