Welcome to Balad

For many years, we've been opposing camps religiously. I know your story (so much as you've related). Here's mine.

I fought through childhood and most of my adulthood to believe as I'd been taught. But I couldn't make myself. I couldn't just flip on that switch. So I tried harder. I did everything right. I studied. I went to church. I tried to imagine the pain of Jesus Christ as he died on the cross when I took communion. I mentally put myself in the place of the apostles, trying to imagine their world to make the stories more real and meaningful. I responded to everything as I'd been taught to respond. I said I believed, hoping I would someday talk myself into it. None of it worked.

Instead of getting the faith I was told came by hearing, I got only increasing distance from my family and loved ones. Add to that increasing wedge the guilt of not being able to believe. I knew I fell short, scripturally. For those who come to him must believe that he is, first and foremost--but I didn't. Not try to believe or say they believe, but believe. I simply didn't.

The more I tried, the more I felt like a hypocrite. I couldn't lie to myself, though I admit I tried, thinking it might work. I finally gave up. In addition to the guilt I felt for somehow being "faulty," I was saddled with the crippling shame of not being able to live up to what the rest of the world seemed to take for granted, and what I knew my family and friends expected of me.

The pain and loneliness and confusion of the situation is inexpressible. I left as soon as I could. I didn't know what I wanted or what I believed, even. All I knew was that I wouldn't likely find out at home, where I was constantly indoctrinated.*

* Not meant as a slight. When you are sheltered from opposing viewpoints and hammered with assertions and psychological pressure is levied to meet certain expectations for inclusion in a group and you're shunned if you don't toe the line...actually, that's brainwashing, but that word was even more loaded. But these are the facts, as well you know, of my childhood.

When I left, I pushed religion to the back of my mind. It was a problem I'd deal with later. It had been the source of much pain and confusion in my life, as well as the outright requirement that I not fit in with my peers as a child, lest I be thought to be "of the world." I was ready to stop being different, to see what it was like to be the same for a change. :p

I was for the most part delightfully religion-free for years because I just blocked it out and went on about my life, surrounded by people who found meaning in their lives without an appeal to a higher power. These people were some of the happiest, friendliest, most non-judgemental people I'd ever met. After being around them for quite some time, I began to realize how superior and judgemental I'd been raised to be, how unassailably "right."

The dichotomy, I'm sure, isn't lost on you. As I said, I didn't believe, but I'd been been imbued with that deep feeling of superiority for having been fortunate enough to have been born into the One True Religion nonetheless. (Actually, this assumption--which I still didn't question for years--was what drove my guilt for not being able to believe.)

The realization of what an insufferably "superior" human being I was* brought with it a whole new kind of shame. The first time I saw myself through the eyes of truly humble people, the pain and shame was almost unbearable.

* More explanation: I was told that all humans are equal and that we're no better than anyone else, but the implications of all our words and actions were that we were better than all those poor, misguided deluded souls out there.

I didn't start questioning the roots of what I'd been taught until I was finishing college, at about 29 or 30. Psychology 101 shed a great deal of light on the religious experience and some of the reasons people believe as they do. The History of Western Civilization was particularly enlightening. For me, it was impossible to read about the various histories of humankind with their different belief systems without noticing that Christianity really is just another of the many, and has no more support for it than any of the others. (I know you disagree. Please just listen at this point.)

After college, I moved back into the bible belt, and decided it was time to do research. I guess I'd known all along that I'd have to do it someday. So I dove in. As you know, I don't know how to do anything half-way. I keep going until either all my questions are answered or I realize that no one has an answer (which in itself is an answer, it's just harder to get to).

One day, I had an epiphany. It was the Faith Catch-22.* If you have evidence**, you don't need faith. Indeed, if you have evidence, your belief is not based on faith. But faith is required. Each time I asked questions, I'd eventually reach the point where my questions would be "answered" with "you just have to believe/trust in God," which is just another way of saying "I don't know."

* Dubbed by Chaplain Lau, an Army Captain at Fort Gordon who wrote one of my letters of recommendation for OTS, actually. We had an interesting discussion about it.

** Used in the sense of conclusive evidence, I mean. Many people insist there is evidence of God, but are unable to explain how they ruled out all competing valid explanations.

In retrospect, I'm amazed it took me that many years to simply acknowledge to myself not only that I didn't believe, but (most importantly) that it was okay. I realized I'd been beating myself up for my own self-honesty. That day, I shifted from considering myself "agnostic" to considering myself "atheist."*

* Technically, though, it's more accurate to call myself agnostic atheist, as I don't know if there is a god (agnostic) and I don't believe there is one (atheist). Most people, however, use "agnostic" as another way of expressing, "I don't know, I don't care, and I don't want to talk about it."

Before I went into OTS, you remarked to me that I'd always had a bitterness about me. You framed it in a cautionary sense, as fatherly advice. I wasn't offended by your remark. The accuracy of your choice of words stuck with me, though.

You're right, of course. I am bitter. The above is my feeble attempt to get you to see where it comes from.

Michelle told me about a Tori Amos interview she heard once. Tori is an alternative music artist who was raised as a Disciple of Christ (closely related to the CoC, as I'm sure you know). I believe her father was a preacher, as well. She said her father was listening to one of her songs one day and said, "Wait a minute. That's about me, isn't it?"

She said, "Aw, Daddy....they're all about you."

The anecdote stayed with me, for obvious reasons. I see how my feelings--particularly about religion--shape my actions and reactions to almost everything. All my life, those feelings have been overwhelmingly negative. Every time I think I've vented all the pain I have and can just deal with everyone without letting it interfere, I find another untapped source somewhere.

In the beginning, I took it out on everybody who dared bring it up. I sought out people on bulletin boards to discuss every conceivable matter with. I sought out preachers. After a couple of years of that, I began to feel deliciously empty of malice regarding religion. For the most part, I still am. The last great barrier to surmount, though, is finding peace with my own family. This is the place it's still raw and tender.

In a sense, your reaction (which I actually started all of this to explain why I don't blame you for it--I know how aggressive I've been and am when it comes to discussing religion, particularly with you; I fully understand your hypersensitivity) was a flashback for me. Once again, it didn't matter what I thought or how I felt. Once again, what mattered in the moment was that you were right.

Each time we seem to make great strides, I'm elated. Then there's another setback. I wonder if we'll ever get past this, let the past be the past and just accept and love one another as we are. I think we both have an equal distance to walk.

I love you.

d

(Disclaimer: For those of you who are disappointed that I'm human, Caison...you might want to refrain from reading this post. Also, for those who think I'm really losing it now in baring myself like this, ask yourself why it's acceptable for me to express disgust and anger but somehow frightening or disappointing for me to express pain. Contrary to popular action, I think acknowledging pain instead of lashing out or suppressing it is the best way to find what's important and cling to it.)