I was a devout atheist for as long as I can recollect. I received First Communion as a fourth-grader alongside one of my closest friends, and to me, the entire process was an excuse to hang out with someone. Church was full of adults dressed nicely murmuring peculiar words from a musty book that smelled stale while a man in a black robe preached at the front for an hour. I spent my time there thinking of other things– a new lesson I learned in math class, what dinner would be later on, tracking how many times we said “amen”, and so on. For quite a while, I kept silent on my views of God and religion, because I hated to disappoint my parents or shock my family, although I think now that a part of me was slightly delighted in this small act of rebellion. Catholicism was something that was expected of me, or so I thought, and to go against the norm was unusual for a rule-following child like myself.
Fast forward to eight grade. My family is in the know of my religious views (or rather lack of them), and though they didn’t mind as much as I thought they would, I still realized it was a sore topic. There were some things worth protesting over, but this was not one of them, and it was a small price to pay to help keep the peace. We were also going quite less– only on Christmas, Easter, and the odd occasion, which made everything easier. Over the summer of freshman year, we switched churches; now our family went to Mariners. This was quite a change from what I was used to. They played drums and sang what sounded like Christian pop songs before starting! Pastor Eric spoke as a father and a friend, and he was relatable and easy-going. I grew to think of church as more than a wasted hour of my time, and instead, it became an interesting concept. For the first time in my life, I approached religion as something that might be worth trying.
My openness to God has varied from that time to now. I’ve prayed to Him, cried to Him, cursed His name, and ignored Him. I find there are certain moments where I see myself as a believer, while later on I am closed off and unwilling to consider His presence. One of the main obstacles in my path to God is science. I was hard-pressed to find a way to fit together evolution and God’s hand in forming earth and its creatures. Science took precedent, for that was what I always put my faith in– provable, solid facts and data. Science excluded a need for a god of any sort, and thus, a need for me to make an effort concerning religion. Highschool brought all sorts of ups and downs, and I certainly didn’t need to add questioning my faith into the mix. The reassuring documentaries and articles I absorbed in school had absolved any need to consider a god. I saw no point in putting my faith in something I couldn’t see or hear, as I was never one for “listening to the universe.” My therapist recommended some books (all rooted in science, which I greatly appreciated) that expanded the diversity of my knowledge of God. I read almost all of one– an accomplishment since the girl two years ago would have shoved them all on her bookshelf and ignored forever.
I am finally learning to accept that my religious journey is not perfect, nor is it complete. There may be a day when I feel at home among others at Mariners, a day when I accept God into my life, but that day is not today. For now, I am happy to be there when it matters. I write this at 2:10 am (hello insomnia), wherein eight or so hours I will sit on the couch with my parents and watch a Livestream service for Easter Sunday. And while I will most likely zone out and think about other things during the sermon, I am happy to be there with my family and participate in what matters to them.
