30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 4

Your views on religion.

My take on religion was actually the topic of my very first blog post back in July of 2009. But it's been a while since I've written (or even thought about) it. So. Take two:

From _Let Me Stand Alone: The Journals of Rachel Corrie_:

"I thought we were Christian because we were white people who weren't Jewish. Those were the only options I was aware of...When I was a little older I asked [my mom] if we were atheists. I think it made her sad that I thought we were atheists" (191).

I once asked my mom that very question. And she reacted the same way.

I was raised without the influence of religion. The only thing I regret about it is that my lack of Biblical knowledge makes me a terrible English major. I miss a lot of imagery/symbolism that many fellow literature enthusiasts find very basic/obvious. It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I really ought to fix that.

Somehow though, both my sister and I wound up baptized Catholic. My paternal grandparents were Catholic, and my dad was raised that way (although he gave it up once he reached adulthood). I was born with some pretty serious medical problems, and wasn't expected to live more than a few days. So my grandparents insisted I be baptized, because they were afraid that if I died, I wouldn't be able to be buried in "holy ground."

My sister's baptism, like mine, was done on the fly. She had surgery on her kidneys when she was eight, and just as they did with me, my grandparents stepped in and voiced their concern. What if something went wrong? What if she died on the operating table? So Paige, like me, was baptized.

But that's literally the extent of my exposure to religion as a kid. We celebrated the big Christian holidays: Christmas and Easter, mainly. But that just meant that we got together a couple of times per year, ate a nice meal, and exchanged gifts.

To this day, that's what my family does. Sometimes I partake, and sometimes I run off to spend time with other people I love, even if we're not related by blood. In 2007, I spent Thanksgiving with my friend Sarah and her family in West Branch. And two years later, in 2009, I flew to Durango, CO to visit my friend Victoria for Christmas/New Year's.

I'm an atheist. Spent some time exploring religion as a teenager, and decided that organized religion definitely wasn't for me. Tried to be spiritual. Had to admit--to myself and to others--that I'm just not.

And that's okay. A friend's mom put me in an awkward position a couple of years ago when she asked me if I considered myself a "good Christian." I didn't want to lie, but I also didn't want to sound like a huge dick.

So I told her, "No. But I'm a good person."

And I am, or try my best to be.

"Hold your head up, you silly girl."

I have a lot on my mind lately, and don't know where to start. That said, this post will likely be all over the place. You've been warned. Proceed at your own risk.

I'll begin with some good (albeit belated) news: On August 4, California's Proposition 8 was deemed unconstitutional by Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker.

As I think I've mentioned before, I'm a total news junkie. I watch both CNN and the local news every day, follow various news sources on Twitter, and read whatever my friends post to Facebook, as well as articles in the papers I find lying around the house/campus. But the day Prop 8 was overturned, I happened to be out of town with a friend (more on that later), and therefore, wasn't near the TV or computer. I didn't hear about the ruling until the following day.

Figures. I tune out for a grand total of twenty-four hours, and just look what I miss!

But I'm so happy about this. And hopeful. Incredibly, incredibly hopeful.

And I guess this leads me to something else:

Despite the good news, I don't feel like I have much of a right to celebrate. I'm not contributing enough to the effort to better the world. I keep finding myself in situations where I can't decide whether it'd be best for me to shut up or speak out.

I'm pretty opinionated, but I know that trying to discuss particular topics with certain people would be futile, and choose not to waste my energy on such interactions.

And yet, as someone who believes deeply in diversity, and knows that achieving it is impossible without communication, I find it tremendously difficult to be quiet. By shutting up, I'm going against what I believe in. Yet by speaking out, I'm only pissing people off, because so many of them don't want to listen to what I have to say.

I think people are afraid to communicate because they assume that by accepting what I have to say, they're agreeing with it. That's not what I'm asking for. (We wouldn't be very diverse if we all thought the same way.) All I want is to be able to speak as loudly as those who get away with spouting off every day as if theirs is the only opinion that counts.

Earlier this month, I went to Memphis, Tennessee and Cleburne, Texas with a friend who wanted to visit some of her friends and relatives. Being in the South was one hell of a weird experience for me: Every little thing got on my nerves. I heard a song on a radio station down there that began: "Our houses are protected by the good lord and a gun." And all the way through Arkansas, I made a game out of counting bumper stickers that mentioned Jesus and/or Glenn Beck.

So here I am, telling people I believe in diversity, and yet, whenever I find myself surrounded by people whose mindset is different from mine, I want to be with people who think like I do.

And I've found myself in this situation many times: My decision to leave Saginaw was largely based on the fact that I felt like I was wasting too much of my energy defending what I believed in, instead of actually accomplishing anything.

And yet, I even find it difficult to communicate with members of my own family. My mom gets all up in arms whenever I mention that I'm not a fan of capitalism. My grandmother refuses to accept that I don't believe in God.

It's frustrating, because all I want is to be accepted, and yet how can I ask for that when I can't seem to accept others for who they are?

It's all way more complicated than it needs to be.

"Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine." - Patti Smith

I don't think I should have to wear atheism like a scarlet letter. Until recently (a year or so ago, perhaps), I told everyone I didn't know what I believed in, when the truth is that I don't believe in anything at all.

My dad was raised Catholic. My maternal grandmother is a born-again Christian. Neither of my parents connected with their parents' respective religious views, and because it was such a touchy topic for everyone, they decided to raise their kids (Paige, me) without a religion.

I'm an atheist. But the first time I said that out loud, my mother freaked out, even though in raising my sister and me without a religion, her goal was to give us a chance to make up our own minds. And I've made up my mind. I want no part of it.

When I was sixteen or so, I spent several months attending all sorts of church services, just to satiate my own curiosity about all the ideologies out there. My mother did not approve, and warned me not to let myself be brainwashed the way her mother had been.

So it's weird. Organized religion scares my mother just as much as it scares me. But she's ashamed of what she doesn't believe in, perhaps because it isn't "socially acceptable."

I refuse to be ashamed of it.

I respect your belief in something greater than this. In return, I expect you to respect my lack of it.