This afternoon I attended my Grandpa Reich’s funeral. I’m happy to say that it wasn’t a sad event for most of the family; regardless of religious affiliation, it feels good to know that someone you care about isn’t suffering. Wether or not pap went to Heaven, his next reincarnation, or nowhere at all I’m glad that he no longer has to cling to life-in-the-loosest-sense in the cold confines of a nursing home. We celebrated the life of a good, loving man today. I didn’t know grandpa as well as I would have liked, but the strength of the man’s character shows through in my father and the rest of our wonderful family.
The funeral and the days leading up to it have been a time of introspection for me as well as other’s I’m sure. Matters of life, death, and “life after death” are always bound to spark an unconfortable debate between my family and I. My family (both immediate and extended) are very loyal, practicing, faithful Protestants. As far as I know I’m the only nonbeliver in the family. I don’t claim Atheism to be the black sheep, to get attention, or to otherwise set myself apart. I don’t want to be different; if I could change myself to fit in to the Reich mold, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
That’s not to say my family doesn’t love and accept me. If I came home and told mom and dad that I’m a born again Necrophiliac I’d still have a place at the dinner table every Thursday night. I love my family and I wouldn’t change a thing about them.
But I know they’d change me into a Christian if they could. I know it’s out of love so I don’t get mad, and I suppose if really believed that there is a Heaven and a Hell, I’d want to convince my children to go to Heaven too. I don’t believe though. I don’t feel any supernatural force directing my life, I’ve never seen anything but good medical science or Penn & Teller perform a miracle, and I’ve never felt anything more than peer pressure at Sunday School, Church Camp, or the variety of other events I participated in as a kid. I don’t feel any guilt over not being a Christian, but I do feel guilt over not being the man my parents hoped for me to be. The passing away of my grandfather was a joyous occassion both for him and for my dad. Grandpa died knowing he would be going to God. And my dad was able to be happy for him because he knows he’ll see his father again someday in Heaven. The thought that torments me the most isn’t that I won’t die with something to look forward to. I bring myself to tears knowing that my own father and mother may some day pass away unhappy because they believe they won’t see me in Heaven. That tears me up inside when I think about it.
What’s a guy to do? I can’t call myself a true athiest. I won’t attest that there is no God. I don’t know. But if there is one there are too many fundemental beliefs in Christianity that I can’t reconcile against my own philosophy on life. My current understanding of the Christian God is that in recognizing Him and repenting to Him I am given eternal life, but at the expense of my own personal code of ethics, my sense of self-responsibility, et cetera. I suppose life would be simpler if I let the church dictate acceptable behavior and I had to answer to God instead of my own conciense, but I wouldn’t be happy because I wouldn’t be living life true to myself, would I?
My disagreement with my family over religion boils down to two main points. First and most obvious is that I don’t really believe in a god. I’ve just never had that feeling that everyone gets so giddy about, and if I did it probably passed as indigestion. Second, if I did believe in God, I don’t believe in Christianity, at least as I know it. Because I try to be an open-minded guy and want my parents to know that I’ve given it the old college try, I’ve decided I’m going to start reading The Bible. If I get the message straight from the source and still disagree, well… I can say I’ve tried right?
