We’ve still awash in eggnog over at my house, with important guests a-plenty for Christmas and New Year’s. But in the midst of Christmas caroling and the opening of presents and whatnot, I came across a pretty interesting essay at Salon.com by Ada Calhoun — a Christian who kept her faith a secret from her intellectual friends right up until this very essay.
Why am I so paranoid? I’m not cheating on my husband, committing crimes or doing drugs. But those are battles my cosmopolitan, progressive friends would understand. Many of them had to come out — as gay, as alcoholics, as artists in places where art was not valued. To them, my situation is far more sinister: I am the bane of their youth, the boogeyman of their politics, the very thing they left their small towns to escape. I am a Christian.
If you check out the post (and I recommend you do), you might notice that her own readers have very little sympathy. Salon.com is one of the Web’s more secular outlets, and many atheistic readers think it’s preposterous to think of Christians — who make up 80 percent or more of the country — as some sort of persecuted minority.
I get their reasoning. But at the same time, I know that I am, sadly, increasingly cautious when I talk about matters of faith with some of my more secular acquaintances. I make no bones about who I am or what I believe, but I do think there is, in some circles, a stigma to coming across as “too religious.” Perhaps this is nothing new … but it is new for me.
Are Christians persecuted? No, I don’t think so. Not really. But I certainly don’t feel particularly ascendent, either. We still are part of the national dialogue. But are we its loudest voice? It doesn’t feel like it.
