Bible Camp Night SweatsI was raised by a staunch Babtist. Every summer I was carted off to bible camp for two weeks. The camp was actually fun, but each evening we were herded into the camp chapel and told horror stories about life after death for non-believers. I used to cringe and dread each evening service. Most of the kids took it in stride seeing it all as an extension of Santa Claus and similar myths, but the tales of sinners leaping into the fires of hell and having their graves infested by snakes literally scared the devil out of me. Each evening when the call came to come forward I would resist, not knowing why, but certain that eventually, I would be one of the legions condemned to everlasting torment.
I never got saved from the Babtist hell. It seem to incredulous that life was unimportant and that our true purpose was to prepare for death. I never came to believe that killing someone perfect was a good thing regardless of if he magically was raised from the dead afterwards or not. Though shalt not kill made sense to me. Jesus' sacrifice so that I wouldn't be sent to God's oven didn't. Kindness and forgiveness made sense, retaliation, retribultion and eternal punishment didn't. I survived this religious persecution and am now certain that the whole story is complete hogwash. I no longer suffer any fears of enternal torment or hell and now see it for the terrorist tactic that it truly is. But in my early teens I would lie for hours in my bunk at the camp - no relation to Aushowitz - dreading the future, afraid and trembling. My only conclusion in retrospect is Jesus loves evangelists who trade in fear, everybody else thinks they are ********.