Religion

I thought it was time I wrote about my experience of religion in the Midwest. This has long been tucked away in my ‘not sure I want to go there on my blog’ folder, along with guns and obesity. Now there’s an attractive pair of bedfellows.

The first thing to say is that it’s very British, this reticence to talk about religion. How did that happen in Britain? Is it too personal? Is it too sensitive in these multi-cultural times? I have to say, I have found it refreshing here, to have it off the taboo list. When we arrived, people asked “will you be looking for a church?” much as they might have asked “which sports are you interested in?” And whether we’d said yes or no, either would have been fine. It’s something that people are much more relaxed about. I know the Bible Belt has a bad reputation, and perhaps we’ve just been lucky, but I can’t think of any occasion on which I’ve felt pressured or offended by any church or individual. I suppose it would be fair to say that as we did the rounds, looking for a church we might call home, we didn’t exactly head to the ones that advertised themselves as unpleasantly fundamentalist and Bible-bashing. But you know, even as I type that, I’m trying to think if I’ve come across some that would fit that description, and I honestly can’t think of any. I conclude that a very little of that kind of stuff has gone a long way in fostering an unfair reputation. I guess they must be around. Perhaps they just don't have a sign outside saying 'Unpleasantly Fundamentalist and Bible-Bashing'.

I find myself stuck at this point. Many many times in my head - most Sundays in my early blogging days - I have written amusing blog posts about an English woman’s perception of church life here. And I could reproduce one of those here, and make you laugh. I could. I mean, we all know that God, underneath His impressive ability to stand up for all nations, is really English. We have the best hymns, we have the best buildings – cold and draughty, with hard bottom-aching pews, just like they should be. We understand that when you leave church, you exchange two sentences about the weather, shuffle your feet a bit, and then head home for a decent Sunday roast. That’s how God planned it. I’m sure it’s in the Bible somewhere. They don’t really appreciate that here. They worship in modern buildings, which are warm and comfortable. They have guitars and keyboards instead of organs. They make way too much eye contact as you walk through the door. They even have people specially to do that, who wear badges saying “Greeter”. And there’s hugging too. I know, I know. It’s just not right. Not right at all.

Over time, though, I have gingerly crossed some lines. I find I can’t write that post any more. Where I used to see a room full of people who didn't seem to understand how to do church properly, though they were having a good stab at it, I now see a community of people living health-filled, grace-filled lives, gathering for worship, and I know I am privileged to be of their number. These are the people who stood with me and my family in the dark days of last summer. These are the people who brought us dinner evening after evening, who took the children off for whole days, whose phone numbers I could have called at any time, day or night, sure of receiving help. These are the people who stood with me in the anxious times when waiting for test results, who shared my relief when these were good (mercifully often), and who fell to their knees in prayer on my behalf when they were bad. These are the people who rejoiced with me when my hair grew, who allowed me space to be sad, be angry, be happy, be weird. These are the people who have puzzled over my odd European perspectives in discussion, and who have embraced my English eccentricities. These are the people in whose company I have wrestled with things, questioned things, faced things, and laid things down. These are the people who I know will carry me in their thoughts and prayers after we’ve (eventually!) left the Midwest, as I will carry them.

I have learned more and received more than I bargained for, here in the Bible Belt. I could tell you a whole lot more about that, but I’m going to sit back now, and watch the comments box go strangely silent. I suspect we’re all British here, when it comes to religion.

There is one thing I miss, though. Because religion is so much more acceptable here, there was an edginess about being a Christian in the UK that I don't experience now. There used to be moments, moments which I loved, when I'd be talking to a mum from school who I'd known for a while, and I'd drop into the conversation that I went to church. The conversation would hesitate, just briefly, before she would express polite interest, or not, while her face would have written all over it the suppressed exclamation "but Iota, I thought you were NORMAL!". I'm a bit of a rebel at heart and I do miss those moments, so if some of you could oblige in the comments, that would be nice.