 February 28, 2001
Blue Skies
Today it’s one of those very sunny,
very cold days that we get sometimes in winter in New England. It is just really nice to
see the sun again. It restores my faith in the fact that spring is coming. We had two
bright blue days like this a few weeks ago when I was spending the weekend with a friend,
Shoshanna, up near Boston.
Saturday we went out to breakfast and
stopped by Bread & Circus (the awesome whole-foods grocery store) so I could pick up
some good tea to take home. It was a gorgeous sunny day, but way too windy to be outside
for long. So we decided that all we could
stand to do that day was stay at home and watch Buffy
the Vampire Slayer episodes on video. Thus began a nine-hour marathon of Buffy,
punctuated only by snacks, dinner, and more snacks. One
thing I love about going to Shoshanna’s house is that she has every single Buffy episode ever
on tape. We had a grand time.
Sunday morning we drove into
Cambridge and spent some time walking around and shopping in Harvard Square. It was
terribly cold, despite the bright sun and blue sky.  We
walked fast to try to keep warm, but that just didn’t work. It was the kind of
numbing cold that makes you feel as if your face is broken. We went to Bob Slate’s
stationery shop, Wordsworth Books, and a used CD place, then had a late lunch at The
Skewers, a middle-eastern restaurant where we’ve eaten together before. After lunch
we took the subway into Boston proper, because we had tickets to see Coro Allegro that
day.
Coro
Allegro is a gay and lesbian chorus based in Boston. It's a chorus of professional
quality, although it is an amateur group. The program that day included a setting of poems
by Sappho (Van Ness), two Psalms (Ives), and a mass (Vierne). It was a fine mix of choral
styles, and the music was incredible. One of Shoshanna’s friends is a tenor in the
chorus, so she frequently attends their performances.
That day they were performing in the Church of the Covenant in downtown Boston.
The church is a nineteenth-century showplace in Gothic Revival style. Some of its
highlights include brightly-colored wall treatments in red, green, and blue, and Islamic
motifs throughout the sanctuary.  Best of all, almost every window in the church is an original
Tiffany stained glass window. (I have taken a few pictures but the ones from the church's site are much better than
mine.) Just being in the space was a great treat. Attending a concert there was even
better.
While I was at that concert I spent a lot
of time thinking about churches, and the role they've played in my life. I have a healthy
love of churches despite my disenchantment with religion and theism in general. I spent a
lot of my youth heavily involved with church youth groups and youth choirs. My best
friends in high school were either friends from church or band, and sometimes both.
For the first half of my life, I was what
you might call a sort of all-purpose protestant. My mother's family was Presbyterian, my
father's was Methodist and Baptist. I went at different times to all three of those
churches. Later, in college, I attended the Episcopal church for a time. I was christened
in the Methodist church as a baby, and later baptized in the Baptist church as a teenager.
When we lived overseas, my mother and sister and I attended the interdenominational
protestant services at the military base chapels.
But it wasn't just about going to church
every week (although I did that). I was read (and I loved) bible stories as a
child. I was part of a church handbell choir in England and another one in Georgia, years
later. For the first half of my life, or even longer, I was usually involved in a
religious youth group of some kind. In English school I attended two years of
"R.E." or Religious Education (in public schools, even) and daily
assemblies where we sang hymns and heard bible stories and mini-sermons.  In high school
I went Baptist music camp three times, and attended many, many retreats. I traveled to
Europe with my church youth choir and orchestra. Even in college, I was involved in the
Baptist Student Union for a year or so, and for two years helped to teach a pre-school
religious program at Wednesday night church suppers. (Incidentally, I was psyched just a
little while ago to learn that the only church I have ever been an honest-to-god member
of, First Baptist Church in Athens,
Georgia, recently severed
ties with the Southern Baptist Convention because of the SBC's conservative stance on,
oh, everything. I am so proud! Seriously!)
Along the way through my very protestant
early life, I also got to know some Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Zoroastrians, Hindus... but
not all that many. This was Georgia, remember. Still, I had a diverse enough circle of
friends to know that there were a lot of people with different views, and that religion
was an important part of many people's lives. And one of the most influential people in my
life, my great aunt Mamie, was a deeply religious person. She took religion very, very
seriously, and expected me to do the same.
So, it always amuses me when people
assume that because I'm an atheist now I don't know anything about
church or religion. I know a lot of bible stories. I know a lot of religious music. I
spent years and years of my life attending church in just about every form you can
imagine. I just don't happen to believe in a god.
It's hard to say what happened, exactly.
As a child, I had a very firm, unwavering belief in Jesus, God, and the Bible. I remember
crying, unconsolable, the first time I really understood what happened during the
crucifixion. The pain and humiliation of it just broke my heart.  But somewhere
along the way, I started learning other things. When I grew older, while I enjoyed the
beauty of the music and the feelings of belonging and companionship that church provided,
I never again felt a very strong personal relationship with a higher power. In fact, I was
pretty sure by the time I was in college that there wasn't any such thing as a deity. When
I would pray, I would feel like the biggest fake that ever lived. I would keep poking
around in my head saying to myself, "Am I doing this right? Is this what God is? Does
everyone feel this way when they pray?" For me prayer was a very self-conscious
activity. It certainly never felt natural, once I got past a certain age.
I also rebelled intellectually against
the idea of a cruel, intolerant god. Not to mention a heaven and a hell. It was very
difficult for me to imagine a god who would really have "chosen people" and turn
everyone else away. I mean, the Jews say they're still waiting for the messiah, and the
Christians say he's already come, right? How do you reconcile those things? I couldn't
believe GOD would be so small-minded as to say to all those millions of people,
"Well, sorry, the joke's on you. You should have been worshiping this other way all
those years. Too late now!" And then, kapow! Straight to hell!
Also, there was the whole science thing.
Now I am certainly no science whiz, but evolution and the Big Bang just made too much
sense to me to keep on believing in creation. Adam and Eve sound like fairy tale
characters to me, and they're just the beginning. Literally. And once I started
reading Greek drama and realized how many parallels there are between the Bible and
ancient literature, it became almost impossible for me to look at the Bible as anything
other than fiction.
Still, I would never have called myself
an atheist back then, in college. I just wasn't brought up to question my own religious
beliefs. I guess I thought everyone just played along, unless they wanted to stand
completely outside society. Strangely enough, I never worried about the whole morality
question. Lots of people think that without religion, everyone just goes around killing
each other. That never even crossed my mind, and now that I know people think that, I
think it's a bunch of bullshit. Honestly.  Most
species of animals don't have religion, yet almost all of them have a moral code that
allows their culture to function and thrive. I think the argument that we need religion to
keep us from hurting and cheating each other is frankly insulting to the human race.
Besides, look how many people die every day (and have died for thousands of years every
day) in the name of religion. From Northern Ireland to Israel/Palestine all the way back
to the Crusades and even further, people have killing other people in the name of God for
centuries. That's religion, folks.
So, around 10 years ago I had to come to
terms with the fact that what you call someone who feels this way is atheist.
Yes, atheist. Not agnostic -- I'm not saying "I don't know whether God
exists or not." And believe me, atheist was not a label I ever thought to
apply to myself. But what can I do? I believe what I believe. Or mabye I should say, I
don't believe what I don't believe. If, by the tiniest chance, I am wrong, I'll just have
to face the music. And hope that whatever god is "up there" really is a merciful
god, and not as egotistical as everyone seems to think (Well, you followed all my
rules, but you just didn't believe in ME. Too bad! Kapow!) Or else I'm just
screwed, I guess.
Still, sometimes I miss church. Having a
set of shared beliefs with other people is a very powerful thing. And sitting in the
Church of the Covenant a few weeks ago, I remembered how I love the beauty of the music,
and the peacefulness of the sanctuary. But I can't seem to go back to where I once was,
and I don't want to, either. I don't like the other side of church -- the lack of
inclusiveness, the blind belief in a "chosen people," the faith in the
supernatural. It's not for me, although I really don't grudge most of those who do embrace
it, either. I can't go there myself, but if you want to, be my guest. (I just wish
churches had to pay taxes like the rest of us.)
But I am also happy to say that in recent
years I have discovered a more spiritual side to my own existence. I don't really think of
it as my soul, I consider it my mind more than anything
else.  But I do believe that
there is something in each of us that is unique and special, something that we need to
feed with beauty and good works, and nurture with love and discipline. Finding this part
of myself has made me happy, and has helped me overcome some of the antipathy I once felt
towards religion.
Before it seems that this mind
I'm talking about is just another way to describe the soul, let me say that I don't think
this part of me is going to live forever -- I really believe that once you're dead, you're
just dead. But it is here now, and it's part of me, and it has something to
give the world. I am grateful for it, wherever it comes from, and I cherish it in the here
and now. And that is a lot more than many people do with their so-called
"souls."
I guess this is how I look at it: No, I
don't think God made the sky blue. I think the reason we see it as blue is
thoroughly explained by science: it's the result of light waves and prisms, water droplets
in the air. But the fact that it's explained and not a mystery doesn't diminish the
beauty, or even the miracle of it. I'm still grateful for that sky, every time I see it.
On a daily basis, I am astonished at what is in the world, and what we can learn and know.
I also believe that the things we don't understand yet have explanations as well, and
those explanations don't involve supernatural powers. But in my lifetime, I just want to
appreciate what is here, and make the most of the opportunities I encounter to make the
world better. I don't need a higher power telling me to do that. That's just what I have
to do. |
