but have since converted to hedonism.

 (Apologies to Woody Allen)

Ever since I de-converted from Christian fundamentalism, one of my favorite games has been to see who does and doesn’t stay in the faith. I had a good deal of hope for my kid brother-- Sam-- who is twenty years old. We smoked pot in my parents’ backyard last Christmas and compared notes on the girls we were dating. We were so high during Christmas dinner that all we could do was stare at our plates and giggle-- so much so that Grandma couldn’t help but remark that it was nice to see we still had maintained a sense of “Christmas cheer” into adulthood.

I don’t know what happened to Sam, and he doesn’t want to talk about it, but Jesus got a hold of him again-- much to my dismay. He spent his summer in Florida with Campus Crusade for Christ, witnessing to girls in bikinis on the beach. I teased him a good deal about how much he suffers for the Lord, but he told me with all earnestness that it was a time of “spiritual growth for him.”  He doesn’t smoke pot anymore or go to the house parties at his college, and he doesn’t ask after Jenny anymore either. Which is really what stings most of all.

Maybe it shows how much I’ve changed in the last six years, but I don’t understand why Sam went back to it. Baptists preach a sort of holier-than-thou asceticism, and they tend to define good behavior in terms of what you don’t do, instead of what you actually do. He and my parents look down their noses at me because a)I left the church and b) of my “hedonistic lifestyle.”

I myself would not call the lifestyle of a starving artist in New York City hedonistic by any stretch of the imagination--- unless, of course, you enjoy digging money out of your couch to pay your rent. But I certainly don’t abide by their rules anymore, so they try to shame me with the term “hedonist.”  However, I think the greater shame is in refusing to enjoy what’s been put here in front of you.

When I left the church, it was like a whole new world had opened up to me. I remember going to Blockbuster with my friends the first week of college, and realizing that I could rent whatever I wanted. My mother had been very strict about the sorts of movies we watched, so I promptly rented just about everything I had never been allowed to see-- Sex and The City, Angels in America, Annie Hall.  It became a project of sorts, to catch up on all the pop culture I hadn’t been allowed to consume. And I realized it was GREAT, and that whoever thought I’d act like Samantha Jones because she’s on the teevee was pretty stupid.  

I started drinking. That was more difficult, because all I had ever been told was not to do it. But, after a few nights bent over the porcelain throne, I learned that I could do it without becoming some sort of moral derelict. I smoked pot, and I realized it wasn’t a gateway drug. I started having sex. And identity crisis aside, I learned that sex is fun and pleasure is good for you. It only becomes a big deal when you spend 18 years being told not to do it.

I learned that sometimes it is good to stay out all night, and sometimes class needs to be cut in favor of real life. And I learned that “unbelievers” were actually more like me than not, and worth getting to know as something other than potential converts.

My suspicion is that my family is secretly more jealous than disapproving, because I am free of the fear that someone’s going to smite me for enjoying my life. I just wonder why the fundamentalists haven’t figured out how to incorporate “having fun” into a godly lifestyle.

And I wonder why they don't leave the faith anyway because who wants to worship a God without a sense of humor?