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Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom. ~ Bertrand Russell.

   

Fear lives within us all - that belly-wrenching knowledge that you can do nothing to stop some horror from coming into being. Debilitating and uncontrollable, it surges up to wash over you, icing your muscles into shards that shatter as you try and escape. It may be a minor, momentary scare, or some terrible reality, but the initial sense is the same. How far it goes depends upon the situation.

There is a certain fear specific to the pack. We are all members of a pack - family, society, work, school, religion - there's at least one group to which we belong. And there are many in which we have no membership. Most of the time this is not an issue. But occasionally it is. We are the outsider, different and alien. At that time the sense of "not belonging to the pack" is strong, and it is easy to feel the shift as the pack becomes aware. Depending upon the perceived threat, the pack may shun, harrass, or outright attack. Then the fear rises. This is the fear of the pack. The only time I ever experienced it was due to religion. For something so spiritual, so ethereal in nature, religion is very much of the flesh. And when you live in a Christian-dominated area, religion can be a big sticking point.

Before I progress any further, let me explain that my entire life, prior to moving to Southern California, was one of fairly tolerant religious diversity. I have been an actively "out" Pagan for over fifteen years, and have never experienced anything beyond the occasional shunning - by a minority, I might add. The majority of people didn't care about my faith - my brain, my body, my wit - those things mattered. My faith, however, was considered personal.

Here in California I discovered differently. For starters I really hadn't grasped the concept of Fundie before I arrived, so that was a sharp learning curve. And the (to me) obscene interest people have in my personal faith. If you don't walk my path, and don't want to genuinely discuss and debate religious ideas, why does it matter what I believe? Apparently it does.

I met some people in my apartment - nice, normal seeming people - towards the end of my first year, and we hit it off right away. By this time I knew that many Christians apparently had an issue with Paganism. Intellectually knew, that is. Anyway, my new friends made it abundantly clear early on that they were devout Christians - Evangelical, to boot. My eyebrows lifted at this. Back home, we call the evangelicals and Pentecostals the "happy clappies". No one takes them seriously, and they are a definate minority within the Christian community. Did I mention we are a private people when it comes to faith? Well, the happy clappies aren't really into keeping it quiet.

So, back to my friends - William and Elise. They still seemed very normal, so I invited them home for tea, and "the" discussion. I figured best to be up front about my beliefs early on and see whether it was too large a stumbling block. I felt nervous, a touch scared - after all, I live in a very Christian community - but determined. To say their jaws dropped at the word "Pagan" is an understatement. It took half a cup of tea and some coughing before they could speak again. But to give them credit, they responded with asking me to explain what I meant. Apparently their understanding of the term bore little resemblence to me. Big suprise there, huh? Well, the conversation seemed to go well. They invited me back to their home the following evening for coffee.

Enter the pack.

The room held probably 6 couples, plus my friends. Now I could see the Happy Clappy resemblence. That cheerful nature that seems so "down home good and wholesome", yet slightly unnerving. The Children of the Corn meet Little House on the Prairie. As I walked in they all turned to smile and welcome me. I could sense the awareness of difference building.

Then Elise introduced me. "This is our new friend, Iphegenia. She's a practicing Pagan. Iphegenia, this is our Bible Study group."

I have never felt a room ice over as quickly as that did. It took a moment for me to realise I had instinctively backed up towards the door. I realised it when I ran into William. His hands descended onto my shoulders and tightened a fraction.

"As Elise said, this is our friend. We had an interesting conversation with Iphegenia yesterday that we feel important enough to share. We have laboured under the belief that Pagans are worshippers of Satan. We were wrong."

Pandemonium erupted in that room. Elise came to stand beside me - tiny and birdlike, she radiated fierce determination as she faced the wrath of the Bible group. The pack turned to attack its own.

And I? I felt safe. Weak-kneed from the adreneline jolt, sick to my stomach, I felt safe and I felt awed. These two Happy Clappies faced down their pack for me, an outsider. Later, when we talked about it, they confessed it to be one of the hardest things they'd ever done. It would have been so easy to leave me by the wayside, and yet so wrong. In their eyes I would never reach Heaven unless I converted, but I was worthy of respect and common courtesy. I was also someone they felt attracted to as a friend. That their ideas about my faith were wrong they saw as a challenge. They felt we all had things to learn from each other.

William and Elise wore those WWJD bracelets (still do actually), and they saw me as a living test. What would Jesus have done? They thought he'd have befriended me and witnessed his way through his lifestyle, not his words - at least, not without an invitation. We have had many faith-based conversations. They have found a new church - one more tolerant and open-minded. Some of the old Bible Study group are still friends, others not. But for me the lesson in it all was that communication opened a pathway that enabled us to connect much more deeply than if I'd hidden my faith.
   

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Owl by Penny Sisto.