favoritebean_writes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
favoritebean_writes) wrote2018-10-13 11:59 pm
favoritebean_writes) wrote2018-10-13 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
The Internal Debate
“I don’t believe in God,” Cynthia said abruptly. I was telling her about the ‘good news’ I had been told at church, about how Jesus had died to save us from our sins. Her declaration stopped me cold.
“Why not?” I asked. I wasn’t prepared for this response. I wanted to cry. Cynthia was my new best friend since moving to Silver Lake. On the first day of fourth grade, we became fast friends, Cynthia and I. She was very smart, and kind, and I had never encountered anyone like her my age. Truthfully, I didn’t have friends outside of church. Cynthia was my first, and I was ecstatic. Yet her revelation turned my view upside down.
As long as I could remember, I had always believed in the power of God’s love and strength. Some days, it was my faith in God that kept me going, because it was instilled in me, and I had no friends at school. When Dad got sick, I believed that faith in God was all I had. It’s difficult to watch a parent die.
As I watched my father while he lay dying the summer before I pleaded to God for answers. Each time I prayed, I asked for Dad to live, and for Mom not to be so sad. My mother always put on her best face, and assured me that God would answer in his time. Dad died that August, and it was my first and only answer from God.
Cancer was a costly disease. Treatment was so costly, that we had to sell our house and find an apartment. We found one twenty miles away. Silver Lake was quite different from Arcadia, older, condensed, and gritty. Our Sunset Boulevard was not the glamorous street that you saw in Hollywood movies. That was nearly ten miles away, and it was still gritty even there.
Still, I believed that my faith was solid, until Cynthia cut me off. I felt very sure in my core beliefs that God was all that I needed. Having my new best friend dismiss my beliefs with her own stung.
“I have never believed in God,” she answered. “God has never done anything for me, not that I didn’t try to believe once.” She shrugged. Cynthia was born with only one arm. Simply using a prosthetic wasn't’ feasible. Prosthetics in the early 1990s were either clunky or for cosmetic use. They were also very expensive, so she went without.
“What do you believe then?” I finally asked. I was too young to consider that my staunch beliefs were a square peg, not fit for round holes. I was too panicked at the thought of losing my new best friend over faith. I tried not to be offended by what Cynthia said. Then I looked at where her right arm would be, and the realization hit me that she had good reason for her non-belief.
“I don’t believe in any sort of thing like that. I have myself, and I have hope that someday, science will make a breakthrough for amputees like me. Maybe I’ll be the one to make that breakthrough! I guess I believe in myself, because in the end, that is all I have to rely on.”
“Lizzie, time for dinner!” My mom called. It was a Sunday, and we ate dinner early so that we could go to church for evening services. I waved good-bye to Cynthia, and promised we’d walk to school in the morning.
“Sure, see you tomorrow.” Cynthia said, before she turned to head back to her apartment across the street.
I did not tell my mom about Cynthia’s revelation, or my now budding questions about God. As the weeks progressed, I continued to think quietly about what Cynthia said. She continued to be the kind person I knew before, and I could not find fault with her. Yet at church, I would feel guilty for associating with my best friend.
According to the beliefs of my church, associating with an atheist was a deal breaker. As born again Christians, we were tasked with either shunning someone who denied God, wishing them luck when the end of times came. Or we could fight to save them from “eternal death.”
“But why would you believe in something that never had your back in the first place?” My internal thoughts argued. “Not to mention, when it is someone like Cynthia, who has good reason not to believe? You know, your best friend?”
Doubts began to fracture my foundation. “Not only Cynthia, but Dad!” my mind would argue. “Dad was a good man, and God didn’t lift a finger to save him! We lost our house trying to save him!” The thoughts would swirl until a fog of sadness descended upon me. I was unable to lift it.
***
A month later, my older sister Linnea and I were in the car. Linnea was tasked with taking me to the dentist for a check up after school one afternoon, seemed to pick up on my thoughts. I figured she was too engrossed in living the high school life to care one way or the other about what her ten-year-old sister had to think.
“How are you feeling?” She asked, as she turned our car right onto Sunset Boulevard. “You’ve been acting preoccupied lately. Moving right after dad died was a bit unsettling, eh?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly, “Other things too.”
Before cancer, Dad had taken mom, Linnea and I to church every Sunday morning, evening and Wednesday night. When he was diagnosed with cancer, it was so far advanced that we had to stop going for a while. Part of me felt that God was mad at us for not going to church then, maybe that’s why Dad died. Sure we resumed going, and the church welcomed us back with smiles and open arms. But then there was Cynthia, who seemed more real to me than the congregants at church. A church, I might add, that had doomed Cynthia to hell. Despite her lack of faith, she was persistent in becoming the best person she could be. Would God punish me for befriending someone so faithless?
“Do you believe in God, Linnea?” I asked finally.
Linnea gave a loud snort. “Is this what’s bugging you? Fine. I’ll answer. Can you keep a secret, Lizzie?” she asked after a moment.
“Sure,” I said.
“I don’t know anymore. Seems like our diligence did nothing to save Dad, did it?” Linnea pulled up to the red light, then she looked over to me. “Actually, I guess it’s not even a secret. I don’t care if you tell Mom, but I think God is something we create to hold ourselves together. I’m sure Mom will think I’m going to Hell for this, but you know what? Living without Dad has been hell. Living in this stupid apartment in Silver Lake is hell. Having to leave friends behind because cancer ate our finances, and we had to sell the house in Arcadia is HELL! I don’t think the ‘hell’ they preach about will be that much worse.”
The light turned green, and Linnea revved the engine. We peeled out of the intersection, squealing the tires.
“Cynthia doesn’t believe in God,” I said quietly. “I can’t argue why she should. I’m sure Mom would just mention Job or Jonah, and how we are far more lucky than they were.”
“Or Jesus,” Linnea said. She slowed the car down, and the turn signal clicked in steady rhythm. “Don’t forget Jesus, he died for us, I’m so sure.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to tell Cynthia about Job, Jonah or Jesus. I don’t think she’d listen anyway, I mean, it all happened thousands of years ago. We have antibiotics now and cars, and – and-“
“It’s not our responsibility to create idols or God for others. I’m not even sure what we’re supposed to save others from.” Linnea turned left into the parking lot, and found a space for our car before speaking again.
“Lizzie,” she said finally, “You’re ten. I’m sixteen. Let me give you some advice. What you believe will differ from what others believe. Despite whatever the pastor of the week says, I believe we need to find our own way. We need to believe, or not believe, in what will be there for us. But not because some preacher or book told us to, and we don’t need to worry about what others believe unless it hurts us. I think that if you want to believe in God as you always have, it’s cool. If your view has changed, then take that belief down from the pedestal and replace it with something that is unwavering for you. Your friend, Cyndi?”
“Cynthia.”
“Cynthia then, she’s the one with only one arm? The friend who wants to become a scientist when she grows up?”
“Yeah, that’s her,” I said.
“Maybe she only has herself to rely on. Or maybe scientific breakthroughs are the reason she is thriving as she is. Maybe she doesn’t need a God, and I think it’s not our business to argue.”
“Do you think God is evil?” I asked. “Taking Dad, and our house this year and all?”
Linnea laughed. “I already told you Lizzie, I don’t even know anymore! I think if he even exists, he’s an asshole. Not just for Dad or our house, but for Cynthia. For Job, Jonah and Jesus too.”
Linnea smiled. My jaw was hanging open from shock. I’d never heard Linnea swear before. Perhaps this was more shocking to me than her revelation about the existence of God. My wall of beliefs began to crumble.
“Look, you don’t need to worry about that right now. You have at least a couple of years to figure things out for yourself. Besides, you’re going to be late for your appointment,” Linnea said finally.
***
Sixteen years later, as I sit writing my thesis for class, these memories from my childhood come to mind. Were it not for my friend Cynthia’s declaration, or my sister’s elevator speech, I would not be here in seminary today. I’m sure Dad is in some way, looking down on me from the stars, marveling at how I went from being a born again Christian to a masters student in Interfaith Theology. If he is looking down on me at all, I mean. In the end, it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t shape the person I am. That’s why my thesis will center on the importance of acknowledging agnosticism, humanism and atheism in an interfaith setting.
It is 2008, and I still haven’t solved my puzzle about God. My faith seems to constantly change, and that is okay. I no longer believe that there is only one answer. I do know, however, that there are good people in all walks and faiths. There are wonderful people who believe that God doesn’t exist for them, yet they continue to be good people, like Cynthia. There are others who use their version of God as a crutch to do bad things, although I don’t know them personally. Our pinnacle of faith does not fully influence how we act in the world. It is my belief that the interfaith umbrella should accommodate for these things.
“Why not?” I asked. I wasn’t prepared for this response. I wanted to cry. Cynthia was my new best friend since moving to Silver Lake. On the first day of fourth grade, we became fast friends, Cynthia and I. She was very smart, and kind, and I had never encountered anyone like her my age. Truthfully, I didn’t have friends outside of church. Cynthia was my first, and I was ecstatic. Yet her revelation turned my view upside down.
As long as I could remember, I had always believed in the power of God’s love and strength. Some days, it was my faith in God that kept me going, because it was instilled in me, and I had no friends at school. When Dad got sick, I believed that faith in God was all I had. It’s difficult to watch a parent die.
As I watched my father while he lay dying the summer before I pleaded to God for answers. Each time I prayed, I asked for Dad to live, and for Mom not to be so sad. My mother always put on her best face, and assured me that God would answer in his time. Dad died that August, and it was my first and only answer from God.
Cancer was a costly disease. Treatment was so costly, that we had to sell our house and find an apartment. We found one twenty miles away. Silver Lake was quite different from Arcadia, older, condensed, and gritty. Our Sunset Boulevard was not the glamorous street that you saw in Hollywood movies. That was nearly ten miles away, and it was still gritty even there.
Still, I believed that my faith was solid, until Cynthia cut me off. I felt very sure in my core beliefs that God was all that I needed. Having my new best friend dismiss my beliefs with her own stung.
“I have never believed in God,” she answered. “God has never done anything for me, not that I didn’t try to believe once.” She shrugged. Cynthia was born with only one arm. Simply using a prosthetic wasn't’ feasible. Prosthetics in the early 1990s were either clunky or for cosmetic use. They were also very expensive, so she went without.
“What do you believe then?” I finally asked. I was too young to consider that my staunch beliefs were a square peg, not fit for round holes. I was too panicked at the thought of losing my new best friend over faith. I tried not to be offended by what Cynthia said. Then I looked at where her right arm would be, and the realization hit me that she had good reason for her non-belief.
“I don’t believe in any sort of thing like that. I have myself, and I have hope that someday, science will make a breakthrough for amputees like me. Maybe I’ll be the one to make that breakthrough! I guess I believe in myself, because in the end, that is all I have to rely on.”
“Lizzie, time for dinner!” My mom called. It was a Sunday, and we ate dinner early so that we could go to church for evening services. I waved good-bye to Cynthia, and promised we’d walk to school in the morning.
“Sure, see you tomorrow.” Cynthia said, before she turned to head back to her apartment across the street.
I did not tell my mom about Cynthia’s revelation, or my now budding questions about God. As the weeks progressed, I continued to think quietly about what Cynthia said. She continued to be the kind person I knew before, and I could not find fault with her. Yet at church, I would feel guilty for associating with my best friend.
According to the beliefs of my church, associating with an atheist was a deal breaker. As born again Christians, we were tasked with either shunning someone who denied God, wishing them luck when the end of times came. Or we could fight to save them from “eternal death.”
“But why would you believe in something that never had your back in the first place?” My internal thoughts argued. “Not to mention, when it is someone like Cynthia, who has good reason not to believe? You know, your best friend?”
Doubts began to fracture my foundation. “Not only Cynthia, but Dad!” my mind would argue. “Dad was a good man, and God didn’t lift a finger to save him! We lost our house trying to save him!” The thoughts would swirl until a fog of sadness descended upon me. I was unable to lift it.
***
A month later, my older sister Linnea and I were in the car. Linnea was tasked with taking me to the dentist for a check up after school one afternoon, seemed to pick up on my thoughts. I figured she was too engrossed in living the high school life to care one way or the other about what her ten-year-old sister had to think.
“How are you feeling?” She asked, as she turned our car right onto Sunset Boulevard. “You’ve been acting preoccupied lately. Moving right after dad died was a bit unsettling, eh?”
“Yeah,” I said glumly, “Other things too.”
Before cancer, Dad had taken mom, Linnea and I to church every Sunday morning, evening and Wednesday night. When he was diagnosed with cancer, it was so far advanced that we had to stop going for a while. Part of me felt that God was mad at us for not going to church then, maybe that’s why Dad died. Sure we resumed going, and the church welcomed us back with smiles and open arms. But then there was Cynthia, who seemed more real to me than the congregants at church. A church, I might add, that had doomed Cynthia to hell. Despite her lack of faith, she was persistent in becoming the best person she could be. Would God punish me for befriending someone so faithless?
“Do you believe in God, Linnea?” I asked finally.
Linnea gave a loud snort. “Is this what’s bugging you? Fine. I’ll answer. Can you keep a secret, Lizzie?” she asked after a moment.
“Sure,” I said.
“I don’t know anymore. Seems like our diligence did nothing to save Dad, did it?” Linnea pulled up to the red light, then she looked over to me. “Actually, I guess it’s not even a secret. I don’t care if you tell Mom, but I think God is something we create to hold ourselves together. I’m sure Mom will think I’m going to Hell for this, but you know what? Living without Dad has been hell. Living in this stupid apartment in Silver Lake is hell. Having to leave friends behind because cancer ate our finances, and we had to sell the house in Arcadia is HELL! I don’t think the ‘hell’ they preach about will be that much worse.”
The light turned green, and Linnea revved the engine. We peeled out of the intersection, squealing the tires.
“Cynthia doesn’t believe in God,” I said quietly. “I can’t argue why she should. I’m sure Mom would just mention Job or Jonah, and how we are far more lucky than they were.”
“Or Jesus,” Linnea said. She slowed the car down, and the turn signal clicked in steady rhythm. “Don’t forget Jesus, he died for us, I’m so sure.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to tell Cynthia about Job, Jonah or Jesus. I don’t think she’d listen anyway, I mean, it all happened thousands of years ago. We have antibiotics now and cars, and – and-“
“It’s not our responsibility to create idols or God for others. I’m not even sure what we’re supposed to save others from.” Linnea turned left into the parking lot, and found a space for our car before speaking again.
“Lizzie,” she said finally, “You’re ten. I’m sixteen. Let me give you some advice. What you believe will differ from what others believe. Despite whatever the pastor of the week says, I believe we need to find our own way. We need to believe, or not believe, in what will be there for us. But not because some preacher or book told us to, and we don’t need to worry about what others believe unless it hurts us. I think that if you want to believe in God as you always have, it’s cool. If your view has changed, then take that belief down from the pedestal and replace it with something that is unwavering for you. Your friend, Cyndi?”
“Cynthia.”
“Cynthia then, she’s the one with only one arm? The friend who wants to become a scientist when she grows up?”
“Yeah, that’s her,” I said.
“Maybe she only has herself to rely on. Or maybe scientific breakthroughs are the reason she is thriving as she is. Maybe she doesn’t need a God, and I think it’s not our business to argue.”
“Do you think God is evil?” I asked. “Taking Dad, and our house this year and all?”
Linnea laughed. “I already told you Lizzie, I don’t even know anymore! I think if he even exists, he’s an asshole. Not just for Dad or our house, but for Cynthia. For Job, Jonah and Jesus too.”
Linnea smiled. My jaw was hanging open from shock. I’d never heard Linnea swear before. Perhaps this was more shocking to me than her revelation about the existence of God. My wall of beliefs began to crumble.
“Look, you don’t need to worry about that right now. You have at least a couple of years to figure things out for yourself. Besides, you’re going to be late for your appointment,” Linnea said finally.
***
Sixteen years later, as I sit writing my thesis for class, these memories from my childhood come to mind. Were it not for my friend Cynthia’s declaration, or my sister’s elevator speech, I would not be here in seminary today. I’m sure Dad is in some way, looking down on me from the stars, marveling at how I went from being a born again Christian to a masters student in Interfaith Theology. If he is looking down on me at all, I mean. In the end, it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t shape the person I am. That’s why my thesis will center on the importance of acknowledging agnosticism, humanism and atheism in an interfaith setting.
It is 2008, and I still haven’t solved my puzzle about God. My faith seems to constantly change, and that is okay. I no longer believe that there is only one answer. I do know, however, that there are good people in all walks and faiths. There are wonderful people who believe that God doesn’t exist for them, yet they continue to be good people, like Cynthia. There are others who use their version of God as a crutch to do bad things, although I don’t know them personally. Our pinnacle of faith does not fully influence how we act in the world. It is my belief that the interfaith umbrella should accommodate for these things.