Life in the Church

Juicy Peppah

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The last two months of 2008 filled my heart with fear. I was one of those who were accused of getting a colleague killed through final initiation. But years, months, and days before that, I was already a heart that drowning in the depths of terror.

I used to fear just about everything—from a simple cockroach to a huge, unproved murder. Even my colleagues going against me, I feared it. Which is why even the so-called ‘fiery gates of the unknown,’ I’d shake at the thought.

Until that night of December 18, 2008. I was asked by a colleague to come with her to a certain booth to look for a friend. By the time we entered the booth, a student approached us and seated us on a mat, and before we could ever leave, we found ourselves in the company of a woman… a beautiful woman.

And after a series of conversations, there she went, luring the three of us to the gates of heaven. She gave us a tract which she explained masterfully, convincing us to go and worship their God, well, which was also my God.

But the presentation of hell and the kind of people who could possibly go there—my kind—increased my fear. I think the feeling that was detected in me made it easy for the church to convince me to attend, and before I could say no, I was already attending Sunday services and weekly cell meetings, having a huge quiet time notebook to which I write on everything that my heart wants and everything I thought God wants for me.

And I ended up trying hard to be kind and gentle, especially in front of my church mates so that they would think I was like them. There was even one of my church mates, who also happened to be my colleague, to whom I was deeply infatuated. And I had to admit that he had been the sole reason I continuously attended church—the hopes of seeing him there. Effective enough, he noticed me and treated me civilly.

The attention I got from the church and our cell leader made me busy for activities like those. I even attended prayer meetings, youth fellowships, and overnight retreats that made my parents very anxious.

But it was only my show. Behind the scenes, I fought my family because they wanted to win the old Angelique [my real name] back. They used to tell me I was not being myself anymore; I was a hypocrite I only do good things for show. Whenever we’d end up fighting, I’d seal myself inside my room and cry out to God, asking Him why my family was like that… they couldn’t understand me… they’re so wicked they need convincing and all that.

Aside from those, I waged war against my classmates. I bit their backs; even my teachers. I judged people by my own standards, thinking I was better than anyone else. I felt highly envious at my friends’ success, trying my hardest to surpass them by any means. But I ended up frustrated. They succeeded and I was left behind. The scholarship I got during second year was screwed.

That was the time I first quitted. My frustrations made way for my anger, because I thought our cell leader didn’t understand me. I refused her invitations, even telling her to offer it to someone else. To hell with levelling up, that’s how I put it.

I spent the entire semester making up for what I have lost, and I really did make it up, though I no longer ended up a scholar. But before the semester ended, I was back to the company of my cell leader, only not as frequent as before. Gradually, maybe.

Summer that year, though I did not quit church, I dropped my faith and savoured the sweetness of sin because I was stupid enough to go spelunking to the depths of my lustful heart without any moral guidance, thanks be to our Creative Writing subject, I enjoyed it too much every inch of it affected me. Because I was thinking of a rocking story, I couldn’t help but gather X-rated thoughts because I thought it’d count. I even told those stories to my major mates which they enjoyed talking about [the topic, not necessarily my story].

Come June, I dropped my sinful activities by going back to church and admitting my sins. For a moment, I forgot about the cause of my sinning and dedicated my time to God—composing songs and writing stories about Him and auditioning for Praise and Worship (PW) team because I was fascinated by the abilities of my church mates [there was even a PW leader whom I used to admire years ago but later turned to infatuation because his voice was devastatingly sexy on the phone; he called me when I asked for help].

More activities when I passed the audition: I became a back-up singer and later on, a PW leader myself [I have to admit I only did this because of that PW leader]. Hearing people fascinated by my voice and guitar skills aroused a sense of stupid pride, making me wake up one day to find out I was singing not for the glory of God anymore, but for my own glory. It’s human nature anyway. The more fans I get, the higher I climb, the greater the tendency to step on God’s head… which is every inch wrong.

I finished the semester balancing everything except my relationship with my family. When I started my very last semester being active in the PW ministry, I made that stupid mistake of telling my mother I was going to school [the university, not the one where I’m having an internship] one Saturday. Our leader that time took me home late at night and my family confronted me, my sister even telling me that, “I lied for the sake of our church?” I didn’t… I only did not explain it fully because they won’t let me anyway.

Though I carried on playing guitar that Sunday and passing on to attendees a dark spirit of lie, inside the thought of the previous night confrontation was killing me, making me vow that that would be the very last time the church would ever see me. Weeks later, I busied myself refusing their calls or texts for PW, making them believe it was my student teaching that made me very busy. I even promised them I’d be back soon as I graduate, but it didn’t work out that way.

Yes I finished my education on time. But days after graduation, I had a heart-to-heart talk with my father, him making me see the light in every hypocrite thing I have been going through for almost all my years in college. It was at first hard to admit. But then my father himself had a wide church experience when he was my age, and no matter how hard I tried making myself believe we lived in different times, it justified all his claims about me, making me realize in the end that he was right.

Defending the church is useless then, because it’s God’s business anyway.

My claims against my father in the past, that he was judgmental and shallow… it was all wrong. If ever there’s someone who has been judgmental and shallow all this time, it was I. I wanted them to be like me and the church I used to attend to, that’s why I judged them using the standards to which I myself have defied. I could only be kind, gentle, and friendly, but I can never be a true Christian… human perfection is not as easy as ABC.

And my fear was still there. Afraid of being told off, I told my cell leader I won’t attend church for a while because I would go searching for myself, but the truth was, I’ve truly realized I didn’t want to be there in the first place [I did not fill up a consolidation card that December 18].

For a short period of time, I have experienced blaming the church for my hypocrisy, acting strong, and practicing being myself again. But if there’s ever a thing I have done that I consider more stupid than my sexual fantasies, this is it… blaming others for the mistakes that I myself have done. I should’ve known everything that happens to me was out of my own choice.

For six months, I have assessed myself, my attitudes. I gave way to the true desires of my heart, even though I thought it’d break God’s heart. I was guided by the principles that (1) God weighs the heart, so show what you feel and stop feeling guilty about it, (2) God understands and forgives; He is confident I would go back to Him no matter what.

So there I was, facing my own world fearlessly. One day I’d be kind, another I’d be cruel, one night I’d be sleeping, another I’d be wide awake and stimulated by intellectual masturbation.

I should have been careful too, because I have been too indulged in my own desires that I forgot I should be worshiping God before anything else. I stopped praying and relied on my own irresponsible doings, praying to God only when it’s too late. I indulged in my sinful thoughts and actions, trying hard not to be guilty because I was no longer trembling like an earthworm in a bed of salt. I even backed my new principle up with Lady Gaga’s songs because her TV aura emits courage, uncaring of religion and anything about it.

But I have to admit that I fear the day I drop the God I worship, and judging my own actions, I think I am on the process of doing so. I have become worldly when I am actually on the stage of perfecting myself. There was even a time that whenever I hear about God, I’d be angry like I’m a devil whose ears tingle at the sound of Jesus’ name. It was like I didn’t want Him to control me anymore, and when people send me bible verses, my heart would go screaming at the top of its lungs.

Only to realize that in order to know what is stupid, I have to feel stupid sometimes. In order to know what is sinful, I have to be sinful myself. I realize I can never be a pure heart unless I start getting out of my shell and face the world without fear. If I look at everything through the eyes of fear, I wouldn’t know the difference of equally weighed good and evil. I wouldn’t realize the balance between the two opposing forces. I wouldn’t know how to deal with everything in a positive eye.

My life in church is driven by sin itself, but thankfully as I go out and try applying what I thought I learned, though it took time, God answered my prayer: I won the heart of my family. The people whom I saw as my former enemies are now my best friends. And I live happily with them although there are still imperfect stages that I have to experience. Anyway, I’m still too young and I can’t be perfect in an instant.

I would like to end this address by asking God for forgiveness because I have been subdued by my instinctive self for about a year now. My own desires have been luring me away from Him, convincing me that He was way too controlling. It was in my dream that I prayed to Him, saying, “God, please save me from myself.” And for almost a week that I have been bombarded by the thoughts of come back to worshiping God, I think it is high time to throw away all the things I am afraid of letting go and start surrendering everything back to God. Only, I hope I’m doing the right thing this time.