Thoughts from a Former Kid on the Fringe

by Renee Altson

I sat in the youth pastor’s office, waiting for a response. He held his closely shaved head (Log in to see images!) in his hands, and I could tell he had no idea what to do. I had just told him that I was suicidal. My home situation had grown from barely tolerable to utterly unbearable, and all I wanted was to die. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he raised his head, looked me in the eye, and spoke:

“If you were a good Christian, you wouldn’t have these kinds of feelings. Let’s pray for this spirit of death to be cast out of you. Let us pray that you repent of your hidden, unconfessed sin.”

He clasped his hands on his black leather Bible, bowed his head again, and began to pray. Something inside of me curled up and fell into a bottomless darkness at his words. From that moment on, and through the rest of my high school years, I felt completely isolated from him and from the rest of the youth group. I felt like a bad Christian. I was convinced that I was demon-possessed and belonged to the devil. I thought I was doing Church—doing God— wrong. I had failed at Christianity.