Chapter 2: Confirmation?

Since the beginning of time my family has been Lutheran. And in the Lutheran tradition, there is infant baptism and confirmation. I was baptized once I came home from the hospital. However, my brother was baptized in the hospital. He was born premature with asthma, and with him being sick, our parents weren’t taking any chances. Tradition dictated their choices.

But as we grew into young adults we got to make our own choices. In junior high, we could choose to be confirmed. Confirmation was the equivalent of saying – yes, I believe in Jesus Christ; I will continue in the tradition my parents established for me through infant baptism.

When my parents were confirmed in the Midwest - I imagine the actual event was equivalent to being on a rather serious game show. I am told they stood in front of the church and the congregation peppered them with questions from the Bible. By the time I was a teenager in wacky Southern California, the public formality had dwindled to one meeting with the pastor. I was nervous. I mixed up my memorization of the Nicene Creed and the Apostles Creed. Today I don’t know either one.

Long before the official meeting with the pastor and the actual confirmation ceremony there was confirmation class.  The class met Sunday mornings and the teacher took attendance.  We sat at those long rectangular tables on cold, squeaky metal chairs. Sometimes our warden was the pastor and sometimes it was a parent. We typically ran into the youth room, tipped over the old couches, ate donuts, and then rushed through a worksheet as quick as possible. We opened up the Bible, found the verses, and filled in the answers.

Once again, I had no idea how the verses or the lessons related to my life, other than maybe “to be good.” That was obvious. I knew Jesus was perfect and I knew I was not.

In the third grade, every Sunday School kid had walked up to the front of the church and received a gold “Good New Bible.” I carried this paraphrased version of the Bible to church and used it as a lap desk to take “Sermon Notes” and look up verses for confirmation class.

I didn’t yet know that God’s Word is “living and powerful.” I was still unsure if the Bible was the complete truth or a combination of reality and metaphor. I didn’t know that Jesus could speak personally to me through the words in His book. I only believed Jesus existed because I was expected to believe.

I looked to church mostly as a social occasion. It was a place I went each Sunday and everyone knew me. It was more habit than thrill. When we did not have confirmation class, my best pal and I would walk across the intersection to McDonalds and eat a hot fudge sundae at 10am. Sunday morning service was the only consistent event that required ironed clothes, curled hair, stockings and low heels or nice flats. I basically had a Sunday outfit that changed with the seasons. 

I always felt at home in the church. I knew where to put the dishes away in the kitchen cupboards, what books were in the library, where the copy machine was, and where my friends would be. There was always someone's mom who knew me. I never thought I would be uncomfortable showing up because I didn't know anyone. I sang in the children’s choir, helped with vacation Bible school,  spread peanut butter for the sandwich ministry, distributed food in the parking lot, sold donuts, dried dishes and skate-boarded on the patio.  We were at church all the time. Yet ironically, it was difficult to determine how church fit into my world. Not once did I invite a friend to come along. It never occurred to me that they might want to go.

Sunday morning confirmation class was only part of the gig. Over a couple years, we were supposed to accumulate 100 participation points.  Sermon notes (handed in, checked off, handed back) were worth 2 points and a retreat or lock-in at the church could equal out to a dozen.  I easily had enough points. My parents would pay for any activity that involved the youth group… so I took them up on days at Magic Mountain, camping trips, pizza parties and whatever activities our leaders put on the calendar.

The retreats couldn’t be all work and no play or no kids would show up. Our favorite non-confirmation activity was "Sardines." This game was played in the church sanctuary and basement classrooms with the lights off. The only rule was we were not allowed to hide around the altar. Everyone would count while several kids snuck off to hide. Hiding under the pews in the church, in the shadows was one of the ideal spots. If you hid in the basement it was dark, scary, smelly and home to many cockroaches. Disgusting!

The game is called “sardines” because once you found either person, you had to hide with them - which often meant squeezing together like sardines. The game was over when the last person found the group, which by then was likely not hidden anymore if there were a dozen or more kids.

When we were talking about getting confirmed, one of the boys said he was going to bring a pillow to fall back on, because he was going to hold his breath until he passed out. I however, preferred to stay attentive as I was expecting God to possibly speak to me directly. 

I literally expected a bolt of lightning out of the sky. I expected to see or hear from God instead of the church. I expected something to change, that suddenly I would know the sound of God’s voice, or instantly I would be holy and wise. I expected a deeper relationship with God because I did what the church required. I had spent time seeking God. I had accumulated enough points. I made my mom happy but nothing really amazing happened. I remember being disappointed because nothing inside me seemed to change.

I remained convinced I would be "religious," when I was old and grey. I thought it was just something that happened. You went to church for 60 years and being super religious was the side effect. If I kept doing what I was supposed to do, I would "get it" one day. Although I was confirmed and it seemed to mean a lot to my relatives and family, I wasn’t convinced my life would be any different or more significant. I did what I was supposed to do. Relatives sent cards and some had money – as if this event were a graduation of some sort.

I never expected that knowing God required a personal and purposeful decision on my part. I thought I would just float into a deeper relationship by showing up.

I know my parents did what they knew to be right. I know they encouraged me to follow the Lord. They just didn’t know there was MORE of the Lord. My parents’ version of God was trapped inside the confinements of religion and the Lutheran church and of course doing things the way things had always been done.

By the time I arrived at high school, my religious theory was “everything happens for a reason.” I just wasn’t convinced it was God who was in complete control. God seemed so distant and so far from me. I could believe he created the universe, but I couldn’t believe he cared about my personal life – about the little things or the teasing that made me cry.