Living Unplugged

A recent post by my friend at Sim Church got me to thinking about living unplugged.

It's been about 9 months since I've been in a church service, about two years since I've been in a service I wasn't preaching. My wife doesn't care about going either. I don't feel guilty at all. I feel free to be honest. I mostly don't know how to respond to comments and questions that come up in conversation regarding faith. I don't want to be disrespectful, so I nod and shift to another topic. Will Campbell said, "Beliefs are what people are hung up on, not ethics or morals. If you don't believe a certain way, then the people in that religion will clean you out." I don't think most people I know in the South are ready for this discussion.

I don't feel my kids are missing out on their core moral development because they're not listening to flannel board stories and doing color sheets in a Sunday School class somewhere. Still, they have questions. They have a natural desire to wonder. I've been reflecting on how I grew up in church and how I've seen other children come up in church. There's an overall conditioning process at work, albeit subtle. I'm not sure I want my kids brainwashed by somebody.

I suppose some "dyed in the wool" fundamentalist is reading this and aghast that my children will die and go to hell if they don't ask Jesus into their hearts. I've thought about that a lot. I've had a hard time buying the whole spin on eternity for a long time. If you ask me to imagine God, a supreme being of the universes, burning my kids in hell for all eternity because they told a lie, were mean, or stole a friend's toy and didn't subscribe to a certain religious tenet, you need therapy.

Micael Ledwith said our culture often views God as sitting up somewhere "registering the scores on his laptop as to whether we perform according to his designs or whether we're offending him, as it's put, an absolutely outrageous idea. How could we offend God? How could it matter so much to him? How could it, above all, matter that he would find it so serious a situation that he could conform us to an eternity of suffering? These are bizarre ideas."

So do we haul our kids to church to make sure they get the same "rearing" that we did, even if we have since rejected it, just to "be sure?" Is that what Christianity is, an insurance policy? Got to make sure everybody's covered, just in case they're right and we're wrong? Nada.

I think it's natural to have an epiphany moment in life, but I don't think it has to take the form of "getting saved," walking the aisle, and getting baptized. I think we don't know how to react to newfound awareness or enlightenment other than to do whatever someone tells us to in those critical and vulnerable times in our lives. I want to be there in those moments in the lives of my children to answer their questions honestly, being sure to say that I don't know when I don't. I want them to nurture a sense of wonder, belonging, and grattitude that will stay with them no matter which path they take. Any religion that makes people feel less than they really are is worthless in my opinion.

So the question is rightly asked by my friend. What do we do now? Do you run to the nearest church on Sunday morning, throw yourself on the altar in a uncontrolable sobbing confession, and ask the church to embrace you and nurse you back to faith? Do you sneak in the back pew and check the attendance box for the week, even though you can't buy what they're selling? I just can't do it. I'm not saying I won't go to church again. I've been talking about a few churches I'd like to visit, mostly other denominations that I'm not familiar with, and when I go, I'll go with an open mind and listen respectfully. Maybe there will be something I can grab hold to and assimilate. Maybe there won't. But I refuse to get in line for the weekly hen-pecking.