Allow me to preface by saying that when I refer to “my family,” I am talking about the four people that live in my household. There are certainly folks in my broader family that feel differently than we do, and that’s OK. With a gun to my head, I could not even confirm to you if I was baptized or not. My birth parents did not attend church, or even mention it for that matter, so unless my grandmother had a hand in it, or it was done under duress due to familial pressure, my best guess would be that I was not. When I moved in with my new family, it became a thing. At the mere age of eight, I had to don a white dress, gloves, and veil and make my First Communion, looking for all the world like a child bride. My biggest objection, now that I am an adult, is that I had no earthly idea what I was doing or what it meant, only that I was told I had to do it. At fifteen, I was confirmed, again without really knowing what it meant.
In adulthood, my husband and I are fairly confident in our atheism, which means we don’t talk about it at home. But alas, our kids do not live in a bubble, even in Covid-era, and it has happened: one of them asked about it. When my oldest sleeps over at his best friend’s house on a Saturday night, he is inevitably deposited back home early on Sunday morning so that his hosts may attend church, so I was not altogether surprised when one day he asked, “How come we don’t go to church?” Since my kids’ favorite pastime is to ask me existential questions when I am on my way out the door and late for work, my answer was not as in-depth as I would have preferred. I told him that dad and I believe that we should be good people because it’s the right thing to do and not because we’re afraid of what might happen to us after we die if we are not. I explained that religion was complicated and messy and that we didn’t feel that it was fair to force things on children that they couldn’t possibly understand or wholeheartedly agree to without more life experience under their belts. I informed him that if he and/or his brother expressed interest when they were older, we would help educate them properly and even attend church with them. He of course replied with a typical ten-year-old “Nah, I’m good.” Well, what an awesome response for all my efforts at transparency, which now meant I was dangerously late for work. Even though I’m not a believer myself, I want my kids to always have an open mind, and forced myself to turn from the door I was halfway through to let him know that he might change his mind someday, that many people find comfort and belonging in the church. I happened to find those things in my friends, when they weren’t duct taping a Mad Dog to my hand, of course.
That was pretty much the end of it, so far anyway. I expect it will come up again and I vow to be supportive of their curiosity. The list of reasons that I can’t, in good conscience, participate in the institution of organized religion is too long, and I’ve seen too much of this world for it make any sense to me, but I appreciate that many others, people who I love and respect, feel differently. I will happily sit in church for a loved one’s funeral or the Christening of a dear friends’ beautiful child. I will always be respectful and kind, but I don’t buy any of it, not even for a second. Growing up, the most devout Catholics I knew, even within our own family, were the worst humans I’ve ever come across, unwilling to lift a finger to help anyone if it did not directly benefit them. Sure, some of them were kind, but I could never get past the hypocrisy. Now, having seen much more of the world, I see it even more. Christians, so intent on stopping abortions because of the sanctity of life, do not seem to care one iota about the life of the mother, who is already a fully-formed human being, potentially with other children who love and rely on her. These same people vote for a man whose singular goal is to strip people of healthcare, with no plan to replace it. Who’s life is sacred, then? I’m confused. They vote for someone who has separated upwards of a thousand children from their parents at the border. Family values much? Right in this moment, I am seeing religion as a farce, something people fall back on to justify their awful behavior because, I don’t know Jesus personally, but I’m sure he would not consider our current leader to be a good human. Unless adultery and greed suddenly fell off the list of Commandments that I had shoved down my throat.
So, no, my family doesn’t go to church. But I’ve watched my son hand a homeless man the last dollar in his pocket. I’ve watched him reach out a hand and help his fallen teammate on the ground. I’ve seen him help a smaller child who was struggling to reach something up high. I’ve witnessed both of them donate their allowance to the SPCA because they are both animal lovers. They willingly buy (with their own money) and give toys every Christmas to children in need. They assist in getting food to our community members who need it. My boys happily march with me in support of women’s rights, black lives, and gay pride, dressing in full rainbow without a care to what their friends will think. In turn, they have seen their dad come home with an entire bed strapped to the top of his car to give to a needy child who had been sleeping on the floor. They have been with us when we’ve given up entire weekends to help the wonderful kids and adults participating in The Special Olympics. My boys have seen their mom drive an hour to pick up a friend being abused by her boyfriend and give her safe place to stay and a hot meal. I’m not looking for a pat on the back for any of this, I am simply trying to make a point: we are raising good humans, and that is all that matters to me. The rest we can figure out later. In this house, we put our money where our mouth is.
Let's Be Dramatic 