I am not an atheist. Neither is my husband. Rod is Christian Lebanese, which is just another way of saying he was raised Catholic, while both of my mother's parents were Wesleyan missionaries, my Grammy still being an active member of her church. I was raised in a moderately Christian home, attending a wide variety of churches throughout my formative years, and schools that encouraged prayer and the singing of hymns at our weekly assembly.
Yet, from a young age I knew the route I wanted to take in terms of raising my children. And it was not to be a religious one. When it came time for Rod and I to discuss our ideas, I was overjoyed to find that his sentiments echoed my own. Church has never been for me. In fact, religion is not for me. I have tried, a number of times, but have never found solace in ritual or dogma. If anything, they set my teeth on edge. I am, I suppose, what one might label as spiritual. I have very strong beliefs, but they are not to be contained within four walls on consecrated ground. Rod, on the other hand, attended a Catholic school for his entire career and, as a result, has chosen to part ways with Mother Mary and her rosaries, but not with the concept of a God. It has been suggested that I was the catalyst for his departure but, if you'll allow me to address that theory, he hadn't considered himself a Catholic for a number of years before we even met.
When I think back on my childhood, my religious instruction was largely uneven. There were bursts where church was not optional, and we were dragged every Sunday to some or other hippie warehouse where women danced with ribbon skirts and tambourines, and people fell by the dozens into the arms of faithful followers, apparently helpless under the power of The Almighty. These were punctuated by periods of religious absence, where Sunday mornings consisted of jam and toast for breakfast and then a morning of house work before the new week started. In early high school, another church I attended with my mother saw the one pastor cheating on his wife, the other running out on his family for the keyboard player in the band (who was supposedly engaged to the first pastor's daughter), and the drummer of the band being arrested for paedophilia when one young girl in the congregation came forward. Needless to say, not a great example was set.
As I got older, I tried to take my religion into my own hands. I joined a youth group at the Baptist church that a friend attended, and was quite happy to be there every Friday night to see my friends and sing with the youth band and find a place that I belonged. Except I never did belong. In the hour of fellowship between 7 and 8 pm, all was well and everybody loved everyone else. But any hour outside of that was littered with gossip and judgement and hypocrisy. I once received a rather unpleasant talking to from one of our youth leaders because I had chosen to pair a tank top with my jeans that summer evening. I had apparently made myself ridiculous because a group of the guys had been speaking about my well-endowed chest. Obviously I was the one who needed reprimanding - the youth group equivalent of "she was wearing a short skirt, so she was asking for it".
After a couple years of religious absence, I chose to try one last time. My boyfriend at the time was a member of Rhema church (if you don't know what that is, grab a puke bucket and Google it) and attended a weekly home cell. I tagged along. At the first meeting I had about five different people try to "save me", despite my insistence that the Big G upstairs and I were all good, because I was "dressed all in black and must need saving". By the third meeting they were all praying for my soul because I was "unable to speak in tongues". They were convinced I must have a demon of confusion in me. I stuck it out until my boyfriend told me that he had spoken to the leader (a former addict who had been clean for less than a year - quite at odds with NA protocol), and was told that we could no longer kiss each other or hold hands because it was against God's will. I was out.
Through my experience I have come to feel very strongly that a relationship with God does not require attendance at a tax exempt building once a week, offering in hand to fund the pastor's new car. Church seems to bring out the worst in people. I've always said that the thing killing Christianity is the church. I have not found a sense of unity, but one of exclusion. This is why I choose to raise my son away from the church. Not because I believe church to be evil, that would be a gross over-generalisation. Not because I find it to be filled with hypocrisy, such is the world. But because when I think back on the number of times throughout my life I was made to feel inadequate by these so-called godly people, the times that I was abused by their words and actions because THEY had judged me and found me wanting, it makes my soul ache. None but God can judge me. I never want my children to feel inadequate based on bullshit ideas from people who are so indoctrinated that they can barely think for themselves. Mindless repetition robs words of meaning, but not of potency when flung with little care. Some of the most hurtful things I have had aimed at me were misinterpreted scriptures from the mouths of those deemed pious by those who cannot think.
We came under much fire for our decision to not christen Ricky, but we saw no need. Rod is no longer Catholic, so to baptise him into that faith would be folly. I'm not even sure what I am other than generic Protestant, so what would we choose? Baptist, Methodist, Capitalist, animal, vegetable, mineral? Rod and I have never attended church together outside of the odd funeral, baptism or wedding, it would be wholly repugnant of us to now claim piety and take our children to church to please bystanders. No, we chose a quiet home dedication, with a few short words and a prayer for our son spoken by my Grammy. That meant so much more to us than having a man in a dress fling magic water at our son's head in an overdecorated building surrounded by people we don't know. I don't think a minister or priest has any more of a line to God than anyone else, his words are maybe just better practiced.
No, what I want is my children to question. That is more important to us. We want our children to seek truth. And if they find it in church, then they are free to pursue it. But I will not put them there. I live my life in pursuit of knowledge and freedom, and enlightenment, and I will not be told how to think. So I will not tell my children how or what to think. Where they end up will be their decision alone. I will raise them to be happy, spiritually healthy, questioning individuals who know themselves and are capable of independent thought. And I will raise them to be good people. At the end of the day, that is all the Bible asks of us - to not be dicks. Simple enough, really.
I know that much of what I have written here will be offensive to some and blasphemy to others, but just as I have allowed you your opinions, allow me mine. I'm not trying to convert anyone to my way of thinking, I am expressing myself, perhaps somewhat in defense of my choices, many of which seem to be under constant attack from some. What you believe will not cause us to fall out, all I ask of you is to not ram it down my throat. And I will do you the same for you.
And so here's to a world of enlightenment, acceptance and understanding.
Smiles,
Mommy
No comments:
Post a Comment