I sat in the back corner of the front section in the church, inconspicuous, trying to keep my eyes dry. It was painful, confusing. Why did she commit suicide? Do people really believe she was a lesser person, unworthy of heaven because of how she died? Is there a really a heaven? Is there really a god?
Before the ceremony began, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see her best friend. I stood up, hugged her, tears swelling in our eyes. To the religious, comfort came from praying to God. You could see it and feel it in the church. As an atheist, I could only wonder, where do I find comfort as I sit here? From a hug from her best friend? After a cry?
Growing up, I was very religious. Attending Sunday school and church weekly, I grew up knowing the importance and comfort of believing in God. In high school, my girlfriend and her family were devout Catholic and I was introduced to her ritualistic faith. Later, I converted to Catholicism when we got married. I prided myself through my teens and twenties that I never fell asleep at night without praying. If I had a close call I would give the sign of the cross. If something good happened, I would reflect and give thanks to God.
Through my twenties my faith changed. As my wife and I struggled with infertility, I began questioning: Was it God’s plan that my wife’s sister, on drugs and pregnant as a teen, could bear four children by three different men, when we, devout in our religious ways, couldn’t conceive? Was it God’s plan to allow teen pregnancy, or children to abusers, when potentially loving parents like us couldn’t bear children? Was it God’s plan to make us go through surgeries and treatments before we could finally have children?
After years of trying, we finally had our two kids. My wife and I agreed on the importance of raising them with a religious background. We made sure they went to Sunday school and church weekly. Personally, I felt it was important that they discover their own truth, whether or not to believe in God. But, it had to be on their own time, in their own way. I remember when my son discovered there was no Santa. In his hurt and disbelief, he asked me, “I suppose you are going to tell me there is no God, too?” No, I thought to myself, you will need to discover that one on your own.
It was my wife who quit going to church first. Even though she believes in God to this day, the overwhelming hardship of infertility sent her in a protest of church and God, and she quit attending. Ironically, it was me who continued taking the kids to regular mass. As time passed, it became just my daughter and me attending Sunday morning services as I let my son sleep in. By the time she grew up, entered high school and went off to college, we had all quit attending church services.
Over the next 20 years, I would drift away from religion completely. As I came to terms with my denial of a deity, my dilemma remained. Where do I find comfort in times of need? Incredibly, the answers would come from a most unexpected source – the suicide of a young student. A good friend of the victim, upset at how her friend was to be treated at the funeral because she had committed suicide, professed that she was agnostic, as was her deceased friend. As I talked to her occasionally during the ensuing months, I became familiar with her expression of hope and good will which typically involved the wishing of good Karma.
Karma was an interesting “principle”. It could be as simple or complex as you make it. It could be deity driven, or not. It could involve fate, or not. It could involve a spiritual master, or not. It could involve personal and knowing interaction with others, or not.
To me, Karma would become consistent with two concepts I was already familiar with – chi and homeostasis. Chi is the existence of an inner "life force" or energy. Fundamental to Chinese medicine, chi can be manipulated to cure disease, or balanced to maintain health. While I am too western and scientific to believe in chi as medicine, the idea of balance and moderation is a belief that has influenced and guided my lifestyle for years. This is very consistent with our knowledge of homeostasis, or the physiological tendency of our bodies to regulate our functions within a normal range. Both of these concepts correlate well to how our physical and mental health is based on a balance and moderation of lifestyle choices.
As my faith has evolved over my lifetime, I have gone from a strong religious belief based on God, to the simple belief that “ultimately, we are what we make of ourselves”. Can a belief in Karma and the principles of chi afford me comfort in times of stress? Or, am I on a perpetual journey to learn how to cope with life’s stressors as I search for a deity type solution? The answers are difficult, varied and individual.
Have you faced a similar questioning of faith? I invite you to share your story. In doing so, it is my hope that we can all learn how to cope and find comfort when faced with life’s dilemmas. This is important, because how you deal with stress helps determine your long term mental and physical health. After all, when it comes to health you cannot separate your mind and your body. How you think and how you feel has a tremendous affect on your overall health and quality of life.
Let’s all live well - together. So, tell me… What’s your story of faith?
