Nickie Muir: Struggling in wrongeousness

Certain combinations of words are troublesome - mostly they have a religious bent. For example: People saying they'll pray for me, makes me nervous.

On one level I like it - hey I need all the help I can get, but I don't want to feel spiritually beholden to anyone.

What if praying is subject to market forces? What if my spiritual demand is more than their praying capacity? What if there's an expectation of reciprocity?

When people say they are praying for me I have a fleeting feeling that they're doing so out of a sense of spiritual superiority. They have astral connections that I may need and they have access to a superior being that may not listen to me. Which is likely - after all the mean stuff I've said about Christian fundamentalists a smiting fiery kind of a God may feel disinclined to heed my supplications.

Then there's the years when I wore that "Mary is my Home Girl" T-shirt - I loved Mary in her pale blue hoody but my Nan remained unconvinced. I may have alienated myself from the Girl God Squad - if Mary, Kuan Yin, Pachamama, or Papatuanuku ever get together in some form of spiritual UN conference on who has been naughty and who has been nice, I only ask they look at deeds not words - sometimes I say stuff just for the fun of it.

Like, when I started saying how blessed I felt to that man who told me I was going to hell. Every time something marginally positive happened in my life; a mushroom grew in the middle of my lawn, my child drew a picture of a cat, I'd smile blissfully and incline my head demurely. Sometimes I'd clasp my hands for extra effect and say ... "I just feel so blessed."

I did it on purpose. I did it gratuitously. I did it because it was fun. But most of all I did it because it was a way of saying "God loves me more than you even though you think I'm going to hell, so neh" and still pretend we were adults.

I'm all for having an attitude of gratitude about almost everything that still involves breathing but, now and again, those who indulge in the bucolic bliss of constant blessedness feel like they're flying the spiritual bird at us lesser mortals who might struggle in wrongeousness and general inelegant frustration at life. Not me though. Because ... I just feel so blessed.

And while we're there. No sentence should ever start with "Jesus doesn't love people who ..." That was the whole point of the guy. The people who say this would be the kind that if the big J ever shows up again will tell their children "Jesus doesn't like people who wear loin cloths" and kill him again.

Many years ago the small person asked me after playing with some overzealous friends: "Mum does Jesus love people who ... ?" "Look," I said. "What, or who, Jesus loves is not our business so we mind our own and be nice to people and eat our vegetables and it's all good. "Right," she said. "So Jesus can like what he wants?" Yes. "So he might like people who wear cardigans." He might. "Or he might like to wear a dress?" Yes.

Running down the lawn at full volume; "My Mum says Jesus likes wearing dresses so there!"

Deeds. Not words - they're just so troublesome.