My earliest memories of the church that I grew up in are pastel patches of color in my mind. I remember the pews that the church had as tall wooden walls with a door on the end which my Mother was able to lock from the outside, so I was unable to escape and run about the church. I remember that the beginning of service was filled with music and song that I was happy to sing along to, following the words projected on a screen above once I was able to read. I remember waiting as patiently as I could through the early, 'boring' part of service, and I remember excitedly dashing out of our pew when the children my age were dismissed to the back of the church for a child-geared lesson while the adults enjoyed their weekly sermon. One of the more vivid memories I have of this time is a lesson during the Christmas season, when we were read the story of Jesus' birth while we made reindeer figures out of pipe-cleaners and colorful pom-poms. When I was very young I did not particularly understand the lessons that we were being taught, at least not entirely, but I did enjoy ever moment of church.
As I grew older I moved from the younger Sunday School classes into the older lessons geared for middle and high school students, and I began to stay with my Mother in the pew during the actual sermon. The lessons that I learned as a child settled into my mind, and I began to truly appreciate the stories that the Bible held. I had questions, and the minister and Sunday School teachers always had answers for me that made sense and felt right.
What happens to someone when they die? They went to heaven, of course; they lived forever with Jesus and God the Father, and they watched over those that they had left behind on earth. How does God know when we've apologized for something that we've done wrong? You tell Him within your heart, and He can hear you no matter where you are. How do we know that we've been saved? You just accepted Jesus Christ into your heart as your savior, and your soul will be saved forever.
It all sounded so wonderful, and it was so calming to have the answers to these questions running through my mind. Sometimes more troubling questions would come up, or more confusing things. Usually the answers were just as easily found - either the teacher or minister would tell me without hesitation, or they would help me find the answer within the Bible, and assure me that all the answers I needed were within. Sometimes, though...their answers didn't feel complete, didn't sit quite right within my heart.
What happens to the people in the world who have never heard of Jesus?
"Well," they would said. "Sometimes we just don't know the answers, sometimes we will have to ask Him when we finally meet him face to face."
I remember this question in particular quite starkly, because I remember it as the first chip at my confidence in the Church that I grew up in. It seemed like such an important question, how could Jesus have not left us with an answer?
For the most part though, I found nothing but grace and happiness in the protestant church. Summers were always wonderful; the church held a 'vacation bible school' at their parish, a week long day-camp which would have fun and games, as well as bible lessons and church sermons with plenty of song. Each summer the final sermon of the week would end with a reminder that the only way for us to get to Heaven was to accept Jesus as our savior, and an invitation to the front of the church for everyone to gather and accept Him. We were taught that you only had to accept Him once, and then you were saved forever. I remember going up every year. I never felt very different afterwards, and everyone always went up together, so I always followed.
This early part of my church life was always so warm, and...well, positively bubbly. I recall learning more and more each week in Sunday School, but it wasn't until I was old enough to begin attending a summer camp (called Camp Fireside) that I can recall my religious journey really starting to evolve...
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