Sacrilegious

Christianity. As defined by those who call themselves Christians, it could be anything. It could look like anything.

Good outweighing bad.

Entering a place of worship on a regular basis. A state. Energy. Standing, sitting, or kneeling.

An angel on one shoulder and its counterpart on the other.

Feeling guilty. Feeling unworthy to pray. Wanting to do right but still doing wrong and knowing that when you do that wrong you will be forgiven.

A promise to be rich. A promise to live without hard times. A promise to be poor or to give up everything you own.

A picture of saints of old painted by not so contemporary painters. Stained glass, hidden hands or richly clothed poor people. A cross worn around the neck or a Bible sitting on a coffee table or beside the bed.

Two-faced.

Fake. Stagnant. A mystery. Something you earn. Just for the rich, or just for the unfortunate. For the good times, or just for emergencies. A “why” prayer or “if you’re really up there” prayer or a counted prayer prayed.

A good feeling or chills on your arm.

Inherited. Bought. Given by a church, a priest or a person.

An act. Playing pretend. Playing dress up. Being social. Belonging to a social club.

Watered down and ineffective. Powerless. Helpless. Selfish. Comparing yourself to someone else.

Water, no matter the depth.

A certain age.

Piety. Just for men or just for women or just for children.

Just for one day, or for a season like spring or winter. Christmas or Easter.

A building.

Despising another person or people group.

Fame. A joke.
A status. Changeable.
Saying you believe something you don’t.

A sword-point confession or the person holding the sword.
A good deed. A thought or an idea. Good intentions.

Being a good person. Cooking a meal or writing a letter or visiting a hospital. Signing a petition. Being patriotic. Religion. Being religious.

Pearls. Gold. Beautiful buildings. Gracefully crafted statues.
A specific place. A certain time.

Confidence in another person. The failure of another person.

A competition. A power trip. A game.

Pointing to the sky. Bowing the head. Folding the hands. A moment of silence.

A bandage. A crutch.
Contemporary. Archaic.
Saying the right words. Saying repeated words.

An image of an old man with a long grey beard sitting on a gold throne with a golden pitchfork in one hand and a lightening bolt in the other.

Answered prayer. Unanswered prayer.

A championship game won. Or lost. Bowing a knee in the end zone. A sign of a cross or one worn around the neck. Publicly stating “God bless and fill-in-the-blank.”

Memorizing scripts or scriptures. Trying to convince.
Being a parrot. Or a puppet. Or a doormat.

Is Christianity really about us? Is it really about what we can do? Is it possible for each individual to define Christianity according to his or her own preferences, as if a person is ordering from a menu at a restaurant?

I am a person who lives and who will die. I make mistakes. I change. My mind changes. My situations change. My attitude changes. My education, maturity level, my health all change. If I want to base what I believe on these things, it is my mistake--because my basis will change again.

I believe what I believe because it is a real experience. It is so radical it changes life as is known. It is the constant that changes the changeable. In other words, there is Perfect and there is not perfect. Deciding to which category I belong and changing my perspective will take a counter-perspective from most people. I take a stance with the imperfect by default and by fault; knowing this is life changing.

I am not perfect and therefore I cannot “worship” myself or a rudimentary drawing I conceived in my mind. No matter what the result: a building, a piece of art, a sculpture, a concept. How can someone create something and then worship it as if inferior to that which they’ve created? That’s madness, however purposeful, wishful, or negligible the madness. So I cannot revere who or what I am or was or will be. I cannot regard what I make or what I do as greater than myself, because it is some product of me.

If Christianity is a product of me, what happens when I die? Does my “Christianity” then cease to exist? One can argue that death is the absence of life. If one argues (by belief or by lifestyle) that Christianity is a series of actions in life, what becomes of one who cannot continue those actions in death? Does, then, this belief cease? One cannot see pictures in death, nor lift one’s hand to give to the poor or light a candle, or possess the power to move the lips to pray. If this makes one a Christian, then at death one ceases to be just that.