By Ronna Russell ~ This is a satirical piece I wrote just for fun: I am the Serpent, I am I am. Now everyone knows that the serpent is more subtle than any beast which the LORD God made. I am a beast I am I am Which is what I’m thinking as I slither and slink like vapor through the bows of the bewitchment tree and smell the woman below. The scent of her innocence coats my tongue as I descend onto the soft curve of her bare shoulder. And I said to her I said have you tried all the fruit in the garden yet? Which one did the Lord God forbid? Even though I already knew the answer. And the woman she whispered against my scales she said we can eat all the fruit from any of the trees in the whole garden except this one right here. That Lord God guy-I think he owns the place-he said we can’t even touch these bananas or we’ll die. And I said to the woman, I said Naaaah you’ll be fiiiiine. He just doesn’t wanna share. He knows your eyes will open up, you’ll seeeee ...

By Ronna Russell ~ A few years ago, in a haze of post-divorce pain, I began blogging about my childhood experiences growing up in the United Pentecostal Church and submitted some of those posts here on Ex-Christian. I was astounded at the support and understanding I received. Several regular readers encouraged me to consider writing a book. So I did. (An excerpt follows.)  Valerie Tarico, author of Trusting Doubt , was kind enough to read my manuscript and write a review: Caught between the archaic religious dictates of her Pentecostal family and the complexities of the world outside, Ronna Russell fights for survival and more in  The Uncomfortable Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid .  Loneliness, raw sexuality, unexpected kindness and cruelty, and through it all an understated endurance with solid granite at the core, Russell’s memoir is alternately hard, hungry, raw, and tender--like sex and love and parenthood and simply being. I sat down to read the first chapt...

By Ronna Russell ~ W hen someone who has an incurable disease is told their condition can be whisked away by a magic spell, it disrespects their daily reality. Every day contains struggles unknown to the rest of us, both emotional and physical.  The utter disregard of that reality is staggering.  Chant the right spell and it will all go away. Um, no. To pretend to have access to a magical cure is arrogance beyond comprehension. It insults the sick in a way that faith healing believers cannot fathom, because their certainty and superiority complex runs deep. It seems the underlying emotion is love for the afflicted and a desire for their wellness, but disregarding the personal beliefs of others is not love; it is an ego-driven, manipulative power trip. Such disregard is rude at best, but also cruel and misinformed and can be emotionally damaging to those not good at critical thinking. This might seem to be an overreaction to anyone who hasn’t been steamrolled by...

By Ronna Russell ~ Y esterday while driving around town I spotted a sign outside a business that said, “There is no hope in logic.” This sentence jumped into my brain and ran around in circles. What the heck does that even mean? I wondered. In the interest of full disclosure, this business’ sign often has clearly Christian perspective. But this I pondered. The belief that there is no hope in logic is a perspective I find remarkably sad and, let me just say it, wrong. Logic gives us a path to follow, clear actions to take. Logic gives us power and direction. When we can see connections between our own actions and their effects or, on a larger scale, between public policies and statistics, then we can make positive changes. Changes can be made immediately and with intent, no waiting. The ability to make changes gives us every reason to hope for a better future whether we are talking about our own life or the future of our country or our planet. Reliance on hope, also know...

By Ronna Russell ~ A s a child raised in the extreme isolationism and clamped-down atmosphere of the United Pentecostal Church , I had a deep desire for worldly things.  The state of females’ appearance was rigidly controlled:  dress length to the knees (even for children), no pants or jeans, no sleeveless shirts, uncut hair, (not even trimmed), no make-up or jewelry and I lusted for it all.  My most prized possession as a little kid was a big fat gold ring with rhinestones that I was allowed to wear only when playing “house” in the basement.  Once, some poor soul got saved and turned over her entire collection of costume jewelry to my dad; three boxes full.  I was momentarily ecstatic, envisioning hours of fabulous dress-up play.  My sisters and I got to keep the empty boxes.  I have no idea where the jewelry went; probably into the garbage.  Oh, that just made me feel a little bit sick to my stomach. As I grew towards adolescence, my cra...

By Ronna Russell ~ W hile most folks are breathing a sigh of relief at the better-late-than-never decision of SCOTUS regarding marriage equality , the reaction of some reminds me with the force of a punch in the gut of what it really means to be fundamentalist christian. I am reminded why I fled so many years ago, to escape the suffocating judgement and infuriating self-righteousness. It is impossible for me to comprehend the mental gymnastics required to put oneself in a position of authority over other humans simply because one has swallowed a “belief” about who they are. There is a lot of talk about god’s wrath and judgement day , akin to a mother telling a misbehaving child “just wait until your father gets home.” Covert fundamentalists aren’t much better, with their judgement–lite attitude of love the sinner, hate the sin. It is still a position of false superiority; willful ignorance of what it means to be gay. If you are not gay, you do not understand and have no right...

By Ronna Russell ~ I inadvertently married a closeted gay man. In my defense, I was asking the question, but not getting a straight answer. This guy had no reason to not come out. His family was atheist, extremely liberal Californians and had been wondering about their son’s sexuality for years. He would have gotten nothing but support from his family, along with relief at knowing. He went to college in San Francisco and Santa Cruz, for crying out loud. We met when I was 21-ish and he was pushing 30. The fact that he had a minimum wage job as a courier and I was technically his boss should have given me pause. He was a writer in his spare time and fancied himself a movie maker, as well. There is no doubt he had a brilliant mind; that is what suckered me in. At first, we mostly had a great time with after work drink dates, a shared sense of humor and a high degree of friendship chemistry. Coming from a lifetime of irrelevance, I had no idea what treatment to expect i...

By Ronna Russell ~ W hile I was busy making bad choices, so was Preacher Dad. While Mom and sister were out of town, PD’s friend showed up. They retired together to my parent’s bedroom. PD saw the look of shock on my face and said, “Oh, it’s just like when you have a friend over.” #1. What friend? #2. I’m not an idiot. Eventually, PD was caught in a gay bathhouse and secretly fired from the church. A story was concocted for the congregation and he moved to L.A. The concocted story was told to us all, including my mother. NO ONE told my mother why her husband no longer had a job even though she was church secretary. PD found work in L.A. and his partner joined him there. (No one was calling him “partner,” but that was the truth.) He would come home for an occasional weekend and pretend to be husband/father. Mom was left alone, trying to make ends meet. No one took her aside and told her the truth. Except me. I can’t remember how the conversation came about, bu...

By Ronna Russell ~ A nother new city, another new state, the third one in high school alone. My sister had tickets to Hawaii and was taking my mother along for a vacation. Preacher Dad took them to the airport in San Francisco, a couple of hours away. He wouldn’t let me come along and then stayed overnight, doing whatever it was closeted gay men did in the 1980s. That is how I found myself home alone on my 18th birthday, six weeks into a new place, knowing no one. I had a car, a bright orange Pinto wagon that ran most of the time, and I remembered the way to the Casa Maria restaurant and bar. I was damned if I was going to sit in that house by myself, staring at the walls. Also I hadn’t had sex in three years. I drove to the restaurant and walked in. The bartender saw me, but before he could ask for ID, the only guy sitting at the bar said, “Come here.” The bartender wouldn’t serve me. We walked out together moments later, tried another bar, but I got carded again, so we c...

By Ronna Russell ~ P reacher Dad was persona non grata at Jackson College of Ministries , so we up and moved all the way across the country to Conqueror’s Bible College in Portland, OR . The day we pulled into the parking lot, after a five day cross country road trip, my sister looked at the empty brick building that was to become our home and started to cry. We moved into the circular complex of offices, classrooms, dormitories and apartments, next to the Port of Portland, into a three bedroom apartment right off the main hallway. It was surreal and empty and silent. Preacher Dad went to work and I went 9th grade in an inner city high school in the middle of downtown Portland . Wee bit of culture shock. When I registered, they asked for my parent’s employer and I said Conquerors’ Bible College. They wrote down Conkers Bible College. I didn’t correct them. I could see how silly it was. I had no idea how to explain who I was, why I was there or even where I lived. You l...

By Ronna Russell ~ P reacher Dad decided he needed to be around more. My mom had been a good mother in our early childhood but it was time for him to take over. Her usefulness as a parent had been served and she could step aside, he told her. Thanks, honey. Mom wept a lot. So he took a job as the vice-president of Jackson College of Ministries in Jackson, MS . This small church college was owned and operated by the local UPC pastor, Brother Thomas Craft . If you have ever seen the movie The Apostle with Robert Duval , that’s the man. If Mr. Duval did not study Brother Craft with a microscope in preparation for that movie, I will eat my hat and yours. We arrived in the Deep South on a pedestal. Big announcements were made, public introductions, etc.; PD went to work and I went to fourth grade. Socializing at school was not allowed. All other kids were sinners from sinner families and had to be kept at arms’ length. I was, however, allowed to witness to them or invite t...

By Ronna Russell ~ T he second coming of Christ was presented as a real and present danger of everyday life. Jesus could return at any moment, with one loud trumpet blast by way of announcement. If you were not saved you would be left on earth, which would become hell, complete with Satan, fire and demons, where you would burn forever and ever. Everyone who had followed directions would be whisked away to heaven and it was all going to happen in the blink of an eye. Let’s just say I had some anxiety as a child. Everyone was going to hell when the rapture took place, except for the handful of earth’s population who belonged to the United Pentecostal Church . No other Christians of any flavor, nor even other Pentecostals if they were not part of the UPC sect, would be saved. Period. No salvation for you. Once, when I was a kid, I asked my mother about people in other countries who had never heard about Jesus. Would they go to hell? Missionaries were a big deal, we hear...