Deconstruct - to take apart or examine something in order to reveal the basis or composition often with the intention of exposing biases, flaws, or inconsistencies.
This will be my most raw and real series yet. I do not plan to "work" these posts as I usually do, spending energy writing and rewriting over time until they seem acceptable for publication. That feels too much like how I became firmly ensconced in this miry pit to begin with.
It is my truth, laid bare, as I see and feel and recall it.
It is my story to tell, in my words, in my way.
This is my deconstruction out of religion.
(told in snippets of memories, without adhering to a linear timeline)
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Shock kept the words from truly registering. They were heard. They were understood. They felt like birds trapped in a too small space, desperately flapping to escape the confinement of their truth. They were seeking freedom to leave, now, but were rooted to that cold, hard spot where words, once uttered, never disappear.
Racism has always affected my life. Being biracial, and yet mostly white passing, brings with it the curse of others forgetting. forgetting that I am actually a POC. forgetting that they are actually not in the company of white safety. forgetting that their subtle bigotry is truly not subtle at all.
I remember the pain slicing through my heart, anger chasing quickly behind. I remember the disappointment. in them. in the church. in god. in myself. And I remember the disillusionment that took me one more step towards this path of deconstruction.
I no longer remember the exact words. My trauma response was to put a wall around that event, allowing the perpetrators to roam freely outside of it, walking through my life as if nothing had happened. I locked it away, hidden in a deep crevice of my heart and mind, where forgiveness couldn't reach and forgetfulness pretended not to know. Life is easier that way, right?
But, my children remembered. And they were struggling to piece together those words heard on a Saturday night with the words heard the following day.
How could church leaders speak of loving like Jesus while allowing conversations and mindsets steeped in ignorance to live boldly within their midst?
How could the mouths that spewed racism one day step on a stage to sing sweetly about their beloved god the next?
I would like to say that this was a defining moment for me, one in which I said enough was enough. It wasn't. Racism and the church has been holding hands my entire life. This wasn't the first time I had heard these types of thoughts within the white church, and it sadly would not be the last.
I said nothing. I did nothing. I moved on from that moment, albeit more wounded, more damaged, more christian. and less me. I was still growing my personal strength. I was still finding my realest self. I was still more afraid of rejection and not fitting in than I was proud of who I am.
But, it was a questioning moment.
What does unchecked racism inside of my religion mean to me? and about religion itself?
This was just one moment in a series of moments that begged of me to examine who I am, at my core, and to create a foundation of unwavering Truth and changeless Love.
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My deconstruction has no time frame, no ending in sight (yet), no right or wrong way to process, and no predestined landing spot. It is what it is, and I am allowing it to flow naturally for me while enjoying the ride.
Please do not offer me words that minimize the actions of others. ('god didn't hurt you, people did' type of statements) That is an example of how we allow The Church to shirk responsibility for its part in wronging others.
Love calls out injustices. Love calls for accountability. Love asks each one of us to own our mistakes while diligently being better in the following moments.
I have never given up on Love, and She doesn't give up on me.
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