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Was one of the reasons that made me stop attending church in my undergraduate years. I had attended a fundamentalist, baptist church as a child (even though my parents did not; I was always an worrywart, and anxieties about eternal damnation and the Rapture kept me in church, wondering if I was "really" saved). In college, I attended a campus fellowship group, but was floored by the attitudes of the people involved: the vitriol toward Bill Clinton (this was in 1991 and 1992), the comments about abortion (which touched me especially because my best friend in high school had gotten pregnant in her first year of college, and I realized that I never would have been able to continue such a pregnancy), and a church where people in the choir had to sign a pledge that they would not attend movies or watch secular television programs.
But the hatred toward gays really got me. In my junior year, my best friend told me that she was bisexual. I had suspected something was up for some time, and wasn't too surprised. But I remember the look of anticipation on her face when she told me (in a gay bar in Pittsburgh), gauging my reaction. My response was something along the lines of "OK. Good to know for sure. Let's go get another drink." And that was a heartfelt response: In the seconds after she asked me, I realized I didn't care. But I could not put up with the hatred at church any more: How could these people think that my Sarah was an exemplar of evil? She was the person who held my hair out of my face and cleaned the bucket when I sick, who lent me her car or rearranged her work schedule to pick me up when my car was broken again, who made me pudding and mashed potatoes when I had my wisdom teeth removed. That was the first realization I had that this institution could be dead wrong.
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