Feeling Froggy
Dare I write about religion in a primarily Republican, Christian neighborhood? I simply have to; I have said before that I am a woman of principle, and if you're going to trample into my private space with your strong opinions, then I should be allowed to voice mine also.
I grew up in a VERY Catholic family. My grandmother's house was directly behind the small Catholic church (pre-Katrina). Every Sunday we would go to mass, then walk to my grandmother's house where my family would proceed to get completely drunk and trash everyone in the community. (My parents sheltered me from the brunt of this; we often left before the true hatefulness began). So I learned that being a Sunday Christian was sufficient enough to get me into Heaven.
Some years later, I moved to Memphis, and had to work as a waitress to put myself through school. I was taking the maximum alloted hours every semester, so that meant the majority of my money was earned on the weekends. During this experience, I met two die-hard Southern Baptists who helped me form my very rigid ideas about organized religion.
The first was a woman named Tara. Tara was thirty-eight years old. She was an attractive brunette, pretty blue eyes, who was in the business of shopping for a husband. Tara could not work on Sunday mornings or Wednesday nights; she was a devout Baptist who at every turn was trying to "save" me. (She didn't appreciate my Catholic humor; I could sin repeatedly as long as I confessed). What truly struck me about Tara was that no matter how vile customers treated her, no matter how mean or condescending the managers were, no matter how many failed dates she went on, she never wavered in her faith. At 38, she was a virgin, and still refused to give up her principles. I admired her so much for that, that I actually attended church with her one Sunday. I felt that I owed her that much. I didn't agree with everything I heard there, but I respected her beliefs. After I went, she understood that it wasn't the religion for me, and she didn't push the issue anymore. She remained my friend, and we continued to talk for quite a few years until we lost touch.
The second Baptist to enter my life in that period of time was a very, very popular minister. The church had a following of over 30,000; I would swear to this day that he would make an announcement at the end of the service for everyone to meet at the restaurant because without fail, every Sunday after church, the place would go on an hour wait at 11:00am. The round table was reserved for this prominent minister (who drove a brand-new black Mercedes SUV) and the most prized members of his flock (all decked out in their Sunday diamonds). Since I was one of the more experienced waitresses, I usually ended up with this table.
Now, on a side note, I must tell you, something about church makes people MEAN. These church-goers were the rudest, more inconsiderate, hateful (not to mention CHEAP) customers on the planet. I have been cursed at by the finest of God's children, only to have them return to their prayer conversation and talk about how wonderful Heaven was going to be. But the crowning moment for me involved this minister.
Upon appraoching his table to take their drink order, he immediately assualted me verbally.
"Why didn't you go to church today, young lady?"
I blinked. Deer-in-headlights.
"Don't you know that Jesus died so that you could be here today? So that you may be relieved of your transgressions and enter the gates of Heaven to go home to God?" Amen go the sheep. Lots of nodding around the table.
"Well, sir, somebody has to serve you, right?" I said it in a joking manner, with a harmless-silly-little-waitress smile. Dead silence. Nothing. Extremely awkward. After moment he dismissed me with a wave of his bejeweled fingers; sinner. Satan's spawn, worthy only of crawling to kitchen and fetching his food. Try as I might, I could not make this man happy. He sent everything back, twice. He insisted I'd forgotten things, only for me to point them out on his table. The final straw was when I was walking out of the kitchen with a coffee pot on my tray for another table, when he raised his jeweled fingers and SNAPPED them at me like a common serving wench.
"Coffee." He pointed at the cup on the table. I looked this arrogant preacher straight in his eyes and with the last shred of dignity I had left, I answered him.
"Yes, sir, it sure is."
And with that, I walked directly past him to my waiting table, then walked straight past him again without so much as a sideways glance into the kitchen.
Strange that this response seemed to amuse him. Every Sunday after that, this man actually REQUESTED me. And every Sunday he ran me through the ringer, and every Sunday I would treat him like the hypocrite he was. One Sunday I asked him why didn't he preach kindness in his church. The sheep were appalled, but he just laughed. Another Sunday I informed him that Christians shouldn't treat waitresses like dirt. Again, he laughed. And his personal favorite, after a $3 tip for eight people, I told him that even Jesus had to pay bills. (After that, he actually began leaving me $5 every Sunday for a party of eight!)
My point is, and I do have one, that just becuase you're part of an organized religion with a big bankroll, the principles behind the religion are what's important to me. I shopped around for a religion that fit me, and I really could not find one. So I live this way; I try to treat others as I'd like to be treated. I try to live a good life and help as many people as I can along the way. I believe in God; I don't necessarily believe that God needs to be his name. I believe that the Bible was written by a bunch of men in a time where women weren't exactly treated fairly. There may be truth in it, there may not, and it's up to you to decide that for yourself. If you choose to believe it, and live by it, then I will respect you for it. If you choose to use it's words against me then proceed to treat me like dirt while you praise yourself, then I have no qualms about turning my back to you and waiting for God to get you in the end.
I'm not perfect, by any means. But I don't use the Bible to justify my bad behavior. I leave the judging up to God. I think he's the only one truly qualified to decide.
I grew up in a VERY Catholic family. My grandmother's house was directly behind the small Catholic church (pre-Katrina). Every Sunday we would go to mass, then walk to my grandmother's house where my family would proceed to get completely drunk and trash everyone in the community. (My parents sheltered me from the brunt of this; we often left before the true hatefulness began). So I learned that being a Sunday Christian was sufficient enough to get me into Heaven.
Some years later, I moved to Memphis, and had to work as a waitress to put myself through school. I was taking the maximum alloted hours every semester, so that meant the majority of my money was earned on the weekends. During this experience, I met two die-hard Southern Baptists who helped me form my very rigid ideas about organized religion.
The first was a woman named Tara. Tara was thirty-eight years old. She was an attractive brunette, pretty blue eyes, who was in the business of shopping for a husband. Tara could not work on Sunday mornings or Wednesday nights; she was a devout Baptist who at every turn was trying to "save" me. (She didn't appreciate my Catholic humor; I could sin repeatedly as long as I confessed). What truly struck me about Tara was that no matter how vile customers treated her, no matter how mean or condescending the managers were, no matter how many failed dates she went on, she never wavered in her faith. At 38, she was a virgin, and still refused to give up her principles. I admired her so much for that, that I actually attended church with her one Sunday. I felt that I owed her that much. I didn't agree with everything I heard there, but I respected her beliefs. After I went, she understood that it wasn't the religion for me, and she didn't push the issue anymore. She remained my friend, and we continued to talk for quite a few years until we lost touch.
The second Baptist to enter my life in that period of time was a very, very popular minister. The church had a following of over 30,000; I would swear to this day that he would make an announcement at the end of the service for everyone to meet at the restaurant because without fail, every Sunday after church, the place would go on an hour wait at 11:00am. The round table was reserved for this prominent minister (who drove a brand-new black Mercedes SUV) and the most prized members of his flock (all decked out in their Sunday diamonds). Since I was one of the more experienced waitresses, I usually ended up with this table.
Now, on a side note, I must tell you, something about church makes people MEAN. These church-goers were the rudest, more inconsiderate, hateful (not to mention CHEAP) customers on the planet. I have been cursed at by the finest of God's children, only to have them return to their prayer conversation and talk about how wonderful Heaven was going to be. But the crowning moment for me involved this minister.
Upon appraoching his table to take their drink order, he immediately assualted me verbally.
"Why didn't you go to church today, young lady?"
I blinked. Deer-in-headlights.
"Don't you know that Jesus died so that you could be here today? So that you may be relieved of your transgressions and enter the gates of Heaven to go home to God?" Amen go the sheep. Lots of nodding around the table.
"Well, sir, somebody has to serve you, right?" I said it in a joking manner, with a harmless-silly-little-waitress smile. Dead silence. Nothing. Extremely awkward. After moment he dismissed me with a wave of his bejeweled fingers; sinner. Satan's spawn, worthy only of crawling to kitchen and fetching his food. Try as I might, I could not make this man happy. He sent everything back, twice. He insisted I'd forgotten things, only for me to point them out on his table. The final straw was when I was walking out of the kitchen with a coffee pot on my tray for another table, when he raised his jeweled fingers and SNAPPED them at me like a common serving wench.
"Coffee." He pointed at the cup on the table. I looked this arrogant preacher straight in his eyes and with the last shred of dignity I had left, I answered him.
"Yes, sir, it sure is."
And with that, I walked directly past him to my waiting table, then walked straight past him again without so much as a sideways glance into the kitchen.
Strange that this response seemed to amuse him. Every Sunday after that, this man actually REQUESTED me. And every Sunday he ran me through the ringer, and every Sunday I would treat him like the hypocrite he was. One Sunday I asked him why didn't he preach kindness in his church. The sheep were appalled, but he just laughed. Another Sunday I informed him that Christians shouldn't treat waitresses like dirt. Again, he laughed. And his personal favorite, after a $3 tip for eight people, I told him that even Jesus had to pay bills. (After that, he actually began leaving me $5 every Sunday for a party of eight!)
My point is, and I do have one, that just becuase you're part of an organized religion with a big bankroll, the principles behind the religion are what's important to me. I shopped around for a religion that fit me, and I really could not find one. So I live this way; I try to treat others as I'd like to be treated. I try to live a good life and help as many people as I can along the way. I believe in God; I don't necessarily believe that God needs to be his name. I believe that the Bible was written by a bunch of men in a time where women weren't exactly treated fairly. There may be truth in it, there may not, and it's up to you to decide that for yourself. If you choose to believe it, and live by it, then I will respect you for it. If you choose to use it's words against me then proceed to treat me like dirt while you praise yourself, then I have no qualms about turning my back to you and waiting for God to get you in the end.
I'm not perfect, by any means. But I don't use the Bible to justify my bad behavior. I leave the judging up to God. I think he's the only one truly qualified to decide.
posted by Kristie at 11:20 PM
1 Comments:
(grin)
I've worked on a few church projects and overhead some really snarky things.
The best was waiting in a church reception area for a meeting and overhearing the receptionist discussing the upcoming Rapture and how it would be so exciting when all the non-believers' heads start popping off. I kid you not.
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