This post is part of my 101 things in 1001 days list. It is also one that I have had planned for some time. I have two drafts in my drafts box, the first dating back over 12 months. Perhaps the reason I have taken so long to actually write it is that it is a hard topic for me to address and I don’t want to offend people. It is only in me telling myself that I really wanted to knock at least one thing off my project this weekend that I have decided this might as well be one of them!
There has been a fair bit of talk in the press over the last few days about the rise of atheism. It took me a long time to realise that I am an atheist. I suppose I should start at the beginning…
I grew up in an church-going Anglican household. By church-going, I mean every Sunday at least, including when we were on holidays. My parents were heavily involved in the church and weekends were spent at church working bees, or baking for a mission cake stall, of servers practice or church youth group etc.
Our circle of friends consisted mainly of church people. We socialised with church people. We went on holidays with church people. Yes, there were others, but the ties were not as strong. Or that’s how it seemed to me.
Throughout my teenage years I was involved in the church. I was indoctrinated with the high church anglicanism of my parents. This was church done properly- doing church was almost more important than being church. Conservative music and liturgical views were held.
Then I went to college and had a choral scholarship to the choir. I also sang in a choir at one of these high anglican bastions of the proper way to do things churches. The music was beautiful. Again, I helped out with working bees. Again, I was involved. I also met a theological student at this time and we were married after going out for 16 months or so. It was a huge affair- the talk of the college. A grand romance that had everyone talking. I was 19 when we became engaged, 20 when we married. The thought of being the vicar’s wife was exciting. I had grown up in a church community and I was going to carry on in one.
We moved to country South Australia. To a parish quite the opposite of what my experience had been. The music was interesting. The liturgy made me cringe and I hated every moment of it. On top of that my husband was a curate and the priest in charge didn’t want a curate, let alone his wife.
After 18 months we moved to another place where my husband was in charge. Well sort of. He took over from a bloke who had just been convicted of indecently assaulting the grandson of one of the prominent parishioners. Except no one was meant to know. But it was ok, because the priest before him was an alcoholic who no one liked. Here I settled into life as a vicar’s wife. I helped with cake stalls, I produced pew sheets and orders of service. I supported my husband like a dutiful wife.
And things fell apart. We moved to Adelaide where my husband had no job and was told he wouldn’t be given a job because of his conservative views. Here we joined a parish that at first I was very sceptical of. Again, it was not the liturgy or music I was used to. But here I found a community that appeared to be more cohesive and actually seemed to focus on the god thing a bit.
Then my close friend died. She had taught me so much in the church. She had shown me feminist theology and ideology. It made sense. It put me at odds with my husband.We had been pregnant at the same time. Her daughter was one month older than my son who had just celebrated his first birthday. I dwelt on fairness for a while, or the lack thereof. I heard people talk about her being with god and being in a better place. It was god’s doing. In god’s plan.
Finally a move up here where again I was the vicar’s wife. It was a disaster. Probably more about power than faith. Then he got sick and things really fell apart. When we left the parish I stopped going to church. These people had hurt me and my family and really seemed to be at odds with the christian message of love. I won’t even start to address the hierarchy that was more about power and authority than spreading any sort of news be it good or not!
After my marriage ended I started thinking about faith. Yes, in the past I had read my bible and ‘prayed’ whatever prayer may be. I knew the lord’s prayer, the apostles creed and the 10 commandments. I thought I had followed the teachings of the church until I realised there really were none- it was every person for themselves. Some people knew that women shouldn’t be ordained, yet there were ordained women! I was told homosexuality was a sin and I needed to love the sinner, hate the sin. Or something like that. It all seemed totally fucked up.
I realised that I didn’t really have faith. It didn’t make sense. Just like Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny. It was too convenient having a religion or a creed based on a figure who supposedly was born of a virgin, died and came back to life, yet wasn’t a zombie! I think it’s easier to believe in rabbits delivering chocolate goodies and fairies taking teeth to make houses than that which christianity spreads as gospel. It just doesn’t make sense and I know that’s where the faith bit is meant to come in- but faith? I could have faith that I would create world peace or end poverty but that is not faith. Faith is based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof. Whatever. Some of my best friends have faith. Some are still heavily involved in the church.
For me, I need to live my life respecting others and having them treat me the way I want to be treated. I don’t go around proselytising my atheism. Nothing pisses me off more than people trying to portray themselves holier than thou with their faith, yet in practice they don’t espouse these values. I am all for the values religions seem to teach, however there is such a chasm of teaching and living or doing. I appreciate art and music inspired by religion. But I know there is no god. I have no anger to my past. It is just that, the past. The scales have lifted from my eyes!
Fiona | 
08 27th, 2010| 
