Discarding the Sham

I was precariously close to writing a sham of a book. I wrote with God in mind as I slaved over my work-in-progress, A Fine Invention. That seems sensible when you consider that Roberta, the main character, is a God-fearing teenage girl dealing with a church drop-out of a best friend and an irresistible boy who’s not a believer (among other things). The reason I had that niggling feeling that I wasn’t writing with authenticity was that I had doubts about God, although I was working towards a manuscript that unabashedly lifted Jesus higher. 

Eliza (the gothy BFF) was the perfect character to take on these doubts – I could live vicariously through this feisty teen as she said sceptical things out loud and questioned the hypocrisy of the bible. Meanwhile, Roberta, the faithful servant of God, explained it all away. I wanted to feel right about it all – I was downright passionate about feeling right about it. I wanted to create a story that would honour God, and fill each reader to the brim with ‘the spirit’. I wanted to ignite everyone’s faith with my words and enthusiasm. It would’ve been complete with explanations as to why I was right – that my god was the one true God.

My book changed once I became a church drop-out like Eliza. I went cold turkey and never looked back. Among other issues, my attendance record was poor. ‘Why don’t you come to church more often?’ I was often asked. One woman in particular, would invite me out for seemingly innocuous coffee and cake, in order to interrogate me in the second hour.  I began to associate my beloved kid-free outings with a Spanish inquisition. That was the beginning of the end for me.

There were some amazing people in that church, along with some fake-ass creeps. It’s the same anywhere you go, of course, but Christians are held up to a higher standard, (at least by me). I loved church because the messages (sermons, whatever) gave me something meaningful to reflect upon each week. It was like a cleansing; a purpose – a release from the mundane life of washing dishes, changing nappies and cooking nutritious meals. It made me feel wonderful to consider that there was more to life - that we're here for a reason and beautiful in God’s eyes. I was raising my children to feel special and loved, not just by family and friends, but by their maker; their designer. There was even one surreal moment when it felt as though God possessed my body (in a good way too.)

It wasn’t all good and it certainly wasn’t all bad. It was an experience. Although some memories of it all make me cringe, I appreciate them, if only because we writers thrive on experience.

I truly feel that I only felt genuine peace once I left the church. I began to question God’s existence without fear. More importantly, I began to question the church – all churches. It was a ‘coming-away-from-God moment’, to paraphrase our shitty Prime Minister. It allowed me to start investigating alternate options, to study other types of phenomena and philosophy; to quit limiting my knowledge and to stop feeling guilty over things that don’t matter. (Like swearing and blaspheming. Christians tend to worry about committing those two crimes more than they should. Jesus Christ!)

It wasn’t just the insistence that my church family trumped my actual family (‘Your father-in-law had triple-bypass surgery? That’s no good – but why weren’t you at church last Sunday?’). It was more than just the disgust I felt when I sat in on Sunday school to witness the teacher inform the kids that they’d eternally burn in rivers of hell if they didn’t accept God (although that’s a pretty major one, obviously.) It was all of that and more.

It was, most of all, feeling that any teaching that insists you only consider one option, one choice, one possibility, one point of view – is dangerous.

I can’t imagine I’d ever call myself an atheist. Who am I to proclaim that there’s definitely no higher power? I like to pray still sometimes. I’ve gone back to the god I had before – the one I’ve customised to suit my needs. He thinks I’m the greatest and concedes that some of the people who reckon they’re so high in His estimation are actually wankers. In my mind He’s actually a black woman. Just to stick it to da man, y’know?

It was a tumultuous journey, from joining a church, to being ‘saved’; from being baptised, to completely cutting myself off from the whole shebang.  It has made my writing richer, I believe. A Fine Invention was going to be what you might call Christian fiction. Eliza, our gothy friend, was slated to discover that her good friend was dying, and then he would be healed by God’s power, therefore bringing her back to God (and getting the sick gay friend on board at the same time – nifty!).

Now though, the book is less about affirming beliefs or giving answers. It’s about the effect beliefs have on believers, non-believers and those in between. It’s all about the questions rather than the answers. Answers bring you to an abrupt halt. They can box you into a corner. Questions lead to more questions; more discoveries, more adventures. 

I find myself learning and delving more into so many possibilities as I write the book now. Rather than preaching or giving all the characters a neat Western Civilisation God-aligned happy ending, the work is more nuanced.  I feel more authentic as I re-write this honest incarnation of the book.

It’s not a satire of religion like ‘Saved’ (starring Mandy Moore), nor is it a love-in for God like ‘Left Behind’ (starring my teenage crush, Kirk Cameron.) I like to think it’s somewhere in between – that it’s something that could make the reader think, question, analyse, and perhaps consider that there are at least forty-nine, if not fifty, shades of grey when considering what the meaning of this whole life thing is.

I think my own personal ideal of God in her beautiful African wisdom, would approve.