If The Choice Is Between Donald or Dolly, I'm choosing Dolly.
But, I can't say the same for the little old ladies from the local Baptist Church.
*Trigger Warning: I discuss deconstructing Christianity in this essay.
I was raised in the Southern Baptist church; when I say that, I should say “churches.” I moved around a lot. Folks who live under the constant drumbeat of poverty do that. They move when a marriage doesn’t work out, or they lose their job, or the light bill is due. I don’t have a childhood home—I grew up in several states and several homes. I don’t really have a “hometown” though I claim the one I finished high school from in Arkansas.
I don’t have roots. I have tendrils.
The Baptist church sort of acted as a theme throughout my chaotic life, but I left in the late 90s or early 2000s. I can’t remember the exact time, but I remember the exact reason. It was something that had been bothering me for years—the fact that I had been lied to, or at least led to believe things that weren’t true. One lie that bothered me the most was that I had been told that the Bible was the first book ever written. Now, that lie is easily disproved if I were shown the truth, but I wasn’t, until college, when I read Gilgamesh.
I was an English major by happenstance. I enrolled in the local satellite campus for the University of Arkansas without an idea of what I’d do. I found out I loved Literature and History. I excelled in both which was a complete surprise to me as I was an average student in high school. During one of my classes, I was assigned Gilgamesh, and while reading it on my couch, I had a crisis. I realized it was written much earlier than the Bible and everything in my head started to unwind.
I pulled a thread and I couldn’t stop pulling. My indoctrination was coming undone.
I kept going to church though I wasn’t really participating. I was scared of going to Hell if I said aloud what I was thinking, but I couldn’t keep from thinking. I was reading too much and found out that what I thought were origins of Christianity uniquely only to Christianity were found in religions all over the world. I read mythology that sounded a lot like the stories in the Bible.
The crisis continued.
It came to a head when I went to church as usual one Sunday. We had a new pastor — I didn’t like him as well as the previous one, but I was accustomed to new pastors delivering the same messages. He started his sermon with a story of a homeless man he had encountered at Walmart earlier in the week. He said the man purchased a huge bag of dog food and then made his way to the church later in the day to see if the church had a food pantry he could use.
The pastor admonished him for buying dog food rather than food for himself and then he said something I’ll never forget: He said, “We aren’t running a soup kitchen around here.” I was immediately angry—why weren’t we running a food kitchen and how can a man that says he follows Jesus turn away another man in need? I remembered a story about thousands of folks and fish.
I never went back to that church and time marched on. I moved a few times and each time I’d try out a church, but the feeling was gone. The need for the word had dissipated, but I still missed the community. I missed the friendships. I missed the women especially.
So, recently when I was invited to a baby shower at a Baptist church, I was a little hesitant; it’s been at least a decade since I’ve darkened the door of a church, but I decided to go with a few other family members. When I tell you I was immediately transported back to the church of my youth, I’m not exaggerating.
I was comfortable when I saw the women gathered to celebrate another woman — a new mom. I was excited when I saw the mounds of gifts for the soon to be baby. I was in heaven when I saw all of the old favorite sweets baked with love on the back tables. I was home when I heard the soft Christian music playing over the speakers. This was the community I had gone without for so long. I was at peace…for at least 35 minutes and then it hit me again. Over the head. Like a club.
After the opening of gifts, several women were gathered talking in a hallway. I didn’t know them, but was near them, and sort of eavesdropping when I heard them talking about Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. Someone had mentioned signing the new mom up during the shower. My ears perked up! I love the program Dolly runs to get free books out to kids — I used it with my first two kids and they received a free book every month. Good books at that.
I started to gush about the program when an older woman said she wouldn’t allow any books from Dolly Parton in her home. She called Dolly, “…an immoral woman.” The women around her responded in agreement.
I was stunned into silence. What? Dolly Parton who has been married to the same man for 57 years? Dolly Parton whose foundation makes sure poor kids have access to good books? Dolly Parton who has shown love and acceptance of marginalized and oppressed groups? That Dolly?
I also knew from the bumper stickers in the parking lot who at least a few of these women voted for in 2016 and/or 2020.
It was then that I was reminded of what church meant for some of us…it meant that we played nice while nasty words poured from our mouths. It was fundie baby voice honey while spewing hateful rhetoric. It was twisting ourselves into pretzels and performing mental gymnastics to support politicians and conmen while pushing back on folks as “immoral” who do the work Jesus would approve of.
I was reminded that I don’t belong in this church anymore and I made the right decision so many years ago. I lost my community, but I gained my conscience. I miss the club, but I refuse to pay the dues.
Maybe I’ll find another church someday. I know good ones exist…I have friends who attend loving and accepting churches, but I don’t know where to unload the baggage from my previous experiences.
Surely I’ll find that place someday.
~Jess
Try the Unitarian Universalist church. Don’t know if you have one near you. I’m an atheist and that’s the church I go to with my husband. Everyone is welcome there, whatever you may believe.
Jess you are singing to the choir. We also were (are) members of a southern Baptist church, haven’t gone in over ten years. Hard to sit and listen to them spout love thy neighbor out of one side of their mouths, and hate thy neighbor because they believe different or live different out of the other side of their mouths. It’s probably not that Dolly is immoral, probably more their husbands gawk at Dolly’s figure!