In fundamentalism, the sky is always falling, the world is always ending and kids like me prayed apocalyptic bedtime prayers: Lord,
please no earthquakes, wars, famines or pestilence tonight. And please
don't leave me behind if my family gets raptured. Amen.
Fundamentalists like to read the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. When I was a kid, events both big and small foretold that the end was near: the proliferation of credit cards, Gorbachev, the year 1988, the first George Bush's "New World Order."
Remember the public interest surrounding Y2K? Now multiply that by 1,000 and you'll know what it felt like to be a fundamentalist in the months leading up to New Year's Eve 1999.
Eschatology is the pet hobby of fundamentalists. Nothing gets their blood pumping like a natural disaster--or just the threat of one. It's also lucrative. You can make bank by selling apocalyptic books. Or by making movies starring Kirk Cameron.
When I was kid, we didn't have real Hollywood movie stars. But we did have our campy, quasi-horror flicks. One was called Thief In the Night and it scared me so badly that I had nightmares for years.
For a few years after that movie, I would panic every time I lost sight of my parents. I mean, most kids who lose sight of their parents in a public place assume they're lost.
I assumed the rapture had happened and I'd been left behind.
As a kid I was forever worrying about not being "counted worthy of escape" because I might do something really, really bad. Like tell my sister to "shut-up."
Herein lies the end-game of fundamentalism: a deep-seated insecurity. No matter how hard I tried I was never good enough. When I failed, I believed God might disown me. The onus was always on the individual to perform well as the pre-requisite for earning "rewards."
Heavenly rewards were riches, mansions, streets of gold and new bodies. I think the adults were pretty stoked about the whole new bodies thing. But being a kid, I would have settled for a cessation to my nightmares. And maybe a TV.
Of course, there were consequences for not performing well and these included being cast into outer darkness, weeping and gnashing of teeth.
In other words, the closest you could get to Hell without actually being in it.
When I left fundamentalism, I had to unlearn the belief that love was conditional. Up until that point I believed God loved everyone--except that He loved certain people more. There were degrees to His love.
It has taken some concerted effort to re-align my thinking with the truth: I am God's child and He is pleased with me. He loves me. Period.
I have stopped asking myself questions like: am I saved? Will I be "counted worthy of escape"? Instead, I focus on the bountiful blessings He has bestowed on my life. I practice gratitude and thanksgiving and find beauty in imperfection. I try to overlook the faults and shortcomings of others and emphasize their strengths.
Whenever I'm tempted to default into all-or-nothing thinking, I use my mind to objectively analyze what has triggered that reaction. Usually I can think my way out of Chicken Little syndrome. When I get stuck, I have a few go-to people whom I can rely on for a balanced perspective.
Ultimately the road out of fundamentalism has been a journey away from extremism and toward moderation.
I realize now that recovery is not a straight road. There are bumps, twists, turns and backwards steps. I still have a long way to go.
But at least I know one thing for sure: God holds my hand and He has promised never to let go.
