Confession

So, I mentioned the anti-revelation in the last post, but I've decided this is too ugly an expression. Maybe I should go with antipiphany.

Anyway, this refers to an experience I had before leaving Devon. Lucy's parents were down and by way of providing activities, we took them to a concert by the Sidmouth Gospel Choir. As you might imagine, I wasn't thrilled with the idea. My feelings on religion have been well documented. But I went along, as I was told they wouldn't be performing in the church itself, but in the church hall.

Plus, it's only a gospel choir, not a service or anything. So I thought I'd be fine. I was well wrong.

When we arrived, we found out it was going to be in the church after all. "Shit," I thought. And the music was all very religious. I know, I know, I should have realised that by seeing the words 'gospel' and 'choir', but I naively thought it would be more cool, like going to see an Al Green concert or something. I was well wrong again.

As soon as the performance started, I knew that I was in trouble.

The reason is: I have an irrational reaction to being in church. It is almost like having a panic attack. It's happened for ages, and I remember having to leave a service when I was a kid, because it was stressing me out. And whenever I've been conned into attending a carol service or something, I always feel the same.

I start feeling agitated. Powerful waves of panic wash over me. I begin to feel physically nauseus. I can't sit still. I keep longing to leave. What's more, hatred overcomes me. I hate everything that is being said, I wish I could shout out in condemnation of all the bullshit, I feel anger at being forced to listen to this nonsense, and at the same time shame at being an imposter; a fake; a pretender, or (God forbid) a hypocrite.

The important thing is that this isn't just an atheist's distaste for religion. I feel that all the time. It's not just annoyance or self-righteous indignation. It's a reaction on a far deeper level; in my very bones. I'm not reacting out of a thoughtful rejection of organised religion (although this probably doesn't help), I'm reacting as though I want to physically expel the poisons of faith.

I start to think things that I would never ordinarily think. Usually, even though I dislike religion, I still value the tremendous art and architecture that has sprung up around the church. I can appreciate the beauty of paintings and music that are explicitly religious. But when I'm in church, and overcome by this feeling, I want it all gone. I want the churches demolishes, the stained-glass smashed, the paintings burned. I look at the hymn books and want to tear them up. I'd open my veins if it meant drowning the congegation and staining irreprably the oppressive evil of the church.

This is clearly stupid (and a bit melodramtic). But that's how I honestly feel at those times. This is why I think of it as an antipiphany. It's atheism working at a far more spiritual level. And I don't think that makes any sense.

The whole thing wasn't helped by the mostly shit music of the gospel choir and the young woman leading the group saying "We're not all Christians. Some of us believe what we're singing about and others don't. I suggest you DO believe it. It will change your life!"

It will change your life. Yes, it probably will. But so will becoming a heroin addict. And I'd rather hang out with Lou Reed than Cliff Richard.

I got through it in the end, but it dragged like a motherfucker. I don't think I'll be conned into going again.

I think this experience might relate to a dream I wrote about here before. Maybe my distress can be traced back to some childhood trauma. Maybe I was bummed by a priest or got a crucifix stuck in my eye or something.

Although this makes me sound like a mental patient, it only affects me when I'm in church, which is about once every five years. So I think I'll be ok. The rest of the time I'm relatively normal. I did once hunt down Jim Caviezel, stick a false beard on him, and force him to walk across a glass of water at gunpoint. But we all go a bit funny at Christmas.

Damn you God for making me this way! And you don't even exist, which just adds salt to the wounds! Your holy non-existent salt in my heretical brain wounds!