I was recently a bridesmaid in a wedding–bouquet and all. It was a gorgeous event, and I had a wonderful time celebrating my childhood best friend’s marriage to her new husband. Standing up with her was a youthful dream come true.
The wedding mass was held in an old, opulent Roman Catholic church where the bride is a member. I didn’t mind this despite my divorce from Christianity and personal views on the way the Roman Catholic Church (RCC) manages itself. It was a beautiful location for their special moment.
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During rehearsal we ran through the ceremonial procedures and were instructed how to act by the wedding sacristan and the priest. At one point, the priest walked over to where we bridesmaids were sitting and gave us all a stern look. “When you are walking up the aisle,” he said, “Once you reach the front you must stop, pause, and bow to the Eucharist. You can’t genuflect in your dresses, but you must bow.”
At this matter-of-fact instruction, he walked away. Immediately, my eyebrows shot up. Surely he didn’t expect us all to be Catholic. and what non-Catholic would bow to a piece of food in a gold box on the stage?
My feeling of puzzled reticence only inflated when the priest joined us once again ten minutes later. He instructed us how to “properly receive the Eucharist” during communion: All of us must go up together because it would (apparently) look better. Those people not in good standing with the RCC should cross their hands over their chest (like a dead person in a coffin) and receive a blessing in the form of a cross drawn on the forehead by the priest’s thumb.
I sighed audibly, rolled my eyes, but kept my vocal opinions on this instruction to myself. The bridesmaid beside me was clearly perturbed as she scoffed, “Geez, who wouldn’t want a blessing?” I guess I didn’t hide my distaste for these traditions very well.
Some of the other other bridesmaids knew I wasn’t a Christian, but all of them knew I wasn’t Catholic. I saw a few eyes dart towards me from further down the pew as I pondered what to do.
First we’re told to bow to someone who isn’t there. Then we’re told to receive a blessing and get a torture device religious symbol drawn on our foreheads? I mean really–what kind of atheist would I be if I didn’t feel a bit annoyed by this?
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I feel uncomfortable when it comes to making promises. Saying something like “I can absolutely do that for you.” or “I’ll send that to you ASAP” makes me wary. Why? Because I know myself.
I’m not completely trustworthy, especially when it comes to getting things done. I don’t want to promise anything until I know that I will actually do it and do it on time. Breaking a promise means losing someone’s trust. It also means that I was dishonest (even if unintentionally).
Bigger promises lke “I will always love you” and “I swear I will never ____ again” are obvious trouble-makers. But so many of us say them without worrying if we’ll later break those vows later on. But what if we didn’t promise anything? What would that be like, and would out loved ones have the same confidence and security with us? How would a wedding vow that says “I will try my best to love you for as long as we are compatible” sound?
Lying and promise-breaking also bothered me as a Christian believer. In high school I meditated on the themes of speech, lying, and the power of the tongue. Pardon me for a minute, because I’m about to give you all a little bible study:
Yeah, yeah… fiery depths of hell for all liars, blah blah. We got it. But wait. Behind all the “die evildoers” text, I think these verses contain lessons about our speech that people of all religions and non-belief can live by:
- Live with integrity; be trustworthy
- Words have consequences
- Think before you speak
Do you make promises of love and commitment when you know you might not keep them? Do you make promises in general?
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I’m a member of the community site ThinkAtheist, and one active forum discussion [NOTE: this discussion is not available any longer 
] was sparked by question to atheists who “used to be deeply religious or who used to really have faith, especially those of view who have de-converted recently.” I will post my response below, but I’d like to hear your reactions as well.
Question: [W]hat chance do you give to the possibility of reconverting or going back to the religion you left? My [non-believing] friend maintained that many people for whom religion was a fundamental part of their life will eventually go back to their old faith, and possibly in a big way.
I think that of course, it will depend on the person, and how convinced they were when they became atheists in the first place; also, I think people who have had very bad experiences with their religion, and have finally escaped, will never go back to it.
Would I go back?
Since I left faith because of an intellectual search instead of an emotional reaction or difficult experience (such as Christians being mean to me, being angry at god because of a death in the family, etc.), I don’t think it’s likely that I will ever return to being a Christian like I was before. I was sincerely passionate in my belief and I studied a lot, read much, and loved being a Jesus-follower.
But since I don’t see any evidence for a deity, do not believe there is a higher power, and above all I absolutely reject the deity portrayed in the Christian bible, I don’t see why I’d return to being religious. I don’t think any man-made religion would satisfy me or make sense.
Plus, atheism is freeing! There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing is lacking. Why would I switch back to something so ridiculous and make-believe?
Would you go back? Let us know in the comments.
photo by Rachel Ford James
The Free-for-All Bookshelf here at work is a little bit tighter now, stuffed with my newest donations. I just emptied a big white crate filled with some of my most precious possessions as a Christian: books. I’ve had this collection sitting in my car trunk for over a year. It went with me on vacations, to-and-from work, and I just tried to ignore it when I packed my groceries or stuffed my suitcases into my little Mazda.
What was I waiting for? I’d already purged a large percentage of my Christian books in 2008 when I discovered (or, more accurately, admitted) my atheism. Everything from Bible studies and self-help to fiction and humor was either tossed in the recycling for good or donated to Goodwill for people to pick through if they gave a damn.
But this crate–this generic white crate that always pinched my fingers when I carried it–was the spiritual and emotional luggage from my religious past all in one place. Some of my most beloved titles were in there:
- The Cost of Discipleship and Life Together by Deitrich Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer was always able to touch the part of my dreams that desired depth, thoughtfulness, community, and courage.
- A Simple Path by Mother Teresa. I always loved her writings and even considered converting to Catholicism after reading what she and Therese of Lisieux had to say about love and its purity of devotion. I was attracted to the sweetness and passion I saw in their words.
- The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. I’m almost embarrassed to leave this book in the hands of a stranger. I scrawled notes and highlighted so many passages of this book that it’s practically a public confessional of my most formative years as a Christian (which happened to be some of my last years, so it turns out). I dove into this book with such emotional transparency that it makes me blush just to read it again.
- Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger by Ronald Sider. I challenge all believers to get this book and take it to heart.
- Restoration and King of the Jews by D. Thomas Lancaster. I went through a long, passionate phase as a Messianic believer in what might be called the torah-observant movement when these books about the unity between “old” and “new” portions of the Christian Bible meant a great deal to me. It truly changed the kind of Christian I was.
And these are just a sampling of the types of books that influenced me in my multi-faceted religious life. I admit, I still have an emotional connection to them. Like many people who seek comfort and guidance during rough times, these types of books were a help for me when I was grieving, curious, and alone. But like many former Christians I know, I’m now able to look back on those tools and texts and see them for another perspective, with the “veil” of faith and myth pulled away from my eyes.
It was difficult placing them on the shelf today, but I am glad and relieved to have already left those old beliefs and delusions behind. Not everything that makes us feel good or helps us through a tough time is true or correct. I’m sure if I had been non-religious during those years that I would have come out just fine all the same. I’m glad I had a searching and curious mind that was fascinated by those volumes but also able to see more to life than belief in a non-existent god.
What items have been hard for you to part with over the years? Items from past relationships? Books? Habits?
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