Oh, I can so relate! I was baptized, confirmed, and married in a Lutheran church. I went to Lutheran school. My two oldest children were baptized Lutheran. I remember those moments as a child when I prayed to God for guidance, often for silly things, but sometimes in earnest to save someone's life or to make someone happy.
The mysteries of God. the virgin Mary, the Holy Trinity, the parting of the sea, the sudden appearance of loaves and fishes, did gnaw at me. Even at a young age the idea of any of those things seemed, well...ludicrous. Still, I loved the trappings of the church. The music, the stained glass windows, the rituals at the altar. But not always the people.
I think it was the people who finally turned me off of religion. The catty, petty women making fun of a poor woman's Sunday clothes, the sniffy way they judged everyone, the need for the church men to make arbitrary rules, negating the rules they'd made before. I didn't see anything there that might have seemed god-like.
I called myself an agnostic for a long time, not daring to give up on my religion completely, and then one day I called myself an atheist. I had to laugh at how freeing it was. I could finally admit I didn't believe in a god. I could finally look back and see I'd never believed in a god. Whatever church meant to me when it seemed to mean something was outside of any real faith in a god. It was simply a community I'd clung to long after it meant anything.
You've written about your own experience beautifully here. I'm grateful to have read it, and didn't mean to go on this long. You struck a nerve. You brought up old feelings. I like who I am now.
I was a born again for a few months, until I realized I was only bring “good” to angle for entry into heaven, where I’d get my chance to interview god on questions of infinity and the Big Bang. Then I realized I was going straight to hell for having that agenda and came up with my own rational reasons for being good after examining the ten commandments and consolidating them into one: don’t steal. Don’t steal things, people, faith, peace of mind, life, etc. and the reason? Not to go to Heaven but to make the world less shitty. God didn’t even need to exist for that to be true. So I said goodbye and good luck to god if god existed (because if he did he must be really depressed and falling down in the job, the way I saw it), promised never to ask for help winning the lotto again, and went on with my life feeling that living my life and doing things with love (as in Gibran saying to do everything as if you were doing it for your beloved), and that was that. And then I studied medieval anthropology in college and that really put the last nail in the coffin for Christianity-- the more you know, the more you don’t want to know.
Anyway! If god exists he certainly wouldn’t need so many deeply flawed and misguided murderous henchmen/women doing such awful things in his/her/their name. I’ll just keep doing my best as a simple human. I don’t feel hollow. I’d like to go back in time and yell at that kid for saying that to you! NB I continued going to born again summer camp even after I left their ranks spiritually because it was cheap and I needed a vacation from my parents. My brothers also went, and reported that the “whole camp is praying for you,” but I was fine with their pestering me if I’d “found Jesus” -- I just kept saying, why? Is he lost?
I ran down a Southern Baptist church aisle twice to be “saved.” Once when I was 7, because my pastor only spoke of hellfire and how horrible we all are and in contrast, again when I was 10, because the pastor spoke of love more, and kindness, and if we really loved god we could be with him by being saved. Two extremes- but both required the sinners prayer. I am now and to my core, an animist. I was making food and art “offerings”to birds and trees when I was a little girl playing in the forest. I was a conflicted believer for years, my parents both conservative Christians. As I got older and learned more about people like Calvin and struggled with those leaps of faith that demanded I make peace with the idea of a loving god putting his creation in an eternal torment for things like questioning his love and omnipotence (abuse anyone?) I realized I was not a believer in my religion and never really could be.
Church can bring a sense of community, service to the community (food banks, shelter, medical care for example). My father has friends at his church who have helped him in hard times. But they also teach about hell, about homosexuality as a psychological disorder, and a few other things that I believe are very damaging and wrong.
Yet, I love some of the old hymns and gospel songs I grew up singing in church and hearing my musical relatives sing and play, they are deeply rooted in Appalachian and Southern culture. The crossover of country, blues, bluegrass, gospel has made some gorgeous music. I can hear “I’ll Fly Away” and still feel it deeply for different reasons than the idea of going to heaven. Same with “Amazing Grace.” But I also weep when walking through my favorite and local state park at times - the sounds, the beauty, the stories told by the living things there no one notices. That is my sacred place.
The only hole in my soul I try to make peace with is how random and cruel we are as a species in a vast unknown universe and yet how order is found in the chaos in nature, how we and other species try to adapt, change, and create new ways to live.
Thank you for sharing your experiences, I’m sure many more will find it relatable.
When Einstein gave lectures at U.S. universities, the recurring question that students asked him most was:
- Do you believe in God?
And he always answered:
- I believe in the God of Spinoza.
Baruch de Spinoza was a Dutch philosopher considered one of the great rationalists of 17th century philosophy, along with Descartes.
(Spinoza) : God would say:
Stop praying.
What I want you to do is go out into the world and enjoy your life. I want you to sing, have fun and enjoy everything I've made for you.
Stop going into those dark, cold temples that you built yourself and saying they are my house. My house is in the mountains, in the woods, rivers, lakes, beaches. That's where I live and there I express my love for you.
Stop blaming me for your miserable life; I never told you there was anything wrong with you or that you were a sinner, or that your sexuality was a bad thing. Sex is a gift I have given you and with which you can express your love, your ecstasy, your joy. So don't blame me for everything they made you believe.
Stop reading alleged sacred scriptures that have nothing to do with me. If you can't read me in a sunrise, in a landscape, in the look of your friends, in your son's eyes... ➤ you will find me in no book!
Stop asking me "will you tell me how to do my job?" Stop being so scared of me. I do not judge you or criticize you, nor get angry, or bothered. I am pure love.
Stop asking for forgiveness, there's nothing to forgive. If I made you... I filled you with passions, limitations, pleasures, feelings, needs, inconsistencies... free will. How can I blame you if you respond to something I put in you? How can I punish you for being the way you are, if I'm the one who made you? Do you think I could create a place to burn all my children who behave badly for the rest of eternity? What kind of god would do that?
Respect your peers and don't do what you don't want for yourself. All I ask is that you pay attention in your life, that alertness is your guide.
My beloved, this life is not a test, not a step on the way, not a rehearsal, nor a prelude to paradise. This life is the only thing here and now and it is all you need.
I have set you absolutely free, no prizes or punishments, no sins or virtues, no one carries a marker, no one keeps a record.
You are absolutely free to create in your life. Heaven or hell.
➤ I can't tell you if there's anything after this life but I can give you a tip. Live as if there is not. As if this is your only chance to enjoy, to love, to exist.
So, if there's nothing after, then you will have enjoyed the opportunity I gave you. And if there is, rest assured that I won't ask if you behaved right or wrong, I'll ask. Did you like it? Did you have fun? What did you enjoy the most? What did you learn?...
Stop believing in me; believing is assuming, guessing, imagining. I don't want you to believe in me, I want you to believe in you. I want you to feel me in you when you kiss your beloved, when you tuck in your little girl, when you caress your dog, when you bathe in the sea.
Stop praising me, what kind of egomaniac God do you think I am?
I'm bored being praised. I'm tired of being thanked. Feeling grateful? Prove it by taking care of yourself, your health, your relationships, the world. Express your joy! That's the way to praise me.
Stop complicating things and repeating as a parakeet what you've been taught about me.
What do you need more miracles for? So many explanations?
The only thing for sure is that you are here, that you are alive, that this world is full of wonders.
- Spinoza
See Religious and philosophical views of Albert Einstein- Wikipedia
Also his book The World as I See it.
Hand of God
I invite all to sing along with the chorus and check the addendum at the end.
This is one of the best things I've read for a long time. I feel like the child you now, at 68. I don't mean born-again, but asking questions and looking for something bigger, something more. I was confirmed into the Church of England as a child but it meant very little, though my parents were church-goers in that English, Sundays only way. Lately as misfortune and serious illness has affected my loved ones, I have talked and asked (?prayed) in my head for help and change. Is this belief? I don't know. I. wish I did. If someone asked I would probably say agnostic, but I'm not sure. Any how, I loved this piece, I felt it.
Your story resonates with me. I was baptized as an infant and grew up attending a Presbyterian church--Sunday School, youth group, youth Deacon, choir--all the while not actually believing in God. Why? Well, my parents were the first in our congregation to divorce (mid 70s), and just like that, most of our church "family" shunned my older sister, me and my mother. Our minister, Rev. Hayes, never remembered my name, calling me by my sister's name. I responded to "Hey, Jill-I mean, Lisa" through my young adult years. Most of all, my sister and I were physically and emotionally abused by my father throughout childhood, the same father who made us go to church, and who left us high and dry (and shunned) after the divorce.
Now, even as a child, I struggled to understand why this God guy would allow children, especially, to experience such pain and suffering. I came to realize that the God that I'd learned about in church wouldn't allow it; hence, God didn't exist. And that I didn't have to spend any more time with a church "family" who could so easily cast out a mom and her two kids.
I stopped going to church when I realized that the hole in my soul wasn't due to the lack of a loving God in my life, but a loving family.
You needed a sign that God exists. I don't have one, but do recall making that request.
It was about 1967, and I was out surfing by myself. A big storm started rolling in from the West, as was normal for a Florida afternoon. So I ran up to sit under an overhang of a nearby beach house to wait it out.
I'm sitting there for a hour, getting progressively more bored. So as a sort of game, I did the "give me a sign" of God thing. Nothing happened. No big lightning. No manta ray breaching in the ocean. And mostly sadly of all, no girls in bikinis running down the beach in the rain. I waited, I waited, I waited, nothing happened. I gave up, and and went back to surfing.
That was over 50 years ago. And now, I can remember exactly nothing else about that day, that week, or that month. I don't even remember if the surf was any good, which would have been the highest priority topic for me at that time.
Thank you for this delightful story. I'm reminded how we sang, "Jesus Loves the Little Children" at my vacation bible school. When the black kids from the neighborhood stood watching us enjoy our Lorna Doones and Kool-Aid, the fun new preacher, not knowing better, invited them to join us. When the church elders got wind of it that preacher was gone before you could say Archie Bunker, replaced with a dour old guy who got back to the fire and brimstone we were familiar with.
I love the writing. These in particular, too many, really, had to cut if off somewhere: "I knew my parents loved me completely, but this understanding also rendered their opinions somewhat meaningless."
"I’d still get into heaven and all that."
"Of course I wanted a gold star in Jesus..."
"This was in the pre-latte era, before nearly every town had a cozy third space for angsty young girls to stare out the window."
I think many of us go through a kind of soul/God-searching. It feels coming of age and just right. For me, it was my father's death at a young age, Grandma telling me he's in Heaven, and grappling with the big question, "What happens after death?"
What a great read! I felt throughput my childhood that I wasn’t a good girl no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t feel loved by god or my parents. Looking back now I was a good girl even if I didn’t try to be one! When I had a one on one with my Lutheran pastor before being confirmed, I was sure he could see what a poor Christian I was and that I was probably going to hell. What a great opportunity for a pastor to communicate love and understanding, but of course he was a product of the same church teachings. I don’t go to church and haven’t for many years. I’m now 80 years old. Your writing really resonated with me.
I grew up in a Christian home, forced to attend church. It wasn’t until the age of fifty that I actually was “born again.” Accepting Christ as my savior wasn’t going to happen until I was good and ready.
Your childhood take on Christianity interests me, because I always question children when they choose to be baptized. Are they doing it for themselves or because a parent/mentor is encouraging them?
I think we can be “born again, again, and again” according to where we are in life. I’m actually getting it now, being a Christian isn’t easy and for children it has to be difficult to grasp.
Oh, I can so relate! I was baptized, confirmed, and married in a Lutheran church. I went to Lutheran school. My two oldest children were baptized Lutheran. I remember those moments as a child when I prayed to God for guidance, often for silly things, but sometimes in earnest to save someone's life or to make someone happy.
The mysteries of God. the virgin Mary, the Holy Trinity, the parting of the sea, the sudden appearance of loaves and fishes, did gnaw at me. Even at a young age the idea of any of those things seemed, well...ludicrous. Still, I loved the trappings of the church. The music, the stained glass windows, the rituals at the altar. But not always the people.
I think it was the people who finally turned me off of religion. The catty, petty women making fun of a poor woman's Sunday clothes, the sniffy way they judged everyone, the need for the church men to make arbitrary rules, negating the rules they'd made before. I didn't see anything there that might have seemed god-like.
I called myself an agnostic for a long time, not daring to give up on my religion completely, and then one day I called myself an atheist. I had to laugh at how freeing it was. I could finally admit I didn't believe in a god. I could finally look back and see I'd never believed in a god. Whatever church meant to me when it seemed to mean something was outside of any real faith in a god. It was simply a community I'd clung to long after it meant anything.
You've written about your own experience beautifully here. I'm grateful to have read it, and didn't mean to go on this long. You struck a nerve. You brought up old feelings. I like who I am now.
I was a born again for a few months, until I realized I was only bring “good” to angle for entry into heaven, where I’d get my chance to interview god on questions of infinity and the Big Bang. Then I realized I was going straight to hell for having that agenda and came up with my own rational reasons for being good after examining the ten commandments and consolidating them into one: don’t steal. Don’t steal things, people, faith, peace of mind, life, etc. and the reason? Not to go to Heaven but to make the world less shitty. God didn’t even need to exist for that to be true. So I said goodbye and good luck to god if god existed (because if he did he must be really depressed and falling down in the job, the way I saw it), promised never to ask for help winning the lotto again, and went on with my life feeling that living my life and doing things with love (as in Gibran saying to do everything as if you were doing it for your beloved), and that was that. And then I studied medieval anthropology in college and that really put the last nail in the coffin for Christianity-- the more you know, the more you don’t want to know.
Anyway! If god exists he certainly wouldn’t need so many deeply flawed and misguided murderous henchmen/women doing such awful things in his/her/their name. I’ll just keep doing my best as a simple human. I don’t feel hollow. I’d like to go back in time and yell at that kid for saying that to you! NB I continued going to born again summer camp even after I left their ranks spiritually because it was cheap and I needed a vacation from my parents. My brothers also went, and reported that the “whole camp is praying for you,” but I was fine with their pestering me if I’d “found Jesus” -- I just kept saying, why? Is he lost?
I ran down a Southern Baptist church aisle twice to be “saved.” Once when I was 7, because my pastor only spoke of hellfire and how horrible we all are and in contrast, again when I was 10, because the pastor spoke of love more, and kindness, and if we really loved god we could be with him by being saved. Two extremes- but both required the sinners prayer. I am now and to my core, an animist. I was making food and art “offerings”to birds and trees when I was a little girl playing in the forest. I was a conflicted believer for years, my parents both conservative Christians. As I got older and learned more about people like Calvin and struggled with those leaps of faith that demanded I make peace with the idea of a loving god putting his creation in an eternal torment for things like questioning his love and omnipotence (abuse anyone?) I realized I was not a believer in my religion and never really could be.
Church can bring a sense of community, service to the community (food banks, shelter, medical care for example). My father has friends at his church who have helped him in hard times. But they also teach about hell, about homosexuality as a psychological disorder, and a few other things that I believe are very damaging and wrong.
Yet, I love some of the old hymns and gospel songs I grew up singing in church and hearing my musical relatives sing and play, they are deeply rooted in Appalachian and Southern culture. The crossover of country, blues, bluegrass, gospel has made some gorgeous music. I can hear “I’ll Fly Away” and still feel it deeply for different reasons than the idea of going to heaven. Same with “Amazing Grace.” But I also weep when walking through my favorite and local state park at times - the sounds, the beauty, the stories told by the living things there no one notices. That is my sacred place.
The only hole in my soul I try to make peace with is how random and cruel we are as a species in a vast unknown universe and yet how order is found in the chaos in nature, how we and other species try to adapt, change, and create new ways to live.
Thank you for sharing your experiences, I’m sure many more will find it relatable.
Religious conflict
"Nobody"s right if everybody's
wrong. "
CS&Y For What It's Worth
When Einstein gave lectures at U.S. universities, the recurring question that students asked him most was:
- Do you believe in God?
And he always answered:
- I believe in the God of Spinoza.
Baruch de Spinoza was a Dutch philosopher considered one of the great rationalists of 17th century philosophy, along with Descartes.
(Spinoza) : God would say:
Stop praying.
What I want you to do is go out into the world and enjoy your life. I want you to sing, have fun and enjoy everything I've made for you.
Stop going into those dark, cold temples that you built yourself and saying they are my house. My house is in the mountains, in the woods, rivers, lakes, beaches. That's where I live and there I express my love for you.
Stop blaming me for your miserable life; I never told you there was anything wrong with you or that you were a sinner, or that your sexuality was a bad thing. Sex is a gift I have given you and with which you can express your love, your ecstasy, your joy. So don't blame me for everything they made you believe.
Stop reading alleged sacred scriptures that have nothing to do with me. If you can't read me in a sunrise, in a landscape, in the look of your friends, in your son's eyes... ➤ you will find me in no book!
Stop asking me "will you tell me how to do my job?" Stop being so scared of me. I do not judge you or criticize you, nor get angry, or bothered. I am pure love.
Stop asking for forgiveness, there's nothing to forgive. If I made you... I filled you with passions, limitations, pleasures, feelings, needs, inconsistencies... free will. How can I blame you if you respond to something I put in you? How can I punish you for being the way you are, if I'm the one who made you? Do you think I could create a place to burn all my children who behave badly for the rest of eternity? What kind of god would do that?
Respect your peers and don't do what you don't want for yourself. All I ask is that you pay attention in your life, that alertness is your guide.
My beloved, this life is not a test, not a step on the way, not a rehearsal, nor a prelude to paradise. This life is the only thing here and now and it is all you need.
I have set you absolutely free, no prizes or punishments, no sins or virtues, no one carries a marker, no one keeps a record.
You are absolutely free to create in your life. Heaven or hell.
➤ I can't tell you if there's anything after this life but I can give you a tip. Live as if there is not. As if this is your only chance to enjoy, to love, to exist.
So, if there's nothing after, then you will have enjoyed the opportunity I gave you. And if there is, rest assured that I won't ask if you behaved right or wrong, I'll ask. Did you like it? Did you have fun? What did you enjoy the most? What did you learn?...
Stop believing in me; believing is assuming, guessing, imagining. I don't want you to believe in me, I want you to believe in you. I want you to feel me in you when you kiss your beloved, when you tuck in your little girl, when you caress your dog, when you bathe in the sea.
Stop praising me, what kind of egomaniac God do you think I am?
I'm bored being praised. I'm tired of being thanked. Feeling grateful? Prove it by taking care of yourself, your health, your relationships, the world. Express your joy! That's the way to praise me.
Stop complicating things and repeating as a parakeet what you've been taught about me.
What do you need more miracles for? So many explanations?
The only thing for sure is that you are here, that you are alive, that this world is full of wonders.
- Spinoza
See Religious and philosophical views of Albert Einstein- Wikipedia
Also his book The World as I See it.
Hand of God
I invite all to sing along with the chorus and check the addendum at the end.
https://youtu.be/9X77vFm1UHQ
CD Seasons of Life
Hand of God Hand of God
We're all living in the Hand of God
Saint, sinner, even or odd
We're all living in the Hand of God
Children don't you worry
Children don't you worry
Children don't you worry
Cause worry don't do no good
Hand of God Hand of God
We're all living in the Hand of God
Saint, sinner, even or odd
We're all living in the Hand of God
The rich man and the poor man
The rich man and the poor man
The rich man and the poor man
Gonna get their just reward
Hand of God Hand of God
We're all living in the Hand of God
Saint, sinner, even or odd
We're all living in the Hand of God
The crooked and the devious
The crooked and the devious
The crooked and the devious
Gonna finally get it straight
Hand of God Hand of God
We're all living in the Hand of God
Saint, sinner, even or odd
We're all living in the Hand of God
Addendum
For those of you who may be interested, you can view a NASA
photo of a deep space object that was nicknamed The Hand of God.
It's a pulsar wind nebula.
https://svs.gsfc.nasa.gov/30505
Be well
This is one of the best things I've read for a long time. I feel like the child you now, at 68. I don't mean born-again, but asking questions and looking for something bigger, something more. I was confirmed into the Church of England as a child but it meant very little, though my parents were church-goers in that English, Sundays only way. Lately as misfortune and serious illness has affected my loved ones, I have talked and asked (?prayed) in my head for help and change. Is this belief? I don't know. I. wish I did. If someone asked I would probably say agnostic, but I'm not sure. Any how, I loved this piece, I felt it.
My wife was a free-range five year old and I walked a mile to school each day at 7.
Your story resonates with me. I was baptized as an infant and grew up attending a Presbyterian church--Sunday School, youth group, youth Deacon, choir--all the while not actually believing in God. Why? Well, my parents were the first in our congregation to divorce (mid 70s), and just like that, most of our church "family" shunned my older sister, me and my mother. Our minister, Rev. Hayes, never remembered my name, calling me by my sister's name. I responded to "Hey, Jill-I mean, Lisa" through my young adult years. Most of all, my sister and I were physically and emotionally abused by my father throughout childhood, the same father who made us go to church, and who left us high and dry (and shunned) after the divorce.
Now, even as a child, I struggled to understand why this God guy would allow children, especially, to experience such pain and suffering. I came to realize that the God that I'd learned about in church wouldn't allow it; hence, God didn't exist. And that I didn't have to spend any more time with a church "family" who could so easily cast out a mom and her two kids.
I stopped going to church when I realized that the hole in my soul wasn't due to the lack of a loving God in my life, but a loving family.
You needed a sign that God exists. I don't have one, but do recall making that request.
It was about 1967, and I was out surfing by myself. A big storm started rolling in from the West, as was normal for a Florida afternoon. So I ran up to sit under an overhang of a nearby beach house to wait it out.
I'm sitting there for a hour, getting progressively more bored. So as a sort of game, I did the "give me a sign" of God thing. Nothing happened. No big lightning. No manta ray breaching in the ocean. And mostly sadly of all, no girls in bikinis running down the beach in the rain. I waited, I waited, I waited, nothing happened. I gave up, and and went back to surfing.
That was over 50 years ago. And now, I can remember exactly nothing else about that day, that week, or that month. I don't even remember if the surf was any good, which would have been the highest priority topic for me at that time.
All I remember is asking for a sign.
Did I finally get one?
I don't know.
You decide.
Thank you for this delightful story. I'm reminded how we sang, "Jesus Loves the Little Children" at my vacation bible school. When the black kids from the neighborhood stood watching us enjoy our Lorna Doones and Kool-Aid, the fun new preacher, not knowing better, invited them to join us. When the church elders got wind of it that preacher was gone before you could say Archie Bunker, replaced with a dour old guy who got back to the fire and brimstone we were familiar with.
This was a wonderful read.
I love the writing. These in particular, too many, really, had to cut if off somewhere: "I knew my parents loved me completely, but this understanding also rendered their opinions somewhat meaningless."
"I’d still get into heaven and all that."
"Of course I wanted a gold star in Jesus..."
"This was in the pre-latte era, before nearly every town had a cozy third space for angsty young girls to stare out the window."
I think many of us go through a kind of soul/God-searching. It feels coming of age and just right. For me, it was my father's death at a young age, Grandma telling me he's in Heaven, and grappling with the big question, "What happens after death?"
I like the title.
What a great read! I felt throughput my childhood that I wasn’t a good girl no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t feel loved by god or my parents. Looking back now I was a good girl even if I didn’t try to be one! When I had a one on one with my Lutheran pastor before being confirmed, I was sure he could see what a poor Christian I was and that I was probably going to hell. What a great opportunity for a pastor to communicate love and understanding, but of course he was a product of the same church teachings. I don’t go to church and haven’t for many years. I’m now 80 years old. Your writing really resonated with me.
I grew up in a Christian home, forced to attend church. It wasn’t until the age of fifty that I actually was “born again.” Accepting Christ as my savior wasn’t going to happen until I was good and ready.
Your childhood take on Christianity interests me, because I always question children when they choose to be baptized. Are they doing it for themselves or because a parent/mentor is encouraging them?
I think we can be “born again, again, and again” according to where we are in life. I’m actually getting it now, being a Christian isn’t easy and for children it has to be difficult to grasp.
“A gold star in Jesus” is hereby awarded, if I have such authority. Perfect!!
Just brilliant.