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Existence of Reality
Fiction
 Created on 10-8-07
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 Story Rating G
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In his autobiography, The Story of my Experiments with Truth, Gandhi wrote, "As soon as we lose the moral basis, we cease to be religious. There is no such thing as religion over-riding morality. Man, for instance, cannot be untruthrul, cruel and incontinent and claim to have a God on his side."
While I was growing up in Asheville, North Carolina during the 1950s, I was taught that a person is naturally supposed to look presentable in chruch and treat people decorously. I would look forward to dressing up and wearing my distinguished red, velvet dress; children within the church would envy me because my father had bought red, velvet shoes to match my dress. thought my childhood, religion was inconsequential in this little world that I had created for myself. I was simply fixated on looking the most preeminant in church; it was what I lived for.
As I grew older and matured, religion began to mean something special to me, as it would to a person once she's full-fledged. I came to realize that Christianity is comforting, as is any religious faith. It is reassuring and consoling to many people including me until one day, everything completely changed.
By this point in time, I had grown out of all dresses my parents had bought for me, but I still managed to dress suitably. In our church, the community would usually have families proffer gatherings and pray after the money was collected from every member of family unit of the church. After the gathering, our pastor would walk to the dais and kneel down. As he did this, he would whisper a prayer, stand up and begin his sermon.
Our town was racially segregated or lawfully separated; we had isolated churches, schools, stroes, restaurants, etc. I never first handedly experienced racism since my parents were always behind me trying to protect me. Consequently, I never learned to build up anger internally towards a particular group different from mine. I was overtly unmindful to the rancor that surrounded me daily; abhorrence was everywhere and there I was spinning in my own thoughts, in my own world.
As our pastor sustained his oration, I noticed everyone within the church murmuring amonst each other. My attention was shifted to the pastor once he shouted, "Brothers and sisters! We have gathered here today on this beautiful Sunday morning to ask the Lord to end the white man's sin! For we have all grown tired of the hate brought by the Devil's plan. We will not take this anymore; I do not want my children to be exposed to those heathens! Any Christian knows he must love thy neighbor, but hear me when I say this-- black folks have to take a stand!"
I was unaware of what would cause my pastor to yell so passionately. Every person in the church, including my parents, immediately stood up and yelled amen as our pastor continued to preach sadistically. What was happening? My community, the people I grew up with, was encouraging bigotry and resentment in the house of God. I was the only individual on that scorching, summer day that felt faint from shock and disbelief. Where had I been all this time? Had I been that oblivious? "Now, let's bow our heads as we request for the Lord to answer our prayers," bellowed our pastor.
As I folded my hands to pray, I could feel the sweat between my fingers. I repeatedly rubbed my palms against my satin skirt, but it didn't cease the perspiration. I have to get out here, I thought. This world that I lived in didn't seem so pleasant and I wanted to jump off. As much as I wanted to run out of that church, I knew I would be turning my back on my family and my community. I had no choice but to stay. My body suddenly became paralyzed and it was as if a numinous force coerced me to stay.
I began to cry during the prayer and until this day I don't know what had caused me to weep. Was it ignorance that caused my parents to become blind or was it fear and bitterness that helped created this double standard? I realized that religion wasn't to blame for any of this. Leaders who corrupt and abuse religious power fool followers. My pastor used piety as a weapon, not as service for the good. As I bent my head during the prayer, I remembered my red, velvet dress and how excited I felt when I first tried it on. Sadly, it didn't bring joy to my heart as it used to. My little world had vanished and I had jumped off, but I didn't know where I landed.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On October 9th 2007 r0r0ballababy Said : | |
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Thank you. ^_^ |
| On October 8th 2007 onaipwolf Said : | |
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This is really well-written. |
