Finding something in nothing (Or: A strange and slow crisis of faith)

By Michael Rivera - Own work
CC BY-SA 4.0

My mother was visiting my house the other day (a rare occurrence these days, as she doesn't like driving at night) and she picked up a few of the books I've been reading lately.

"If I didn't know any better," she said, "I'd think you were turning unto a Buddhist."
"I'm starting to think that myself," I replied.

A little over a year ago I was sitting in a Thai restaurant (where all good life-changing moments happen) and reading the decorations on the wall while waiting for the food to come. I noticed how similar the statements attributed to the Buddha were to things said by Jesus and/or Solomon, and it suddenly occurred to me that I knew absolutely nothing about Buddhism.

All I knew was a throwaway line handed to me by a teacher at the church-run Christian school I went to - that Buddhists worship "Nothing".

Now, I realised ages ago that the kind of Christianity that was on display in that particular denomination wasn't for me. The more closely I looked at it, the more I felt that it was propelled by wilful ignorance and arrogance instead of openness and a desire to learn and grow. Now, this denomination may be exactly what someone else needs in their spiritual walk, but I felt like I was constantly finding things I wanted to talk about that were on some sort of list of things that I shouldn't want to talk about if I was a "good Christian". Stick to the party line, and don't ask questions.

What I hated most about that denomination was the fact that they kept saying "oh, we're not religious, we just have faith" - which sounds great, but was a load of crap. They were totally religious - and there was nothing wrong with that - religion is a framework that we use to build a community of faith. They just wanted to feel somehow superior to other denominations, so they tried to use "religion" as a way of telling the difference between "us" and "them" - and this was one of many things you weren't supposed to call them out on, even though it would have made us all better Christians if we were called out on it and became more self-aware.

I was raised into this version of Christianity, but I didn't belong in it. I'd felt that even as I was getting more and more involved in the church and youth group. Eventually, I just had to leave. I found Anglicanism, and that kept me in the Christian church. It was, basically, as far away as I could get from the denomination I had left without becoming Orthodox or Catholic. I loved it. I was the drink of water I needed after feeling like I was drowning in sand in my old church. I even considered becoming a priest at one point... only there were a few things that I really didn't agree with (like baptising infants), and I found myself confronted by a rather important question:

Can you be a member of a particular faith if you don't believe in what members of this faith are supposed to believe in?

And then there's a little issue that I noticed some time ago: I actually don't buy the afterlife as Christianity describes it. I've never been interested in heaven - and I've never heard a description of it that makes me think "oh, that's the point - I can get behind that." This whole idea that you live an incredibly short life in this plane of existence in order to work out what you are going to be doing for the rest of all eternity sounds like crap. It doesn't sit comfortably with me and I do not like it at all. If you gave me the choice of possible after-life options, I'd take another short-term option, followed by another, if that's okay. One short life followed by *forever* is not something I actually want.

I know that what I want and reality are not the same thing, but the afterlife is something you have to take on faith. Having faith in something you don't actually want to believe in is a bit odd, when you think about it.

I've also been noticing that a lot of the concepts and teachings I associate with "Christianity" weren't actually taught by Jesus. They've been "extrapolated" over the centuries, and apart from the Quakers, there aren't that many people saying "hang on, let's get back to basics, shall we?"

And then there's that moment when I was reading a passage in the Old Testament, thinking about how it applied to my spiritual walk (which is what I do - or rather, did), and an epiphany hit me. I realised as plain as day that it wasn't written for me. It was written about some ancient Israeli dude. I am not an ancient Israeli dude. I can learn from what this ancient Israeli dude experienced, if there is something to learn from it, but there is no *good* reason for why I should be learning from his experiences more than anyone else's.

I've been holding on to Christianity because I cannot fathom a universe without God, and Christianity is the way I've come to know God and think about him. But I feel like I'm holding onto the bar of one of those playground roundabouts - like it's actually flinging me off, and the more I look at Christianity, Christians and the Bible, no matter how much I want to move towards the centre, I'm actually finding myself closer and closer to the edge.

I started reading about Buddhism to fill a gap in my knowledge, but I'm at a point that I have to admit I'm being won over. I've just read so many things in either the sayings attributed to the Buddha or the writings of other Buddhist monks and teachers that made me say "Yes! Exactly! That makes so much sense!" or "Oh, man, I needed to hear that - if I'd heard it back when I was younger it would have made a world of difference."

When I was a teenager and in my early 20s, I struggled with bouts of depression. Not as severe as others - I think "mild to moderate" is the term - but they were still rather devastating at the time. Looking back on it now, I realise that the things that helped me deal with that are actually part of the Buddhist way of approaching life, and if I had known more about this approach to mental health at the time it would have helped me immensely.

The theology of the various streams of Buddhism aren't doing anything for me, but the philosophy, the world view and the approach to being a human being in this life are ticking a lot of boxes. Sometimes I never even knew the box was there (and empty) until it was ticked. I'm arguing with Buddhism a lot. I'll read something and think "well, that's complete nonsense". But the beauty of Buddhism is that you're not supposed to swallow it hook-line-and-sinker. You're supposed to question it, challenge it and take what is wholesome and leave the rest (something that is actively discouraged in most versions of Christianity, as I've encountered it).

And I've often found that the reason why I've disagreed with something I've read is because I'm coming at it from a particular angle and interpreting it a particular way. When I look at it from a different perspective, or change my reference points, it gives me a lot to think about. I feel like, for the first time in a very long time, I'm actually growing.

But I still hold to the teachings of Jesus (which, believe it or not, are not incompatible with Buddhism as a philosophy) and I still hold to God - I still cannot fathom a universe without "My Father In Heaven", if you know what I mean?

So I've been having an incredibly protracted crisis of faith. It has accelerated in recent years, but it has been going on for a very long time, when I think about it. I no longer feel entirely comfortable calling myself a Christian (even though I kind of still am) as I have one foot out the door and the rest of me is facing that direction (some days I barely have one foot in the door), and I'm not yet comfortable calling myself a Buddhist (but, man, I'm not far off).

The really annoying thing is that the priest at my church keeps coming back to sermons about making decisions and commitments to your faith ("choose you this day, whom you will serve" and all that), and I really wish she'd stop. I don't want to stop attending church because I feel like it's going to be really hard to rebuild my relationship with Christianity if I'm not spending quality time with it, but right now I'm at a point in my life where if you say "choose one", I'm really not sure which one I'd choose... but I have my suspicions.

Never on a (Easter) Sunday

By Bfpage (Own work)
[CC BY-SA 4.0],
via Wikimedia Commons

I hate going to church on the "big" holy days, like Easter and Christmas.

Well, to be precise, I hate going to my church on these days. And it's all because of those "welcoming" Sunday morning people.

I go to the evening service at my church (which is on a Saturday afternoon, because of historical reasons which are too silly - and slightly depressing - to go into here). I've been going to this service regularly for at least 5-6 years now. Before that, I attended several other services at the same church irregularly for a few years.

All told, I've been going to this church for almost 10 years - just not the Sunday morning service.

Weekend mornings and I don't get along. I work on a sleep deficit for most of the week, and I try to make up for that on the weekends. I can try to pull myself out of bed to attend something occasionally, but if I dare try to make a regular habit of it I start falling apart at the seems out of sheer exhaustion. So I stop doing it.

As a result, I don't go to church on Sunday mornings, but I force myself to make an occasional exception for "special events" - like Easter and Christmas. I can manage it for a couple of times a year, just not every week.

However, Easter and Christmas, being morning services, are pretty much the domain of the Sunday morning crowd. This isn't a problem - or at least, it shouldn't be. It should be a wonderful time of communing with the other members of my parish who aren't part of my regular congregation. A time where I can say "hi" to people I rarely see and bask in the togetherness that the season(s) bring(s).

Instead, without fail, someone from the Sunday morning crowd will take it upon themselves to "welcome" me to the church, as if I'm a passing stranger or a "Christmas Christian". There's nothing quite like being welcomed to make you feel like a stranger.

When I tell them I go to the Saturday afternoon service, this strange look comes over their face, as if they're completely stumped now. They were all ready to try to make me feel welcome to the church, being the complete stranger that I am, but now they don't know what to do with me.

Some of them keep on trying to act as if I might start coming to the morning service if they're just welcoming enough (like the other services don't count). Others say something like "Oh, well good to see you," and mutter something that barely passes as a conversation before they go to find a "real" stranger to welcome.

I hate it. This is my church, dangit - I shouldn't feel like a stranger. It's odd and disconcerting, and it has reached the point where I don't feel comfortable going to any service where the Sunday morning crowd are going to be there feeling all proprietorial. "Hi there, person I only see at Christmas, you are clearly someone who needs to be encouraged to come back to church, let me be the one who encourages you!"

No, go away.

There's every chance I've been going to this church longer than you have. Welcome me as a cousin you rarely see, not as a stranger to the family.

Last year, I even tried to shake things up by doing one of the readings at the Christmas morning service - surely it would look like I come to this church regularly if I'm up there reading a reading like I do it all the time (and I do, actually)? Nope. People still tried to engage me in the kind of polite conversation that is reserved for guests and strangers. "Thanks for doing us a favour, stranger" seemed to be the order of the day.

So, this year I'm going to do something different, and avoid my church on Easter and Christmas and go to a different church instead. If I'm going to be made to feel like a strange visitor, then I may as well be visiting a strange church.