I went to church today, something I do whenever I'm in Maryland on a Sunday. Today, the pastor had a lot to say, but what I was left pondering was faith.
I guess I am she of little faith. So many Christians seem so secure in their religion. Why, some of them even hear God talking directly to them. How do they do that? How do they know they hear God directing their lives and not their own inner voices telling them what to do? They say, in response to my question, it's faith.
I have a good friend who is an atheist, not an agnostic, a real honest non-believing atheist. She has had it with religious people, and she often fills her Facebook page with examples of why. There are an awful lot of Christians out there doing very unChristian things. A minister wouldn't marry a couple who were long-time members of his church. No, they weren't gay; they're an interracial couple. Bet you didn't think that kind of thing was happening anymore. Zealots claim it is their God directing them to do some of the ugliest things in the name of religion. A pastor in Florida is proud of burning the Koran, a religious book he doesn't happen to agree with. The murderer of an abortion doctor feels he's done God's work by killing that doctor and saving babies. Did he miss the part of the Bible that says thou shall not kill? People have beaten gays bloody in the name of religion ("God hates f_gs"). And those protesters (who shall remain nameless in my blog) who try to ruin the funerals of our deceased service people believe that God has told them to do that. Those are big examples, and some may say those fringe groups don't represent the masses.
However, it would be just as easy to give you many examples of regular people distorting (or conveniently forgetting) the Bible to excuse their bad conduct. Remember that trip I took with all those seniors? You know, the ones who smugly touted their Christianity and their belief that all Jews are doomed to hell? We had to sit as groups of four at one of the restaurants we visited. The table in front of me had four women who were seated together. Well, there were four there for awhile until three of them got up to go to the bathroom and never came back. Three white women left a single black woman to dine alone. I was incredulous at that blatantly unChristian act... and furious. With the blessings of my table, I joined the other lady for lunch and made a new friend. And don't get me started on the love the sinner hate the sin baloney. Worry about your own damn sins. I do; I worry about everything.
But humans are imperfect! They make mistakes! They can't be perfect, only God is perfect! Well then, those same imperfect people need to stop dictating to others what they can and cannot do in the name of God.
Two years ago, I left my church of thirty years. I had weathered many rectors, some good and some bad. But never had any of them caused me enough pain to want to leave. When contention during an email exchange with my ex-rector and vestry left me reeling, I quit. I was broken hearted to leave. And I was broken hearted by the responses of people I had considered family. One told me I had unresolved hostilities towards the man; I thought I was providing concrete examples of what he had done. Another had called me, supporting what I had said, and then backpedaled faster than a clown in a circus when push came to shove during the email salvo. At the funeral of a friend from the church, I was visibly snubbed and ignored by a woman who'd always been warm and friendly to me. My faith took a beating like never before. I went to church to learn and love, and this is what it came down to? So, who needs church? Who needs religion if this is what it boils down to?
Well, I do.
I had something happen to me in my life that was so removed from anything I could ever begin to explain or understand. My dad was in the hospital. I had returned to Maryland, but got the call the next day to get home now. The next night my family and some friends were sitting on the deck talking about everything we were experiencing. My mom casually mentioned that my dad had said the strangest thing that day. He told her to ask me if I got the book about dogs that was in a box inside my front door. I turned pale. I always enter the house through the back door in my garage. I don't always check the front door, but when I let Trixie out that night, I found a box stuck in the front door. It was a book about training dogs that I had ordered from Amazon and forgotten all about. How in the world had my dad known about it? How? I defy anyone to offer me a scientific explanation for what happened. My dad was with me, and he hadn't left his hospital bed.
Some things just happen and can't be explained. That's where faith comes in handy. God works in mysterious ways, or so I've been told. When my faith is shaky (which is often), I try to remember that moment and that box. I know there is much more to life than I'll ever understand here on Earth. I hope that I can do what's asked of me to make this a better place to be. That is, if I can recognize who's doing the asking. (If your group comes knocking on my door with my key to heaven, it may get shut in your face.) If church drama gets distracting and out of control, I'll walk off again. My life isn't always free of stress. So,when I'm down and out, I sure hope I can feel God's loving embrace.
And frankly, I hope I have the faith to recognize it for what it is.
Thanks Barb. I needed that.
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