Last month, I received an e-mail from the Interfaith Alliance criticizing the National Day of Prayer. Coordinated by Shirley Dobson, wife of Focus on the Family leader James Dobson, the “national” day allows participants of all faiths, but specifies leadership criteria that excludes everyone but fundamentalist Christians.
The e-mail reminded me of several experiences from college.
One day a group of my Christian friends were talking. A man brought up a woman, also named Megan, who lived in my dorm and had a reputation as a party animal. Paul began regaling the others on this woman’s “bad” behavior.
A woman--later my roommate--interrupted him. “Megan did that?”
“Not that Megan,” he said. “Pagan Megan.”
Linda told me the story and began jokingly calling me Pagan Megan. She apologized for this, but I didn’t mind. The nickname was given in a loving fashion. I was the quiet, mousy, “good girl” in my family. Linda conferred on me the rebel status I secretly longed for.
Though I didn’t know the other Megan in my dorm, I was vaguely troubled about a religion so elitist as to marginalize an outsider.
Around that time, a man was kicked out of Campus Crusade for Christ. A charismatic, Dave made the mistake of telling others about the baptism of the Holy Spirit, a doctrine evangelical Christians don’t share.
Dave, who I later dated, led a Bible study in my dorm, where he was admired for his miraculous gifts of teaching, word of knowledge and faith healing. Though I wasn’t a charismatic (yet), I began realizing the powerful religion was on the outside track.
Heartbroken after Dave and I broke up, I prayed my next boyfriend wouldn’t be a Christian. My next boyfriend was Jewish. Steve loved to argue. “Christianity,” he argued, “is nothing but dogma.” While I disputed this back then, I’ve since realized he was right.
The National Day of Prayer reflects the dogmatic emphasis on form over substance Steve was criticizing, a “focus on the phony” that recently inspired me to study Judaism. When religious elitism trumps faith, experience shows it’s best to stay home.
The e-mail reminded me of several experiences from college.
One day a group of my Christian friends were talking. A man brought up a woman, also named Megan, who lived in my dorm and had a reputation as a party animal. Paul began regaling the others on this woman’s “bad” behavior.
A woman--later my roommate--interrupted him. “Megan did that?”
“Not that Megan,” he said. “Pagan Megan.”
Linda told me the story and began jokingly calling me Pagan Megan. She apologized for this, but I didn’t mind. The nickname was given in a loving fashion. I was the quiet, mousy, “good girl” in my family. Linda conferred on me the rebel status I secretly longed for.
Though I didn’t know the other Megan in my dorm, I was vaguely troubled about a religion so elitist as to marginalize an outsider.
Around that time, a man was kicked out of Campus Crusade for Christ. A charismatic, Dave made the mistake of telling others about the baptism of the Holy Spirit, a doctrine evangelical Christians don’t share.
Dave, who I later dated, led a Bible study in my dorm, where he was admired for his miraculous gifts of teaching, word of knowledge and faith healing. Though I wasn’t a charismatic (yet), I began realizing the powerful religion was on the outside track.
Heartbroken after Dave and I broke up, I prayed my next boyfriend wouldn’t be a Christian. My next boyfriend was Jewish. Steve loved to argue. “Christianity,” he argued, “is nothing but dogma.” While I disputed this back then, I’ve since realized he was right.
The National Day of Prayer reflects the dogmatic emphasis on form over substance Steve was criticizing, a “focus on the phony” that recently inspired me to study Judaism. When religious elitism trumps faith, experience shows it’s best to stay home.
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