A Witchy Story
My parents raised my brother and I as Methodists, but we went to church spontaneously (and most likely just to please my grandparents). At Sunday School, when I was about 5, I remember hearing the part of the story of Jesus when he “bled from a crown of thorns” and that whole graphic scene…
But, I thought it was “crowned with horns” when the teacher said it.
For a lengthy period after this, even after seeing depictions of Christ in Church or in art (with or without his crown of thorns didn’t matter), I always pictured Jesus with horns. I never once considered the idea to be Devil-like; horned meant evil to Christians. I honestly didn’t realize I’d mistaken the story until I was about 11 or perhaps 12, a little less than a year after my first legitimate interest in Magic appeared.
As the Witch I am today, I find the memory almost…endearing. I know it’s just some tacky coincidence that a kid misheard her teacher for two similar words at face; but I like to believe that my soul knew that its savior was not a Jewish man, emaciated and dying. My savior was a Lord of the Wood; the Horned God, crowned with antlers.
The image I thought of the Christian Jesus that day is not so different than the image I have of my Lord. In fact, it’s not different at all.
It feels good knowing He really has been with me from the start; not just when I remembered Him.