The God Squad

I am not a morning person, I never have been, but having to work for a living has forced my week day hand, and I have to get up Monday through Friday at the butt crack of dawn. So on the weekend I take great pleasure in sleeping late. Those who know me know not to call before 10:30, 10:00 at the earliest, but somebody better be on fire.

Imagine my bleary eyed surprise, a few Saturday's back, when I heard someone knocking at my door at 9:15 am. Thinking there must be some sort of emergency, or mass evacuation, I threw on my robe and shuffled through the living room to answer my door. Before me stood an overly dressed little old white haired couple, smiling at me like it was perfectly normal to knock on a stranger's door too early on a Saturday morning.

I immediately knew what this was. This was a visit from the dreaded "God Squad", those annoying folks who take it upon themselves to zealously peddle their religion from door to door. I don't understand it. I'm fairly certain that when Jesus came up with the idea to get the word out, he meant in a public forum, a park or obliging field, someplace where people could, oh I don't know, CHOOSE to listen or not.

My first inclination was to tell these lovely people I was a card carrying-broom toting witch, and kindly get the hell off my porch before I turned them all into toads. I didn't of course. I didn't have the heart. They were old, and smiling kindly, and it was hot outside; besides I'm really not a mean person(mostly). So I agreed to listen to their scripture passage about how you become wise by speaking softly, and answered their pop quiz question about how does that apply to marriage today (like I know). I even took their pamphlet of thinly veiled hate (immediately destined for the recycle bin), smiled and sent them on their way thinking I was done.

I was so very wrong.

So, here I am, 10:15 on yet another Saturday morning, fuming after being awakened by the same couple, this time schlepping along some other member of their cult-uh-church. This time peddling slightly less veiled hate about the gay and lesbian community (couched in the guise of discussing the challenges faced in being married.) I guess the first visit was just a test run. Now they were back with the big guns.

Enough. Old codgers or not, I should be able to speak my mind in my own damn house. So I crossed my arms, blocked the door with my body, and using the voice I save for telemarketers said, "I respect the fact that these are your beliefs, and they somehow bring you comfort, but they are not mine, and I find them extremely offensive. I also understand going door to door is something you folks feel strongly about, but I have no desire to hear anymore of what you have to say. Please take me off your visitation list". I was so proud of myself, I spoke up, spoke out, kindly, but firmly. I had faced the God Squad and lived to tell about it.

Looking utterly nonplussed, and without missing a beat, the old man said, "May we take a moment to pray together for your soul?"

What? Did I just hear that by speaking my mind,and politely asking someone to leave my house, I can actually put my soul at risk for an eternity of hell fire and brimstone? Seriously? With all the political and social injustice, senseless violence, and greedy pillaging of the earth going on these days (much of which is done at the hands of men who claim to be Christians themselves), THIS is what gets you sent to hell?

Maybe I'm not such a nice person after all, or maybe it was because I hadn't had my coffee yet, but I just couldn't help myself. "You are free to pray for whatever you want, but not on my God damn porch. Please leave!" Oh Yeah, I said it, and now I've pissed off the Southern Mafia.