Dionysus on a Bike

by Justin Marquis

Previous Post – How Could I not Be Grateful for My Whole Life?

Everyone, I believe, has those memories of youth that are difficult to remember because of how embarrassed we are of our younger selves, things we did that are so cringe-worthy in their immaturity, their naivety, even their stupidity that they are painful to remember. From about the age of 14 until sometime in college, I was extremely religious. What had begun as a moderate, healthy, fairly commonplace childhood faith nurtured in a social justice oriented United Methodist Church had morphed by the time I reached high school into a bigoted, narrow-minded, judgmental zealotry that had become preachy and socially isolating. One of my most embarrassing memories comes from this time.

I had a best friend in my class who had recently got his license, and so I was able to skip the unnecessarily long bus ride to school by catching a ride with him. His beat-up, tiny hatchback had a tape deck, and our rides to and from school were filled with music that I increasingly thought of as distancing me from Jesus because of its secular messages. Yes, I had gone that far. By this, my Junior year I was increasingly only spending time with friends from church, avoiding my non-church friends for fear that they would “lead me into sin.” I missed out on so much that my non-church friends did together, but I continued to get a ride to and from school from my old best friend. Increasingly that was the extent of our social interaction as we drifted apart because of my obsessive focus on my so-called faith.

I felt the strain on our friendship, but I also had come to believe that what was more important than our friendship is that he “come to Christ” and that I “share the gospel” with him. I was nervous to perform what was then the central practice of my faith with this friend more than I was with anyone else in my life. I was comfortable telling strangers, family, and acquaintances from all different parts of my life that they needed to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior, but with this friend I felt shy and embarrassed; I didn’t know what to say to him that wouldn’t make him laugh at me right to my face. Because of this, I did what I often do when I don’t know how to say what I have to say to someone, I write them a note. It was Christmas time, so I placed the note in a tin of holiday three-section (Cheese, Caramel, Butter) popcorn and left the gift and note in his car for him to find later.

I don’t remember exactly what the note would have said, but it would have said something to this effect: “Jesus loves you, and you were made to worship him. I care about you and because of that I want you to accept Jesus as your savior, otherwise you are in danger of spending eternity in hell.” There were probably a few choice Bible verses thrown in there. Needless to say, what remained of our friendship was over. He still gave me rides to and from school, but from there we drifted irrevocably apart.

That wasn’t the only cringeworthy, alienating thing I did during those years. I stopped listening to anything but Christian music, believing that music and media made by non-Christians was from Satan and corrupted those who consumed it. It got to the point where besides schoolwork, the only things I things I believed were worthwhile to do were things that were directly oriented toward “following Jesus.” The only three activities that were worthwhile were studying the Bible, praising Jesus, and convincing others to follow Jesus (in that same way) too.

This “faith” not only affected my activities and my friendships, it affected my beliefs and my moral and political values as well. I came to believe (somehow) that the earth was 6000 or so years old, that evolution didn’t happen, and that God condemned queer relationships. I believed that sexual purity and converting people to my version of Christianity were more important than making sure that everyone had enough and that everyone felt loved and cared for no matter what their beliefs, religion, or sexual orientation. I was one of those Christians that thought it was more important to prevent women from getting abortions than it was for making sure that all mothers and their children had enough of society’s resources to live well.

Why did I go this direction? They certainly weren’t the values my parents taught or those of the United Methodist Church I grew up in. A healthy and newly formed faith that was curious and open to the world got side-tracked into narrow minded, hateful fanaticism. But how? As a bookish, nerdy kid, the Bible appealed to me because it was a dense complicated text that promised to hold the secrets to life, the universe, and everything. It was satisfying to expend my mental energy deciphering an ancient document to uncover those truths. I was influenced by those who were reading the Bible around me, fellow students and preachers on the radio. I lived in a fairly conservative Indiana town, and most of the kids I was around who were “serious about their faith” were from backgrounds far more fundamentalist and conservative than my family’s liberal, peace-oriented Methodism. The people who were pointing me in the direction of the Bible’s meaning and the truths it contained were those inclined to reject science and judge difference as evil, and so I followed suit. In those pre-internet days, the radio waves were full of preachers giving the same sorts of interpretations of the Bible, connecting its doctrines to right wing political principles that made sense to my still simplistic, still developing mind. And all of this gave me a kind of community, a group of people who shared the “rightness” that I had found in the Bible. We were in it together against the world, and it didn’t hurt that all of this helped me rebel against parents who would have been relatively unfazed if my rebellion had been more of the sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll variety.

The giving up music, movies, and virtually every non-faith oriented activity and the judgmental, uncaring values that alienated friends and family, all of the ways my Christian faith affected my life then, were extremely unhealthy. My parents were freaked out by the whole thing, and rightfully so, but they didn’t know what to do or how to help me move past these things in a healthy way. Virtually none of the adults in my life did or said anything to guide me in a more positive, healthy direction, a fact which surprises me to this day. Two adults from this time stand out as positive influences who kept me from going over the brink as far as right-wing fundamentalism goes, while still respecting that these beliefs and practices were mine to work through in my own way. First, my high school French teacher saw my spirituality for the good in it and quietly modeled a caring, open spirituality while taking none of my judgmental, close-minded side seriously. She showed me that there were ways (many ways) to be spiritual and attuned to the deep questions that are open to the world and the good in it instead of closed off and constantly judging. And then there is the pastor of that Methodist Church I grew up in. Though my way of being a Christian had drifted far away from the faith of that church, that pastor still held my respect. When I was planning to go to an evangelical Bible College after high school that would have simply reinforced all of these beliefs and attitudes, he convinced me to go to a secular university and study philosophy first, before turning my thoughts to theology and the ministry. I followed his advice and went to Purdue to study philosophy, history, and religion. I am forever grateful that I did.

In my university years, my Christian fundamentalism came to a head, the topic for my next post.