It all begins with God, or so I was taught in my youth.  God came before, created all and will continue after.  I suppose that as a child even I questioned that, since it is truly in my nature to question.  However, without any better explanation, I accepted that I perhaps wasn't old enough to understand how that was possible and that maybe it would become clear with time.  So I went along with it. This seemed to make my mother happy, since she was a devout Christian her whole life.  My father didn’t; really seem to notice or care much what I thought about religion, as he didn’t about most things. He himself was a disillusioned Catholic, what Faith he ever had efficiently destroyed by the rigidity and semi-cruelty of catholic school and the nuns who taught there.  He spent (indeed, and still spends) his life as a determined Atheist.  I suppose that the impersonal and universal cruelty of the natural world seemed more appealing than the directed and very personal cruelty of the church.  Of course, I knew virtually nothing of this in my youth.  Dad didn’t talk about religion, his past, or much else. That I suppose is a topic for another day though.

I first became aware that I was dissatisfied with religion as it stood to me at approximately age 10.  There was a church organization I had attended called Awana, which I determined was something like biblically driven boy scouts.  of course, when I actually joined the BSA, I found out that they were nothing alike.  At the time though, it seemed like a great idea. It was a chance to socially interact with children of my age, and within the church, which I had thought would mean that they would generally be nicer than the children I had dealt with previously.  I suppose that is just one more naive hope from someone lacking anything like world-wisdom.  Some blame the fact that I was home-schooled up until high school for my naivete. But I think I would have been just as naive in public school. I just would have been gullible and easily persuaded into different beliefs than I currently hold.

Awana, as it turned out, was really just  a place for parents to drop their children and feel good about it while they enjoyed an evening without disturbances.  To keep us busy (and supposedly to bring us closer to God) we were forced to memorize verses of the bible.  Advancement within the program was almost entirely composed of memorization, so naturally, my brother and I advanced quite quickly.  Memorization was scholastic, and there was no option but success scholastically in our environment.  The idea of not excelling wasn't simply foreign, it wasn't even in our frame of reference.  So, we memorized 20 to 30 verses a week, and recited them dutifully, even memorizing and citing the definitions of words that most children of our ages were not able to understand.  The problem of course being that we only cared about knowing the words, and not the meaning, both in the verses and the definitions.  Or rather, if you consider my loss of faith a problem, I suppose that was a good thing, and the problem started when I began to truly analyze the words I recited weekly.

My problem was Hell.  The inevitable conclusion of the lives of those unwilling to submit to the Almighty God.  When I was very young, I accepted that it was punishment, like having toys and privileges revoked.  But when I was that young, all punishment felt eternal and horrifying.  But I began to see tings in shades of grey, and I found myself having to reconcile an infinitely benevolent, loving and forgiving God with a punishment terrible and eternal. No chance of redemption, no chance of respite.  Simple pure, eternal torment.

You have to understand that I have always been a very gentle, very sensitive person, and I was horrified. I cried most of the time, for days at a time.  I wasn't worried about myself going to hell, since I was a Christian, but the idea that other people would be tortured for all eternity by a God that was supposed to be loving and protecting us tore at me.  This might have affected me like it did most of the other children, and motivated me to be a good Christian, and to go help spread the word of God.  But my father was an Atheist.  A staunch Atheist.  I can't count the number of times I went into the TV room where my dad sat watching the television, hoping to plead with him to accept God and alleviate my torment.  I would stand in the doorway, and tears would stream down my face.  He wouldn't ever notice me, and I would be incapable of bringing myself to confront him.

(To be Continued)
Average Jason
It all begins with God, or so I was taught in my youth.  God came before, created all and will continue after.  I suppose that as a child even I questioned that, since it is truly in my nature to question.  However, without any better explanation, I accepted that I perhaps wasn't old enough to understand how that was possible and that maybe it would become clear with time.  So I went along with it. This seemed to make my mother happy, since she was a devout Christian her whole life.  My father didn’t; really seem to notice or care much what I thought about religion, as he didn’t about most things. He himself was a disillusioned Catholic, what Faith he ever had efficiently destroyed by the rigidity and semi-cruelty of catholic school and the nuns who taught there.  He spent (indeed, and still spends) his life as a determined Atheist.  I suppose that the impersonal and universal cruelty of the natural world seemed more appealing than the directed and very personal cruelty of the church.  Of course, I knew virtually nothing of this in my youth.  Dad didn’t talk about religion, his past, or much else. That I suppose is a topic for another day though.

I first became aware that I was dissatisfied with religion as it stood to me at approximately age 10.  There was a church organization I had attended called Awana, which I determined was something like biblically driven boy scouts.  of course, when I actually joined the BSA, I found out that they were nothing alike.  At the time though, it seemed like a great idea. It was a chance to socially interact with children of my age, and within the church, which I had thought would mean that they would generally be nicer than the children I had dealt with previously.  I suppose that is just one more naive hope from someone lacking anything like world-wisdom.  Some blame the fact that I was home-schooled up until high school for my naivete. But I think I would have been just as naive in public school. I just would have been gullible and easily persuaded into different beliefs than I currently hold.

Awana, as it turned out, was really just  a place for parents to drop their children and feel good about it while they enjoyed an evening without disturbances.  To keep us busy (and supposedly to bring us closer to God) we were forced to memorize verses of the bible.  Advancement within the program was almost entirely composed of memorization, so naturally, my brother and I advanced quite quickly.  Memorization was scholastic, and there was nooption but success scholastically in our environment.  The idea of not excelling wasn't simply foreign, it wasn't even in our frame of reference.  So, we memorized 20 to 30 verses a week, and recited them dutifully, even memorizing and citing the definitions of words that most children of our ages were not able to understand.  The problem of course being that we only cared about knowing the words, and not the meaning, both in the verses and the definitions.  Or rather, if you consider my loss of faith a problem, I suppose that was a good thing, and the problem started when I began to truly analyze the words I recited weekly.

My problem was Hell.  The inevitable conclusion of the lives of those unwilling to submit to the Almighty God.  When I was very young, I accepted that it was punishment, like having toys and privileges revoked.  But when I was that young, all punishment felt eternal and horrifying.  But I began to see tings in shades of grey, and I found myself having to reconcile an infinitely benevolent, loving and forgiving God with a punishment terrible and eternal. No chance of redemption, no chance of respite.  Simple pure, eternal torment.

You have to understand that I have always been a very gentle, very sensitive person, and I was horrified. I cried most of the time, for days at a time.  I wasn't worried about myself going to hell, since I was a Christian, but the idea that other people would be tortured for all eternity by a God that was supposed to be loving and protecting us tore at me.  This might have affected me like it did most of the other children, and motivated me to be a good Christian, and to go help spread the word of God.  But my father was an Atheist.  A staunch Atheist.  I can't count the number of times I went into the TV room where my dad sat watching the television, hoping to plead with him to accept God and alleviate my torment.  I would stand in the doorway, and tears would stream down my face.  He wouldn't ever notice me, and I would be incapable of bringing myself to confront him.

(To be Continued)
Average Jason