June 2004

Rosalyn’s stepmother believed two things:

1. That God loved every living thing, that He had known every detail of your being since before you were even conceived, and that He had a special plan for the universe in which you played your own particular part.
2. That God was also statistically quite likely to condemn you to be tortured for all time on a technicality.

When you put those two beliefs together, you had to wonder a few things.  Like what exactly she meant when she said she loved Rosalyn’s dad.

“I’ve never understood why so many people think they can pick and choose which parts of the Bible they follow,” said Sally blithely, as she and Dad drove Rosalyn and Oliver up to Brewer’s Fayre for dinner one Friday night, “I mean, either it’s the Word of God, or it isn’t.  Pick a side.  You can’t sit on the fence when it comes to things like that.”

Dad hummed in vague agreement.  He wasn’t particularly religious, but he admired the fact that Sally was.  “It’s refreshing to meet somebody who’s in touch with her spiritual side,” he’d told Rosalyn once when he and Sally first started dating, “So many people have lost sight of that, in the modern world.”

“I had words with my sister about just that,” continued Sally, “When I told her I believed that every word of the Bible was true, she said to me, So do you think Owen and me are sinning by living together?  Well, actually, yes!”  She gave a nervous little laugh.

Mum thought that Sally was completely insane, and that Dad’s marrying her proved that he’d finally lost his marbles.  Then again, Mum had a dim view of religion in general- her position was one of “If there’s a loving God, why do children die in earthquakes?”  Rosalyn’s RE teachers had given her a few answers to that question- all of them interesting, none of them completely satisfying- but Mum was rarely up for a debate.  To her, it seemed to be more of a gut feeling that anything else.  Rosalyn sometimes suspected that everyone’s religious views worked like that, and the logical arguments people gave were just a way of making it look respectable.

Naturally, Sally had an answer for that question, too.  It wasn’t pleasant to hear.  Rosalyn desperately hoped that meant it also wasn’t true.

“The thing is, people today have moved away from worshipping God,” Sally continued, “They’re more interested in worshipping themselves.  You can hear it all the time- self-esteem, self-improvement, self-actualisation.  Well, maybe your self isn’t quite as important as you think it is!”  Another nervous little laugh.

In the back seat, Rosalyn squirmed.  She’d never thought her self was all that important, but that didn’t make her feel any better.  Every time Sally talked, it was like having pins driven through her skin.

Sally’s answer to Mum’s question was that those children deserved to die in earthquakes.  Everybody deserved to die in earthquakes, and then everybody deserved to go to Hell afterwards.  Jesus had saved a select few from that last part, but basically, anything bad that happened in your life was your own fault, and you should be grateful that it wasn’t ten times worse.

Dad was about to park the car.  There was just enough time for Sally to make her closing statement.  “And that’s what’s wrong with the world, isn’t it?” she asked, “In this day and age, people are afraid to stand up for God.”

“You’ve got a point there,” said Dad, who hadn’t really been listening.  He turned off the engine and let them all out of the car.

*

Rosalyn could feel the sky pressing down on her again.  This time, it was a whole lot worse, because her real worry was who might be behind the sky.

They said there was an all-powerful force watching your every move, listening to your every thought, controlling every good or bad thing that could possibly happen to you.  And that was OK if you assumed that the force in question liked you and generally wanted you to be happy, but what if Sally was right?  What if having the wrong thought at the wrong time could lead to your entire family being slaughtered in retribution?

Rosalyn had heard a lot of people say that you shouldn’t presume to know the mind of God, but sometimes it seemed that was all people did.  Most people seemed to assume that God was like them.  Rosalyn desperately wanted to believe that the kind-hearted, open-minded people were right about that, but there was a chance that Sally was instead.  Or someone a lot worse than her, because Sally was no monster- just kind of dim and up her own arse.  What if Al-Qaeda were right, and the only way to please God was to slaughter as many non-believers as possible?  What if those preachers in America were right, and the only way to please God was to shun gay people and feminists and boycott anything that might make you have a single original thought?  Rosalyn knew what she wanted to be true, but she couldn’t know for certain.  It was a matter of faith, and she didn’t know if she had enough.

If any of those people were right, then every atom of the universe was arranged against Rosalyn, and everything she loved was about as solid and resilient as tissue paper.  And once she’d thought about that possibility, really thought about it, she couldn’t keep it out of her mind for two minutes at a time.

*

Oliver’s favourite show was Little Britain, but they were only really allowed to watch it at Mum’s.  “If Jesus was sitting on the sofa next to you, would you put on a show like that?” asked Sally, “Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not there.”

“True, true,” said Oliver, “Jesus always seemed like more of a League of Gentlemen kind of guy.”

Rosalyn bit her tongue to avoid laughing.  Lately her stomach was tied up in knots even at the best of times, but it got ten times worse every time she arrived at Dad and Sally’s.  If you wanted to pick a night when you could guarantee that she wouldn’t be able to finish a meal or get more than half an hour’s sleep, you’d just have to check when she was visiting them next.

They switched over to Midsomer Murders, which Dad liked, but Sally still didn’t look satisfied.  “What’s the matter, Sal?” asked Dad, “This is good clean fun, right?”

Rosalyn expected Sally to make a snippy remark about the fact that Dad’s idea of “good clean fun” involved beheading, pitchfork-stabbing and one guy getting burned alive in a caravan, but she didn’t.  “I just feel…”  Sally trailed off, threw up her hands, and sighed.

“What?” asked Dad.

“Well, what are we getting from programmes like this, really?  Do they teach us how to live our lives?  Do they stir our souls to worship God?”

“They stir my soul to avoid the countryside,” said Oliver, “Looks like a bloodbath out there.”

Rosalyn thought about what Sally had said; her requirements for a good TV show.  They were similar to her requirements for a good book or a good song.  If it wasn’t a constant reinforcement of stuff you were already meant to know by heart, Sally didn’t seem to be interested.

A few weeks later, Rosalyn found out about a particular church that disapproved of any kind of fiction, condemning it as no different from lying.  They said that the only books people should read (besides the Bible, of course) were real-life testimonies of people who’d been Saved and come to Jesus.  After that, Rosalyn stopped reading (or watching, or listening to) much of anything.  She’d lost her enthusiasm for it.

To Be Continued