The Prophet of Nothing

I learned about hypocrites from my mom’s second husband, Dean. Dean was one of those pious, Bible quoting, born in the church types. His mother had him convinced at an early age that he would be the next Apostle Paul. On the less than holy side of things, Dean was also a wife beating, drug shooting, adulterous, porn addicted asshole. Still, he learned to play the religion game early. Any sin, no matter who it battered or abused was forgiveable so long as he saught forgiveness. Dean was a master repenter and my first example of what it means to be a hypocrite.

Part of Dean’s religious upbringing centered on the fact that the mark of the beast was coming and that only a place called, “Zion” would be safe. In addition to a safe place for the righteous, Zion would be the place where God’s army would be gathered before going to war against the anti-Christ. Dean’s mom was certain that God revealed to her where Zion was. Conveniently, Zion was far from where she lived. You see, Dean had a habit of sponging off her and she did not like that he moved his common law wife, their two children, and what she perceived as a bastard son in with her. So, it was a blessing that Zion would lead Dean and his brood far away to be some of the first soldier’s in God’s army.

So, shortly after my mom married the would-be general in God’s army, she and Dean moved me, and my half-brother and half-sister (yes, both born out of wedlock) to the prophesized location of Zion. Apparently, Zion was located in Trinity County, more specifically, in Hayfork, California. If you’ve never heard of Hayfork, there is a good reason. Hayfork can be found in extreme Northern California. It is nestled like a cancerous tumor in a small valley within the Cascade Mountains. The tiny pustule of a town had two thousand people, no work, and a thriving meth lab and marijuana producing economy. Once, the timber industry thrived there, but as trees were cut and never replanted, the remote area became ripe for take over by those who had no intention of being productive members of society. This Zion offered Dean the chance to cling to his religious delusions and indulge his addictions. It also offered the added benefit of allowing Dean to exercise his complete aversion towards work.

Upon arrival at the purported Zion, Dean made an executive decision. Instead of finding a job at ground zero for God’s army, he chose to raise his family on welfare. Dean felt that it was a way of robbing the anti-Christ, who controlled the government. It also gave him time to witness to lost souls while sitting on a bar stool or slamming crank (what we now call meth) in his favorite drug den. Of course, saving souls took money, so the welfare that should have paid the rent and kept the lights on was routinely snatched up by Dean on the first and fifteenth of the month. He would then disappear for a few days, eager to continue his mission to save souls. If he had the opportunity to get high in the process, he would do so. After all, being a general in God’s army was stressful and he needed the energy meth provided to strike fear in the hearts of the anti-Christ’s demonic legions.

My mom, like a good Christian woman chose to forgive her husband when he would return home with empty pockets and soul filled with shame. After all, she was told that she had to, “Submit herself unto her husband.” Surely, her dutifullness as a wife would lead Dean away from his sinful ways. On the rare occasion that my mom argued with Dean about the lack of money to pay the rent and feed the children, she meekly took her beating. A broken nose, torn earlobe, and pulled out hair was the price she paid for speaking against such a Godly husband. When the fight was over, Dean would sob, say he was sorry, and then he and my mom would pray that they could both be better Christians.

Dean’s sinning ways went beyond drugs and violence towards his help-mate. He was equally addicted to sex and all things pornographic. As a result, Dean made his way through my mom’s friends. After all, these single women needed to know what it was like to be cared for by a Godly man. In addition, the methamphetamine abuse seemed to twist Dean’s lust. In a small town like Hayfork, it didn’t take long for us to hear rumors about Dean’s depravity. It was rumored that Dean had a stash of child pornography. He was later accused of molesting my mom's friend's daughters and even his own little girl. We also heard stories that he was into beastiality and that he regularly sold himself as a means to pay his drug debts. The rumors were never substantiated, but a part of me has always felt that the whispers held a shred of truth.

All through the chaos, I learned that my situation was precarious. Having the instincts of a child, I loathed Dean from the day I met him. Being young, I tried to make myself invisible. That is, until I got older. As life grew worst, I started to open my mouth more. Dean quickly realized that I was a potential problem. After all, I was the product of my mom’s previous marriage to an atheist. This all but labeled me as a possible demonic force within Dean’s family. To make my situation worst with the would-be profit, I didn’t like church, and I talked back. Of course, the biggest threat was the growing possibility that I might report the empty refrigerator, beatings, and drug use to my teachers.

Unfortunately for me, Dean decided to turn me towards the light. As a man of God, Dean felt it necessary to purge his wife’s nine year old son of evil. All books other than the Bible were forbidden to me. This was intollerable for me because books were my escape. So Dean’s rule was promptly broken by secret trips to the library and books I read at school. These books became more and more centered on fantasy, science fiction, and very non-Biblical subject matter. Dean also tried to purify me by limiting my musical curiousity. Music could only be Christian music, more specifically, holy roller gospel music complete with people speaking in tongues in the background. Of course, I rebelled there too. I indulged in Black Sabbath, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd. The more pious he wanted me to be, the more I gravitated towards the darker side of things. When he spouted scripture at me with the omnipresent, "Praise God" thrown in for emphasis, I would drown out the bullshit in my mind with my favorite heavy metal lyrics:

"Gen'rals gathered in their masses,

Just like witches at black masses

Evil minds that plot destruction,

Sorcerer of death's construction"-Black Sabbath

It was a small rebellion, but it kept me sane.

By the time my mom stopped drinking the Kool-Aid and devorced Dean, I had developed a severe hatred for hypocricy. Unfortunately, it was a misguided hatred fueled by growing teenage angst. Due to my experiences with Dean, I came to think that Christians were either monsters wearing a cheap religious disguise, or they were sad pious door mats like my mom who were trapped by a belief in bronze age nonsense. By the age of fourteen I developed the opinion that the practice of feeding Christians to the lions needed to be revived post-haste. I wanted no part in God, Christianity, faith, or religion. That way was the way to madness. Or as so eliquently stated by AC/DC, "If God's on the left, I was sticking to the right."

Time has allowed me to develop the wisdom to understand that religious belief doesn’t need to reside in the realm of absolutes. There are good Christians and bad people who proclaim themselves to be Christian. There are even people who aren’t Christian’s who live closer to the Christian ideal than those who are in church every Sunday. I will never belong to a religion. The usual demand of religion that one must accept someone else's blind definition of, "God's will" leads towards genocide, wars, hatred in the name of cryptic dogma, and hypocricy. However, I have made my peace with a benevolent, loving God who understands why that scared little kid didn’t want to go to church. If being Dean meant being Christian, he didn’t want to be Christian.