That Time I Realized My Childhood Religious Upbringing Was “Star Trek”

I’ve always considered myself an atheist. I never really questioned it, and always was bemused by acquaintances whom had experienced religious upbringings. While I was familiar with the themes of such upbringings — sermons, bible studies, youth groups, work in the community, respect for a hierarchy — I had never really identified any of those trappings with my own.

When I was young (this was after we had moved to West Richland), the neighbor kids and I would play. That family had enough kids to make up a whole baseball team. Their family was very religious. There was a brief period of time where, out of youthful curiosity, I asked to be invited to their Bible Study group. They met once a week, and it was a good chance to learn how my friends’ social lives operated, and also gave us a chance to hang out more. Their family was more than happy to let me tag along with them, and your Oma and Papa were more than happy to have me out of their hair for a night, so I went.

These gatherings took place at the homes of the members of their church, and while the kids played and watched Veggie Tales, the adults would engage in the serious work of making sense of their sacred religious text. There would be prayer, food (usually a potluck), discussion, and most importantly — solidarity. There was a feeling of community and shared purpose there which I really appreciated.

I would split my time between the kids and the adults, both enjoying games and mischief-making, while also throwing in my two cents on the chapter and verse of the week. While I’m sure my two cents were oftentimes juvenile or uninspired, they were well-received, all the same. It was an excellent introduction to critical religious studies. Although I didn’t share their faith, I did enjoy analyzing the text, poking at it, and deriving whatever meaning I could.

This contrasted with my other major social experience growing up — hanging out with our local Star Trek club. Your Oma met your Papa in that club, started dating (the first movie they saw together was James Bond: Goldeneye), and she decided to stay with him because he was the Captain (it also helped that he was always a very kind and gentle soul). In the club, we would watch whatever episode of whatever Star Trek series had just been released that week (your Papa actually bought a very large satellite dish for the house so that he could record them early — before public release — so that the club could watch them on Saturday). We would hold meetings at members’ homes, and eventually, at larger meeting places when the group got too big to host everyone. After the episode, we would have spaghetti (a family tradition that your Urgroßvater on your Oma’s side started), or do a potluck. We would play games, have fun, and engage in lively discussion about the issues raised by the episode we had watched and analogize them to the issues of the day.

It was only recently that I realized that so much of my experience in that Star Trek club mirrored the experience of our neighbors in their church. Both groups would engage in moral teaching through some kind of sacred text (though, I would question how much of Star Trek is “sacred,” but I digress). Both would bring along their kids so that they would have a group of playmates. Each would collect tithes and offerings (the club did this through membership dues and donations). Both would engage in community volunteer activities (we would help out with the March of Dimes, the local Renaissance Faire, plant trees on Arbor Day, and help build playgrounds). We both had youth groups that gave kids activities to do on weekends and after school. And we both fostered a sense of community by drawing in and welcoming other members of the community.

That last part was really important. We reached out to people who were experiencing bad family lives, were having various mental health problems, were general misfits or miscreants, and we gave them a sense of community. Many of my friends from my middle and high school years were brought into that club. Some had bad family situations and just needed a safe space to be themselves and a good meal to eat once a week. Others were struggling to fit into the cliques at their schools. Others, like myself, were just weird, maladjusted, and angsty. But we all could come together once a week and have a sense of shared purpose and vision — one where humanity wasn’t destined to be embroiled in internecine conflict — where we could evolve to help each other and to improve one another’s lives. We saw our quirks, foibles, and differences as assets to be cherished — not mocked and derided. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” as Gene Roddenberry may say.

It was through that club that we each found community — a place to simply be ourselves — and to be welcomed. If there’s a moral to this story, I suppose it’s that even if you have very different beliefs and outlook on life than your neighbors, the human need for a sense of being in community is universal. Reach out, seek out new ways of being, new cultures, new civilizations, and boldly go to share and to learn everything that your fellow human beings (and perhaps by the time you read this, other sentient creatures, as well) have to offer.