Faith and Hope, 20% off!
Dec. 15th, 2012 07:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deird1Reposting this from the Slacktiverse, because, after all, I wrote the thing.
Faith and Hope, 20% off!
I think, in the end, it was the teddy bears that did it.
They were big and fluffy, in boxes that said they’d “introduce children to prayer” and “teach them how to talk to God”. And they were creepy.
If you pressed their paws together, they’d start talking: “Hi! I’m Happy Bear! Would you like to pray with me?” A second tap, and the prayer would begin: “Dear God. I am HAPPY today, because you made the world!” …and on it would go. Eventually, you’d reach the end of the prayer cycle, and the whole thing would start over again.
There were three different bears, in all. Happy Bear, who was happy; Brave Bear, who wanted to be brave (“Dear God. Please make me BRAVE like a lion! RARRR!”); and Thankful Bear, who was thankful for everything that Happy Bear was happy about.
They were only supposed to pray when you pressed their paws together in true praying style, but after a few weeks they started activating spontaneously when you walked past them. You’d be putting Jesus Pens in the pen containers, and suddenly a whole row of teddy bears would start praying loudly right next to you. We called them the Possessed Teddies, and hoped we’d get rid of them soon.
But I started wondering about them.
Why were we selling them?
Did they really help kids?
Where was Depressed Teddy? And Identity Crisis Teddy? And Guilty Teddy? Or could the teddies only teach you to pray about your problems if you didn’t have any real ones?
And what on earth did they have to do with Jesus?
Working at a Christian bookshop was, in a lot of ways, my dream job. It involved books, which was awesome. And Christian books, which meant I would be selling things I actually cared about, staying away from bad influences, and helping people. Perfect!
…that was the idea, anyway.
For those of you who haven’t encountered them before, you should know that the term “bookshop” is a bit misleading. They don’t just sell books – they sell everything. Get your inspirational posters, your praise and worship CDs, your calendars, your bumper stickers, your breath mints, and your snow globes, all at one convenient location! (All Christian themed, of course. By which I mean that they’ll have a Bible verse or a Jesus fish somewhere on the side of the packaging.)
I would sell people Christian ties, Christian wrapping paper, and Christian… possessed praying teddy bears. Boring, and a little weird – why are crappy Christian pens better than the cheaper ones that actually work, just because they have Bible verses on them? – but, in some ways, that part of my job was easy. The hard bit was the books.
Sometimes it was good: a customer would come up and say “Hi, I’m looking for a book by Max Lucado?” and I’d smile, and take them over to the Lucado section – and then we’d chat happily about Max Lucado, and all the books we’d read by him, and what our favourites were, and so on. I’d often bring up other authors they might consider checking out, based on their interest in Lucado.
But then, sometimes, they’d come up and say “Hi, I’m looking for a book about why Harry Potter is evil. You see, my sister’s kids are reading it, and I want to show her why it’s of the devil.” And I’d have to smile, and take them over to the Harry Potter Is Evil!!!! section (right next to the Harry Potter Is A Christ Analogy And Totally Biblical!!!! section), and chat happily about how evil Harry Potter was, and discuss other books they might want to check out – like the books on why Lord of the Rings was evil, or why fashion was evil, or why rock music was evil*.
We weren’t allowed, you see, to discriminate against Christian beliefs that we didn’t personally agree with. If someone wanted a book on why women should be pastors, that’s what we’d give them. If they wanted a book on why women shouldn’t speak in church, we’d sell them that too. And let me tell you, trying to enthusiastically up-sell to people when you loathe everything about their interests is not that fun.
You get really good at hypocrisy, after a while.
But, in between learning how to lie to customers, I started to wonder about the whole thing.
“Christian” items were in. If it was Christian, we’d sell it, no questions asked, no matter the theology. Unless… you were only a pretend Christian, like a Catholic. Or unless your theology was so incredibly wacky and out there that you were clearly not Christian at all, like if you said that being gay was okay.
Books on the Eucharist (that actually, horrors, called it Eucharist and not communion)? Not allowed.
Biographies in which gay people were still gay at the end of the story? Not allowed.
Possessed teddy bears? Standard merchandise.
DIY manuals on how “God Wants You To Be RICH!”** in five easy steps? Absolutely fine.
Apparently, something that discusses Jesus in depth and contains huge amounts of theological musing can be non-Christian, or at least not-Christian-enough, but slapping a picture of a lamb on a mug and writing “Jn 10:11” at the bottom is enough to make it a Christian mug. As opposed to all those plain mugs that heathens drink out of.
Was the dividing line between Christian and non-Christian simply a matter of how it was decorated? Was it really that arbitrary? And if that line was so arbitrary, what did that say about the immovable, unquestionable line between us and people who thought Jesus didn’t mind them being gay?
* If you’re into cognitive dissonance, try shelving books on why rock music is evil while listening to rock music playing over the sound system – both items sold by the same shop, and promoted just as enthusiastically.
** Yes, that was actually the title.
In my third year at the bookshop, the casual staff all made a pact: one day, in the far-off future, we were going to burn the whole place to the ground. And, just to make sure it was fair, we were going to decide right now who got to burn down which sections…
I picked a few: Eschatology (including a shelf on why Saddam Hussein is definitely the antichrist), Holy Spirit (you too can raise people from the dead!), and Prayer (in which there were lots of reassurances that, eventually, you’d have a fulfilling prayer life, just like the author).
Eschatology was the first to make the cut – I’d never believed any of that, and used to groan inwardly whenever someone bought a Left Behind book.
Holy Spirit had got onto my list a little more gradually – possibly spurred on by customers who insisted on holding healing sessions for paraplegics in the fiction section. We weren’t allowed to stop them (after all, it might be God’s will) and instead kept working around them. I got so sick of them loudly “claiming” healing, carrying on wildly as if God would be motivated entirely by their volume, and then eventually giving up and going back to their normal lives. Why did they keep saying “We BELIEVE you’re going to do this, Lord, RIGHT NOW!” if they clearly weren’t surprised by it failing? (And why did we believe God did anything at all, when it seemed like the lame stayed lame and the blind stayed blind and the jerks coming into the store stayed jerks no matter how Christian they said they were?)
And Prayer… well, by that time I was getting sick of people talking about their Relationship With Jesus, sick of them promising things they couldn’t deliver, sick of them treating formulaic words like magic, sick of them pretending to be enthusiastic about a form of communication that actually sucked…
…and, in the end, sick of the whole damn thing.
Some people have their faith destroyed by suffering, or by hateful people, or by their experience not matching what they’re told. My faith, on the other hand, was almost destroyed by Christian kitsch and Veggie Tales.
Faith and Hope, 20% off!
I think, in the end, it was the teddy bears that did it.
They were big and fluffy, in boxes that said they’d “introduce children to prayer” and “teach them how to talk to God”. And they were creepy.
If you pressed their paws together, they’d start talking: “Hi! I’m Happy Bear! Would you like to pray with me?” A second tap, and the prayer would begin: “Dear God. I am HAPPY today, because you made the world!” …and on it would go. Eventually, you’d reach the end of the prayer cycle, and the whole thing would start over again.
There were three different bears, in all. Happy Bear, who was happy; Brave Bear, who wanted to be brave (“Dear God. Please make me BRAVE like a lion! RARRR!”); and Thankful Bear, who was thankful for everything that Happy Bear was happy about.
They were only supposed to pray when you pressed their paws together in true praying style, but after a few weeks they started activating spontaneously when you walked past them. You’d be putting Jesus Pens in the pen containers, and suddenly a whole row of teddy bears would start praying loudly right next to you. We called them the Possessed Teddies, and hoped we’d get rid of them soon.
But I started wondering about them.
Why were we selling them?
Did they really help kids?
Where was Depressed Teddy? And Identity Crisis Teddy? And Guilty Teddy? Or could the teddies only teach you to pray about your problems if you didn’t have any real ones?
And what on earth did they have to do with Jesus?
Working at a Christian bookshop was, in a lot of ways, my dream job. It involved books, which was awesome. And Christian books, which meant I would be selling things I actually cared about, staying away from bad influences, and helping people. Perfect!
…that was the idea, anyway.
For those of you who haven’t encountered them before, you should know that the term “bookshop” is a bit misleading. They don’t just sell books – they sell everything. Get your inspirational posters, your praise and worship CDs, your calendars, your bumper stickers, your breath mints, and your snow globes, all at one convenient location! (All Christian themed, of course. By which I mean that they’ll have a Bible verse or a Jesus fish somewhere on the side of the packaging.)
I would sell people Christian ties, Christian wrapping paper, and Christian… possessed praying teddy bears. Boring, and a little weird – why are crappy Christian pens better than the cheaper ones that actually work, just because they have Bible verses on them? – but, in some ways, that part of my job was easy. The hard bit was the books.
Sometimes it was good: a customer would come up and say “Hi, I’m looking for a book by Max Lucado?” and I’d smile, and take them over to the Lucado section – and then we’d chat happily about Max Lucado, and all the books we’d read by him, and what our favourites were, and so on. I’d often bring up other authors they might consider checking out, based on their interest in Lucado.
But then, sometimes, they’d come up and say “Hi, I’m looking for a book about why Harry Potter is evil. You see, my sister’s kids are reading it, and I want to show her why it’s of the devil.” And I’d have to smile, and take them over to the Harry Potter Is Evil!!!! section (right next to the Harry Potter Is A Christ Analogy And Totally Biblical!!!! section), and chat happily about how evil Harry Potter was, and discuss other books they might want to check out – like the books on why Lord of the Rings was evil, or why fashion was evil, or why rock music was evil*.
We weren’t allowed, you see, to discriminate against Christian beliefs that we didn’t personally agree with. If someone wanted a book on why women should be pastors, that’s what we’d give them. If they wanted a book on why women shouldn’t speak in church, we’d sell them that too. And let me tell you, trying to enthusiastically up-sell to people when you loathe everything about their interests is not that fun.
You get really good at hypocrisy, after a while.
But, in between learning how to lie to customers, I started to wonder about the whole thing.
“Christian” items were in. If it was Christian, we’d sell it, no questions asked, no matter the theology. Unless… you were only a pretend Christian, like a Catholic. Or unless your theology was so incredibly wacky and out there that you were clearly not Christian at all, like if you said that being gay was okay.
Books on the Eucharist (that actually, horrors, called it Eucharist and not communion)? Not allowed.
Biographies in which gay people were still gay at the end of the story? Not allowed.
Possessed teddy bears? Standard merchandise.
DIY manuals on how “God Wants You To Be RICH!”** in five easy steps? Absolutely fine.
Apparently, something that discusses Jesus in depth and contains huge amounts of theological musing can be non-Christian, or at least not-Christian-enough, but slapping a picture of a lamb on a mug and writing “Jn 10:11” at the bottom is enough to make it a Christian mug. As opposed to all those plain mugs that heathens drink out of.
Was the dividing line between Christian and non-Christian simply a matter of how it was decorated? Was it really that arbitrary? And if that line was so arbitrary, what did that say about the immovable, unquestionable line between us and people who thought Jesus didn’t mind them being gay?
* If you’re into cognitive dissonance, try shelving books on why rock music is evil while listening to rock music playing over the sound system – both items sold by the same shop, and promoted just as enthusiastically.
** Yes, that was actually the title.
In my third year at the bookshop, the casual staff all made a pact: one day, in the far-off future, we were going to burn the whole place to the ground. And, just to make sure it was fair, we were going to decide right now who got to burn down which sections…
I picked a few: Eschatology (including a shelf on why Saddam Hussein is definitely the antichrist), Holy Spirit (you too can raise people from the dead!), and Prayer (in which there were lots of reassurances that, eventually, you’d have a fulfilling prayer life, just like the author).
Eschatology was the first to make the cut – I’d never believed any of that, and used to groan inwardly whenever someone bought a Left Behind book.
Holy Spirit had got onto my list a little more gradually – possibly spurred on by customers who insisted on holding healing sessions for paraplegics in the fiction section. We weren’t allowed to stop them (after all, it might be God’s will) and instead kept working around them. I got so sick of them loudly “claiming” healing, carrying on wildly as if God would be motivated entirely by their volume, and then eventually giving up and going back to their normal lives. Why did they keep saying “We BELIEVE you’re going to do this, Lord, RIGHT NOW!” if they clearly weren’t surprised by it failing? (And why did we believe God did anything at all, when it seemed like the lame stayed lame and the blind stayed blind and the jerks coming into the store stayed jerks no matter how Christian they said they were?)
And Prayer… well, by that time I was getting sick of people talking about their Relationship With Jesus, sick of them promising things they couldn’t deliver, sick of them treating formulaic words like magic, sick of them pretending to be enthusiastic about a form of communication that actually sucked…
…and, in the end, sick of the whole damn thing.
Some people have their faith destroyed by suffering, or by hateful people, or by their experience not matching what they’re told. My faith, on the other hand, was almost destroyed by Christian kitsch and Veggie Tales.
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no subject
Date: 2012-12-14 08:44 pm (UTC)Gabrielle
no subject
Date: 2012-12-14 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-14 11:45 pm (UTC)Though, from my atheist side of the fence, the part that most fascinates me is the word 'almost' in the last sentence. But that is definitely for another time.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-15 02:38 am (UTC)On my way to the RSPCA for kitten checkups, I have to drive past two megachurches. The huge signs advertising PERSONAL SALVATION get me. Like it's a commodity they sell. I'm imagining a major hospital with big neon signs saying PERSONAL CANCER TREATMENT.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-19 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-17 04:22 pm (UTC)Thanks for writing this! :)
no subject
Date: 2013-02-17 07:00 pm (UTC)