When religion attacks

The title is facetious, of course. I respect religion and the religious, but today... today it did me wrong.

My son takes violin lessons from the wife of a Baptist pastor. We trek to their home, which is also their church, once a week for lessons. She is a kind woman, and she is patient and tolerant and a good teacher. She also prays for us when we have our (many) ER visits, and I appreciate all the help I can get. But I have always been a little bit skittish about the fact that she is very, very religious and we are very, very not.

I have been afraid to be found out.

Today, I waited in the van with the other two for Firstborn to finish his lesson, and the pastor walked out into the yard. We exchanged niceties, but then he approached the van and started talking about how crazy the Christmas season is and how it has become nothing short of profane with its focus on Santa and toys and commercialism. Well enough. I agree with him.

The problem was, C. was not in a good mood. He was tired from school and, let's face it, he's not so good at the whole self control thing. So he interrupted us a few times, whining about wanting me to fix the video playing on the minivan DVD system. I tried my best to fix it while not being rude to the pastor.

I want to pause for a moment and say that yes, my kids struggle with their behavior. We have a lot of toys. I am working on it. Constantly. I am working on balancing what I require for my sanity sometimes (entertainment for the younger two while the older takes a violin lesson), what I give my children, and their behavior. I do realize that when I tell a story like this one, it has to include the Happy Hour half-price grape slushes from Sonic that has become our weekly ritual and treat, the movie playing in our car, and the fact that my child interrupts adults, and the result is not an idyllic picture. But I am working on it.

The pastor, however, tried to help me work on it. Unfortunately, he chose to address my son directly, without my consent, and he used language and resource material unfamiliar to him.

After explaining to me quickly that he believes that children misbehave because God is not involved in their discipline enough, he peered around me and said to C., "Young man, do you want to live a long time?"

C. froze in his seat, his lips pursed around his slushie straw. His eyes grew big and he tried to look away.

"Young man, I said do you want to live a long time? Do you want to live a long life?"

"Answer him," I urged, hoping to end this as soon as humanly possible.

C. turned his eyes toward the man and nodded his head slowly.

"God says that if you want to live a long life, you must obey your parents," the pastor said. He went on to quote two Bible verses to C., explaining he would live longer if he listened to us more. I watched C. the entire time, and I saw his eyes fill up with tears, but he held it together.

Nothing the man said was really out of line or outrageous. I hadn't asked for parenting help, but he was trying to do his best. He proceeded to tell me how much he loved children and hey, why don't we come to church sometimes? The kids love his hand puppet "Squeaker" and he talks justlikethis in a high voice and spreads the word of God to the kids and Oh, do they love that! I nodded and smiled and thanked him for the invitation and tried desperately to end the conversation because I knew what was happening just behind me in the backseat. But the pastor wasn't done. I then was able to hear the entire story of the day he was saved and how he had been an alcoholic from the age of four until he was 19 and his twin brother convinced him to go to church. It was a sad, and then happy, story, but I could feel the squirming in the backseat the entire time and I was terrified that C. might do something to earn another Bible verse from the pastor.

As soon as the pastor walked away, tossing over his shoulder one last time to me that see, all C. needs is some God in his discipline! I rolled up the window.

Immediately, C. burst into tears. Gasping, huffing, hot rolling tears. Tsunami tears. Wailing tears.

"I'm going to die?" He gasped to me, his eyes wet and red. "That man said I am going to die!"

Awesome.

"That's not what he said," I hedged. "He said that you would be safer if you listened to me more. What he meant was that you need to obey your parents. And you do." Just that morning, I had told the kids I quit and that Christmas was canceled, if that gives you any idea of how our day had been so far.

"But he said I am not going to live! He said God said so!" C. cried, "He said I am going to die because I didn't listen to you!"

"He never even used the word 'die,' C. That is not what he meant," I continued. But I really didn't know what to do or say. Hearing a man of authority use language and phrasing, complete with references to Bible verses and chapters, had not only confused C., but absolutely terrified him.

When we came home, C. locked himself in the bathroom. I could hear him crying and talking about dying and how he would miss Christmas. For the rest of the evening, no matter how much we tried to explain, C. had random outbursts of "I don't want to die."

And of course, it did nothing to make him listen to me more. Not even in the short term.

I wish I knew how to handle those situations better. Our children attended Christian preschools and an Episcopalian school until this year, so they have had some experience with religion and chapel services. But their religion teachers had never talked in such terms of living and dying and they had not employed God in discipline. The well-meaning pastor had interjected himself into my space and into my parenting without knowing us at all, and he unintentionally scared the wits out of my six-year-old. I am not sure how I could have avoided it, even now.

Nothing says"Happy Holidays!" and "Merry Christmas" like the chance to explain to your six-year-old that the pastor didn't mean you are going to die because you were rude to your mother. Now I get to figure out a way to explain to Firstborn's violin teacher why we won't be coming to that church dinner her husband invited us to -- because my children are scared of him.