*In every testimony, it’s inevitable that we blurt something out about how pious or preachy or putrid our parents were.
Since I seem to be full of disclaimers, Fundies don’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not your parents were good Christians. The WHOLE point of being Born-Again and Baptized, is that each one of us makes a PERSONAL commitment to Jesus. Nothing that our parents did or didn’t do or believed makes a bit of difference. We all stand before the throne of god, with no one propping us up.
My parents hit this point home again and again. For better or worse, they sensed that too many Lutherans and Catholics were hell-bound because they thought that infant baptism, teenage confirmation, or Christian parents would get them into heaven.
“Your salvation is a personal thing between you and the Holy Spirit. Just because we’re born-again believers doesn’t mean you are. Jesus wants you to make that decision for yourself.”
Whether they want to admit it or not, my own “spiritual journey” had to start somewhere, and it started in the home.
My parents hit this point home again and again. For better or worse, they sensed that too many Lutherans and Catholics were hell-bound because they thought that infant baptism, teenage confirmation, or Christian parents would get them into heaven.
“Your salvation is a personal thing between you and the Holy Spirit. Just because we’re born-again believers doesn’t mean you are. Jesus wants you to make that decision for yourself.”
Whether they want to admit it or not, my own “spiritual journey” had to start somewhere, and it started in the home.
__________________________________________
Mum grew up dirt-poor Baptist. Not just any Baptist, but the last of the Swedish Baptist, now General Conference Baptist. Her ma and pa were Baptist too. During the Depression, my grandma studied at Northwestern College in Minnesota, under the presidency of Billy Graham. My grandpa theorized that we were descendents of the crazy mystic Swedenborg.
Her side of the family was part of the Swedish Baptists that broke off and started what is now known as the Evangelical Free Church of America. Like all good Baptist/E. Free persons, mum had, of her own initiative, accepted Christ into her life and been baptized. She grew to be, and remains, a humble, kind, smart, true Christian. No bells and whistles: very sincere. The kind Jesus would be proud to have on his MySpace.
My middle-class dad grew up with an atheist father and a holiday-Methodist mother. Church was non-committal. He grew up playing jazz and dance music alongside his dad in bars at the ripe age of 13.
In '69, fate and a smile hooked up my mum and dad. Against her better judgment she married a non-believer. Then the seventies happened. Everyone sought enlightenment and guilt-free-forgiveness from their crazy young-adulthood. The evangelical fundamentalists found their stride in a baby boomer following, all ready to settle down and pop out some babies of their own.
A couple years into the marriage, my dad found a pastor that was bound and determined to save his soul. They had to argue the bible clear through to get to that point, but he wound up a true born-againer, free from his sinful past, baptized in a Baptist Bible Camp Lake. He not only left his swear-words behind, but his jazz music too. Or tried to.
My dad was more prone to share his testimony but rarely shoved it down anyone’s throat. He had a good example in my mum, as someone who took more seriously her personal relationship with Jesus, than try to impress any fellow or non-church goers. They were pretty tactful about it all to the outside world. We got the more intense version at church and home.
I found my way into this marriage in the mid '70's, sandwiched between numerous siblings. Alongside Big-Band and Herbie Mann, the Bill Gaither Trio, contemporary and old-time gospel inundated every corner of the house. Mom played the piano and the organ. Dad, a musician-for-life, channeled all of his extraordinary musical talent into praising god. Any church we entered got a serious dose of born-again gospel music when he stood up to play his sax.
Born into it, but not of it: that is where my story begins.
Mum grew up dirt-poor Baptist. Not just any Baptist, but the last of the Swedish Baptist, now General Conference Baptist. Her ma and pa were Baptist too. During the Depression, my grandma studied at Northwestern College in Minnesota, under the presidency of Billy Graham. My grandpa theorized that we were descendents of the crazy mystic Swedenborg.
Her side of the family was part of the Swedish Baptists that broke off and started what is now known as the Evangelical Free Church of America. Like all good Baptist/E. Free persons, mum had, of her own initiative, accepted Christ into her life and been baptized. She grew to be, and remains, a humble, kind, smart, true Christian. No bells and whistles: very sincere. The kind Jesus would be proud to have on his MySpace.
My middle-class dad grew up with an atheist father and a holiday-Methodist mother. Church was non-committal. He grew up playing jazz and dance music alongside his dad in bars at the ripe age of 13.
In '69, fate and a smile hooked up my mum and dad. Against her better judgment she married a non-believer. Then the seventies happened. Everyone sought enlightenment and guilt-free-forgiveness from their crazy young-adulthood. The evangelical fundamentalists found their stride in a baby boomer following, all ready to settle down and pop out some babies of their own.
A couple years into the marriage, my dad found a pastor that was bound and determined to save his soul. They had to argue the bible clear through to get to that point, but he wound up a true born-againer, free from his sinful past, baptized in a Baptist Bible Camp Lake. He not only left his swear-words behind, but his jazz music too. Or tried to.
My dad was more prone to share his testimony but rarely shoved it down anyone’s throat. He had a good example in my mum, as someone who took more seriously her personal relationship with Jesus, than try to impress any fellow or non-church goers. They were pretty tactful about it all to the outside world. We got the more intense version at church and home.
I found my way into this marriage in the mid '70's, sandwiched between numerous siblings. Alongside Big-Band and Herbie Mann, the Bill Gaither Trio, contemporary and old-time gospel inundated every corner of the house. Mom played the piano and the organ. Dad, a musician-for-life, channeled all of his extraordinary musical talent into praising god. Any church we entered got a serious dose of born-again gospel music when he stood up to play his sax.
Born into it, but not of it: that is where my story begins.
2 comments:
You write very well. And writing about one's life as a former fundie from the perspective of one who has left that lifestyle is an excellent idea for a blog. I'll be checking back often to read what else you have to say.
I look forward to part II.
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