When I was
eight years old, I was baptized by submersion. I was told that everything from then on, if not perfect, would set me further away from God. In Sunday meetings, I was told bible stories of great and powerfully spiritual men, their dutiful, long suffering wives and wrath that awaited those who fell.
I was introduced to the Doctrine and Covenants, the Book of Mormon and The Pearl of Great Price. I was taught that I would never rise to the spiritual level of the men in those books. I was taught that I would never rise to the spiritual level of men here on earth. That God would talk to the men and the men then would tell me. I would never hear God's voice myself for I am a woman.
My teacher made a gallow out of a wire hanger during one of her classes. She talked about the tortures we will face. That there would come a time that I would be asked "Do you believe...." and if I said yes, I would be put to death. She then put a paper doll on the hook and lit it on fire. We all sat stunned watching the paper curl up and turn black. She then said that if we denied God our lives would be spared only to live in fiery torment forever in hell and she lit another paper doll a blaze. Then she asked each one of us which paper doll we were. I will never forget that picture in my head. Frankly, at
eight, neither one of those options seemed better than the other.
I was
eight. I went into that water dutifully in a line of a bunch of other scared
eight year olds and then systematically dunked. When I came up from the water, my gown was heavy from the water but it felt to me that it was something else. I was weighed down by the knowledge that once I left that water, I was sin free. Scary for an
eight year old.
Eight year olds screw up. I began falling from grace immediately. Each transgression brought more weight. Each admonishment wrapped my wrists tighter. I was being molded and my will broken.
My life took some drastic turns at a very young age. By
eleven, my shot at heaven was gone. Whispers of rumors turned to voices, the pointing of fingers and with admonishments from grown men in white shirts and black ties, so began my own personal Salem Witch trial. I was told I no longer deserved or was worthy of taking sacrament.
Since then, I have struggled my way through knowing the dark specter of Hell was always watching and waiting. I fell away quickly from the church. I grew callous and apathetic. When at
44, I realized I was not only undeserving of God's sacrament but gay, I knew there was no redemption. But the long term apathy served me well. It held my terror at bay and soon I was content to sit back watching the L Word, waiting for hell. It finally just didn't matter to me where I was going.
By happenstance, I ended up in the pews at the Boise UCC last year. I didn't really care to be there, I went to support my partner who was on a journey to find faith and connection. There I met a woman who change my life. Taught me the real stories of the bible. Introduced me to the people who were not heros and spiritually superior icons but regular, imperfect people. People no different than any of the people sitting in the room with me. People who were no different than me.
Yes, David danced naked unto the lord in celebration. He had been blessed by his obedience and God was well pleased with him. Then he fell. I was never taught David fell from grace. He put a hit out on a woman's husband, his friend and comrade, because he was consumed with passion while he witnessed the woman bathing naked, one night from the roof of his palace. He knew he had the power to do anything. He wanted her, so he forgot about the reason he was who he was and off'd the dude by sending him to the front lines. Then of course, magnanimously married the grieving widow. His fall from grace astonished me. What came next dumbfounded me. When he realized what he had done, he humbly asked for forgiveness. God gave it to him as easily as one would offer a cup of water to thirsty child.
Forgiveness from a fall. Where I came from, a fall from grace was fatal. Until a woman broke all my assumptions and brought these fallen children of the bible down to the sacrement table from the pedestal I thought they belonged on and invited me to stand next to them. Thank you Pastor Kim.
Today, at (almost)
48, I am being baptized... again. I want the weight of the shame and guilt lifted from me. Weight I should have never been given at
eight. I want to be delivered from the rope that has bound my wrists since I was
eight. I understand now, my faith lightens me, my faith releases me. I am God's child. Imperfectly perfect and loved exactly as I am. At
eight and
forty eight 
Labels: baptism, Boise First United Church of Christ, rebirth
