Drug To Church

Drug To Church
Robert Wurtz II

But evil men and impostors will grow worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived. But you must continue in the things which you have learned and been assured of, knowing from whom you have learned them, and that from childhood you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. (2 Timothy 3:13-15 NKJV)

During the meeting last evening, as is customary, we had a time of testimonies. This is often a very fruitful time as believers share things the Lord has done in their lives or insights He has shown them in their Christian walk. As things were drawing to a close a dear brother stood up and testified that he had been one year serving the Lord. He spoke passionately of being liberated from many dreadful, unfulfilling years of drugs. He ended his testimony with a statement I shall not forget. He said in effect, “the best drug I ever knew was being drug to church as a child.” 

This dear brother had come to learn the value of a Christian upbringing. Although I wish this was a universal sentiment, not everybody shares his perspective. The phrase “drug the church” is obviously the language of the cynic, who is typically in rebellion. We have all heard it, have we not? “I never had a choice, my parents MADE me go to church! They forced religion down my throat!” I’m reminded of a conversation I had a few months ago with another brother who was dealing with being abused and cursed out on his job by a so-called “atheist” who was angry because his parents “drug him to church.” So he’s angry and bitter because he was made to go to church? Hmmm. Let’s see. His parents made wipe himself after using the restroom, brush his teeth, bath, comb his hair, put on deodorant, change his underwear, eat his dinner, go to school, ad infinitum. I wonder which of these he has also boycotted? 

It must be a dreadful experience for kids to be raised in church to know the Lord. Perhaps someone will someday see the need and start a support group. Solomon would have probably named it “Fool’s Anonymous” if we consider how frequently he spoke of the subject in Proverbs. The time would fail to even start to list the verses where Solomon is trying to train his sons in the ways of God and how he contrasts that reality with the one who despises instruction. Poor man. In all his wisdom nobody ever told him that raising your child to know the Lord was child abuse. 

It is a shame that none of these mentally scarred children of Christian parents were ever afforded the luxury of having to pray themselves to sleep at night. They never laid in a darkened room hearing the regular sounds of screaming and cursing after another bad fight had broke out. Perhaps, none of their uncles ever tried to corrupt their mind with vulgarity and filth? They missed out on so much! God bless, em. How do they cope? They were never blessed with having a gun put to their head by a deranged dad, who had to be talked down by an interventionist (as one person I have known). They never watched their drunk parent attempt suicide before their eyes. If only they could have been punched in the face a few times or had a cigarette put out on their arm, maybe they would be better men and women today? At least, that’s how I take it. I could go on for days.

It all seems like so much satire, perhaps? But what is a man to say when he was never raised in church and has to hear so much bleeding and complaining by those who resent having experienced it? You know, it’s a funny thing. Not funny as in comedy, but funny as in peculiar. I almost never talk about my childhood, even though I was raised in sin. I don’t know many kids that were raised in church in my generation. I don’t mean to boast in evil, but most of us have seen it all. We have been in the bars and the smoke filled living rooms that would be rated “R” at best. In fact, sin was so thick at times, it would almost penetrate your skin. I don’t know. Perhaps now as an adult after trying to raise my own children to know the Lord and hearing all of this complaining by so many, I can finally understand the lyrics of an old bar song that stands out in my memory. It was written by ole Johnny Payday, I mean Paycheck, who was apparently “drug to church.” Blinded by sin and bombed out of his mind he had a moment of clarity. With a microphone in hand he made a sobering confession:

I sing ‘Precious memories’, take me back to the good ol’ days
Let me hear mama singing, ‘Rock of ages’ cleft for me
She tried to turn me on to Jesus, but I turned on to the devil’s ways
And I turned out to be the only hell my mama ever raised.