I am a survivor of child rape

It is exactly two hundred miles from the driveway of my home near Spartanburg to the Rockingham County Sheriff’s Department office in Wentworth, North Carolina.  That was the distance I drove one morning three years ago this winter.

I went back to where I grew up.  Because I was finally ready to give a statement to members of law enforcement about my being raped at age twelve.

For well over three decades I had kept the agony and the shame close to me, sharing it only with a few people I absolutely trusted.  As if that would be enough to stop the hurt.  But at last it became too much to bear, this far into my life.

Why didn’t I go to the authorities years earlier?  It’s hard to explain.  Partly, it’s because on a primal level I didn’t want to have to face my abuser again.  Anything sexual creates a bond between two people: something that had I treasured in the marriage that complications from my wounds eventually destroyed.

I guess, I can’t really fully offer up an explanation for why I waited for so long.  You have to go through something like this to understand why.

I went to the sheriff’s office and spoke with two detectives.  I knew going in that it was a long shot.  That after thirty-four years the odds of seeing anything happen in the way of justice were against me.  But I gave my statement, and the two officers gained my confidence.  I don’t know if anything will ever come about from my going in, but they still have it.  I’ve no doubt that they have pursued this with all due passion and diligence.

But it’s been nearly forty years.  People move around.  Many die in that period.  Memories fade.

My own memory is a funny thing.  Some things I don’t remember well at all (a quality that to some extent is rooted in the meds I take to manage bipolar disorder).  Other things, I remember all too well.

May 16, 1986 is a date burned into my mind.  That was the day that the remaining vestiges of childhood innocence were ripped away from me.

I can even tell you the shirt that I wore that day, to Community Baptist School in Reidsville, North Carolina.  A place I had been a student at since kindergarten.

Maybe it was my size.  Maybe it was because I was the “nerdy kid” of the school.  Whatever.  I was regularly bullied, by boys as well as girls.  On this day I got into an altercation with someone.

A male faculty member accused me of doing something that I had not.  Of uttering a forbidden word.

I protested that I had not.  I would have never dared use that word toward anyone.

In later years I would find using it all too easy.  Well, why not?  I sure paid for the right to say it.  But I digress.

The faculty member said I had to be punished.

The two of us were alone.  I was told to drop my pants, exposing my underwear-clad behind.

And then he put his hands all over my genitals.  He did worse than that even.

I was sent home.  Too shocked and confused to fully comprehend what happened to me.  I was still dazed by the accusation that I had used that word to describe my classmate.  Too hurt by being punished for it.

That night the movie Godzilla 1985 came on television.  I desperately tried watching it to make the feelings go away and be forgotten.  It did nothing.

That night I had very bad dreams.

I felt violated.  Dirty.  Ashamed.  And you want to know why?

Twelve is the cusp of something that can feel either very wonderful or very terrible.  A person’s body is changing at that age, beginning to become a full fledged entity.  Sensations are starting to come about, that delight or bewilder or both.

God forgive me.  For one horrible moment when he had his hands on me, my body liked it.

And even then, I knew that that was wrong.  That it violated the natural order of things.

That day altered whatever trajectory my life would have taken, toward something polluted and twisted.

Sixth grade had been a hell year for me at Community Baptist.  So much went wrong.  The one bright spot was those fleeting months that Halley’s Comet came, and the astronomer in me was excited to see it.

After that day in May, even a once-in-a-lifetime visit by the comet didn’t make me feel anything.  I was just too overwhelmed.

I didn’t tell anyone what the man did to me soon after it happened.  It was four years before I told someone.  That person didn’t believe me until many years later when the fractures became too grave to deny that I had been violated when I was young.

Three and a half months later my sister and I were in public school.  A place that we were told at Community Baptist was filled with godless heathens who didn’t pray.  I was at once thankful to be away from Community Baptist and also intimidated.  I was bullied a lot.  I cried a few times.  I felt thrown to the cold cold world and there was nobody to help me.

But I also remember seventh grade as the first time I was attracted to the opposite sex.

And I felt dirty because of it.

I will never forget the first moment I found myself wanting to look at a pretty girl in my class.  She had a beautiful smile and she was wearing a nice outfit and it was driving me CRAZY.

I had to turn my head and look away.  I was too ashamed of my feelings.  Felt too much like I had with him.

It was a shame that persisted well into adulthood.  Counseling has helped.  But by that point it was too late.  Among other things I thought that being married would make things better.  But it didn’t.  Marriage doesn’t solve problems, it only brings what is wrong to the surface.  And that’s what happened and I will forever be damning myself for hurting the most wonderful person God ever put into my life.

But again, I digress.

God, I hate that man.

Yes, let’s talk about God.  Because of all that came about from what happened, my relationship with God was impacted worst of all.

I’ve never doubted that God is there.  There have been many times that I have been accused of being an atheist.  My own mother was one person.  There were some who believed her.  Who believe her still, though she has been dead for eleven years.

No, I have never been an atheist.

But I have had my faith in God destroyed.

It was a man who I had respected and trusted and looked to as a Christian example.  And God let him hurt me.

Wasn’t God angry at that?  Wasn’t God going to mete out justice?

But He didn’t.

God let me be abused and violated and betrayed.  And I felt betrayed by God in turn.

No, I never stopped believing in God.  But I hated Him with every ounce of my being.

I was a senior in high school when it began to dawn on me that God didn’t hurt me.  That it was someone who only claimed to be sent by God.  I started to not hold that against God.

But by that point I thought my hatred toward Him made me irredeemable.  That God wouldn’t want me anymore.  Thankfully He put some people into my life a few years later in college who showed me what REAL love of God is.  That God isn’t the tyrannical legalistic despot Who we were taught at that church-run school that He was.  That wasn’t the real God of Christianity.  And so it was that in my second year at Elon, I was able to finally turn to Christ and commit to following Him.

But that still wasn’t enough to completely salve the wounds.

Well, it was a few confusing years more after that.  My faith teetered at times on the brink of destruction.  And then in early 2000 the first symptoms of manic depression began to manifest: one more element of chaos in my life.

My faith has been tried and tested and pushed to the breaking point by so much that has transpired since then.  I have at times shared my despair with others.  Sometimes very openly.

It has taken time, prayer, counseling, and the love and care of many true and wonderful friends.  But at last my faith has begun to become what it should have always been.  And I am thankful for that.

As for what happened when I was twelve…

I have spent much of my life wanting to destroy that man.  Even now there is the temptation to call him out by name and let the chips fall where they may.

But doing so would add many complications to matters.  It would literally be my word against his.  For now I have to trust the people I went to three years ago.  They have resources that I don’t.  They also bring an objective eye to the issue and that’s something that obviously I lack.

And if justice doesn’t come in this lifetime, I have to trust God that it will come in His time.  It is VERY hard to do that, I won’t deny it.  Just one more test of faith.

Why am I sharing this, now?

I am writing a book about my life, especially what has come about because of a condition that almost certainly has a medical component.  But that is only one aspect that has defined me.  If I’m going to be completely honest and forthcoming about my story, I have to write about EVERYTHING that has so impacted me.  Sexual abuse and PTSD are also elements of my life.  And it’s going to have to be confronted full-bore.

I have come to a place where I cannot further work on my book.  The feelings keep breaking through.  I am haunted by the thoughts of what could have been, had things gone otherwise.  Especially thoughts of my dreams of having a family.  Something that is a fleeting possibility with each passing day, it seems.

Maybe sharing what happened when I was a kid now, will help me expel the demons keeping me from writing.  It’s going to come out in the book anyway, if it ever gets published.  Why not tell it as it is?

If my book does get published?

I don’t know what I’ll do.  Maybe God will let me finally die, with my faith in Him intact.  I don’t see what the point would be in keeping going on.  I will have said everything that needs to be said.  My life will be complete.  There will be no need for a sequel.

Maybe if it is published, the people I’ve hurt most in my time on this earth will have some understanding of where I’ve been coming from and why I have done the things that I did.  Maybe there will be forgiveness and absolution that I can’t get in this life.  That’s something to hope for.  I could die believing that.

But for now, perhaps getting all of this out in the open will let me overcome that obstacle.  I want to write my book.  I need to write it.  It’s what God has put before me to do.

I can promise you, it won’t be all bad.  There are some pretty funny things that have taken place in my life.  I look forward to sharing those, too.

Thank you for reading all of this.  Please keep me in your prayers.  I would very much appreciate it.

 

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A startling message on a church sign

While driving through Virginia over the weekend there was a church sign that caught my eye.  It was much like any other found outside places of worship throughout the Bible Belt of America: usually the name of the church, some other info (website address, etc.) and then lots of space for some timely text or witty remark.  I think one of my all-time favorites has to be "SOMEONE CALL 911, THIS CHURCH IS ON FIRE!"  And I'd be horribly negligent as a blogger if I didn't note one nearby congregation's humorous reaction to all the precipitation we've had lately: "WHOEVER IS PRAYING FOR RAIN: PLEASE STOP".

When you think about it, church signs were Twitter before we ever had the Internet.  And even today they convey their messages much better... and with far fewer than 140 characters.

But here's what was emblazoned on this particular church's outdoor sign:

A COUNTRY OF SHEEP BREEDS A GOVERNMENT OF WOLVES

Living in this region, it's not unheard of for a church sign to read something about current events or a quick comment on the culture.  Last year a number of signs depicted support for Amendment 1 (which defined marriage as being between one man and one woman) here in North Carolina.  I can't say that I've personally seen any overtly partisan messages on a church sign in this area, and I like to think that most people prefer it that way. 

This message was not at all partisan.  It didn't seem directed at any burning cultural issue or controversy, either.  But it was something that to the very best of my knowledge I have never seen before on a church sign: implication... or accusation... that government has become a feral and ravenous beast loosed upon the land.  The fault of which is an indifferent and ignorant people.

That's the meaning I took away from it.  Most readers of this blog will understand how I could be sympathetic toward it.  This church is located on U.S. 220 between Martinsville and Roanoke: a fairly significant roadway.  And maybe, just perhaps, many other motorists will spot the sign and feel led to sincerely consider its message.

That being said: I haven't been able to shake how startled I was to read that message.  The most surprising church sign that I've seen until now was probably "GOD HAVE MERCY ON AMERICA", when many signs around the Fourth of July were reading "GOD BLESS AMERICA".

Nothing nebulous about this church sign though.  "A government of wolves".  Brought about by "a country of sheep".

A succinct paraphrase could very well be: "Think for yourself and don't trust the government".  Because if you don't think for yourself, there are plenty of others more than willing to think for you.

I like that.  It jibes with the notion that government in this country derives from the people, and the people have responsibilities toward ensuring that government does not become an animal unto itself.  But I digress...

Here's what's been going through my thoughts since the weekend:

This was a message from one church, out of... how many thousands upon thousands of churches across America?

If that might be the sentiment of one church (and this sort of thing tends to have input from the laity as well as the parson in charge), there may be others... many others even... likewise beginning to question temporal force with a brazen boldness.  Churches whose congregants are challenging the faith we've placed in politics.  A people at last daring to reassert the minds entrusted them by God.

Like I said: startling.  And refreshing.  And rife with a measure hope.

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The world's ugliest church buildings

RealClearReligion has scoured the globe to come up with this set of 35 pages depicting the ugliest churches in the world.  Be they Catholic, Baptist, Lutheran, non-denominational or whatever, these edifices may not be an affront to God... but they are an affront to human eyeballs!  Some of them can't really help it: they were obviously a convenience store or movie theater before being converted into places of worship.  But most of them - like the Church of Santa-Monica in Madrid, Spain - will have you scratching your head and wondering: "what the heck am I looking at?"  Others, such as Kappal Matha Church in Uvari, India, simply defy all attempts at rationality.  One can't doubt the faith being expressed in these sanctuaries... but there is no loss of bewilderment about what their architects were intending when they designed them!

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This is the pastor of the church I'm going to

Meet "Hobo Joe"!

That's the pastor of the church I've been going to, in his clown/hobo getup at the beginning of yesterday's worship service. I forget what "H.O.B.O" is an acronym for but it's something to do with kicking off the annual general fund drive.

Joe is quite a cool fella! Incidentally, I offered him the use of my Jedi Knight costume if he ever wanted to use it. A sermon preached by "Jedi Joe"? I bet a wazoo of people would dig that :-)

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A ponderance on the Church, Christ and Christian liberty

There are some who throughout the history of Christianity have claimed to be the "one true church": the only legitimate body of Christ that came into being at Pentecost in the days following the ascension of our Lord. I speak not of those who acknowledge parity with brethren of however peculiar perspective who yet profess Christ as Lord, but instead of those who deign to be the exclusive institution established by divine mandate. Such are the ones who incessantly badger, harass and even lust to destroy their fellow servants out of the notion that doing so makes them "first" in the sight of God and man (mostly man).

Such people are terribly ignorant at best, and outright liars at worst. Invariably their founding tenet is that they are the sole custodians and guardians of "the pattern" of worship found in the New Testament.

Therein rests the fallacy of their argument. One that betrays as much a lack of faith in God as it does an ignoble grasp of theology.

Because to claim to be the "one true church" or the "restored church" or whatever is to imply, nay confess before all that Christ's Church is so invirile, so impotent, so corruptible and so weak that it has not survived and prevailed for these two millenia!

So let me put it succinctly and with some bluntness: the New Testament age... never ended.

Oh sure, the New Testament writings came to an end, when John finished his manuscript in his cave on Patmos. The time of the apostles eventually drew to a close when John died.

But the New Testament era itself?

Nope. It's still here. We're living it even now.

Where is the church of the New Testament, then? I'd say: pretty much anywhere and everywhere. It's wherever it needs to be. It is what-ever it is required to be! It becomes... all things unto all men, so that Christ is preached.

Who are the New Testament Christians? Me and... well quite a lot of people, I can tell you that! And a lot of 'em, are some that many of us don't appreciate that they are seeking after and serving the Kingdom just as we are, albeit perhaps in different ways.

I've been thinking quite a bit lately about something that Billy Graham is famous for saying: "Go to the church of your choice." And he's right. Go and worship at the place where... well, wherever it is that you believe that God is leading you to worship Him at. It could be at a Methodist church. Could also be a Baptist church. Or a Presbyterian one. Or a Roman Catholic assembly. Or a Mennonite place. Or a Seventh-Day Adventist congregation. Or a Church of Christ. Or a Lutheran gathering. Or Pentecostal. Or... need I go through them all?

So long as it is a matter of sincere conscience between you and God, it does not matter where I or anyone else tells you to worship Him at. You aren't even obligated by any of us to attend regular worship services if that is how He is leading... but as the writer of Hebrews cautioned, there is a danger in complete forsaking of assembly.

The New Testament Church didn't go away. It's persisted and endured for nearly two thousand years. It is not a brittle thing ready to collapse at the first mild breeze, but a robust edifice built upon a firm foundation. And though I wouldn't dare ascribe any like import to my own writing on par with that of Jude or James, I can at least smile a little in the assurance that mine is a role not unlike Polycarp (in spirit if not in style). The church survived those early years in spite of the weaknesses of men like Peter and Paul, and it will endure in spite of this man's weaknesses also.

I am the New Testament Church... and so can you!

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It's not Saturday worship, it's SABBATH worship! A visit to a Seventh-day Adventist church

During the nearly six years that The Knight Shift has been blogging the exploits and ideas of its eclectic proprietor, I've chronicled a lot of interesting topics. This next one easily ranks up there among the more fulfilling things that I've had the pleasure of writing about. And I can't help but feel like I came away from this with not only newly-found appreciation and respect for brothers and sisters in our Lord that I might otherwise have never had fellowship with, but also a deepened and even more profound grasp - however inadequate it must always be so long as I persist in this carnal realm - of what it means to be a follower of Christ.

Along the course of my travels I have visited many a place of worship: from every flavor of Baptist church to (accidentally) walking into a sanctuary of snake handlers. And everything in between from Catholic to Mormon, to a Jewish synagogue once upon a time. As a professional journalist I was even once sent to report on a gathering of pagan worshipers.

But it's been all too rare that I've taken the opportunity to meet in fellowship with other Christians and not as a detached observer but as one who comes also seeking after our Lord and Savior.

So it is that a few days ago, I was invited to attend a Sabbath worship service at a Seventh-day Adventist congregation.

Up 'til now, my knowledge of Seventh-day Adventism has been unusually cursory: I understood that Adventists worship on Saturday instead of Sunday. That was basically it, other than I've long known that Adventists discourage the use of alcohol and tobacco (how I came to know that is a whole 'nother story). But over the course of two days I came to learn and understand a great deal more about those of my fellow servants known as Seventh-day Adventists.

Obviously, the most notable characteristic of Seventh-day Adventism is coming together to worship on the Sabbath, which in accordance to Judaic tradition lasts from sunset on Friday night until sunset a day later on Saturday. And to fully appreciate Adventism this must be borne in mind: that this is not "Saturday worship". Merely intimating that Saturday is the "holy day" of Adventism is not accurate at all, and I confess also at first having that common conception in mind. Rather, it is observing the Sabbath: something much more contemplative and wonderful. This is in keeping with the fourth of the Ten Commandments. As one of the fundamental beliefs of Adventism describes it...

"The beneficent Creator, after the six days of Creation, rested on the seventh day and instituted the Sabbath for all people as a memorial of Creation. The fourth commandment of God's unchangeable law requires the observance of this seventh-day Sabbath as the day of rest, worship, and ministry in harmony with the teaching and practice of Jesus, the Lord of the Sabbath. The Sabbath is a day of delightful communion with God and one another. It is a symbol of our redemption in Christ, a sign of our sanctification, a token of our allegiance, and a foretaste of our eternal future in God's kingdom."

I would soon come to realize that this not only pertains to congregational worship, but also that for Adventists the Sabbath is a very personal time of individual rest from labor and reflection upon Christ. Indeed, I found that the Adventist perspective of the Sabbath to be exceptionally sincere and... perhaps "refreshing" is the most appropriate word? For the Seventh-day Adventist, to be a Christian can not possibly be a matter of mere "religion". It is a pursuit of Christ for every waking moment of life, seeking with great zeal to serve Him first of all and then a service of others as He also served us first.

I have to say that in that regard, my own heart came to feel considerable kinship with my Adventist brethren.

Seventh-day Adventists hold in high regard Ellen G. White: a Christian writer of the nineteenth century and early 1900s, described by Randall Balmer as "one of the more important and colorful figures in the history of American religion". Which I feel obliged to address something here, and this is coming strictly as one who isn't a Seventh-day Adventist and is trying to be as objective as I can possibly be: Adventists do not worship Ellen G. White! I've found a lot of material floating around on the Intertubes insisting that Adventists hold up White on par with Jesus Himself, that Adventists are baptized into Ellen G. White, etc. During my visit with one particular Seventh-day Adventist congregation, which included a lot of time studying Adventist writings and doctrines in their library, I couldn't find anything remotely suggesting such a notion. I did however study much of White's own writings. And maybe I'm missing something, but from what I've seen she was a remarkably humble woman who did nothing to exalt herself (I was looking for such a thing, trust me) and instead did everything to ponder and meditate upon the glory of God. According to Adventist history, White had only a third-grade education, and yet I found her articulation to be on par with that of Martin Luther and John Wesley... and I can't recall anyone accusing Lutherans or Methodists of worshiping those guys (okay, some people do come to mind, but they're talked about on this blog too much already).

The Seventh-day Adventists are among the most Berean-minded followers of Christ that I have had the pleasure of meeting. The central tenet of their faith is "The Bible, and the Bible alone", and to this they strive utterly to hold true. Baptism is by immersion, and for those who profess belief in Jesus Christ (i.e. not "baptismal regeneration"). Adventists also practice an open communion, and observe the ordinance of foot-washing. During my visit I was able to witness both of these.

I arrived at the church at around 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, in time for Sabbath school. I will admit: that does take some getting used to saying, being one who has grown up all his life hearing about and going to "Sunday school". But it's not Sunday school, is it? And it's not "Saturday school" either. It's Sabbath school. First there was a time of prayer and singing, and then the congregation delved into the lesson...

The subject was the Second Epistle of John in the New Testament. And it wasn't merely a time of teaching but also lively discussion among just about everyone in attendance. How lively? At one point Pastor Edwards used the Borg from Star Trek as a metaphor for Gnosticism!

(I must confess: this was religious discussion that was seriously tuned into my personal wavelength :-)

Sabbath school lasted for a little less than an hour, and then at 11 a.m. it was time for the main worship service. Which, as one who had never been to a Sabbath service before, I found it to be very much just like a worship service that one might expect in most congregations of Christians. However, I must also note that I found the spirit among the congregants to be especially joyful and ringing of praise. It reminded me quite a lot of the independent Methodist church that I spent the early part of my life growing up in: that same kindred and shared devotion to God in both singing and prayer...

This particular Sabbath is what Edwards likes to call a "High Sabbath": when the church holds communion. Preceding that however came a time of foot-washing. Men and women went to different rooms (I was told that this was a holdover from a time when women wore stockings and would usually need another lady's assistance in removing them for the observance of the ordinance). Married couples and families however could go to another room and perform the act with each other...

During this time, I saw husbands and wives pray together and confess to each other their failings, their unworthiness, and ultimately their thankfulness to God for His grace. It was a very moving fifteen minutes, and I am grateful for the opportunity to have been able to witness this throughout the church.

Following the foot-washing (and subsequent hand-washing... just want to be thorough in my reporting here folks :-) the congregation returned to the sanctuary for communion. I also found this to be very much like the communion that I have taken in many of the churches that I have visited over the years. Pastor Edwards spoke a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing, and then the church's deacons distributed the elements to us.

Following our partaking of communion together, Pastor Edwards encouraged everyone to have a good and restful Sabbath. Some of the congregants then left for home. However many remained and enjoyed a potluck lunch in the church's fellowship hall (I am also told that potluck dinners are very much a tradition following worship services at Seventh-day Adventist churches).

According to recent figures, Seventh-day Adventism is one of the fastest-growing denominations of Christianity not only in the United States, but throughout the world. Based on what I have recently seen firsthand, I can understand why that would be. During my visit with the Adventists, I saw a very real and sincere hunger for Christ that... and I am disheartened to say this... is all too absent in our world. For the Adventist, it is about Christ and diligently searching the Word of God for guidance and wisdom. In a day when so much of modern Christianity seems to follow fleeting fads and fading fashion, what I discovered in the Seventh-day Adventist church was very much the same love of God and love toward one another that has endured twenty centuries of man's history and fallen nature. For the many who are growing tired of illusion, there is something very appealing to be found in the Seventh-day Adventist understanding.

I am extremely thankful to Pastor Jonathan Edwards and everyone in the family of the Wilson First Seventh-day Adventist Church of Wilson, North Carolina for the opportunity to observe, ask questions and photograph their worship service. It was a very enjoyable and uplifting visit, and I cannot but remark that I feel that God richly blessed my time with them enough that I went away all the better for it.

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Pastor tells congregation: Bring your guns to church!

A Kentucky minister plans to celebrate the Fourth of July next month along with the Second Amendment... by inviting church members to bring their guns to Sunday service.

New Bethel Church is welcoming "responsible handgun owners" to wear their firearms inside the church June 27, a Saturday. An ad says there will be a handgun raffle, patriotic music and information on gun safety.

"We're just going to celebrate the upcoming theme of the birth of our nation," said pastor Ken Pagano. "And we're not ashamed to say that there was a strong belief in God and firearms — without that this country wouldn't be here."

The guns must be unloaded and private security will check visitors at the door, Pagano said.

He said recent church shootings, including the killing Sunday of a late-term abortion provider in Kansas, which he condemned, highlight the need to promote safe gun ownership. The New Bethel Church event was planned months before Dr. George Tiller was shot to death in a Wichita church...

I love it! This pastor has the right idea: freedom never came without the price of vigilance. Good to see that being acknowledged, 'cuz there's nothing wrong with it in the first place.

Blast here for the rest of the story.

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TOWN BANS NEW CHURCHES: Reidsville City Council forbids new congregations in downtown area

Earlier tonight on WGSR, Richard Moore appeared with Charles Roark and was (among other things) talking about this week's meeting of the Reidsville City Council. And Richard reported on something that I couldn't believe that I was hearing, so I e-mailed Richard and he confirmed it...

Reidsville City Council has voted to ban new churches from the downtown area.

Here is what Richard told me...

"Current churches can continue to operate, but no new churches will be allowed in the Central Business District. It was put into law today with a 5-2 vote. I think John Gentry and George Rucker voted against it."

Richard also tells me that the Reidsville City Council did not debate whether or not this measure to ban churches was constitutional, but the council did discuss the constitutionality of banning pit bulls.

Only in Reidsville.

Let's review the First Amendment of the United States Constitution:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

It's a pretty sad thing but one way or another, it's occurred to me that as of today every right delineated by the First Amendment has come under attack or otherwise curtailment by public officials in Rockingham County in the past several months. We've had elected officials describe WGSR as "bad for the community" (Ron Price on the school board), sue people for organizing petition drives (Ron Price, again), eliminate free speech in a public hearing (Reidsville City Council's silencing Richard Moore in April). And now with this act, Reidsville City Council is prohibiting both the exercise of religion and the right to peacably assemble.

It could also be noted that beyond simple prohibition, that the City of Reidsville is now acting as a regulatory agency over religious activity.

There may be more to report about this later. I'll post it when it comes across the desk this way. In the meantime, as crazy as it sounds: Reidsville, North Carolina is one town in America that has banned new churches from appearing in its downtown area.

Parse that as you will.

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