I went to church yesterday.

Once upon a time, that wouldn't have seemed like much of a statement. Of course I went to church yesterday, it was Sunday, right? Back then, I got all spiffed up every Sunday morning to run away and be a good Christian girl in Sunday school. I ate up everything I encountered there as rock-solid fact, and felt sorry for all the poor lost souls who didn't know enough to come to church. I started dragging my mother along, until she got suckered into teaching the 3-year-olds' Sunday school class. Ah yes, life was good, back in the day.

So what happened? I got this silly idea to read the Bible, that's what happened. And I started thinking, and listening, and questioning. Meanwhile, I spent three years in a Sunday school class with a man who encouraged me to think, and listen, and question. This guy would lead us in discussions about whether or not time had a beginning and an end. He showed us Stephen Hawking videos, read C.S. Lewis to us, and let us "invent" new churches using carefully researched Bible passages. (My group's church involved nudity and excess consumption of wine - no wonder the Christian education folks at church are making him follow a curriculum now!).

The result of all this thinking and listening and Bible reading was not, perhaps, the result my dear teacher was aiming for. Instead of making me a thinking Christian, it has made me a thinking person who will probably never be happy as a Christian. I absolutely cannot buy the idea that this is the "one true religion," I take very little of what's in the Bible at face value (it really makes so much more sense when you link it with a societal reference and remember that men wrote it) and worst of all? The whole concept that humans are all naturally filthy, hateful little sinners who need someone to "save" them is absolutely impossible for me to accept. It simply does not make sense to me, try as I might.

Be that as it may, I very much enjoyed my church-going experience. I'd probably still be sitting through church services every Sunday if my congregation had such happy people in it. These people actually wanted to be there! Fancy that! I remember a time when my old church was like that, all happy and friendly and pleased as punch to be together on a Sunday morning. Then we lost our pastor to the nasty folks in the state to the south, and received Mr. Oh-sure-I-care-about-you-as-long-as-I-can-use-your-entire-Sunday-School-budget-to-pay-for-my-stupid-PhD in his place. The man has all the compassion of a concrete slab. The only time he showed any interest in us is when he was using us for his thesis project. Pah! It was so reassuring to know that the happy church I remember from my childhood wasn't just part of an overactive imagination.

So, will I set out next Sunday for church again, beginning my journey back into the light? Probably not. Face it, I'm a bad Christian, with more desire to find a more suitable word for myself than to become a good Christian. But knowing that there are people out there, somewhere, who have found beauty and contentment in their faith, is still reassuring.