#WashateriaWitnessing
Having briefly mentioned how religion is a religion in Texas in a previous post (Prodigal Texan: Homecoming for a Pagan), I received a bit of criticism for referring to Christians knocking on my door as "selling Jesus." Honestly, I don't know what else to call it.
If a person comes to your door wanting to get you to believe in something, whether it's a product or service, enough to want to purchase said product or service, they're a door-to-door salesperson.
* travelling salesman. Dictionary.com. Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition. HarperCollins Publishers. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/travelling-salesman (accessed: October 28, 2016).
Treating your religion that way is the same thing, regardless as to the faith (product or service) you are espousing.
In Paganism, it is a widely accepted belief that proselytizing is, in short, rude. We don't seek out practitioners of the faith; they must come to us. In our individual faith circles and smaller communities, we do "witness" to one another, talk about how Goddess has affected our lives, how our faith in the Gods has changed our perspectives on the world. But we don't invite complete strangers to Circle and try to "sell" them on how great the Mother Goddess is.
(As an aside, I'm not saying that it doesn't happen. We simply generally consider it rude to actively seek out converts. I found an interesting blog article by Jason Mankey, that sums up how it pretty much works: "Do Pagans Proselytize?")
The door-knockers, however, are doing just that: selling Jesus.
Yet, when we attempt to discuss with these, yes, kind folks, our own faith, they are offended and tell us that we, as Pagans, are going to their Hell, if we don't accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior.
I have no problem with Christians wanting to believe the way they do. I have no issue with Christians wanting to participate in their faith. Y'all go for it.
But please, don't expect me--a practicing Pagan Witch and Priestess--to convert back to a faith that I left for reasons in the first place. Those reasons still exist. I have become more steadfast with most of them and have actually added to the list of reasons why I refuse to go back.
Well-intentioned folks who continue to knock on my door to tell me about their latest recruitment efforts are, in fact, pushing me further away from their cause.
I reiterate: They are coming to my door, that's attached to my home.
I accept you the way you are. Converting you is not in my goals. And I would love to have a lively discussion with you, if you're willing to forego telling me I'm wrong, going to your Hell, and burning for all eternity.
A while ago, I started tweeting about encounters with Christ's acolytes at the laundromat. At the time, not only was I being disturbed in my own home, I was being approached while doing the mundane task of household laundry.
Granted, this is a public place. But it's a laundromat.
And then there's the truck I have with folks trying to tell my kid he's going to the Christian Hell. Yep, that's happened. Multiple times. The conversation afterward went like this:
Boy: Mama, what's Hell?
Me: A place Christians believe everyone goes to burn in fire for all eternity if they either don't become Christian or if they sin too much.
Boy: What's sin?
Me: Certain things the Bible tells Christians they aren't supposed to do, like murder and cheating on your mate.
Boy: Why do they need a book to tell them that's wrong?
He was 6 years old, at the time. He still doesn't understand why anyone would want to believe in Hell, no matter how many times I've explained it to him.
The young man in the laundromat was very kind, but pushy. He approached Ulrich while the boy was helping to fold the clean clothes, repeatedly telling him, "Jesus loves you." Ulrich at first said, "Okaaay." This was a new experience for him. The young man said it again, and the boy looked at me sideways with a "help me" expression. I leaned over and said, "Just say thank you and let it go." He did, and the young man walked off to express Jesus' eternal adoration to someone else.
That's when I noticed my son physically relax: The encounter had actually made him tense up. He thought it was weird and abnormal behavior. Because Pagans don't do that.
Ultimately, I like being left alone. And I certainly want my kid left alone. Folks can tell me that Jesus loves me, that I am in their prayers. I will say back, "Goddess bless," and "You're in mine, too." (Yes, we pray.)
I'll be happy to discuss dogma and mythology and history and literature and ethics and virtues all day. Just don't tell me I'm wrong, and don't tell my son he's going to Hell. Please don't try to sell me Jesus.
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