The Camel's Back

I've been reading the posts of a friend's father over on the boards at Stuff Fundamentalists Like.  Reading his small entries about Catholicism and how he left being the pastor of Baptist churches, I paused to reflect with the ponderance of, "What was my tipping point? What broke the camel's back?"

I know what it was, but give me a moment to lead you there.  I knew Who and What Jesus Christ was and what He did for me at a young age.  I believed, but didn't confess it with my mouth, I didn't dramatically pray the Sinner's Prayer.  So I didn't feel I was "Saved", but none the less I couldn't bring myself to go up at the altar call.  All the other kids already had, and at seven years old, I was scared stiff to be the last one to accept Jesus.  Time went by and still I believed, but did not confess with my mouth, so I wasn't "Saved". 

High school came and so did church camp.  I tried to make a deal with God, despite what I read about only a wicked and adulterous generation demanding a sign when they should have faith, if He would show me the stars while I was there, without any man-made lights, I'd go forward for baptism and announce what I already held in my heart.  You see, I've grown up in a small city, and while I love gazing at the stars and they always remind me of God's majesty, I could only see a handful at a time, but the Baptist camp was in the middle of nowhere.

Nothing happened.  We started a "Religions to Beware of" class at my church, where I found myself playing Devil's Advocate for the sake of trying to bring intelligent discussion about, even if I didn't believe other faiths.  Never, my friends, try to defend Wicca, Satanism, Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, or anything else in a room full of angry fundamentalists, even as an intellectual exercise.  People just don't take kindly to, "But I'm pretty sure mosts Satanists don't believe in Satan as a deity".  It gets you called names like "Satanist" and "Anti-Christ".

Camp came again and went and then came again at 16.  I was walking back from our evening campfire service, because what better way to get up at like 6:30am than by going to bed at 1am after singing Christian music and being preached at, when the lights just cut out across the camp.  I looked up and beheld the clearest sky I had ever seen, so full of stars and I started to cry.  It had taken two years, but I had my sign, and about 30 seconds later the power was back on.

I went forward for baptism and to confess that Jesus Christ was my Lord and Savior the very next Sunday.  People hugged me for it and seemed genuinely happy.  Then however, came the two straws that broke my back.  I was told I wouldn't be baptised.  I remember just staring blanky at the minister in shock before he amended his statement to say "right away.  We want to maximize the number of baptisms we have, so I've decided we're only doing them quarterly now, like Communion." 

There is nothing to throw cold water on your relationship with a place that's already called you an anti-Christ and Satanist like being told the sign of your covenant with God, something you read has to be done in Scripture, has to wait because they want to put on a good show.  The second thing was how people kept congratulating me on my decision to finally give my life to Christ and how it was about time I had seen the Light/Truth.  Not just for a day, but for weeks.  Not just from people who didn't know me from someone off the street except for seeing me go forward, but people who actually knew I had believed but just been too timid to go forward.  No matter how many times I explained to people that I had already believed, I was assured that I didn't really, or I'd have gone forward; no one actually waits and tries to make 100% sure of what God wants them to do.

My baptism was wonderful, even though the preacher lost his grip and I hit my head on the bottom of the baptistry.  However he was moving on to a new church shortly after and storm clouds of politics were swiftly gathering in his wake.  The politics:  Purging membership rolls, shunning people, driving people away, manipulating who was on committees so a certain candidate won, changing the Church Constitution so the candidate could ascend to Senior Pastor, and continued questioning by people of whether I really believed or my going forward was a show didn't cause me to leave my church.  Those were just the toppings on something that had already been decided, a side dish of hypocrisy to the rot I had already found by keeping my word to God.

I wandered a few years.  I went to some non-denominational churches and some Pentecostal ones.  I never found what I was looking for, though sometimes the odd thing would pop up and point at Catholicism, but I tried to ignore those things; every Catholic I knew was exactly the opposite of what I felt a Christian was called to be.  Why would I want to be a part of another hypocritical place where people bragged in school about lying to their priest in Confession?  Why would I want to be a part of a place where no one I knew could explain why they believed the things they did?

In the end though, I convinced myself, with the help of friends and my ex (still here, told everyone I wasn't converting for a woman), that I should give RCIA a try.  I had a few friends from out of state call to see about it.  A fact I eventually divulged to my priest during the process and one he reminded me of as I prepared to enter the Church.  He told me I knew a lot about doctrines, dogmas, and all the nitty gritty for someone coming in, that I had shown up already convinced of most of what our class covered, but the one thing he thought I took away from my RCIA classes was community. 

Looking back on it, on that evening a little over three years ago, he was right.  No man is an island and I had once again found a community, but one that didn't spend years sniping at me or rumor mongering.  In the time since, I have grown more as a Christian than I ever did before.  My prayer life is deeper and richer.  My reading of the Bible, while not as much as I would hope, is easily far in excess of what it once was.  I've done more volunteer work than before, I've felt comfortable discussing theology in a bar (whereas you'd have never gotten my good Baptist butt to one before), and I've embraced more lay ministry opportunities than before. 

None of that would have happened, however, if not for people wanting a good show more than they wanted to do the Lord's work and the desire to tell me that I was wrong and had never truly loved God.