Stamped: November 9th, 2007 | Toggle Similar
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For those of you who were not raised in a red state south of the Mason-Dixon line, let me fill you in on what a Hell House is. Churches in small towns hate Halloween. It's evil and pagan and blah blah blah. So they set up alternatives for the kids like trick or treating at the church, or maybe a haunted hayride. Or a Hell House. A Hell House is a place where awful parents send impressionable preteens and children to make sure that they love Jesus.

I was dragged to about five of these before the age of twelve. You go through different rooms and instead of being scared by witches and psycho killers, you are greeted by scenes of what happens to sinners. I remember there being a drug room scene where one girl tried to get another girl to smoke pot. The other girl does and suddenly a demon rushes in and whisks this poor experimenter off to hell. There was another room that preached the horrors of premartial sex. This girl's boyfriend tried to convince her to have sex and she doesn't want it so he rapes her. If she had been a good girl and hadn't asked for it, she wouldn't have been raped. Apparently accepting Christ as ones savior will prevent events like rape and murder from happening to you.

All in all, Hell Houses were lame experiences which my brother and I endured together only because of the promise of candy at the end of the tour which always concluded with the youth minister asked us to come to Christ. Lucky for me, I had done the whole Christ acceptance thing when I got baptized at age 7 so I felt pretty secure about my place in heaven.

Last year I went to a Hell House they staged for fun in Dumbo. It ended up being a pretty faithful re-creation . It was hilarious to me to walk through this tour which included witnessing an abortion, two suicides, a rape, a gay marriage and other assorted sins with a group of Atheist New Yorkers. I got the feeling that everyone in my little tour group had been raised with liberal parents in Northern California and the entire reason for the visit had something to do with "irony." (There was actually a room in which hipsters sat around making fun on Jesus and they are then carted off to hell as well.) Everyone was laughing at snickering and so was I. But I remembered what it was like to go to one of those for real. To walk through those rooms, not with my jaded NYC mindset but as a ten year old girl who had been taught that Jesus was the only way for her entire life.

Which is why Hell Houses are an awful thing. You shouldn't have to scare kids into religion and any religion that wants to implement that is not for me.

I got baptized at age 7. I was raised Southern Baptist and the church was a central part of my family's life. My cousins had already "joined the church" which means that they had accepted Christ as their savior and believed that he had risen from the dead, was the son of God and all that jazz. My mother and grandmother had been pressuring me for awhile to join the church. But I was very shy as a small girl and the thought of walking to the front of the church in front of the entire congregation and sitting in one of the chairs they put out in front of the pulpit for people who are ready for Jesus was terrifying to me. But then, one Sunday, the reverend finished up with his sermon and launched into his "come to Jesus" speech.

"Is there anyone out there who has been moved by this message? I know there is someone out there today who thinks that there's no where else to turn. These day to day tribulations are getting you down. But there is an answer. There is an answer to any problem you may have. And his name is Christ. He is the son of God and he rose from the dead to cleanse man of his sins. And he will cleanse you. You just have to accept him. Who out there is ready? Who out there is ready for Jesus to take you in his arms and make sure you get to the Promised Land?" The deacons brought out two chairs and they sat there in front of the pulpit mocking me.

I was sitting next to my aunt and she nudged me. "Go on up there. It's time."

"What? No, I don't want to–"

"Brandy. Go. On. Up. There. Don't make me tell you again."

I could feel myself starting to cry. I bit my lip and started up the aisle to the front of the church. People were beginning to applaud and cheer. I couldn't help it anymore so I started crying. I sat down in the chair and my preacher came over.

"Brandy. Little Brandy. Can I get an amen for this young girl making this decision? Crying tears of joy. A-men."

He knelt down closer to me. "Are you ready to accept Christ as your savior and Lord? Are you ready to accept that he died so that you would be free?"

I nodded. I had no idea what he was talking about. To me, Jesus was just a picture. A bearded white guy who had a lot of pictures taken with lambs in them and clouds in them.

"Praise Jesus."

I had to sit there for awhile longer–the deacons came by to shake my hand and then my grandmother came to lead me back to my seat. She was smiling and proud. She led me to my aunt and my mother who were also smiling. I was still crying and couldn't wait to be back with my mom. I put my head in her lap and she said, "You did the right thing, Bran."

I was baptized the next Sunday. I wore the baptism robe that everyone in my family had worn. The baptism pool was located under the pulpit. My grandfather walked me to it and held my hand. I puffed out my cheeks and held my breath and my preacher immersed me in the water. Going underwater is one of the scariest things in the world for me, so I started crying again.

"Don't be scared, Bran. I'm right here," my grandfather said.

They brought me back up and my preacher proclaimed that I was cleansed in the blood of the lamb and my grandfather carried me out the back of the church so that I could get cleaned up.

I didn't feel any different but everyone was smiling at me. I was one of Them now. One of the Saved People.

My brother asked me later if I was scared. He was only four at the time.

"What was it like, Bran?" he asked me that night. I used to sleep in his top bunk because he was afraid to sleep by himself on the bottom without anyone in the room.

"Like being put under water."

"Did you see Jesus? Daddy says you see Jesus when you go under." Our dad hadn't set foot in a church since before we were born.

"I don't think I saw Jesus. I had my eyes closed."

"Oh. Well at least you're going to heaven now."

"Yeah. That's okay I guess." The thought of heaven was also foreign to me. When I thought of it, I imagined Care-a-lot and the Care Bears and cars made of rainbows and clouds. Hell, to me, was a big gaping hole full of fire with lots of people in chains.

I haven't been to church since I left home for college. My brother hasn't been since his sophomore year of high school. He's 23 now and I'm 26 and we are living proof that you can be raised by rabid Christians and still turn out okay. And my family wasn't a part of the Really Crazy Christian Brigade. They love Jesus, but they also love my gay cousins and if any of my teenaged cousins got pregnant, she would have a choice and wouldn't be judged by it.

But Hell Houses are still awful and bad.

Last 5 posts by Brandy

• 36 going on 11 - October 9th, 2007
• College was a good time. - September 25th, 2007
• I'm the easiet girl ever to break up with - September 18th, 2007
• Christmas Lights - August 28th, 2007
• Why I am not a middle school speaker - August 22nd, 2007