Dear Reader,
I was loosely inspired to write this post on the back of an exchange with fellow BDSM blogger, slave Shae. I commented on her post that I was “on my knees” in spirit with her, confessing my own tendency to look down on certain people. Shae talked about how her confession is a little like confessing at a “BDSM monastery”, and that had me thinking about us sister submissives, religion and why we are the way we are. Here is my story.
I was baptised Catholic in 1991, though I attended a Church of England church and went to a Church of England school. The Church of England is essentially “reformed Catholicism”, though it is part Protestant too. There is much history get through on the subject, which you can read more of here if you are interested.
Despite the abolition of corporal punishment in British schools in 1986, I do remember a teacher spanking my brother (a year below me) for soiling himself in nursery class, and I do remember a teacher striking me across the palm with a ruler for making several grammatical errors on an English piece. I was also routinely made to stand up and sing solo, because of my refusal to sing in assembly or class. I was a shy child, but my refusal to sing was seen as insolence.
I can’t remember what exactly provoked my indignation, but I do remember not being willing to sing hymns which made submit myself to God. I was fine with appreciating the things he made (I would happily sing “All Things Bright And Beautiful” to my heart’s content) but I wouldn’t sing hymns that would make me reverent to him quite yet. My argument was irrefutable: if I’ve never seen him, and nobody I know has ever seen him, how can I know he exists?
I coudn’t even be led to a statue of him, a statue was just a statue to me. How did they know what God looked like to make that statue? How did they know to draw a picture of him? How did they know?
Time and time again I was just told that he just is. It’s God, and you don’t question God.
That was when I began to question my faith.
What started off as refusing to sing became a refusal to pray. I’d bow my head in respect but I wouldn’t pray, and nobody could make me. I scoffed at the thought of the Lord’s Prayer – it shocked me how subservient some people were to someone they’d never met.
I left the church in 1996, but it was my grandparents who eventually wove me back into religion.
My grandmother once said that “I would much rather be out doing God’s work than grovelling for his forgiveness in his house”, and I soon followed in her footsteps. Nan volunteered in a charity shop and I worked closely alongside her, believing fully that I was doing good in the eyes of the Lord. I didn’t have to go to church anymore – as long as I was good, kind and helpful, I was doing okay.
My grandparents had a very traditional Christian marriage, and I knew that was what I wanted for me. I wanted a man who was the head of the household, and I wanted a love like the love my grandparents had for one another. My grandfather, a former soldier, was the only man I knew who had read the Bible cover to cover. On his deathbed, his greatest fear was that he wouldn’t go to heaven because he’d fatally shot other people in times of war.
After my grandfather’s passing, I had some real beef with God. My grandfather had suffered inhumanely – he had asbestos-related lung cancer and I’d watched him gasp and struggle for breath. “If God loves his people, why did Grandad suffer like he did?” was my only question, and I wasn’t willing to accept that these people had wronged the Lord. My grandfather was a good man.
When I met him, Master levi seemed a little different to me. He wasn’t like all of the other guys, and that wasn’t just him telling me that. He was shy, genuine, kind, patient and helpful. He had a sweetness and purity to him that I couldn’t quite fathom.
Master was raised and baptised into the Salvation Army, with a grandmother who had a significant bearing in his life. After the passing of his mother in 1990 (sepsis), Master too had all but renounced his faith. He too believed that God wouldn’t make his people suffer like his mother had.
The hypocrisy of the church, too, was something that became a real bugbear for us.I personally knew a woman who was deepiy involved in the local clergy, who had been investigated by the police for child abuse. She wasn’t expelled from the church at the time; she was promoted and given more duties.
The fact that people like that could be allowed to govern in the Lord’s house only made me more determined not to be there.
Over time, the idea that God is everywhere stayed with me. God is everywhere, and everywhere is beautiful because God, whoever and however he is, made it so. I forgave God for hurting others, as he forgave me for judging him. Suffering, he told me, is not by design. Suffering is the result of the actions of humans, and forgiveness is our salvation from our own misdeeds.
Today, I am a practising Unitarian Universalist. I have my own unique relationship with God, which Master Levi respects. It is shaped by how I see God (like a divine light or energy), his plan for me and his guiding principles: kindness, charity, forgiveness, faithfulness. I believe that God provides me with what I need, when I need it, though I still make some prayers to him when I need him to guide me – the Serenity Prayer is one such sample that I have often used!
You might be wondering how non-monogamy and BDSM ties in with my religion? I believe that God adopts a matter of non-intererence in my marital affairs. That is, as long as my husband approves and my actions don’t harm others, then God approves, even if it’s no longer just him that I worship.
That’s it from me for this post. How did religion shape your journey into BDSM? Leave a comment below or read more of my kink & BDSM posts!
Until next time.
Stay safe & have fun,
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