It was unseasonably warm for early March. The sun was shining bright, vibrantly illuminating the cloudless sky, while the gentle breeze rustled the bare branches of the trees lining the landscape. This beautiful weather, however, was being spoiled by the discomfort of the starch soaked shirt and noose tight tie I was being forced to wear.
“Are you sure its supposed to be this tight?” I complained.
“Stop moaning, you can take it off right when the thing is over anyway,” answered my father.
“Alright, but if I keel over from lack of oxygen to my brain I am blaming God.”
Fittingly, all I received in response was infamous the evil eye. Valuing my immediate health, I knew it was in my best interest to cease with the attempts at humor. We were approaching the giant doors of the church anyway.
I never possessed an internal calling for religious worship, due primarily to the boredom, as a product of the hours slouching in the uncomfortable pews. Not to mention it often created serious conflicts with soccer matches on Sunday afternoons. Mom, however, thought it was important, loading us in the car just about every Sunday bright and early.
When my sixteenth birthday rolled around, Mom said I was old enough to get confirmed. My immediate reaction was the most obvious of questions, “So…?”
“So, its something you should do,” was the most forceful rebuttal.
Eventually, not having much say in the matter, I had to go. I went in without any notion of what the journey entailed, much like both Marlo Morgan and Julia Butterfly. Consistent with both authors, the entire length of the experience would shape my views and perspectives for the remainder of my life.
Every Sunday for the better part of six months, I was cramped inside a damp, dingy classroom, learning about the lessons and traditions of “my” United Methodist religion. Ultimately, although, I would interpret the philosophies in a manner differing from the intended context of the church itself, the perception helped me more accurately identify my personal relationship to spirituality.
As the weeks progressed, I began to notice a notable trend in the content of the lectures. All the discussions seemed to lack personal resonance, as I interpreted them as convoluted examples of common sense issues. They lacked the powerful underlying meanings that I had expected, supposedly coming from an omnipotent perspective of being. Central in these discussions was the issue of death, and the accompanying dilemma of the afterlife. We conjectured seemingly endless possibilities pertaining to the judgment of souls, conferring the consequences of our actions in the state of human consciousness. However, in totality, the answers the group had settled on were strictly based on faith in an undefined source that had no substance, other than that granted to it by believers. Compounding the conundrum was the doctrine elucidating the manner in which people are supposed to act, as it was based firmly on fear of reprisals in the afterlife. Yet, at the same time we were being taught that God was a superlative being who was to forgive all of our transgressions. Personally, they seemed to be merely complicating that matter at hand. The objective of religion, as I interpret it to be, is to provide people with a blueprint for a life defined by moral character. What about people who do not seek such a map for life, but would rather discover it along the way. Living a life of high moral standard with a regard for other people does not require an element of religion. For me, this guidance seemed unneeded and unimportant.
By the end of the course, I had decided that the whole situation was not in my best interest. Approaching my family with this judgment on the other hand, was a different monster in itself. I had no idea how I would tackle my mother’s opinion on the circumstances. So I didn’t. I procrastinated until the day I was to be confirmed, which was now upon us.
As we entered the church, my thoughts immediately began mulling over all that had been taught to our group. Many of the students had bought into the beliefs of the church, making it somewhat hard to relate to their position. It was not that I thought religion was a negative entity. In fact, it can be quite the opposite for some people. It teaches the most basic of quality human characteristics and positive lessons translatable to life. Countless people are provided with the answers and faith they need to lead a healthy life. For me on the other hand, all these rules and teachings seemed rather unnecessary. The grandiose stories and elaborate teachings all pointed a common denominator of basic decency. I did not need the promise of a trip to heaven or quell with fear of damnation in hell to act in a positive manner. What was I really doing here anyway?
The enormity of the situation really didn’t hit me until the ceremony was over and I was at the reception with members of my family.
“So, do you believe in God?”
I knew this question had been brewing in my aunt’s head for a good 16 years, giving me ample time to conjure up some kind of response. However, all I could mutter, not to definitively was, “Uhhhhhh…..sure?”
Immediately realizing the sheer comedy in the answer, I turned and walked away. After spending a portion of my life coming here, listening to someone ramble on and on about the teachings of the Savior of the human race and the beauty of and power of God, I was just now realizing I was not buying it.
I walked alone through the expansive halls of the church, making my way to the main sanctuary. Upon reaching the threshold, I stopped for a moment and took in the entirety of the occasion. In the front was the altar, adorned with multihued flowers marking the occasion of our group becoming confirmed members of the church. Behind the altar was the massive organ and choir section, ordained with gold trim and lavish woodwork. Positioned to capture the happenings from the front were the sections of pews that filled the majority of the church. Simple, rigid structures, they seemed to represent the idea of what the proper follower was to exemplify: a portrait of obedience and sameness, adhering to the shape and standard they were given by their creator. The most symbolic piece of furniture, though, was the podium erected for the pastor to speak from. From my point of view, it represented the thought of his elevation above the rest of the people inside the church, as his podium was physically higher than the rest of the seats in the room. Why should he be received as better than the other people there to congregate? With his position, is he automatically on a different level with God then all the other people there? Why should one person be held higher than any other person? Within this religion, I was to believe that this person could enlighten me on how to behave in order to be in favor with God. But how was I to know that he is right? Or for that matter, why should I assume supremeness in these beliefs without having explored the nature of the world and its people myself? Did I need someone to show me how to do that? No. I could benefit much more from trial and failure than guided, but ultimately, blind faith along a path already traveled by countless others before me.
As I walked through the sanctuary, early afternoon light poured in via the stained glass windows, throwing vivacious color all over the room. The actual beauty of the room caught my attention, causing me realize why it all seemed so illogical to me. This massive structure of intricate makings and human effort, built so that people could come to be told how to live their lives correctly. Why should someone be told what to do, when they can go seek the answers themselves? Is it the answers we should be seeking at all? Every second I thought I had figured it out, more questions permeated my thoughts. Exponentially they multiplied, filling every crevasse of my brain. Why do people seek the answers to questions that cannot be answered?
On the surface, this experience seems to have created more questions than answers. In the end, however, is that a bad thing? Like Marlo Morgan and Julia Butterfly, I reentered my world with a new perspective. A perspective that allowed me to understand that experience must be translated through as many perceptions as possible. All the questions I now had fueled thought and action, rather than the belief I was on the right path. They call idleness the devil’s playground, but many people of strict religious adherence are idle in their interpretation and perspectives on experience. Adhering to one train of thought will give you answers, but it steals from you the ability to explore the world fully.
I promptly told my mom on the way home that I was not going to go to church anymore. More surprised than anything it seemed, all she could say was, “Why…you put in a lot of time to just do this.”
I answered frankly, “I experienced it and its not for me.”
Although not totally in agreement, she was supportive when I asked to have my confirmation rescinded.
When I go to church with my mom from time to time to keep her company, I take in the sermons from a new perspective. A perspective that values the experience and allows me to add to my awareness of the world around me.