Skepticum

When I was a child my nanny would drag me to church with her. My family was religiously mixed (as I like to call it, they may disagree) and as a result religion was only used as an excuse to pick fights at the end of a copious family dinner. And every family dinner had to end with a big argument spiced up by wine, after which the ladies would retire to chat and the men and children would pass out and nap.

My nanny felt obliged to save me from being religiously confused, so with every occasion she would sneak me off to church with her. Her faith was Greek Orthodox, but the closest church was an old Greek Catholic church built and dedicated by Mary Theresa, during her imperial rule over Transylvania.

Greek Catholicism is a hybrid version of Catholic and Greek Christianity introduced in Transylvania with the rule of Mary Theresa. In simplistic terms Greek Orthodoxy is represented by full communion with Rome but worship through Orthodox (Eastern) rites, and it was the compromise introduced in order to convert the Transylvanian masses to Catholicism, by marrying their traditions to the Catholic Church.

Going to the Greek Catholic church was my preference not only because it was close by, but because it had pews and I didn’t have to stand, standing being the rule in Orthodox churches. Once I even foolishly tried to take refuge from the neighborhood bully by hiding in the church. And no, god didn’t come to my rescue and the priest didn’t either. I got the crap beaten out of me right there by the holy water dipping bowl (I have no idea what they’re called, so someone please enlighten me), to the left of the Madonna. God didn’t even consider that maybe being a female punching bag at the feet of Virgin Mary should earn me some sympathy from the blessed mother.

Despite my frequent, clandestine (and sometimes mob-induced) trips to the church down the street I just couldn’t get the warm fuzzies about religion. My nanny even taught me how to pray, and that didn’t help either. As I entered adolescence and started noticing the difficult realities of life I thought maybe believing would make life easier. Yet I couldn’t believe. I really, really wanted to believe. I so wished I could believe!

Orthodox Church, Metropolitan Seat of Transylvania, Sibiu, Romania. Image courtesy of staicu.com

I preferred my chemistry club and basketball events to religious endeavors, and I preferred reading history of religion to religious books. I saw this world of science and books in front of me and I could not waste another precious moment on trying to believe. And I’ll admit, I couldn’t waste a basketball minute either.

So at about 17 I decided I was cool with being an atheist. Proud of my new decision I told my flame at the time that I was an atheist. He replied, “no you’re not, you believe in yourself so you are your own god.”

That’s when I knew that those who really want to believe will struggle with numerous rationalizations to construct their belief system, just so that they won’t incur the potential consequences of disbelief. Or maybe it’s ourselves that we fear.

Of course, the struggle is not just with belief, but it’s also with what to believe in. Back in June, the Baptist Press published an article on a female Episcopalian priest from Seattle who decided she’s both Christian and Muslim:

“Why would I spend time to try to reconcile all of Christian belief with all of Islam?” Ann Holmes Redding told The Seattle Times in an article June 17. “At the most basic level, I understand the two religions to be compatible. That’s all I need.”

Reading the beginning of the article I couldn’t help but wonder what was missing from Christianity that made Redding be enamored (as the article reports) with Islam? The answer came further down in the article:

An African American who wears her hair in dreadlocks, Redding told The Times that becoming a Muslim was like coming home after years in predominantly white congregations.

“To walk into Al-Islam and be reminded that there are more people of color in the world than white people, that in itself is a relief,” she said of the local Muslim worship center.

And there you have it, some want to believe so badly that they will resort to any combination of possible proof for the existence of god. I’ve heard in the atheist community arguments on how Christians pick and choose what they interpret literally from the bible. I also believe those who seek faith will pick and choose what they will believe in based on a combination of intellectual and cultural elements.

Just like Mary Theresa wanted all her peasants to bow to the rule of Vatican, but could only make that happen by allowing them to maintain their worshiping culture, religions have to continually make compromises to explain new science discoveries that deny biblical teachings, or to accommodate cultural elements that may otherwise alienate worshipers. And people themselves have to pick and choose what they believe if they truly want to hang on to a belief system without sinking into the oh, so dreaded rationality.

I will speak directly to those who don’t believe but wish so dearly to believe. So your brain tells you there’s something not quite right about the story of god, but you want to believe so badly that you search for signs, emotions, and tales to construct proof of a god. Every tiny stirring, every warm feeling gets attributed to god, because you want it to be god. If someone you want to convert may believe in god but doesn’t like your culture, you apply their culture to your god. And if I tell you I don’t think there is a god, you tell me that I do, I just don’t know it. You get mad at god because you do everything you’re supposed to do to receive a manifestation of your faith, yet you don’t feel belief’s stirrings. Trying to find god, the true church, consumes you, yet there’s never one god or one church that ever makes complete sense. Sound familiar? Then I only have one question left, why do you want so badly to believe in god?

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