When Jesus Came to Dinner

Prologue:

I thought about not publishing this right now. It's heavy! And it's summer! One of the awarenesses I've come into the last few years is how severe my religious practice was. A huge part of me was underdeveloped - the part of me that needs to play, laugh, and seek adventure. It was buried under my tendency towards extremism - if I'm going to do something, I don't do it half-assed. I did not practice my religion half-assed. My faith practice was so serious. Heavy conversations. Heavy responsibilities. As I revisit memories, I am stunned at how heavy life was. 

The more I commit to healing, the more I realize that it might take a lifetime for my nervous system and brain waves to rewire. Vital developmental stages in my life all revolve around the American Evangelical god and experiences. For example. when I was the purest and open, Jesus came into my life. He even came to dinner when I was seven years old.

There's a picture of him and me sitting on our couch. I'm snuggled up next to him like he's my daddy, a massive grin on my face. His girlfriend, fiancee, wife…I can't remember…sat on the other side of me. I don't know her, but I clearly remember him. I even remember his name.

Lou played Jesus at our church's passion play that Easter. The church my family attended was large, even from a 7-year-old's perspective. Several hundred people, at least, filled the pews and balcony for multiple services per week. And for this Easter experience, I was seated in one of the first few rows, front and center.

At seven years old, children don't have the developmental skills to distinguish what is real and what is not. It's one reason trauma and abuse are so difficult to heal when it happens at such young ages. The boundaries blur, and we can't separate who we are from what is happening. So when Jesus (Lou) was being tortured as part of the crucifixion story right in front of me, my little 7-year-old self was invaded with violence I couldn't process.

The play represented Jesus's torture by slamming his hands with a sledgehammer. The stage was higher than my young eyes, and it happened as if it was almost bearing down on me. I cried and cried.

After the play was over, I sat with my mother in the almost empty auditorium, and Lou came down to show me his hands. He turned them over, showing me both sides. "See?" he said. "I'm okay. We were just pretending." I gulped back my tears with relief.

I don't know if Lou came to dinner before or after the play. All I know is my sweet 7-year-old self was in love with him. I remember his light brown feathered hair and bell-bottoms (Hello, 1976). The adults in my life encouraged my crush and thought it was cute. I soaked up his special attention. Where did Jesus end and Lou begin? Jesus was not someone we just talked about at church. Jesus had invaded my seven-year-old soul the way some little girls fall in love with horses or an older brother's friend. My Jesus walked around with skin on. Pleasing Jesus and wanting his attention became part of my everyday understanding of how life was meant to be experienced.

I've written about this before, but children should not be told at that age that the man of their Sunday school songs and Children's Bible had to die a violent death for their sins. The Christian church has taught since the time of Augustine that we are born in sin. When children are disciplined - often with corporal punishment - they believe they crucified Jesus. It is a terrible burden for children, and they should never have to carry it.

I know this is why protecting children's innocence is so important to me. In my decades in religious circles, I knew which children were being disciplined harshly. I saw the fear and burden their little shoulders carried and how they were hesitant to engage in play simply because they didn't want to misstep. There were even families I probably should have reported. I still think about those children, now adults, and ache for how their innocence was not protected.

When Jesus is your first love, and he represents a personal and divine being who knows your every thought and action, it is very confusing. I am now so aware of and unable to live with messages from others that I am in spiritual trouble. I no longer believe a divine being had to die for my 7-year-old or my 52-year-old sins. Whew! Just let that cat out of the bag for the first time. But that's another post. For now, I have to constantly learn how to not live in a tight box of fear that I will mess up and disappoint the one I wanted desperately to love me. This plays out in my relationships, too. Losing others' love shakes me at my core, and my default is that it's my fault. I still live with a confused, complicated, and traumatized 7-year-old.

Epilogue:

Just yesterday, someone messaged me that they are praying for me because Satan has deceived me. That I need to use this platform as a daughter of the King of Kings instead of writing about the trauma and problems. That’s why I went ahead and pressed publish on this heavy topic even when I should be splashing in a pool. I can’t let that toxic message and belief sit in my body anymore. I need to release that story.