July/August 2003
How God Found Me
in Spite of Religion
by Julie Taylor-Duncan
Yor most of my 38 years, I considered church a place where unfortunate people had to dress up and listen to boring sermons designed to instill guilt and fear. I felt sorry for my childhood friends who had to go to church while I stayed home and watched T.V. My family never attended church, our coffee table never displayed a Bible and the only time God or Christ was mentioned was as part of a negative expletive. To this day, I couldn't tell you whether or not any of my family members believe in God.
My grandfather's funeral was the first time my family saw the inside of a church together. I was 18 and a freshman in college. The air was thick with Florida's September heat, causing beads of sweat to surface on my brothers' foreheads. The structure and authority embodied by the polished pews, the imposing stained glass windows and the solemn silence was far more oppressive than the heat.
| A series of bizarre interactions with "religious" people completely turned me off to the whole notion of church and religion. |
I moved from the Midwest to the Bible belt as an adult and was struck by the overwhelming number of churches. I soon learned that church infiltrated every-day life.
Just about every person I met asked the same question: "What church do you go to?" My standard reply, "I don't go to church," usually led to an awkward silence followed by a frantic change of subject. Sometimes, the conversation just ended.
Strange Experiences with Religious People
A series of bizarre interactions with "religious" people completely turned me off to the whole notion of church and religion.
A tornado warning was issued one day while I was at work. I called my babysitter, an elderly, hard-working woman, and told her to put herself and the girls in the bathroom. I expected her to say, "Yes Ma'am, they're in there right this minute." I was horrified when instead she said, "There's no need for that. If it's God's will, it won't do no good to be in no bathroom." I was furious as the lights flickered in the office. "Let's get something straight," I said. "You go ahead and stand in front of the sliding glass door and see what God decides to do, but first you're going to put the girls in the bathroom. Do you understand?"
When my daughter was eleven, she came home from school one afternoon very upset. She and a classmate had been making plans for a sleepover when the girl asked, "What church do you go to?" When my daughter replied that she didn't go to church, the girl turned on her heels and walked away without saying a word, leaving my daughter hurt and confused. Some who claim they are "religious" are the most judgmental people on earth. Hopefully, this girl will not continue down her path of narrow-mindedness, or she will grow into an adult reeking of prejudice and judgmentalism.
One evening, my daughter and I attended a play at a local church. It was based on the Columbine massacre and was well-done, except for the fire and brimstone ending.
Afterward, I inquired about Bible study. Over the course of the following two nights, two severe-looking couples appeared at our front door toting big Bibles and confused expressions. Maybe it had something to do with the wine cooler I was holding, or that our Alanis Morissette CD was going on about a jagged little pill. Confusion turned to relief when I didn't invite them in.
Finding God in Church -- Or Did He Find Me?
Fortunately, I was able to put all of this garbage aside when a pastor friend of mine mentioned his next sermon was on depression. I was interested in a possible spiritual answer to depression, so the following Sunday morning, I dragged my eight-year-old daughter and myself to church. At that point, I had been reading the Bible on and off for the past couple of years and was quick to realize, but slow to admit, that the Bible's words filled me with a sense of peace and perspective.
| Attending church that first Sunday morning was like finally finding my way to the lost and found. I was fortunate that my rightful owner recognized and claimed me. |
I was somewhat apprehensive about the members, so my plan was to make a beeline for the pastor's wife and children. But that didn't happen; because several people greeted me warmly, and they didn't even demand my name or anything. I even recognized a couple of members. By the time I reached my friend, the band started playing contemporary Christian music. My daughter and her friends were swaying, clapping and smiling to the music. I wondered if she was just feeling the music or if there was something else going on there -- something that was causing all of that joy.
The pastor did an excellent job of separating clinical depression from the kind of depression that is caused by a situation. He applied meaningful and relevant scriptures to familiar psychological concepts that now held more depth. As he concluded his sermon, I was glad
I came, but I had no idea what was yet to come.
With my head lowered and eyes closed, the pastor's words lifted me out of my physical self, and it was as if he took me by the hand and led me through beautiful gardens and dense woods. As we walked, he pointed out this and that -- wouldn't this be helpful in your life? What do you think about that over there? Then he began a prayer about letting Christ into your heart. I was struck by a warm, cleansing sensation in my chest, a feeling of expanding and receiving at the same time. I heard the word "Amen," and opened my eyes and tears streaked down my cheeks.
I walked out of that church a new person. It was like putting on a pair of glasses and realizing that your eyesight had been impaired all your life. Colors were more vivid; birds sang louder, children's laughter warmed my heart.
Letting God into my life has opened my heart to people who would have otherwise been mere bystanders. And this happened without any effort on my part. One day, an elderly man who bagged my groceries for years (and always greets female customers with a chipper "Hi Lady!") mentioned that he had been married for sixty years. I was in a hurry that day, but the longevity of his marriage intrigued me. I am on my third marriage now and feel like I just can't seem to get it right. Once my groceries were bagged, I pulled him aside and asked what his secret was. "In all those years," he said, "we never raised our voices to each other. Once an argument ended, the next moment was as if nothing happened at all." He shrugged and said, "There's really not much to it." He had that sparkle in his eyes when he spoke of his wife; you just knew he was still in love.
The way I've always functioned in life was to take the bull by the horns and make things happen. For the most part, this was not a bad way to live, but eventually life presents situations that cannot be controlled by earthly beings. This loss of control, coupled with undiagnosed clinical depression, wreaked havoc for me and everybody I loved.
Attending church that first Sunday morning was like finally finding my way to the lost and found. I was fortunate that my rightful owner recognized and claimed me. He had been waiting a long time.
Freelance writer Julie Taylor-Duncan lives in Madison, Alabama.