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!
Duh.
Okay, then. Meeting adjourned.
