Bleed like a Human

Sometimes I recall instances in my my more impressionable youth when ideas I viewed in the light of righteousness and justice and goodness were so prevalent in my mind and experience, but now looking back I see how blatantly judgmental, shaming, hurtful, and close-minded they were.

I wasn’t a uniquely cruel child, so far as I could tell.

My entire culture was full of people telling me how intelligent, how godly, how caring I was, ready and willing and groomed to be a leader in my generation. How many times was I told of my leadership skills?

How many times did I break down in shivering, anxious agony at the amount of pressure I felt to feel something and experience the great mysteries of the universe? Then in my hauntingly breathless and sweat-soaked misery, I was gloriously praised for how in touch I must be with the voice of the most high God?

How proud they all were of the kid who wanted so much the one I was told to want. How incredibly pleased they were with my questions back then, saying I was wise for my age, anointing me and prophesying of my future where I would be used as part of a plan.

The adults in my life who I looked up to were always those who could speak well in public and had almost inhuman confidence in the certainty of their rightness. That’s how it seemed anyway. They always knew what to say. They had all the answers. Well, they had one answer.

And I think they were scared (maybe?)...

And when I was at my most desperate and needing guidance, I was reminded that their ministry was not for me, for I was a leader. My job was to reach out and recruit from the evil sinful lost society into our club of holy people who knew the one answer.

They never really told me what it was, the answer. Their hints were attractive, but really it was the idea of being part of something.

Even if being a part of something meant being blatantly judgmental, shaming, hurtful, and close-minded.

Even if when I started asking my own questions, really using the mind they had so adored every time before, they didn’t want it anymore. They didn’t want me anymore. Years of hearing about forgiveness, and when I finally ask for what it means to forgive and be forgiven, it was unforgivable.
An entire childhood spent learning about love and hope and a freedom of spirit that could really change things for the better, and when I noticed a contradiction or two, when I reached out for someone in need, when I spoke up about the hate and the oppression that broke my heart in two…

“This place would be better off if you weren’t here anymore. In fact, we’d all be better off if you weren’t around.”

Dress up like an angel and they’ll call you their brother, but bleed like a human and they’ll murder you like a god. 

Then again:

What is is what is, but what could be is better.