Fire and Brimstone in the Subway
Every morning I ride the subway to work.
It is about a forty-five minute trip more or less—mostly a monotonous, and monochromatic blur as I endure the smells, the screeches and the gross violations of personal space we New Yorkers come to slough off as part of the cost of living in the Great City.
At about 9:30 AM or so, the first train I ride pulls into the 42nd Street Port Authority station. From here I must transfer to the number 7 to go cross-town to work.
The transfer requires about a five minute walk underground, through a dismal, crowded, fluorescently lit tunnel my wife has come to call the ‘Mouth of Hell’.
Amidst throngs of people walking through the tunnel are pan-handlers, musicians, Scientologists, and purveyors of the true word of God Almighty.
The Scientologists have a table set up near the Port Authority entrance to the tunnel where they give free ‘Stress Tests’ with their ‘E-Meter’. Members circulate among the crowd handing out literature. Despite personal feelings about the dealings of the group or their cult status; their presence in the subway is mostly benign to me—although I’d prefer not to have any such group encroach on my already flooded senses every morning.
What has become a major annoyance to me is the fire and brimstone group that has taken up residence inside the far end of the tunnel. They have a table set up where pamphlets and out-of-context Bible verses abound. One of the grossest affronts is the signage they place along the walls of the tunnel. The signs warn of eternal damnation and contain pictures of nice looking people falling into flames. Members walk amongst the crowd; against the flow of traffic waving pamphlets in faces. Overall the message seems to be that God is pretty gosh darn pissed and going to throw all the human creatures He created into some kind of Bar-B-Q pit of astronomic proportion. Of course there is an out… and these folks are quite willing to share it with you. You are a sinner, my friend. You are bad to the bone and your life doesn’t mean shit unless you stop; read my shtick; believe what I believe; and beg my god for forgiveness in the name of his son. Amen.
It troubles me to some extent just why they make me increasingly angry. I have done a tiny bit of soul searching and I think I know why.
At first I thought maybe it was some Faustian demon inside me and I feared they might sprinkle me with some holy water; my head would spin about my neck; and I’d surely melt into a little puddle of green pukey goo. The tunnel’s accordionist would break into some appropriately tragic hymn as the members looked on righteously preaching a new theme to passers-by, “We told you so…â€
Then I thought some more. I didn’t ask to be preached to. I just want to go to work. I don’t want people getting in my face. I don’t like having to walk around them. The amount of space they take up annoys me. The fact that I can’t get from one train to the next without having to process their sanctimonious display at some level angers me.
What do I believe? I’m generally reluctant to say exactly what; and honestly sometimes I’m not exactly sure. I do believe in something. I really do think there is something else I can’t see or touch that has influence here on Earth. I’m an analytical person and generally don’t place much stock in what I can’t measure; but I pray. I look at the events of my life and some were unfair; some were wrong; but overall things just seem to eventually work out. This is what I mean when I say I’m blessed. Things work out; usually for the best if you can wait. I happen to believe there is a greater power that takes part in that.
I was raised a Protestant. A very liberal Christian. There was never a great deal of ‘born again’ talk in our home. I never even gave it much thought until I got older and came into a time of searching for meaning. My search took me through the Chinese philosophy of Lao Tzu, through the religious dogmas of Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, and any other spiritual philosophy or religion I could read about. The first time I had a friend who was Jewish was in college. I met a Muslim man and discussed Islam and the Christian Bible with him. I learned more about world history - actually going back more than two millennia. I got down to the roots of modern Christianity and I just couldn’t make it fit with what I was learning about the world. It just didn’t make any sense.
I learned of too many awful things in human history that occurred in the name of; or were justified by religion—often Christianity.
I’m still trying to work out my childhood teachings with my adult experience and education.
Perhaps time and human intervention have distorted the modern dogma into a belief system of half-truths and outright lies.
There is so much I would like to believe: that Jesus was real; that all people could come to Him without judgment; and that His greatest lesson of all was love.
photo courtesy of lazysundae on Flickr
