I just want to say I don’t write poems. The last time I wrote a poem was in high school. But I’m grieving the loss of my God. And this is what came out.
I just watched a disturbing documentary on Netflix. It’s called “Jesus Camp,” and I had some rough reactions to it. I’m kind of late to the party;, apparently it was all the rage when it was released in 2006, and it even got an Oscar nod for best documentary.
Anyway, it basically showed how Evangelical children are
indoctrinated brainwashed taught ideas about how the world is basically pure evil, including other psychologically dysfunctional fundamentalist concepts. It’s nothing I haven’t read or learned about before, but seeing it was just disturbing. The scene that sucker-punched me in the kidneys was when this blond-hair 10 year old boy started crying because he knew he was a bad child for doubting God’s existence. For struggling with really difficult things.
I’ve never lost anyone particularly close to me. So when I read that people who leave their religion often go through the stages of grief, I thought it was interesting, but it wasn’t like I could relate. I don’t even think I know what grief is.
A couple Google search attempts (I definitely do this too much) led me to an article by Matt Oxley about the stages of grief, as applied to a loss of religion. It was the first time I realized I had already gone through some of the stages, and I was currently struggling with the rest. It felt wonderful to have someone almost perfectly describe some of the difficulties I’ve had in my recent life.
For those of you who are reading this thinking that it was fairly easy for you to accept that you no longer believe in the religion you grew up with, I ask that you understand that I wasn’t just a regular Jew who went to services on High Holidays or every once in a while on Saturday.