In Texas, summer means a lot of things: blasting the a/c, swatting mosquitoes, swimming in the river, watching the rodeo, and going to Vacation Bible School. Vacation Bible School, where they are kind enough to allow heathen children like mine to sing their songs and eat their cookies so that sinning mothers like me can take the morning off for a week.
So, although the prospect of free babysitting for four weekday mornings won me over, I was conflicted about sending my children to Bible school. My sister suggested it, and although she is a lovely Christian, I think in this instance, it was mostly about the babysitting for her, as well. We didn’t discuss the religious aspect of it, as religion is a conversation we generally avoid. It bothers her somewhat that I don't share her faith, as her belief in Jesus is central to the way she lives. I gave up Christianity many years ago, when I became completely incapable of swallowing the patriarchal mythology, and ultimately found my need for spiritual community better met in my yoga classes than in my sporadic church attendance. It turns out I’m the kind of person who more easily believes in a third eye than a virgin birth.
What sort of spiritual upbringing children need (if any), is the sort of question that many intelligent parents grapple with, and everyone has to find their own way. So I fretted about whether to send them. I don’t intend to raise my children as Christians, so I worried I might confuse them by sending them to Bible school. Plus, although it’s been a while since I’ve been to church, I recall that they don’t talk about Jesus like I do—you know, mostly as a curse word when I forget something or find myself frustrated or annoyed. As in, “Jesus Christ.” Next to Goddamnit, it’s just about my favorite bad word.
But I also thought that it might actually be good for them. I have considered that because I take the Lord’s name in vain without taking my children to church of any kind, I may be shirking my parental duty to provide them with some sort of spiritual framework with which to make sense of the world. I could probably manage a Unitarian Church or something, but when it comes to deciding what to do on a Sunday morning, I can almost always think of something besides church I’d rather do: the Farmer’s Market, a big breakfast, a walk by the river.
My biggest fear was that it would be scary for them, somehow. My daughter especially. She is extremely bright, and I could easily imagine her engaged in conversation with some well-meaning Christian teacher about the prospect of eternal hellfire unless she accepted Jesus into her heart as her personal lord and saviour. Because that's what I remember of Jesus-speak: "Have you accepted Jesus into your heart as your personal Lord and Saviour?"
This is something I truly want to spare her, as I recall how I myself agonized over this as a child. Had I really and truly accepted Jesus into my heart? If I had, then why didn't I feel any different? Did I do it good enough to avoid hell, or not? Whatever spiritual path my children might eventually choose, I would prefer that fear not be the vehicle of that choosing.
But I did let them go. I let them go because I remembered that Vacation Bible School was fun for me, this one had a helicopter landing on the last day. I decided that I am up for any conversation Bible-schooling might provoke, and I am capable of talking to my children honestly about my beliefs regarding God and religion. By doing that I will hopefully lay the groundwork for them to find their own way in it, as I have. I mean, I went to Bible school—and look how I turned out.
