BELIEFS
My parents had their own view towards religion. They claimed
it and defended it when pressed, but in popular parlance, “took it with a grain
of salt.”
One, Sainted Mother, grew up in a strict Baptist environment.
Father attended a rural Methodist church but back in those days there wasn’t a
lot of difference.
As I say, they supported religion but didn’t let it dominate their existence. They dragged us to church each Sunday morning and, on rare occasion, Sunday night. They didn't go in revivals and other extracurricular activities. They ran our little grocery store six days a week.
They were honest and caring to those in need, but this
evolved more from the cultural surroundings than from the religious banter of a
Sunday morning. In fact, of the few types of people on earth my mother despised,
one of the most prominent was what she called “religious fanatics.”
These days, that would apply to most evangelicals and they
would not be offended, if fact would be pleased, with what they felt was an
honorific.
Religious fanatic.
That included about anyone who brought up the subject in ordinary
conversation without being prompted.
That included those who would “stick their nose into someone
else’s business.”
That included those who denied their children the fun of—because
the Devil lurked there—going to a swimming pool or movie theater.
That included people who funded a church while their children
went hungry.
Were my parents perfect? No, far from it. They would never
have countenanced an African American as president and would probably have gone
to voting for the dark side of America.
The lure of bigotry was a failure, one that was supported by
their religion.
They weren’t averse to corporal and abusive punishment.
The appeal of physical abuse was a failure, one that was
supported by their religion.
On the other hand, they never failed to provide help and comfort
to the least of those among us.
The appeal of kindness was a blessing, not one universally supported
by their religion.
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