To Believe or Not to Believe... Who Can Answer the Question?

So, I have a confession to make. It's not one I make often, but I'm feeling expansive tonight, and I'm not famous or popular so I doubt most people read or care about what I think.

My confession is this: I'm an agnostic. Well, atheist maybe. Perhaps I'm an agnostic atheist. I don't know exactly, but I'm fairly certain my dogma (or lack thereof) is a constantly evolving belief system.

Now, before you judge too quickly, let me give you a little background and maybe defend my position.

I grew up with little to no religious teachings. What I did have was a Catholic grandmother who taught me the 'Our Father' and the 'Hail Mary.' We would recite them before bed when I would stay at her house.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

My grandmother never really explained what the prayers were about, and I knew they were important to her and she wanted them to be important to me, but I didn't understand what it was all about. I was a precocious child, well read for my age, but at 6 or 7 I had no idea what the "fruit of thy womb" meant, mainly because I heard it as the "fruit of thy loom." Was she talking about underwear? Or weaving cloth? And "pray for us sinners?" I was a sinner? I knew I shouldn't sneak candy from her candy drawer, but was I so bad someone had to pray for me clear up until I died? If so, what hope was there for me?

Then there was my mother. Now, I don't know if she was straining at the constraints of her Catholic upbringing, or if growing up in the 60's and 70's influenced her belief system, or perhaps both, but the result was varying and eclectic ideas. She gave me a book with an amalgam of stories and legends from various Native American tribes. Some of the stories were sad, some funny. Some talked about penises, which was even funnier. Some were creation stories. Most had gods in them. Coyote and Beaver, White Buffalo Calf Woman, Glooscap. All were important figures, influential deities. I enjoyed the stories, and read them over and over.

When I was in the Fourth grade, we had an entire unit devoted to Greek mythology. More gods! All sorts of gods and goddesses who could do all sorts of things. More stories for me to read! And read them I did, becoming quite knowledgeable. It was like an ancient League of Justice, but instead of Superman and Wonder Woman, you had Zeus (who liked the ladies) and his wife Hera (who would turn you into a cow if you touched her man).

Then Mom began studying Wicca. I don't know when exactly, or who introduced her, but I do remember her taking me to their meetings when I was about 13. At first, it was enjoyable. There was food and we made candles. Very cool. Everyone was friendly to me. Then we started participating in "circles" and chanting. They talked about the "Goddess" and at some point it stopped being fun and turned into a yawnfest. Boring! Furthermore, it didn't really make sense. I know, the Earth Mother sent the plants and animals gushing out of her vagina, but for me, it was just more stories. And they were taking a good story and ruining it with chanting and "spells" that didn't do anything. Witches turned people into frogs and rode on broomsticks. Duh!

As I grew older, I learned about other religions. Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Why the world was chock full of different belief systems! As my social circles widened, I began to realize that most people followed some sort of religion. Most of the people I knew followed a system based on Christianity.

By the time I was 17, I was attempting to immerse myself in the status quo that is Christianity. Having been an outsider most of my childhood, I suddenly "belonged," and I clung to that belonging like a drowning man to a life preserver. They told me that God loved me, and I never had to be alone again.

When I was 18, I discovered I was pregnant. Suddenly, I was a statistic, scared and alone with a less than fully supportive family. I delved even deeper into the Word, certain that all the support I needed would be found in religion, and just as certain that I needed to find a belief system to teach my unborn child. I ordered literature from ads on TV. I studied the bible. I started attending a local Baptist church. Which is when strange things began to happen.

On day during study time, they talked about "the sins of the father will be visited upon the son." I was puzzled, and queried that surely my infant son would not be punished for my misdeeds? Yes, indeed, they claimed, unless I followed the one true path of God, which, of course, was their way. It was the last time I attended that church.

This was the first time I realized the idea of "one true religion." It was also the beginning of my dogmatic journey that took almost a decade.

I've studied with Jehovah's Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists, Baptists, Catholics, Born-again Christians, Mormons. I spent years reading the bible, trying to make sense of it. I learned about Buddha, talked about the Qur'an and Confucius, read books about varying ideologies and spirituality. I was constantly reaching for something I could subscribe to.

What I found was an animal of a different sort.

I realized that everyone believes their way is the right way. Some are more stringent about this belief than others, but the essence is the same. The problem for me started when I really began to conceptualize how many different belief systems there were. Which one was right? How could I pick? How could I ever know which one was right? And would I really go to hell if I picked wrong? My search for faith had morphed into a crisis of belief.

What was even more disturbing for me was this fact: All the years I spent searching, all the praying I had done left me feeling empty. I remember praying for a sign, begging for that "feeling" others talked about. They could "feel" God, they said, and I could not. What was wrong with me? Once again, I was an outsider who didn't belong.

I began to realize I was trying to force myself to have faith. What a silly thing to do. Force faith? How can you force something like that? After all, by now I knew that faith was belief without proof, and I was asking for proof. That's what I'd been praying for, right? A sign? A feeling? Proof?

I started paying attention to the world around me. All the bad things that happened to people, to me... God was a father who didn't protect his children? Free will, it was explained to me, was the answer to the world's woes. God gave us free will and we could do good or bad with it. God could not control that. Doesn't he know what we're going to do before we do it? He is all seeing, all knowing, so my life is preordained... which doesn't sound like free will to me.

Ah, the confusion! Such is the cycle of my internal crisis. It is constant, and always there.

Part of my confession is to tell you this: I wish I believed. I know that I have let down friends and family. Some folks feel sorry for me. Some get angry or offended. They all believe that what I interpret as stories are true. Yes, stories. For just as the ancient Greeks believed in Zeus, and Coyote the trickster continually pranked Man, there are stories about a man named Jesus. His philosophy and ideas are wide spread and good. Many seem to subscribe to Christianity, but few seem to live up to its ideals.

I've thought about picking a church and going anyway. But that feels dishonest. I am many things, good and bad, but dishonest isn't usually one of them.

For those who can relate to what I say, drop me a line, so I know I'm not alone. Maybe I'm not such an outsider. It would be nice to know that I'm not.

For those who think I'm awful, I'd ask you, did I ever have a chance? With the amalgam of belief systems I was exposed to as a child, was this not the natural evolution of my belief system? How could I pick just one? Which way was I supposed to turn? How does an emotional yet analytical mind find any balance between faith and evidence? The only olive branch I can offer you is that I fully acknowledge the possibility that God is out there and I am wrong. I still think I'm right.

But then, so do you.