Forgiving God – Losing my religion
A few year ago, a colleague asked me what I believed about creation, and I gave my standard answer about how it all comes down to whether or not you believe that someone was in control of the process or not, the “how” explained or still being explained slowly and surely by science. She was not that convinced and asked a number of questions which I couldn’t really answer. Anyway, it got me thinking and so I started doing some research, watched a few video discussions on “creative design” and other related subjects. All pretty interesting, and eventually this led me to the book The God delusion by Richard Dawkins. Even more interesting than the content of the book, was how the voices came pouring into my head,
“If you read this, bad things are going to happen to you”
I was genuinly scared of reading it, but I did read it, and soon after that, I also read God is not great by Christopher Hichens and I didn’t die or get sick, nor if I am truly honest, did it reveal anything new to me either. I don’t think I ever honestly believed (as an adult) in the many of the bible stories or claims, it’s just that through indoctrination from childhood, I was somehow incapable of questioning things written in the bible. Now I allowed myself to think clearly, and this act pried a small crack in the wall of my faith, a faith that previously had magically transformed fable and fallacy into an unquestionable (as in not allowed to be questioned) reality. I really believe that a part of my reasoning had been damaged, to the extent that I could believe what no rational person ever could, without undergoing some level of indoctrination, regardless of whether the intention was good or bad, in this case, good.
I can imagine a woman finding out that her husband has been cheating on her for years, suddenly can see the proof staring at her from so many small incidents, now as obvious as if they were done completely in the open. When looking at each of the incidents through “faith”, they can all be explained rationally, but once faith is gone, the only thing left, is the stark reality that her husband is a cheat, there relationship a sham.
This is very much my own experience of my deconversion process. The crack grew larger, until I was finally able to see clearly, for the first time, yes, the first time. Now, I am finally free to shout out, if it is so, that the emperor has no clothes. I don’t feel lost or lonelier than I did before, I don’t feel that I have cast off even the slightest moral restraints, or that I love any less or feel any less compassion for people. I do feel a little silly.
I’m sure that many would say that I have been negatively influenced by the books I have read or the teachings of people like Dawkins or Hichens, but the interesting thing is that it was really thinking back on two incidents that finally brought the reality home to me, that exposed the truth (as I now see it) and they had nothing to do with the origin of the universe, history of natural selection or even the every convincing augments of how discovery has slowly reduced (and still is) the number of aspects of life that could always only be explained by a supernatural power.
Both incidents occurred when I was a young boy growing up under the weight of church life. As a parent myself, I find that I am able to look back on myself as a child and see myself from the perspective of a father looking at his own son.
The first incident occurred during the years of sitting in the pews at the Assemblies Of God church at Harfield road when I must have been about 8 or 10 years old.
Unknown to both me and my parents at the time, I had developed a defect at birth, which made it almost impossible for me to sit still for any period of time without the gradual buildup of a dull pain in my groin. As a 10-year-old, I didn’t understand what was happening, and was far too embarrassed to discuss it with my parents, so I turned to god, having been taught how god loves us all, and that he even knows how many hairs we have on our head. How I prayed, at church, at night alone in bed, at school, how I asked forgiveness, thinking that I must have too much sin in me for god to listen. Yet, even within that spiritually saturated environment of Sunday morning church, nothing happened, so I suffered on. At school it was easier as I could wriggle around with just a hiding as side effect at times, and at night I would rock back and forward until I fell asleep. In church however, sitting in the front row and under the watchful eye of the congregation, I was at the full mercy of the pain. I discovered that if I pinched myself really hard then the pain would be slightly diverted, but mostly, I just went silently mad.
As a father, mortal and imperfect as I am, I can clearly see and his pain, fear and desperation, and on the other hand there is no questioning the innocent faith of a child, his pureness of heart and absolute trust in a god he was taught loved him better and more perfectly than any earthly father ever could. So then I thought how it is possible for God to be so uncaring. Of course, now I understand that it was not so at all, it was just that he never actually existed. This is a very good thing, for if he were real, then the implications of his lack of action, care or compassion, given his all-knowing and all-powerful nature would go well beyond any level of child abuse capable of any human father.
30 years later the problem was diagnosed and operated on, finally solving the riddle of the pain that followed me through my life.
The second incident was when I was a bit older, around 15 years old. My best friend had suffered his entire life from a speech impediment. I longed for a way to help him and remembered from church, the story of the lady who touched the hem of Jesus garment and how he healed her because of her faith. I knew that I had at least as much faith as that lady, probably more. So for two nights I prayed for him to be healed, I even fasted, at school only though as I didn’t want to tell my folks. Based on the words in the bible and the preaching and teachings I had been exposed to, I absolutely believed that he would be healed. I remember standing by the phone and having one last prayer before calling him, fully expecting to hear that he had been healed. Of course, no such thing happened.
If this was not a motive that was pure, or a purpose that was good, or a faith that was at least as big as a mustard seed, or the prayer of a righteous boy, then what could every really be on this earth? I guess looking back, I just feel like a bit of an idiot.
So with these 2 personal incidents, and my own human instincts as a father, I don’t need to go as far as proving evolution or sprouting clever philosophy to understand the truth, that god does not, could not, have existed.
Now that I am free to see clearly, without faith, without the wages of sin hanging around my neck, without the words of the prophets, without the rewards of heaven, without the loving voices of my mom dad and all the people in the congregation and the music groups and communion and christian academics and apologists, when I look at the face of god in this bare light, with the veil of faith set behind me, there is only an ancient crumbling statue, a stone relic from thousands of years ago, pointing to a time of ignorance and superstition, fable and fear.
This stone, patched and weary of all the modern-day plasterers, builders and painters, desperately trying to keep it from crumbling further, changing a doctrine here, updating scripture, arguing away the parts of the gospel that offend, but succeeding only in maintaining a mere silhouette when viewed through the veil I have just parted.
There can be no free will when the alternative is everlasting damnation, there can be no freedom while your thoughts are being constantly monitored, recorded for judgement day, there can be no unconditional love, when the wages of not loving, are eternal damnation and death.
Now, finally, there is no more condemnation
Now, I am no longer a slave
Now, the curse of original sin has been broken
Now, the chains of sin and death have been shattered
Now, the scales have fallen from my eyes
Now I can see the light
Now I am finally free!
It’s not, as Christopher Hitchens concludes, that god is not great, its simply that god is not, and within that understanding, it’s not so difficult to say:
“God, I forgive you”.