The "Fun" Before The Fundamentalism
I did not grow up in a fundamentalist family. My religious background was a hodgepodge of experiences: Catholic, Episcopal, Charismatic, Assemblies of God, Church of God, and last but certainly not least, Baptist. My religious training consisted of regular church attendance, intermittent bible studies with my mother and two younger sisters, attending classes for First Communion and eventually attending a Catholic school in the third grade. There wasn't any pressure to memorize scripture, the Catholic church seemed to focus more on its traditions and rituals than actually knowing what the bible says. To this day I can still recite most of the prayers and responses I learned at such a young age, it just goes to show the power of indoctrination.
My mother didn't become "born again" until I was eight, which was about the same time I got "saved" during vacation bible school at the local Baptist church. After our conversion, we began attending the early morning services at our Catholic church which were charismatic in nature. My mother became involved with the worship team there and later joined a charismatic women's organization named Women Aglow (Romans 12:10-12Revised Standard Version (RSV)"...10 love one another with brotherly affection; outdo one another in showing honor. 11 Never flag in zeal, be aglow with the Spirit, serve the Lord.") Our prayer times at home became less rote and more spontaneous. We listened for God's voice and looked for him in our everyday experiences. I remember having "visions" during prayer times and whatever dreams I remembered we tried to dissect and divine the meaning in them. One such vision I had during prayer, was of me waltzing with "European Jesus", the one depicted on the wall in my bedroom.
In the middle of our dance, Jesus grew horns on his head an a bifurcated tail. WTF?!?! As an eight year old, this was alarming! Was I being deceived, was I in league with Satan?!
Then there was the dream of me ascending to heaven like the Virgin Mary.
As I ascended, there were many scaly gnarled hands reaching, trying to grasp my feet and bring me down! Suddenly, bars slid over them. Did God have a special calling for me? Was I under attack? There weren't any answers then, and there certainly aren't any answers now. This exercise in superstition laid the foundation for some heavy koolaid drinking in my later years.
In the meantime, my head became filled with images from a collection of booklets about Catholic martyrs, picture books teaching me about the triune god, bible stories told in prose as well as comic book form, the Christian version of the Archie comics, and all sorts of Christian biographies and autobiographies.
My mother didn't become "born again" until I was eight, which was about the same time I got "saved" during vacation bible school at the local Baptist church. After our conversion, we began attending the early morning services at our Catholic church which were charismatic in nature. My mother became involved with the worship team there and later joined a charismatic women's organization named Women Aglow (Romans 12:10-12Revised Standard Version (RSV)"...10 love one another with brotherly affection; outdo one another in showing honor. 11 Never flag in zeal, be aglow with the Spirit, serve the Lord.") Our prayer times at home became less rote and more spontaneous. We listened for God's voice and looked for him in our everyday experiences. I remember having "visions" during prayer times and whatever dreams I remembered we tried to dissect and divine the meaning in them. One such vision I had during prayer, was of me waltzing with "European Jesus", the one depicted on the wall in my bedroom.
In the middle of our dance, Jesus grew horns on his head an a bifurcated tail. WTF?!?! As an eight year old, this was alarming! Was I being deceived, was I in league with Satan?!Then there was the dream of me ascending to heaven like the Virgin Mary.
As I ascended, there were many scaly gnarled hands reaching, trying to grasp my feet and bring me down! Suddenly, bars slid over them. Did God have a special calling for me? Was I under attack? There weren't any answers then, and there certainly aren't any answers now. This exercise in superstition laid the foundation for some heavy koolaid drinking in my later years.
In the meantime, my head became filled with images from a collection of booklets about Catholic martyrs, picture books teaching me about the triune god, bible stories told in prose as well as comic book form, the Christian version of the Archie comics, and all sorts of Christian biographies and autobiographies.
Being musically inclined, all the worship songs we were exposed to became the soundtrack of my life. Thankfully, my father wasn't as devoted as my mother and I got a good dose of "secular" music as well. But then, the term "secular" wasn't so much a part of the catholic vernacular as the charismatic movement we were swept up in during my tweens...
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