May 22, 2020 – I used to be a Lutheran—the moderate strain, meaning, E.L.C.A. (“Evangelical Lutheran Church in America”), which, ironically, was in contrast with the “Evangelical” persuasion that one usually associates with that term.
How and why I became entrenched in mainstream, moderate Lutheranism—congregation president, chair of the worship committee, perennial Sunday school teacher, and synodical delegate—is a story to be told . . . or not—except as part of a larger tale about how I fell out of church and religion altogether.
During those days I had a close work friend who was an ELCA Lutheran like me (in these parts, ELCA is huge), a person whose intellect and integrity were exceptional. However, he went through a rough patch. He lost his job, and soon after landing another finance job, a reorganization resulted in another firing. He sank lower and lower until . . . he found Jesus. I mean really found Jesus.
By his influence and determination, I was supposed to find Jesus too. After a year’s worth of his badgering, I yielded. I started attending a men’s Bible study group in which my friend had become a leader.
Every Tuesday evening I’d put the cup to my lips, but try as I might, I never swallowed the Kool-Aid. All around me flashed warning signs. The hundreds of “imbibers” who gathered were affluent white men—a narrow sliver of pluralistic America. Fine. I have nothing against affluent white men. None has ever done me harm. Oops! Nearly forgot: I’m a (relatively) affluent, white man. But where were the less affluent? People of color? (The outfit had a segregated program for women.)
Far more disturbing than the group’s monolithic appearance were the ideas expressed during “break-out” sessions. The drill was to read assigned Scripture, then respond to very narrowly crafted questions devised by some honcho parked down in . . . Texas. During one session, a guy as serious as the “lecturer” who harangued us for the first 45 minutes of the weekly gathering, explained Biblical “math.” I’d studied enough science to know the world was more than 6,000 years old.
As I distanced myself from this nonsense, my friend became consumed by it. He was increasingly judgmental of people who weren’t full subscribers, and long before the Age of Disinformation, he started embracing conspiracy theories. They fit into his hardcore dogmatism, the central thesis of which was that on the day of the Rapture, believers would find eternal ecstasy while non-believers would go straight to hell, forever. When extreme Islam reared its ugly head (remember the good ol’ days?), I couldn’t help but notice its similarity with the “faith” of my friend.
I haven’t spoken to him since the advent of Anti-Christ, but if I were to bet, I’d put good money on his support of . . . Anti-Christ, justified by the move of our embassy to Jerusalem and the conservative transformation of the courts. As to wrong being . . . well, wrong . . . all events are simply part of “God’s plan,” which ends with the Rapture.
And these people vote.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
