I had similar revelations in my late teens. I was raised Southern Baptist. Need I say more?

Growing up Southern Baptist (SBC – Southern Baptist Convention) meant hearing nothing on Sundays but “Fire and Brimstone.” We never heard anything about God’s love and acceptance. As a baby queer, that Hell stuff automatically left me cold, if you’ll pardon the pun. Not only were out group members doomed to Hell, but we were too, unless we accepted Jesus as our “Lord and Savior.”

Social mores were enforced incredibly strictly. I remember once as a teen noticing that my girlfriend’s bow (on the back) of her dress had come untied. I causally reached out and retied it for her in the church hallway. I heard from her later that she caught Holy Hell for that action of mine because she didn’t stop me.

I ended up marrying her. We continued to attend her church as young adults, and started going to the “Young Married Couples” Sunday School class. That class was led by the minister of the congregation. I am autistic. Extreme precision in my use of language is part of my autism. I had read the entire Bible multiple times by then. One Sunday morning, I remember vividly that the pastor said something (I’m too old to remember what exactly) that was clearly a misinterpretation of the text he was speaking on in that class. I called him on it, and quoted other scripture to support my position.

Was that welcomed? You can bet it was not. I became pretty much a pariah as a result of that event. I wasn’t excommunicated as such, but suddenly no one was talking to me anymore. We left that congregation a few months later. I remained nominally Christian for years after that, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. What ultimately caused me to break completely with the SBC was becoming a father, and realizing that I was a more loving parent than the God I was expected to worship. Hellfire and damnation? How could any parent condemn their child to eternal torture for disobedience?

I had already been disillusioned with the SBC when the ultra-conservatives took over the denomination, which happened while I was attending Baylor University. Baylor is an SBC university whose motto at the time was “In Loco Parentis” which means “In the place of a parent.” That place was unbelievable. The Phys Ed department offered a class called “Rhythmic Movement” because Baptists didn’t dance. Or drink. Or smoke. At least, not openly. The hypocrisy of those positions did not escape my young eyes. The bars were full of Baptists on Friday and Saturday nights. Good Baptists, who attended church on Sunday and judged everyone else.

I suppose that’s enough. Goddess, I could go one forever.