Right up front, I’ll tell you what this is: It’s a come-to-Jesus meeting.
And since the Christian world just celebrated the death and resurrection of their Messiah, let’s start with the Crucifixion.
Even as a young girl, growing up in my very small, conservative, traditional Baptist church, I was very aware my Roman Catholic friends were…different. They were a breed set apart with whom you dare not mix. [A catholic girlfriend, for instance, who was one of my bridesmaids in 1969, wasn’t allowed to step foot in my protestant church without permission from her priest, so I know these things.] Besides, they ate fish on Fridays.
Interestingly, very early on we Baptist kids began relishing with great pride and glee OUR Jesus no longer hanging on the cross, while theirs did. OUR Jesus was raised from the dead. Theirs was forever dying a grotesque and excruciating death. No wonder they made penance all the time, because THEIR Jesus never finished dying for their sins! They proved it by the crucifixes around their necks. WE wore just the simple, naked, empty cross and made a statement: OUR Jesus was ALIVE.
Did I tell you about the man in our Baptist church who converted to Roman Catholicism as an adult? Isn’t that like a Christian converting to Christianity?
Then there were those Jehovah’s Witnesses, you know, who believed in the 144 thousand and didn’t celebrate their birthdays or Christmas or Easter. And the Pentecostals, with their sawdust floors, speaking in tongues and scaring the bejesus out of us.
Oh, and don’t forget that we Christians, along with our Jewish and Muslim friends, all rose up from the same Abrahamic roots but came up with different Messiahs or none at all.
How did that happen?
And who do those Republicans think they are, with their high-tea, holier-than-thou, self-righteous, gun-toting, women-are-less-than-men ignoramuses! When did they decide to boycott my American dream? And how did we allow them to have so much power? Who do they think they are anyway!
A bit closer to home, in the Gay Community we have those people who embarrass us: the dykes, the femme/butch, the queens, the sissies, the pansies, the leather crowd, the fags. We certainly don’t want to be associated with them, you know. God forbid. We’re not that kind of gay!
Have you noticed, it’s not even subtle!
Why is it that when we don’t know or understand something it scares us and triggers a superiority complex?
And who, pray tell, teaches us that kind of discrimination, often in the name of religion! Surely we weren’t born bigoted? Or were we! Did it somehow seep into the collective genes of our ancestors and get passed on to us?
Are we really that afraid of what is different or other? Didn’t anyone along the line think about breaking the scare-tactic cycle? Or ignorance? Locking us all in the same cage till we knew and loved each other?
Living in Europe these days, where I see Roman Catholic icons everywhere I go, I’m coming to terms with a forever-being-crucified Jesus on the cross. “After all,” I say to myself, “Easter Sunday every year really doesn’t make sense without Jesus on the
Black Good Friday cross,
does it? Besides, he did say ‘this do in remembrance of me.’ Surely
I can live with that!?!”
“Wait. It doesn’t mean he never rose from the dead, right?”
For Pete’s sake. Who cares??????????? Besides, we’re not supposed to talk about sex, politics or religion?! Just do it!
Okay, then. Meeting adjourned.