Why I am a Member of the Church of Christ by Leroy Brownlow sat on my family bookshelf for years. It was hardly ever read, but it was standard equipment for the library of a member of the church of Christ (CoC) when I was growing up. I would like to tell you the story of how I became a member of the church of Christ, and why I no longer consider myself one, even though I still attend services Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.
Since a child is not born with a religion, the story of its religious life begins with its parents. My mother grew up as a nominal catholic. Her mother and stepfather had been married and divorced more than once, so they weren't considered Catholics in good standing. My mother briefly attended a Catholic school when young and hated it. She was struck on the hand with a ruler for minor infractions and was told that saying the rosary was mandatory because Mother Mary said it, which made no sense to her, of course. My maternal grandparents believed they were probably going to hell.
My father grew up generic Baptist flavor christian. His father was a deacon and involved in community service of all kinds, when my father was young. They were not fanatics, however. By the time I came along, my grandparents were happy just being nominal protestants and did not go to church regularly. They were some of the most loving people I've ever known.
My parents eloped, were married in a military chapel, and seemed to have no deep religious convictions. When I was about two, we lived in Germany and my parents started attending Lutheran services, at least part time. My younger brother was born and my mother decided to have him baptized. Since I had never been baptized, they did a two for one. I still have the little white bible I was given afterward. My earliest religious memories are of watching a parent go up to the altar for what I know now as communion. Then, I just thought it was merely bread and water. We also had a large white, illustrated family bible, with gold edges and detailing. I loved to look at the pictures. As far as I know, that was the extent of religion in our household for a few years.
Later, we lived in Puerto Rico, on a military base, and were not attending any church services. My mother sent me to Sunday school classes, held in the base elementary school. Family friends later invited us to go with them to a local congregation made up of a mixture of continental American military families and locals. The church was run by a Methodist missionary and his wife. They were rather pious, serious, and gloomy, but the Puerto Ricans were a lively, exuberant bunch. The singing was terrific, joyful and noisy, in English and Spanish. Many of the women kept time with tambourines. It is one of the most delightful memories of my childhood. I still remember some of those songs.
Around the same time, my father had a kind of spiritual revival. He became very interested in reading the bible. He also began to listen to radio broadcasts of Garner Ted Armstrong and the World Wide Church of God. He subscribed to their free magazine, The Plain Truth. He often gave me the magazines to read and would discuss them with me, almost as if I was a grown up. The teachings of this organization led my father to decide our family would no longer celebrate Christmas, which was a terrific blow to my mother, as we found out in later years. Easter and Halloween participation were also discontinued. My father also decided he needed to be baptized for the remission of his sins. The Methodist missionary took a group to the beach and a number of people were baptized in the ocean, including my father and mother.
While we lived in Puerto Rico, a neighbor gave me an old, worn copy of a King James bible, printed by the Gideons. I began to read it. I believed wholeheartedly in God with the simple faith of a child and could not remember a time when I hadn't. At the age of eleven, I encountered my first atheist, Mrs. Szesniac (sp.?). She was my sixth grade English teacher. One class period, she angrily said the bible was just a bunch of fairy tales and we shouldn't believe it. I mentally stuck my tongue out at her.
Then we moved to Florida.
No comments:
Post a Comment