Church


Church spins me about.  It fogs things up.

It muddles my mind.

Some guy goes up in front of me, setting himself as the representative of the God I love and the Christ to which I try to make myself a disciple.  He gathers all the trappings of power and authority, ranging from an American flag to a stage and a big podium and a  cross and a bible and a business suite, and then he proclaims things with which I would vociferously disagree, based, actually, on my faith and interpretation of the teachings of Christ.

This puts me in an untenable position.  Do I resist this man who is trying to exercise this power over me, and in doing so resist what, in some powerful part of my feeble mind, is still the representative of Christ, or do I succumb to his teachings and, in doing so, abandon my own carefully studied, deeply held beliefs, that I’ve worked out with no small amount of prayer, fasting, sleepless nights, fear and trembling.

I won’t be put in that position.

My mind is my own.  My faith is my own.  I can read,  I can think critically.  I can approach almighty God, having been gifted at birth with everything I need to do so.  

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