I used to hide behind religion. My reasoning for who I was completely hidden by what was regarded as the proper way to live and the right type of person to be. “Why don’t you do or believe such-and-such?” I’d answer “Uh, I’m a Christian,” and they’d say something along the lines of, “Oh, one of those.”
I was who I was supposed to be, but not exactly who I was. I know it sounds complicated, but it is for the simple reason that it felt complicated too. As I got older I started questioning what I believed and why I believed it. I discovered that the complicated identity I had for myself before was, and is, because my personal identity is mixed together with my beliefs. How do I align myself with a faith that many so easily place stereotypes upon? My identity is tangled, finding its roots in traditions I barely want to be associated with, and somewhere close to how I want to be perceived. I want people to know me as a believer in Christ, but not simply dismiss my faith with what they’ve already experienced from “my type.”
To quote Jack Handey, “I wish I had a kryptonite cross, because then you could keep both Dracula and Superman away.” So, it’s not a perfect example, but in different societies and to different people, crosses create completely different meanings. Rappers curse their way on stage, and while clasping onto their “bling” crosses, remember to thank their Jesus for getting them where they are in life. Some see the cross as merely jewelry, a nice symbol for a nice idea. Some view it painfully as it reminds them of nothing but persecution from selfish men, or a selfish priest in their childhood who used religion to wield social or political power, meshing together a symbol of love and sacrifice with one of oppression and political corruption. Not-so-seriously, I wonder if the bigger the cross the smaller the faith.
The cross around my neck is nothing but a weight bowing my head unless I carry the cross upon my back by living the life it’s actually meant to represent. The cross itself is a religious symbol, and even I cannot stand much of what religion has to offer. I feel sometimes as though by wearing a cross, someone can get the impression that I think the Crusades were a good thing, or maybe not literally that, but that kind of sentiment. I am not proud of the history of the Church, and even some of its future. I hate the judgments cast upon other peoples’ lives. I hate that preachers scream and label and condemn passers-by. Humans deserve so much more than that, and Jesus was far from condemning. I am sometimes ashamed to wear the cross, yet still I bear it.
Religion is so far from my personal identity, but the problem is that it’s impossible to shake from how people see me. I feel as though I am always apologizing for the wrongs of so-called Christians. When someone finds out what I believe I feel compelled to explain.
A bunch of my friends went to see a movie a while ago, and after watching the completely senseless violence, predictable and ridiculous plot, and just bad movie in general, I was standing with my friend waiting for the rest of the group to catch up. While I was explaining to him why I didn’t really care for the movie, someone standing near us overheard and asked, “What, are you guys religious or something?”
Seriously, I hate that question.
In this case, I turned to him and instead of telling him no, and explaining that I personally (not just religion) object to some of the content of the movie I don’t agree with and that generally speaking, if I do not like a movie, I don’t feel like I have the right to speak for all religious people in the world based on my own opinions. I turned to him not wanting to go into the detail of what was really running through my head and my friend eventually said, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He nodded knowingly while I sighed. My spiritual identity is more than religion implies.
I love to read the Bible, but I hate to carry it sometimes, just for the fact it creates an image of me as some self-righteous Bible-thumper. What do people think when they see it in my arms? I honestly do not think I am ashamed of God, but I am ashamed of the people of God, including myself. I am not perfect either, and my own life doesn’t always provide a loving example of Christ. Still, I don’t want to be labeled as just another Christian. I want truths of scripture to radiate through my veins and be vital to how I live, the choices I make and how I treat others. I don’t want the Bible to just be another brick in my pile of books, or viewed like I’m carrying a weapon, ready to shoot, just another day injuring people who are already hurting. I want people to see my life and say something cornball like, “She really loves Jesus,” and not “She’s so religious.”
My old church back home has this massively gorgeous cross-shaped stained-glass window right behind the altar. The light it lets through in the evening is striking. I love just sitting there in a random pew as if I’m trying to get a tan. I want so badly to be like light: pure, warm, and understood. As much as I want my light to shine unhindered, it’s like I am still stuck behind the stained glass windows of a church. I find hope in each sharply cut, precisely aligned and colorful piece as each one speaks for itself and lets different shades of light pass through. Yet the hundreds of pieces still fit together, labored over by an artist for weeks just to perfectly fit within the window. So, now the cross stands covering me in its syrupy colors. My life, though, is kind of like a single piece of stained glass. One cut and colored piece is not impressive, and people may not take a second look. Among all the different shapes, I might blend in at a glance, merely part of the building and be dismissed, but if someone takes the time to examine the window they will notice each small piece completes the whole work. No one piece can stand independent of the others, and no one piece speaks for all the others either. My identity finds itself among those stained-glass windows, letting light pass in, revealing the glory of God to those in the church, but more importantly, when the light outside is fading, the light of my life continues to glow, colors shattering and illuminating the night.
I wrote this a year or two ago for an English class but never published the final edit until now.
This shouldn’t be published in a blog. It should be put in a book. Maybe a foreword to a CS Lewis book or something. Seriously, you eloquently described the burden that most Christians bear, and troubles that everyone struggles with at one point in their walk.
Another brilliant masterpiece Ginna.
A thoughtful post, Virginia. It made me think of the Isaac Watts hymn that is one of my favorites: “When I survey the wondrous cross, on which the Prince of Glory died, my richest gain I count but lost, and pour contempt on all of my pride.”
Hey Ginna… Long time talk! But I ran across the comment that someone made about your pound it article and was intrigued… and so forth until I read this article. Very good thoughts. I think a lot of people go through this too… just wanted to thank you for writing this and I’m glad I was able to read it.
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