BY ERIN EDINGER
Strange, the way the immune system works–the way it welcomes, rejects. How some allergies emerge at birth, others develop mid-life. After the 10AM Evangelical service, in the safety of our bedroom, I rant to my husband about immunity to wartime language in the church: Why mission? Why campaign? Why bulletin?
If you’re gonna pick apart every sermon, dissect every word, you’ll never find what you’re looking for, he says. Before we met, he was Southern Baptist for three decades, even though he disagreed with half their doctrine. He never mistook church for God. Church is a place to be challenged, he says. Otherwise, it’s just an echo chamber. I haven’t decided if this is wisdom, masochism, or both. Should we value diversity of thought when a theology excludes, causes harm?
Somewhere along the way, in the incessant exposure, I became sensitized to church. My body ordered: stay away. It’s like I woke up one day with a peanut allergy. Now, when it flares, when the hives start up, the pastor feels like my enemy, wedging himself between me and the ones I love. Like he’s a peanut farmer preaching the virtues, no, the necessity of his crop while I wring my hands, watch my family partake.
When we bring our kids here, put them in the pews, are we priming them for the same fate? I am always watching, epipen in hand.