August 30, 2021
Story time.
Not too long ago I recently uncovered some minor religious trauma that I hadn’t been aware of previously. I don’t think it affected me throughout the years but it definitely affected me when I was younger. I’d forgotten all about it until recently.
I was with some religious family members and they mentioned how their two-year-old boy had attended his very first Sunday school class that morning. My filter must’ve been broken that day because, without even thinking, I shot my mouth off and said, “Did he learn about how God kills first-born sons?”
My smart ass comment earned me some disapproving glares, and then the conversation moved on to other things.
However, my mind did not. I quickly realized that what I’d said was more than just a smart ass comment. It came from somewhere inside me that I hadn’t explored in a long time. It reminded me how much I used to struggle with the idea of God killing first-born sons.
If you’re reading this website then you likely don’t need a refresher, but just in case: In the book of Exodus, Moses sends plagues against Pharaoh to convince him to let his people go free. The final plague was the death of the first-born son for any family who didn’t paint lamb’s blood above their door. Moses told his own people, but the Egyptians didn’t get the memo, so all throughout Egypt the first-born son in every family was swiftly murdered by God, including Pharaoh’s own son.
The story of Moses, Pharaoh, and the Exodus was taught to me time and time again when I was very young and in Sunday school. Why? Because it’s a complete story with a hero, a villain, and an epic conclusion where the good guys win. It easily captures the attention of young children. That, and it has good material for coloring sheets.
Despite me and everyone else in my Sunday school class being very young, the volunteer teacher had no qualms about reminding us over and over again that God friggin’ kills children to make his point.
This bothered me deeply because I’m a first-born son. I wondered if God would ever do this again. Would I have to die in order for God to make his point about something else?
But wait. It was even more complicated. I have an older half-brother. Did he count as the first-born son, even though we only shared one parent? If God ever wanted to do another round of first-born genocide, would he kill my brother instead of me? Was I off the hook?
But then those thoughts made me feel guilty. I didn’t want my brother to die. That would be terrible. I wondered if I’d be able to sacrifice myself to God so that my brother could live. After all, the only other Sunday school story I heard about more than the Exodus was how Jesus died for me. But at the same time, I wasn’t ready to die yet. But then again, maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad because then I would go to heaven and according to my Sunday school teacher, heaven was an awesome place. But would I go to heaven? What if I’d done something wrong at school or made my parents mad, and that would make God mad, and then he’d send me to hell after killing me simply because I’d by chance been the first-born son in my family?
Yeah, it’s complicated.
As I said, this instance of religious trauma is quite minor, and might not even be considered religious trauma at all. The point is that this shit is damaging, both in little ways and in much bigger ways. There are a lot of people who come out of religion with a lot of issues that they may very well spend the rest of their lives working through.