Being The Outsider
by Beth Woods

I think I’ve finally found the source of  this feeling of always being the outsider.  Those who know me, will wonder what I’m talking about and I’m sure most will try and reassure me, tell me that I am mistaken. But I really do think I’ve nailed down what causes me to feel nervous and shaky inside. It’s profound, let me tell you.

Growing up, I was only certain of a few things. My brother Craig was the coolest guy in the whole world. My brother Barry hated me (which was FINE with me). I was certain my parents loved me and loved each other. By the age of eight, I was certain of other things. My brother Craig was STILL the coolest guy in the whole world. Barry was the best friend a little sister could want. My parents loved me as much as they loved each other. My daddy was the strongest man in the universe. And, death, physical death, finds us all.

By the time I was eleven, I was certain of those things and little else. I clung to those facts as if they were the last strands of an unraveling rope as I dangled over a great cavern. By the time I turned thirteen, one strand had been stripped from my hand.

Most people know how I was raised. I grew up in the Bible belt. Most people I’ve talked to think they know what that means, what it’s like. But unless you’ve lived it. You don’t know what it’s like. I don’t begrudge my parents anything. I admire their faith. My father believed he’d be healed right up to the moment he died, accepting that death is the final healing a soul can have. My family were not fanatics. We didn’t handle snakes, we didn’t run in church, my mother NEVER waved a handkerchief. But the foundation is a strong one, one I cherish and will not be made to feel ashamed of.  I have seen miracles, small ones, in my own family.  I have also witnessed God’s silence as prayer after prayer goes seemingly unanswered. 

But as I grew, I also realized that much that I believed in, I had believed in completely blind faith. I never once questioned the validity of what I was told. Gay people would burn in hell unless they repented. Jews and Catholics would never go to Heaven. After all, the Jews refused to accept Jesus as the Messiah and Catholics pray to other people, thinking they have to go through a priest to reach God. Now, I’m not saying these are my beliefs today, I’m saying, this is how I was taught religion. The worst part, is that I bought into that; hook, line and sinker.

For a while anyway.

I don’t even remember when it started. There wasn’t a moment of epiphany where I started wondering if my parents and everyone I knew was right or wrong. I have flashes of memories now when I think about it. I can see myself standing outside my home, listening to my father cough more than he’s breathing. I can remember thinking that God could show me just how much he loved me, could show me that he was real if only my father would be healed. He wasn’t. That started a trend for me. Whenever challenged with painful, hurtful times, I always found myself saying the same things. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t allow this to happen” But they did happen. And instead of thinking I was unworthy of His love, I began to doubt He existed.

Time passed as it always does, and soon I was as wrapped up in traditional Christian life as one person can be. I taught Sunday School to toddlers...as well as Vacation Bible School. I sang in the choir, took notes on the sermon, played softball, watched as my husband played. I prayed for couples when their marriages were ending and rejoiced at weddings as they began. I went along with everything that was said about what was “bad” or “evil”. Witches were people who tried to steal your soul, killed your cats, and ate babies... Listening to music like Metallica or Ozzy Osbourne would possess your soul... etc., etc. Ashamedly, most things I didn’t question until I was shunned for leaving my husband.

So I left the church. I started feeling a call to other things, druidism, Witta, etc. I was shocked at the side of myself that felt undeniably pulled to these forms of worship. I learned about other deities, and grew in the faith of my heritage, learned to love the Mother...but still inside, I missed Church. I missed the music and the words and the feeling. And THAT is what makes me feel like an outsider. While I feel everyone has the right to worship or NOT to worship whomever they choose, I still feel defensive when the conversations return to Christianity. Nothing can excuse what the mortal men did when given the power to translate the Bible. Nothing can excuse those who were killed. But sometimes, I feel like I have to try and explain things from their side. Yet I feel I can’t say anything because it’s not something I follow now.  Instead I sit on my hands and bite my tongue, hoping that the conversation will change.

What do you do when you’re a neo-Pagan with a side of Christianity?