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Well. It's been a long time since THAT'S happened!
I was just down at Haggen, spending my food stamp money, and I was in the checkout line behind an older woman with a strong Southern accent. She looked back at me and chatted about how big I was, and how I reminded her of a wrestler. She asked where I was from, and I told her Kansas, originally, and she was pleased to hear that because she was from Oklahoma. I noticed she had an "I love Jesus" keychain, but of course I didn't say anything.
After I finished, I met her again in the parking lot, and she asked me if I had a church. I politely said no, and she insisted on inviting me to attend her Southern Baptist church here in town. (They have a Southern Baptist congregation in Bellingham? I had no idea. And of all the denominations to attempt to proselytize to me!)
I politely thanked her and said "no thanks, ma'am," but she wouldn't take no for an answer. The Radical Faerie in me was half tempted to retort with "Will my husband be welcome, too?" or with "I'm a gay Catholic Pagan Atheist. They wouldn't like me," but the Canadian in me won out, and I just chuckled nervously and said "no thank you" again. As we parted, she called after me, "I hope I'll see you Sunday morning at 11!"
Um, right.
It's literally been years since something like this has happened to me. At least since I left Georgia in 2001. But when I was living in Augusta, just three blocks from the birthplace of the Southern Baptist Convention, it happened all the time. Complete strangers on the street, asking if I was saved. And even Kansas had its share of proselytutes.
But when I moved up North, all that stopped, and I forgot what it was like to have to be constantly negotiating the minefield of conservative Christianity in casual conversation.
Today's encounter reminds me of why I moved out of the South!
I was just down at Haggen, spending my food stamp money, and I was in the checkout line behind an older woman with a strong Southern accent. She looked back at me and chatted about how big I was, and how I reminded her of a wrestler. She asked where I was from, and I told her Kansas, originally, and she was pleased to hear that because she was from Oklahoma. I noticed she had an "I love Jesus" keychain, but of course I didn't say anything.
After I finished, I met her again in the parking lot, and she asked me if I had a church. I politely said no, and she insisted on inviting me to attend her Southern Baptist church here in town. (They have a Southern Baptist congregation in Bellingham? I had no idea. And of all the denominations to attempt to proselytize to me!)
I politely thanked her and said "no thanks, ma'am," but she wouldn't take no for an answer. The Radical Faerie in me was half tempted to retort with "Will my husband be welcome, too?" or with "I'm a gay Catholic Pagan Atheist. They wouldn't like me," but the Canadian in me won out, and I just chuckled nervously and said "no thank you" again. As we parted, she called after me, "I hope I'll see you Sunday morning at 11!"
Um, right.
It's literally been years since something like this has happened to me. At least since I left Georgia in 2001. But when I was living in Augusta, just three blocks from the birthplace of the Southern Baptist Convention, it happened all the time. Complete strangers on the street, asking if I was saved. And even Kansas had its share of proselytutes.
But when I moved up North, all that stopped, and I forgot what it was like to have to be constantly negotiating the minefield of conservative Christianity in casual conversation.
Today's encounter reminds me of why I moved out of the South!
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