The recent Thai cave rescue had me, and most likely, a good portion of the world on pins and needles. The news reports and NPR broadcasts were akin to watching a suspense film at the cinema, only this time it was more dramatic because real lives were at stake. When the rescue was finally complete, people rejoiced (myself included) with whispers and even, dare I say, loud exclamations of “thank God, they’re alive!” It was while listening to the rescue on NPR that I caught myself saying the very same thing, “Oh, Thank God. Thank God they’re alive.” Something that I say in passing all of the time – words that we all say, sometimes flippantly without truly thinking of their meaning. More of an exhale, really.
However, later when it came time to write this column and I thought about it, was I truly thanking God? Where am I with religion these days? You see, religion and I are funny. We are very connected, but at the same time distant. Kind of like that cousin you see at a family reunion once every several years, you like each other a lot but only meet up once in awhile. It’s hard to explain my relationship with God or how I feel about religion, and often when I attempt to do it, I’m met with confusion or anger.
A different path
Alan Watts once said, “Confucians, along with Hebrew, Islamic, and Catholic scholastics, as well as Protestant fundamentalists, are like tourists who study guidebooks and maps instead of wandering freely and looking at the view.” A quote that has resonated with me for many years for a multitude of reasons, more than likely due to my strict Catholic upbringing.
As I entered adulthood, I began to struggle with my faith. I didn’t care for the dogma or the “Catholic guilt” any longer. A combination of life experiences, and a healthy dose of philosophy and theology courses, started to challenge my beliefs. I began a shift from a God-focused view to a humanistic one. I wrestled with the idea of a God who could be omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent, yet, so much suffering still existed.
So, I threw religion out the proverbial door.
My life, up until that point, was all about being Catholic. I was engrossed in it; in my parochial school, in my home and in my parish. After all, I am the deacon’s daughter.
However, despite going through all of the sacraments, and my parents’ unwavering example of what it is to live in a “Christ-like” way, I took one foot out of the baptismal pool and started playing footsies with other schools of thought.
Despite this, my parents have always been supportive of my hippy-dippy path to enlightenment. I’ll always remember a conversation I had with my mother, a fiercely devote Catholic, about the book “Tao: The Watercourse Way” by Alan Watts. We both read this text in college, and both wholeheartedly agreed that the core concepts of kindness, modesty, nonjudgement and the acceptance of life’s complications can bring peace. Along this note, and please don’t tell my mom, but I am pretty sure, if my dad hadn’t joined the diaconate, he would be a Buddhist, because the man is pretty Zen and has the patience of a monk. However, dad also happens to be a person of reason and once told me he hopes I find faith in something, whatever it may be. Because, he understands faith to be a deeply personal choice.
Kids
After so many years of kicking religion to the curb, something happened – I had kids.
Although my parents encouraged me to raise my daughter Catholic, I subjected my first child – appropriately named Sophia – to the readings of moral philosophers such as Immanuel Kant, John Stuart Mill, David Hume, Seneca the Younger, Soren Kierkegaard, and Aristotle. I took a more traditional approach with my second child – good ole fashioned bible study and opened the book of Genesis.
“I don’t think this is appropriate for me,” he said.
Dang. It’s been a really long time since I read the Bible. I wasn’t prepared to talk with a 6- year-old about murder, implied rape and a naked drunk guy. So, after he convinced me that “it’s a book for 10 year olds,” I decided to send him off to those who are more prepared to teach “religious education” to learn the basics like how to “love thy neighbor.”
Fletcher’s genuine excitement to share what he learned every Wednesday helped me see organized religion through softer eyes. We talked about what kind of person Jesus really is; a guy who hangs out with the weak, the sick, the marginalized and those on the fringe who are in need of a good friend. He wasn’t learning the literal Bible interpretation that his father and I had feared, but rather the inherent goodness of the good word – love, acceptance, reverence and awe.
Fletcher joined religious ed at a pretty arduous time in our lives; his father and I were going through a divorce. Teaching Fletcher how to pray connected us. It helped us become calm, focused and, most importantly, thoughtful. We turned our thoughts to things we were grateful for. Teaching him how to pray and to meditate, reminded me of happier times.
The practice of prayer still brings me peace, a reminder to myself that perhaps growing up in the church wasn’t so bad after all.
Sundays
We each have our own path to achieving inner peace, and I think that sometimes it takes us each a long time to not only map that path out, but also navigate it.
While I’m not a fan of attending church, I encouraged “my special friend,” who has been having a rough go of it, to attend. So, we went. “I’m so glad he dragged you there,” said my mother (of course she did). “Actually, it was me that made it happen,” I wanted to say. I mean, sometimes we all want to say that to our moms, right?
I went for him, but left realizing that it felt as if I had gone for me. Now, don’t go signing me up for any committees or anything, but I did enjoy myself because I love a good sermon. Plus, the guest speaker provided a powerful testimonial about recovery that left me awestruck.
Upon entering, I immediately felt welcomed, but not in a “I’m going to save you” sort of way. Being there reminded me of the thing I do love about church – community. I love the sense of community, when people put aside their differences and care of one another.
Ultimately, I guess that’s my problem with religions. It seems that everyone wants to argue about who is right and wrong, when the bottom line should be about sitting together and hearing a good sermon. Feeling the power of belonging and community, that to me is religious.
Throughout my life, I have found myself celebrating faith with my friends – Christians, Protestants, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Wiccans, Atheists, Agnostics – in their homes and places of worship. And, I am always brought to my knees by the amount of goodness, love and shared humanity found within each.
We are more alike than we are different.
So, however you may worship, this “heathen” thinks you’re doing it right.