What about the others?

What about the others?

A great deal is made mention of those who attend Church on a Sunday or Synagogue on a Friday or anywhere else deemed a place of worship on a particular day or evening.  Ask any group of ten or more about their belief systems and you are likely to come up with an array of answers from those who attend on a regular basis to those who only visit such places on high days and holidays or holy days, which is where that word stems from, of course. Now there is a plethora of holidays celebrated by taking the day off work to commemorate a revered dead leader or late great statesman. Not too much to do with any kind of organized religious fervor or intent. There are days to celebrate the birth of a child, the death of the same one, and the rise of those who built our nation. 

There are days off in honor of those who served; those who died doing so, an ode to work and an homage to the flag. All good excuses to break out the hot dogs, fire up the grill and drink beer. But their intent does seem to have strayed a tad from the original idea of the holiday. How many, for example visit a veteran’s grave on Memorial Day or undertake much more than attendance at a parade on Independence Day? We are endowed by our forebears with these inalienable rights, the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness, the same goes for the right to worship. There does not appear to be a populist right however, not to. It’s interesting to think about the conscious choice not to belong to any kind of organized religious institution and what that means in a society which flouts the opposing need to do so. Any time it is mentioned or written about a person of interest, that they appear not to have an attachment thereto, there also arises certain, albeit unspoken, suspicion about them. Why is it then that a Nation whose foundation was built on the rights of the individual still has such a hang up about those who choose not to choose? Not to choose to belong to any one particular religious entity. Why is it suspect to simply be a person who plots their own course, one who isn’t part of a sect, one who can still be a great leader an inspiration by any standard to all who encounter him. I don’t go to church any more. We used to go, I used to drag the children, clean but unwilling to a place of worship, where I thought, mistakenly, that they should be led to worship, shown its example then allowed to make a decision of their own. Thus far none of them has willingly returned but for our eldest who has found a pleasant community where she too takes her clean and shiny children with the same aim in mind. 

But it’s hard to actually tell others that you don’t belong to or attend a place of organized worship. Once you do, you’ve set yourself up to be labeled a non believer, an atheist or even an anti-christian. Not so. I just don’t feel the need for an intermediary, a uniformed go between to set me on a path of communication to our dear lord. I think she hears and sees me without a man in a dress and a gold lame hat telling her what I’m up to. Every time I have joined a church there has been some sort of contretemps involving money and the need for more, membership and the need for more to make the money and the never ending asking. None of which has ever made me feel closer to my maker, or better attuned to his presence or better able to evangelize upon her behalf. You’ll note I am mixing gender terms here because I don’t pretend to know whether the almighty is in the male or female form. I tend to think female when I look at all the good stuff; nature, children, roasted vegetables. But then definitely male for things like war, plague, pestilence and republicans!

I do pray. Quite well actually, but usually only in the form of thanksgiving. I don’t do much asking, I think if there is a god to whom all these requests are filtered, he’s pretty tied up without the whining of me about winning the power ball or not having rain on Sarah’s wedding day. I said a big hearty thanks when we (humankind that is) discovered Gleevec and when healthy babies showed up against all the odds. But mostly I look out on the magnificence  that surrounds us and the life I have and just say thank you I really appreciate it all. Nice work. When I am traveling though and I see the incredible buildings; cathedrals and chapels alike I am overwhelmed at the feats of grandiosity to which man has gone to say a more elaborate thank you. I look at the labour and the cost, the robes, shoes, hats, ceilings and artwork, the colossal solid gold things and wonder what they have to do with saying thanks. I wonder why we have so many men following rules they wrote in his name about what women can and cannot do with their bodies. I wonder about the wars we have fought over the ideology espoused in his name that have slaughtered, butchered, raped and maimed billions in his name. I wonder how that thanks him. I always liked, but never wore, those bracelets that said WWJD; what would Jesus do? Most of the time I think he’d be embarrassed and really cross with us for getting it so wrong when he made it so easy for us not to.