For many decades, Christianity was culturally low on fun times. The stuff most middle and lower middle class people did for fun–movies, cards, bowling, chilling with a beer–were off limits. I think that’s why a lot of the faithful turned to Name That Sin as a sort of leisure activity. I was thinking of this because I read Aunt B.’s musings on judgements of hell earlier and it caused me to mull over a lot of things. Well, more accurately it added the dash of baking soda that my own vinegary thoughts needed to just come frothing over.
Lots of Christians like to label sin in others as a way to make themselves feel that they are daily walking close to He. I think. I mean, I can’t figure out why people are so eager to see other people go to hell. Jesus himself is not a big fan of people going to hell, as he tells us over and over again in parables about lost coins and lost sheep. I myself have given up on the whole Hell game. My thoughts on the End Of Days are still a work in progress, and if I ever get to sit around a table with good friends and good food and just bounce the theories off them I may do that. Until then I’m content to not have the answer.
Someone who once was certain he had the answer told me I was not having children because God was pinching my ovaries in a curse against me for something I had done wrong. That’s always been in the back of my mind, even when I know better and even when I dismiss it. A year or so ago someone who reads (or read–not sure if he’s still around) this blog told me that my illness was in my own mind and could be easily overcome with Positive Thinking or some such hokum. People like me–those who are struggling with grave difficulties–always have these people in our lives. It’s part of the equation of suffering.
I’m generally finding myself in the role of defending Jehovah, as Elihu did. I’m as long-winded as that dude and as generally perturbed with small-mindedness. But right now I just don’t know that I have it in me to defend this situation. I’m not angry with God. I’m not writing God off. I’m not even in a bad place spiritually. I just think I’m tired of putting up with all the outside voices.
It’s Tuesday. In a few hours I’ll take my weekly dose of Methotrexate. It’s the newest medicine I’ve been given in the Quest For Wellness. It is not my favourite, as it seems to give me two days of flu-like symptoms when I take it. I guess the long view is that the severity of symptoms lessens over time and, hey, five okay days and two craptastic days are better than seven blurgh days. Or something like that.
I think mostly I miss interacting with other people. I miss hearing their stories and ideas and thoughts and having that infusion of life. I am now mostly about myself and about making it from point a to point a plus one. It bores me greatly and I’m ready for something else.
Just Another Pretty Farce 
Not to nitpick, but there are plenty of Christians in bowling leagues and at the movies. I think you mean some particular subset of Evangelicals?
I’m speaking mostly about the cultural Christianity of the early 20th century.
I guess someone forgot to tell Catholics, Lutherans, Episcopalians, Methodists, and whoever else was hanging around St. Louis then that they weren’t supposed to go bowling. Or to the movies. Or to a neighborhood bar. Those were all part of the local cultural Christianity. (Skating rinks, too, and going to see major-league sports.) Bowling leagues all over the northeasternmost corner of this country would have collapsed without them.