You’ve probably heard the old saying “everyone is born an atheist; we have to be taught religion”. In my case, that might actually be true.
Even at a
young age, doubting the absoluteness of my religion, Mormonism, came quite
naturally to me.
I can
vividly recall, at age seven, sitting in Primary with the rest of my peers
discussing the Plan of Salvation. More often than not, I found myself
disengaged with boredom. However, on this particular day I was open to the
discussion. I decided to raise my hand. When my teacher called on me, words poured
from my mouth. I thoroughly articulated the entire Plan of Salvation with
perfection and ended confidently with, “Yep, and that’s how we can live with
God again. Well, that’s the story, but I don’t believe all that crap.”
The word crap resonated in the air with a
profound discomfiture. We all sat in a pit of silence, as my poor Primary
teacher stared at me in bewilderment like I was a small reincarnated minion of
the anti-Christ. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, but that was certainly
the impression.
I assure you
I wasn’t a minion of the anti-Christ. She simply didn’t understand I grew up in
a home where we could talk about anything. We didn’t have taboo topics. It was perfectly
acceptable to discuss anything we wanted and even decent without being rejected.
No matter what opinions we held we still loved one another and found
reconciliation. It never occurred to me the rest of Mormonism functioned
differently.
However, in
the awkward silence of Sunday school it was very clear I said something
iniquitous. My young mind tried to make sense of the social norm I disrupted.
Was my teacher upset I said crap or that
I didn’t believe?
At the end
of Church, my mother came from the Relief Society room to pick me up. My
Primary teacher pulled her aside with serious concern and told my mother what I
had said during Sunday school. I remember looking up at them from an awkward
subordinate angle, awaiting my mother’s response.
After my
Primary teacher finished speaking, my mother looked down at me as if she was
benevolently gazing upon an adorable child who just got caught with her hand in
the cookie jar. She smiled and laughed while holding my hand and said, “Oh
Blaire, what are we going to do with you? Let’s go home.”
And that was
the final word of the matter. She never brought it up again.
I learned
three valuable lessons that day. First, for some strange reason, it is unacceptable
to publicly express doubt or descent in Mormonism as it can result in social
alienation. Second, regardless of what I said or believed, my mother would
always love me. Instead of shaming, shunning or lecturing me, she simply loved
me. Third, perhaps I should consider eliminating the word crap from my vocabulary.
. . .
More
recently, I sat next to my seven-year-old son during sacrament meeting. One of
his Primary peers stood at the podium and bore their testimony beginning with
the common phrase, “I know the Church is true”. Immediately following the phrase,
my son abruptly stood up from the pew, his book and pencils falling to the
floor while he confidently stated, “That’s not true! That’s not what God told
me.”
Wide-eyed
congregants stared at my son like he was a small reincarnated minion of the
anti-Christ. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, but that was certainly the
impression. Maybe our resemblance is genetic. In either case, I didn’t take the
time to evaluate the expressions of onlookers as I quickly ushered my son into
the foyer.
I’ll admit I
was slightly embarrassed by the outburst, but I also couldn’t help the smile
creeping across my face. I’m sure my expression was similar to my mother’s. I
loved my son, his questions and his concerns, just as my mother loved me, and
nothing he believed or didn’t believe was going to change how much I loved and
accepted him—Mormon, Buddhist, Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist or
anywhere in between—my love and acceptance would not be limited to any label of
his choosing.
My son, like
so many of us, is simply seeking meaning, understanding, and value in our brief
existence. Would his explanation be any more accurate than mine? I didn’t know,
but I was more than willing to listen.
. . .
I’ve learned
the most important concepts of love, truth, and reconciliation in Primary, and
thanks to my mother’s example, I understood what it meant to be a disciple of
Christ.
It seems odd
how quickly Christians forget one of, if not, the most important commandment
Jesus exemplified: as
I have loved you, love one another. Jesus exuded this radical love repeatedly.
When he spoke to the woman taken in adultery did he shame her, excommunicate
her, or shun her? The customary punishment for a woman committing adultery was
to stone her, but what did Jesus do? He said, “Neither do I
condemn thee.” He walked among the meek, poor and lowly. He healed,
consoled and comforted. He didn’t reject the doubting man who said, “Help thou mine
unbelief.”
How do we
love one another? How do we show love to those in other religious traditions? How
do we love atheists? How do we love the child who simply states, I don’t believe all that crap? I’m
confident in saying that if we are going to make any significant progress we’re
going to have to learn how to work together without condemnation or ridicule.
As
Christians, too often we find ourselves dependant on our religion for our
salvation—uselessly waiting for prayers to be answered, relying on promises to
be fulfilled while we idly sit on prideful thrones, all the while depending
upon the legitimacy of ancient texts to dictate how we live. Have we stopped to
consider the hindrances of having a religious perspective filled with eternal
promises?
If we live
under the premise that there is nothing beyond this existence, no God, it
really puts into perspective our mortal priorities. When our time becomes
finite, how will we choose to use it? When a lifetime has limits, how will we
push those limits? There’s no need to waste time constantly trying to reconcile
the cognitive dissonance that often accompanies religion when we become
creators of our own destiny. Motivation and altruism can be self-emanate.
On the other
hand, have we stopped to consider the benefits of having a religious
perspective filled with eternal promises? God has commanded us to be creators
of our own destiny. Religion inspires and motivates. We shouldn’t underestimate
the power of a thoughtful narrative—the power to immerse ourselves in a
life-changing paradigm shift that allows a person to perceive themselves as one
with the divine, as children of God. If faith without works is dead then
God has commanded us to act and to keep searching for the truths of our
existence, not just through our faith, but also with our works. Renowned scientist
and Mormon Henry Eyring stated, “In this Church you have only to believe the
truth. Find out what the truth is.” (Faith of a Scientist, pg. 41)
Think of the
benefits of applying religion as an active enhancement to our righteous
endeavors rather than a set of irrational parameters to define an intelligence we
clearly do not comprehend.
I love my atheist family members just as I love my believing family members. Believers and atheists alike can not only coexist, but can also become co-creators of our salvation when we transcend our differences in our common goal to radically improve humanity. Whether you believe it to be the will of God, the work of Christ, or the altruistic responsibility of humanity, I’ll take that journey with you.
*Published at The Transfigurist on Thursday, August 20, 2015
I love my atheist family members just as I love my believing family members. Believers and atheists alike can not only coexist, but can also become co-creators of our salvation when we transcend our differences in our common goal to radically improve humanity. Whether you believe it to be the will of God, the work of Christ, or the altruistic responsibility of humanity, I’ll take that journey with you.
*Published at The Transfigurist on Thursday, August 20, 2015
