HOMER J. SIMPSON
25
JESUS HATES ME?
So about that love/hate relationship with Jesus I previously mentioned. You could say it all began in the early ’90s during my teenage years, with my introduction to punk rock and hardcore music. Since then, I’ve been a proponent of the “question everything” mindset, which includes our thoughts, actions, motives, and of course, the spiritual teachers and teachings we encounter on the path. Not all spiritual teachers are going to resonate with everyone, and that’s fine. But maybe it’s worth taking a little time to explore why that is. Do we truly have a problem with the teacher and their teachings, or is our dislike based on an outdated paradigm?
To say I had a very negative view of Jesus when I was younger doesn’t even begin to do it justice; I hated the idea of him. I even rocked a T-shirt that read, “Jesus Hates Me/So Fuck Him.” There was also the time when I was a senior in high school and I went on a field trip to a big college fair. There were some people standing outside who were, somewhat forcibly, handing Bibles to students as they walked in: so me being me at the time, I proceeded to take one of their Bibles and rip it up in front of them.
In all fairness, this was during my often misguided youth. In retrospect, I see that my overall disdain for Jesus had nothing to do with him or his teachings, but instead, everything to do with my frustration toward close-minded, fundamentalist Christians. I wasn’t a fan of any fundamentalists, but growing up in the area where I did, Christianity was prominent, hence my lashing out at poor old JC.
Now the interesting thing is that a few years after all this, there was a period of time, albeit it a short one, when I found myself, um, kinda sorta into the Jesus of dogmatic churchianity. Yup, not too long after the “Jesus Hates Me/So Fuck Him” phase of my life, I found myself kneeling in front of the pulpit of a packed Pentecostal church in Holyoke, Massachusetts. I, one of only two white people among the hundreds in attendance, was accepting Jesus Christ as lord and savior into my life.
I’d just spent the last hour and a half listening to the church’s preacher go nuts—running around, hollering, speaking in tongues, and so forth—while giving a sermon in Spanish, a language I don’t even understand. For whatever reason, at the end of his fiery sermon, when he asked if anyone wanted to come up front and be prayed over, I felt compelled to go (which, again, was strange because I didn’t understand a word that had been uttered).
So, how did I go from “Jesus Hates Me” to accepting him as my lord and savior? Well, it all happened while I was living in New Haven, Connecticut, where I was attending college, and it was also at the peak of my piercing phase. I had decided it was time to get my bridge pierced (top of the nose between the eyes), so I called my friend who was a professional piercer to schedule an appointment. (As a quick side note, if you’re thinking about getting pierced, go to someone who really knows their craft! Otherwise, you truly run the risk of harming yourself.)
Something strange happened on that phone call to my friend. He told me he didn’t pierce anymore because he’d given it up for Jesus. I laughed, saying something to the effect of, “Yeah, okay, so seriously, when can we make this happen?” to which he replied that he was serious, that he’d given up piercing. At that point, I knew he wasn’t kidding. It caught me off guard because, like me, my friend had grown up in the punk/hardcore scene, and while there were a few Christian hardcore bands back then (there are many more these days, unlike the early to mid-90s), Christianity and organized religion in general weren’t really a popular notion with most hardcore kids. (For the old-school hardcore kids reading this: yes, there were bands like Zao, 108, Cro-Mags, Shelter, Sons of Abraham, and so on that were rooted in various religions, but I think you’d have to agree that “religious” hardcore bands were, for the most part, rare.)
In that same phone call, my friend proceeded to tell me I should really go to church with him and his girlfriend to check it out. I politely said, “Um, yeah, sure, maybe sometime,” knowing I had no intention of going. I caved shortly thereafter and agreed to take him up on his offer. I don’t know why exactly. Maybe it was because I’d never actually been to church before, and I wanted to prove to myself that all my negative judgments and opinions were right. Maybe it was because I really liked my friend and felt like giving him the benefit of the doubt. Either way, about a week or so later, I met up with him, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend’s mother, and we were on our way to church.
I already gave you a brief rundown of the service, and how, at the end of it, I went up front to be prayed over. So let’s pick this back up right before that point, when I was still sitting in the pew. The whole thing was so strange. Honestly, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing sitting there. I hadn’t planned to go to church with the outcome of me accepting Jesus into my life that day, or any other. It was just that, after the pastor asked if anyone wanted to come up front, I felt utterly compelled to go, but mentally wasn’t willing to budge. The next thing I knew, it was as if a force outside of me made my body get up and go. Yeah, I know, that sounds all woo-woo and possibly like complete bullshit to some, but it’s what happened. Hopefully by now you know I have zero reason to bother making any of this shit up.
When I was up front on my knees, a woman began praying over me. A minute or two into it, she asked if I wanted to accept Jesus into my life as my personal lord and savior. It was an interesting question, especially for someone who not only had never been to church before, but also wore a “Fuck Jesus” T-shirt. The strangest of the strange happened about a second after she asked me that question, when I heard myself blurt out, “Yes.”
She read a verse from the Bible, and when she finished, she asked me to declare that I accepted Christ into my life as “my lord and savior,” which I did. I can say with all sincerity that, once I finished uttering those words, I immediately experienced a significant shift, one of feeling lighter, from my head to my toes. This could have just been me totally feeding into the experience and projecting onto it whatever I thought it was supposed to feel like. I was eighteen at the time, but still, I remember it being a pretty undeniable feeling.
Over the course of the next year, my ex-piercer friend and I became much closer as we visited various churches across Connecticut and Massachusetts. I even went to a Christian camp with him for a week, along with a bunch of the people from the church in Holyoke. I really got into the Christian thing in that short period of time. I plastered my car with all sorts of stickers like “Jesus Died 4 Your Sins” and of course the quintessential silver fish. I also started listening to cheesy Christian music and watching low-budget and poorly acted Christian movies. (I’m not trying to sound like a judgmental prick about Christian entertainment. I know all religions have cheesy music and poorly acted films, but these are just the ones I’m familiar with.)
At one point, I was so enthralled by my Christian experience that I renounced all secular music and destroyed all my non-Christian CDs, demo tapes, and records. (There was some really good rare stuff in that collection, especially the vinyl—bands like Sick of It All, Youth of Today, Deadguy, Inside Out, Quicksand, Converge, Snapcase, Cable). I didn’t stop there—I snuck into my younger brother’s room and destroyed his collection of CDs, demos, and vinyl, too! Yup, total dick-brother lifetime achievement award right there. (To be matched only by the time I missed his wedding, where I was supposed to be best man, because I was in detox. And yet, we’re still super close. How lucky am I?) No matter how deep into the Christian thing I got, what never sat right with me was how the majority of the churches and churchgoers I encountered believed in the “our way is the only right way” teachings, along with the “everyone else is going to burn in hell” and “homosexuality is a sin” bullshit.
I may appear to be shining a negative light on Christianity, so it’s important to note that in the twenty years since my experience with it, I’ve seen a tremendous shift in many churches’ and Christians’ attitudes—especially regarding the acceptance of others’ religions and personal lifestyle choices, which is awesome. In no way do I mean to sit here and say Christianity is awful. After all, I’m just sharing with you my short-lived observation of the formal church aspect of it, which again, was some twenty years ago. I’m sure someone living in the Far East could write a similarly disenfranchised piece about their experience with whatever religious tradition is prevalent there. So there’s that.
Since that time, I’ve met and been blessed to work with many inspiring Christians—people who truly embody the love and compassion that Christ taught. I also have a lot of really great friends who call themselves Christians, people who, I believe, exemplify the true heart of Jesus and his teachings beyond my own limited experience of churchianity and its drawbacks. Hell, some of the practices in this book are drawn from the Christian tradition, so hopefully it’s clear that I honor the heart of Christianity and all its wonderful contemplatives and mystics.
I don’t recall what specifically made me stop going to church, or reading my Bible, or why I said good-bye to the corny movies and music. I’m sure part of it was because I felt tied down to beliefs that didn’t resonate in my heart, and certainly part of it was because I was young with a rebellious heart: feeling like there was still a lot of shit I had left to fuck up.
The one thing that’s never left me is that experience of the presence of Christ. As much as I absolutely love and honor the great wisdom traditions of the East, I’ve always felt drawn toward Christ’s presence the most. It’s as if Jesus has been hanging out in my heart since then and whispering to me, “Okay, how can we use this rebellious heart of yours to wake your ass up . . . and while we’re at it, be of service to others?”
I have a lot of love for that longhaired, love-preaching mystic. I believe he’s guided me through some seriously heavy shit in my life, which has inevitably led not only to the fact that I’m still alive, but able to be of service. I’m also able to live from a place where I’m comfortable enough to talk about Jesus, even if it may not seem cool. I have no problem saying how extremely important his presence is in my life, while still honoring all my other great teachers: Maharajji, punk rock and hardcore, Buddha, hip-hop, Kali, skateboarding, addiction, recovery, friends and family.
Jesus was an illumined teacher in exactly the same way the Buddha, Krishna, Lao Tsu, Ramana Maharshi, Ramakrishna, and many others were. He’s gotten a really bad rap from a lot of people here in the West due to overzealous fundamentalists preaching half-truths (if even that), and politicians twisting the Bible to fit whatever bullshit agenda they’re trying to push. Again, the same could be said for virtually all religions that inevitably have their share of fundamentalist followers.
I’m so glad I was able to call bullshit on myself and cultivate a tremendously beautiful relationship with Jesus (along with many other illumined teachers) and to not be ashamed or embarrassed to talk about it. I’m not saying I’m going to wear a “Jesus Is My Homeboy” T-shirt or watch Kirk Cameron movies, but the real-deal Jesus is right on in my book. I’m sincerely grateful to him for being a huge catalyst in my experience of Everything Mind, and I honor him as one of the great teachers in my life.