“Sometimes when our sin is too great, God gives us something as a lesson.”
When I was five years old I was diagnosed with a chronic auto-immune disease called Diabetes Miletus, commonly known as Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes. I would take shots for the rest of my life as there is no cure for this type. I learned the strict diet that consisted of absolutely no sugared candy or foods for the next 13 years. After a week-long stay in the hospital, I was released.
My parents took my sister & I to church at least once every weekend, and throughout the week as we were able. I have innumerable memories of the time I spent in Sunday School, and churches growing up. I don’t remember a life before I was indoctrinated into Christianity. At one such church, Glad Tidings by name, I made a memory that would sit firmly in my brain the rest of my life; as certain as my daily shots.
I want to say good things about that Church, the people seemed nice from what I remember of them. I liked their pictures on the wall, one depicted The Rapture. Looking back on that picture now, it is fucked up to the extreme. I’ll call out the raptured souls in the middle as sky-daddy calls them home! Maybe he should have called another pilot to take over the plane that is seen crashing into a building 11 years before 9/11. I want to say good things about them, but it was the bad that planted long-germinating seeds.
Diabetes was terrible. I was always hungry because I could have minimal food throughout the day with the exception of vegetables, cheese, and some eggs because insulin back then didn’t work like it does now. If my blood sugar dropped low, which can feel like death, I could eat some good stuff! But if I was too high, I would feel like there was syrup in my veins instead of blood. I describe this not to elicit empathy, but to remind you I knew these things as a 5 year old child.
After Sundy School, I came upstairs from the damp yet kind of dungeon-level fun, and found my dad at the front talking to church leaders. I remember them wearing brown, tan, grey, and yellow suits. They were all men, and all of them old, not old like a child sees old, but an analysis of my present-self knowing what I know now. My dad got to talking about my condition, and how brave I was being and how tough. One of them said “We should pray for him to be healed.”
My heart skipped a beat. That was a thing? I could have candy bars again, and not have to be hungry all the time? My mom and dad wouldn’t need to wake me up at midnight, 3 am, and 6 am to test my blood sugar in the night? (Hey, it hurt and was surprising to wake up to every time.) God could take this away from me and I could be like everyone else. Let’s go.
They put their hands on me, about 12 men, and all of their hands. They smelled funny, and some of them were speaking in tongues which I could only assume meant he was some kind of Christian Superhero. “Lord Jesus take this cross away from this young man.” “Heal him Teacher.” “Take the sin away.” They prayed for what seemed like a long time. I stood still for a long time, and let them do what they were good at doing. It ended, I thanked them so much, and we left. Turpentine couldn’t have gotten the smile off of my face.
I was patient. I was so well behaved because I knew God was about to take this awful thing from me. He just had to fix bigger problems first. I knew there were others who had it worse, like the other kids I’d met in the hospital with worse conditions. I’ve just got to wait my turn. And so I waited. I prayed, and kept praying, thanking God for what he was about to do and for those wonderful men! Christmas was coming up, and I figured that’s when it was going to happen. Because, duh – what present could be better? I shouldn’t have to tell you, I didn’t get cured for Christmas.
When I was done being patient, I got curious. I went to one of the men some time after that at Church and asked why I still wasn’t better. He said a lot to me, but the part that remained lodged in between my amygdala and hippocampus was his statement. “Sometimes when our sin is too great, God gives us something as a lesson.”
So, that became my reality. I had Diabetes because of some sin that I had yet to commit was too great, and I needed a lesson from God. I often wondered why criminals and murderers weren’t dropping dead of Leprosy like in the Bible if wickedness was the curse for terrible acts. I was determined to never commit the sin by being as obedient as possible for as long as possible. And then consequently feeling immeasurable guilt and shame any time I fucked up. I did not have a good relationship with myself.
I asked my dad if we believe what they had to say about God. He answered that he believed they taught biblical truth. So I made an assumption that my dad bought into what that old man said without ever giving him the chance to make that decision for himself.
What had I done that was so awful? I tried praying and saying I was truly, heartfully sorry, and that I would spend my life doing good things to make up for it. (A cacophony of Christianity rings in my eardrums “But there are none righteous! No not one! – Romans 3:10-12.”) My prayers went unanswered. Yet I saw people all the time saying “Oh, Nancy! I asked God for it not to rain today so I could make it to the grocery store, and He answered my prayer! God is good!” Well, shit. Grandma. Teach me how to get him to listen to me? Could ya?
I wondered if other churches had better people who could pray it away, and so we continued to let things happen as we explored other churches. I saw more people speaking in tongues, but I was quickly losing faith in superheroes. I stopped going to Sunday school, and began sitting in service with my parents, certain that would get me favor upstairs. It would also help me understand the non-baby side of my faith. What it would ultimately do, is equip me for everything that would come in the second half of my life.
As I grew I accepted that we were all born with sin and broken. Because, Christianity had survived for THOUSANDS of years, it had to be the real deal. And maybe, if I won enough souls for the Kingdom, I’d get cured. I was sent to a private Catholic school, so I was being hit with Religion from every angle. Constantly reminded of the sin that I either had already committed, or would commit.
In my 7th year of education I had a friend who brough a book on Black Magic into the classroom. It explained a history of Magic (or Magick if you Walk the path of the Wise), and opened my eyes that maybe if the ultimate good didn’t have all the answers, perhaps the ultimate bad did – Witchcraft *Cue spooky noises*. As I began to study the occult in a broad sense I began noticing similarities to teachings. For instance, Yule and common association with Christmas was actually a Pagan Festival of Winter that got reinvented to fit Christian belief.
I felt good when I was studying the forbidden, because if I couldn’t get God’s attention by being good, I’d get it the other way. Well, whenever things got really fucked (like getting caught by my girlfriends mother doing …things at age 16, I prayed to the Christian God instead of the Pagans. Figuring I’d really fucked up, and he’d help. So in my darkest moments, I still returned to the faith that had left me with nothing but confusion, hurt, and very expensive therapy sessions.
It would be nearly 16 years later before I would finally shed Christianity. There will be more elaboration on that as this site slithers on.
Looking back now, I cannot imagine putting an idea in a child’s head that an incurable disease could be cured by prayer. I cannot imagine telling a child that the reason they’re afflicted with a lifelong, managed minute by minute sometimes condition because their sin is too much.
I remember seeing videos online in the early years of the internet showing preachers and priests channeling the spirit of the almighty gawd, touching people and the afflicted would collapse under the power of the holy spirit. Healed, and restored. Despite my growing doubts as I grew older, I was still thinking Christianity could be real. Because…look around, a lot of people believe it. Important people. Surely all these people can’t be wrong.
But then again, hasn’t every religion that’s ever existed believed the very same about every other religion? My doubt continued to evolve from that little seed, and with every soul I tried to save for the kingdom, I planted a seed of my own dissolution. Let them who have ears to hear, hear.
