Following the tradition of good Christian mothers everywhere, my mother forced me to go to church when I was kid. I got out as soon as I was big enough to physically resist being dragged there. Years later I dug up a dusty box set of Mahalia Jackson recordings my father had ordered from Columbia House and realized I might have stuck around longer if the music I experienced in church hadn’t been so wretched and dull. I never heard anything that made me want to get up and move (more like get up and leave). Mahalia Jackson singing “In The Upper Room,” “Joshua Fit The Battle of Jericho,” “Keep Your Hand on the Plough” or “You Must Be Born Again” puts the music I heard in church to shame.
All I learned from going to church is that if we don’t sin, then Jesus died for nothing. I guess I kinda missed the boat on that one.
[Religion] has got away for so long with the kind of lunatic word-games that allow death-by-torture to be presented as an act of love, and eternal torment in the flames of hell to be seen as a necessary act of justice, that we should perhaps not be surprised that it has also managed to dupe its followers into seeing the systematic suppression and silencing of women as an act of liberation and equality. Nevertheless, it is a lie.