8pm and I’m here at Top’s Diner in Newark, NJ. Their cheesesteak egg rolls are to literally die for given someone almost t-boned me on the way here.
I could have really died. And what’s strange is that neither my heart nor brain skipped a beat. Having no fear seeing a car flying in my direction should have sparked a sense of dread or fear I feel. Not even a whimper escaped this lips. I must be so ready to let go and let whatever higher power there is take me. It’s so funny how death works.
Hmmm. It made me think of religions. I’ve never been the type to believe in a higher power. Even as a child, I knew it was some bullshit. I genuinely thought it was a fairytale like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Around 13, it dawned on me that I was attending these events every week? I thought we were playing pretend. I realized people genuinely believed in the Bible. Like truly dedicating their lives to a book that’s supposedly 2000 years old. Why?
I had questions . I needed answers. And who better to give them to me?
Bible study leaders hated me. I remember always holding up the classes. I wasn’t there to be disruptive as I was so invested in the psychology of it all. I just needed to understand and so they became my test subjects and to them, I was an aspiring religious teen girl, or so they thought. Far from it.
I had simple question after simple question:
– If we are Black, why is Jesus white?
– If the Bible is about 2000 years old, what happened to the other people before the Bible? Or people on the other side of the world?
– So all the other religions are wrong, and ”ours” is correct? Why is that?
– I’m not sure what it means to pay for our sins again if they were already paid for?
I inquired about certain scriptures and compared it to others that were contradictory. I know them folks hated to see my hand being raised. The answers were always vague, circular, or unsatisfying so I responded with questions to those answers. I was really digging in their ass about everything and they hated that.
There was this one lady in particular who called me a “little wench” Through tight, crusty lips caked with dry lipstick.
Apparently, word got out to the other adult members about me. You know church folks like to gossip. Mrs.Brenda we called her. Her reputation preceded her flaking scalp. She was holier than thou and looked every bit of it. Arrogant, smug, and maintained a very nasty attitude. I used to hate how her lopsided ass would waddle up and down the aisles. I think she was the Deacon’s wife. She was obviously unsatisfied with her life at home and decided to take that out on everyone else. People normally paid her antics no mind and because she never received the reactions that would satiate her fat ass, she would often target children.
Nitpicking. Judging. Hateful.
The other kids I attended church with were all well behaved, soft spoken, and did what they were told, no rebuttals or questions asked. I was not. So when the dead bat she wore on top of her head caught wind of a “disrespectful” child in the midst, she immediately motioned to take over Sunday school for children.
I was thirteen. Book smart. Street smart. Angry. And because I was filled wit hate, I picked up some unfavorable traits. Conniving. Scheming. Manipulative. Hurtful. I had just gotten into a fight with my mother the night before and I was in no mood.
That Sunday, I got there bright and early as my grandparents liked to set up for the service. I was normally the first one in attendance so I went upstairs and sat in my usual spot. The joy I took in watching all the adults scurry in their Sunday best from my perch. I knew Mrs.Brenda freezer built ass was teaching that day so I came prepared. That bad built, thick cankled woman spent the entire lesson speaking about bad children while staring directly at me. She said obedience, not respect, was the path to heaven. Then she implied that *some* children wouldn’t even make it past the clouds while staring directly at me. I didn’t like that.
Not the glaring evil eye she gave me, but the heavy breathing while fully seated.
I saw where the trog was going so I asked if her wide-across-the-back ass believed she’d make it into heaven. She said yes. I asked if gluttony was a sin. She said yes. I continued – If gluttony was a sin, why did she think she was qualified?
The room erupted. Older kids laughed. Younger kids followed. I continued because if all sins are measured the same, she was just as bad as I was but who was I to place judgement upon her? I’m not a God and neither was she.
That was her breaking point. The bench didn’t reach its breaking point though, thank heavens.
She began praying loudly, attempting to cast demons out of me. She said i was a demon spawn from the depths of hell and that I was cursed. Said I’d be nothing but a whore on my knees. Said I wasn’t even worthy of being spit on if I were burning in hell. Blah, blah, blah.
I was thirteen. And in hindsight, yelling all that to a child as a full grown adult in a room full of other children is crazy.
The younger ones ran out the room crying and soon enough other adults rushed in. She immediately cast blame on me. That was the first time I was heard things I didn’t say or do in my life. The word of an adult against a child? The fake evidence was damning me. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
Then the touching started. The makings of a prayer circle I Thought. It wasn’t prayer. I was being removed.
I recall thinking: No more church? Good for me. Not so good for my grandparents.
That was a turning point for me. It changed the very fabric of my life. My brain waves were definitely altered something fundamental. I’m twenty-seven now, and I have no regrets about my actions 13 years ago. I’d do it all again.
Now, I don’t mind people submitting themselves to whatever brings them peace. But forcing said beliefs on myself or others…? Preaching at me? I am the worst person to try and spread that rhetoric to.
I know too much. I know the history.
I’ve done my research because I cannot stand not having an opinion about a topic.
I’m an atheist not because I’m ignorant, but because I’m informed.
I wanted to know how millions upon millions of people can believe in such a thing, especially Black people, *my* people, when we live in the age of information. My research on Christianity led me to read page after page, article after article. I’ve read studies and peer reviews. I’ve studied Catholicism, Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Baptists, Methodists, etc. I’ve spoken and inquired with pastors, priests, imams, rabbis, even a pandit once. I’ve read various scriptures across all the holy books. You name any popular religion and I can speak to it. Hell, I can quote most. I’ve even spoken to scientists and other atheists in my travels.
Gotta keep the scales balanced ya know?
Back to my point; Interpretation is up to the individual and their mindset at the time of receiving word. I believe people should be taught how to think, not what to think.
And now that I know how to think openly, confidently, I can never see myself submitting to the religions of this day and age.
- Seven