You Can't Handle the Truth!

Being anything other than Christian in the Bible Belt is a little like trying to walk a tight rope suspended above an enclosure of tigers. Admittedly it depends on where in the Bible Belt you are - some cities are more tolerant than others - but where we are, it's pretty 'ropey' to be non-religious, and even worse if you are a confirmed agnostic or atheist. Though it's never happened to anyone I personally know, I've heard horror stories of people losing their jobs over their (lack of) faith and being ostracized by their community. Keeping our opinions to ourselves, in not only religion but also politics, has become our modus operandi. My husband doesn't talk about religion or politics at work, and I don't talk about them with other mothers at soccer practice or play groups. It's a little isolating, but it's what we do to survive. I imagine the small population of people with religious beliefs aside from Christianity or political affiliations aside from Republican feel the same way. (I remember me and my entire class shunning a girl on the playground in elementary school because her family was voting for Michael Dukakis instead of George Bush back in the 1988 presidential election.)

It's not that I'm ashamed of my new-found unbelief. It's more that to be an unbeliever is akin to being unvaccinated. It's as if people have this fear that if they come in close contact with an unbeliever, some of their unbelievingness might infect them, or at least infect the more vulnerable members of society. If an unbelieving child plays with their believing children, they might pass on some kind of doubt-bacteria which could start an epidemic. Christianity has practically eradicated atheism and agnosticism in the South; no one wants those few unenlightened families to interfere with the herd. Generally speaking, folks tend to have two reactions to someone who doesn't agree with their religious beliefs - proselytize or ostracize. (There are of course those wonderful people who choose to live and let live, for whom I am incredibly grateful.)

I'm not a rock, I'm not an island, so I do worry about being alienated. I grew up in this town, even though I lived elsewhere for fourteen years. I returned to this area a very different person than the young girl who left it. When I run into people who knew that girl, it's uncomfortable to reveal the woman I have become. So, it's not surprising what I said a few days ago to the dentist.

In all my thirty-plus years, I've never had a cavity. Until this year. So last week I went to my dentist's office for my first filling ever. I've known my dentists for most of my life. They are father and brother to the kid who was my best friend for many years. When we returned to the area, we chose their practice, because they are fantastic at what they do, and I know and trust them. While I reclined in the chair, waiting for the anesthetic to kick in, the senior dentist, my friend's father, came in to say hello, catch up a little on the fourteen years we've been away.

He asked about my parents, asked about my brothers.  I asked about his wife, his son. I asked if he was still at our old church.  He asked me where we are going to church.

I guess I sort of asked for that.

And at the moment of truth, I wimped out.  "We're going to the Lutheran church," I answered.

I was surprised by my response. It wasn't a complete fabrication; it is the church we were visiting as a last ditch effort to recover some sort of mustard seed of faith before realizing we just flat out did not buy into it anymore.  But it's not the church we attend. We don't attend anywhere.

The answer satisfied him, and we moved on.  But I kept thinking about what I'd said, about  how hard it is to admit being non-religious.  I could imagine the look on his face if I'd told the truth.  Which would it be, a millisecond of sadness, disappointment or disapproval before reverting to medical professionalism? Would the conversation have become stilted, uncomfortable?

Maybe, just maybe, it would have been fine, but I know this place and its people, and I can say pretty confidently that there would have been at least a little sadness in his eyes. It's hard for a Christian to see one of its sheep wandering, ignoring the shepherd's voice, leaving the flock.  It's not only hard because they worry about that sheep's eternal soul, but it conflicts with their understanding of the shepherd.  Why wouldn't the shepherd leave the flock in search of the lost sheep?  It must be a problem with the sheep, not the shepherd.  It's never a problem with the shepherd.

At the end of the day, my response was probably the most prudent one I could have given.  I hate being dishonest with others, untrue to myself, but I'll put both my hands up in the air and admit that on most days it's better than being pitied or rejected.

So Long, Larry: The Tipping Scales of Veggie Tales

My 22 month old son pulled down the case of DVDs this afternoon and started flipping through them. He turned the page over and started giggling hysterically. He pointed to the disc causing him such pleasure and looked up at me to put in on for him. He had picked out Veggie Tales.

We've always loved Veggie Tales in this house. Wholesome, silly, a little bit clever, and always a hit with the kids. Silly Songs With Larry are some of the best children's songs around. I could sing Barbara Manatee all day long. It's a cute, harmless little children's program. Never have I thought of it as overly Christian or overly moralistic. That is, until I left Christianity.

Over the past six months, our family has been transitioning from a sincere, Bible-believing Christian family to a secular one. The process of facing our doubts about God and working through the deterioration of faith has been long and painful, and the decisions we've made along the way have not been made lightly. The decision to formally stop attending church, for example, was huge, stirring up issues with our extended families and putting us and our kids in an awkward place culturally. And there are still a lot of small decisions we are making on a daily basis. Small, seemingly innocuous decisions that create a lot of inner conflict for me, bringing up questions I've not yet realized I could ask.  

As I sat back in my over-sized arm chair watching Veggie Tales over the screen of my laptop, and more importantly, watching my three children watching Veggie Tales, I felt one of those little inner conflicts prodding me to attention.

The episode in particular was An Easter Carol, appropriate for this time of year. The story loosely resembles Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol and is about an Easter egg factory mogul who wants to demolish a local church and build a theme park 'Easterland' in its place. Or something like that. I never really paid too much attention. At the end of the day - apologies for spoilers - they help Ebenezer Nezzer to understand that the true meaning of Easter isn't eggs but the resurrection of Jesus.

Obviously, I knew this would be the story. It's a Christian Easter story. Of course the film would bring it all back around to the resurrection of Christ. But I'd never noticed before how in depth the story went. The 'ghost' of sorts, Hope, takes Mr Nezzer into the church that is to be demolished, and shows him the stained glass windows that depict the story of Jesus' death on the cross. She gives a long talk about how we are all sinners but Jesus took our sins upon him and was crucified on the cross. The scene is very emotional and dark, and Mr Nezzer doesn't see how this is a happy story at all. Then Hope explains that three days later, Jesus rose from the dead, and this is the hope that represents Easter.

My two older children watched fixedly. Even one of the neighborhood boys playing at our house was watching reverently. (My toddler son watched too, but I'm thinking he was more interested in the pretty colors.) I felt rather uncomfortable with the scenario.  This is one of those things I am still learning to wade through. Am I making too big a deal out of this?  I tried to think of the situation just like a Christmas movie depicting Santa as real. That analogy didn't help, though, seeing as I don't tell the children Santa is real either. Here my kids were being told by a lovable tomato and cucumber that all of this is very true. We don't believe it is true. Harmless? I just don't know.

We feel we have a lot of undoing to do, especially with our oldest child, who is seven. She has been raised in church and told by the church - and us, her parents - that Jesus died on the cross for her, that we are sinners and that belief in him will grant us eternal life in heaven, not hell. Slowly, we've been trying to shift this paradigm we've instilled in our kids. We want them to think for themselves, so we've never come right out and said, 'None of this is true.' Instead, we've asked them what they think, and we've accepted their answers, even when they have differed with our own.

Still, it's our responsibility to monitor what they are told and by whom, to the best of our ability. We don't take them to church anymore, because we don't want them being taught that the Bible is true by (well-meaning) Sunday School teachers. Veggie Tales has always been welcome in our home, and those cute little vegetables are pretty trustworthy, which makes me wonder if it's any less indoctrinating to have them teaching our kids about Jesus than a Sunday School teacher. For a seven year old and a five year old, and even, I guess, an almost two year old, distinguishing between truth and fiction is hard enough, and when it's being explained to you by a character you trust, even if it's only a cartoon, it's even harder to decipher.

We know Veggie Tales aren't going to bring our kids violence or smuttiness or bad language through our TV screens. But I'm wondering now if the show is as harmless as I always believed it to be, now that its message is one we know to be false?

Could it be time to say goodbye to our colorful cornucopia of garden produce who can hold objects with no arms, who make witty and adorable jokes, sing silly songs and dance with stuffed manatees, but also preach an ancient myth as absolute truth? Is it time to say So Long, Larry? TTFN, Tom?

Or am I making a big deal out of nothing?

The small, seemingly innocuous decisions.