Let me preface this treatise by making it clear that I do not believe there is any scientific or empirical evidence that clearly establishes the existence of God. Further, I am not advocating adherence to any particular set of religious beliefs. That is a private matter and, in the final analysis, boils down to what one chooses to believe. I am no different.
I came from a family that, for the most part, did not subscribe to any particular religious doctrine. However, as tenuous as that commitment might have been, I think I can safely say their beliefs were rooted in Christianity.
The only one whose religious convictions were rock-solid was my Grandmother. She came from a long line of devout Baptists, and she made no bones about her beliefs and the strength thereof. She had a well-worn Bible from which she read passages everyday. She could quote scripture with no effort and never doubted that she was literally correct every time. She was singularly responsible for instilling within me a fear of the awesome power of that Divine Being who was poised to rein down all sorts of pain and suffering for the slightest infraction of His myriad rules and proscriptions.
My Grandmother was a staunch supporter of Vacation Bible School. In retrospect, I don’t doubt her commitment one bit. However, given the religious makeup of the rest of the family, I cannot help but wonder if they aided and abetted her fervor just to get the kids out of the house for a few hours. Regardless, I enjoyed getting away and having the opportunity to draw, color, sing and socialize with my peers. What was put forth as education was so alien to me that I gave it little attention.
When I had matured to that of a pre-pubescent boy, my Grandmother decided it was time for me to be exposed to church services, the most important aspect of all that being the revival meeting. She took me by the hand, and I dutifully followed, to a sandstone building with a neon sign that read “JESUS SAVES,” prominently perched atop the structure. There was a lot of smiling, shaking of hands and shouts of approval for the inspired word as preached by Reverend Pulis. The meeting built to a crescendo of excitement when the moment came to “go forward.” I was not just in awe of what was going on around me; I was absolutely terrified. When my Grandmother asked me if I wanted to “go forward,” I hadn’t a clue as to what that was all about. All I knew was that it resulted in making some sort of a verbal commitment from the front while looking out at all those rapturous people, to be followed by a complete immersion in a tank of water by Reverend Pulis. That was not my idea of a good time. I refused my Grandmother’s offer and was relieved when we exited that exercise in fear, and back into the cool air of the autumn’s evening. I never went back to the Baptist Church.
I aligned myself with the rather lukewarm religious convictions of my parental home and was quite content to forego any further ventures into the world of religion.
After I graduated from high school and joined the United States Navy, there was a growing desire within me to seek a religious foundation that would sustain me through all that my adult life was to throw at me. One could ask, and rightfully so, why did I find it necessary to engage in such a pursuit? As I matured, I became increasingly aware of the demons within me, something I shared with all my fellow mortals. There is that constant conflict that goes on within us from the beginning to the end of our lives. Within that conflict is the ease with which we can rationalize the less noble aspects of who and what we are, so often not just to our own detriment but to those of a whole host of others we will meet on the road through life. I felt a growing need to find and subscribe to a moral compass in order to maximize honesty with myself, minimize the propensity towards self-deception and treat others as I would like to be treated in return.
I first tried the Presbyterian Church. That quickly proved to be an uncomfortable fit for me. My next sampling was the Episcopal Church. The ritual and props of it all were a bit overwhelming, so my tenure was rather brief. I was becoming somewhat discouraged by it all, but one thing I did know for sure. I needed a compass to guide me on my mortal journey.
A couple of my shipmates regularly attended a local Methodist Church in Honolulu, and one Sunday they asked me to join them. I accepted the invitation and was pleasantly surprised at what I found. I liked the fact that it was not an emotional religion and that it had an intellectual bent to it. That made it appealing to me and my comfort zone. I stayed with that church for several years. However, when I was a university student, at the end of the academic year I received in the mail one of those “window” envelopes that was, in those days, a clear sign of an overdue bill. When I opened it, I was reminded that I was in arrears by $4.50 on my annual pledge. I was further admonished to remit the unpaid balance within ten days. The completely put me off and I never went back. I thought I had joined a church, not a commercial enterprise. There is a right way and a wrong way to do everything, and the way that issue was handled was, in my opinion, totally inappropriate for a religious institution. It was particularly offensive, given that I was going through college on the $110 per month provided by the G.I. Bill.
Prominent in my quest for religious enlightenment was that offered in the Bible. I tried reading that rather formidable tome several times, only to be discouraged at the thought of having to wade through all that “begetting.” It exhausted me just thinking about it. While I was a university student I signed up for an elective course titled “The Bible as Literature.” I looked forward to being guided through that work by a real pro. However, when the professor introduced the course as “the greatest fictional work ever written,” coupled with the requirement that a term paper had to be written as part of the course, I chucked it in. I didn’t like his rather flippant manner and I sure as hell didn’t want to take on five term papers that semester. So, that ended my flirtation with any notion I may have had at becoming an aspiring biblical scholar.
When I was engaged to be married, I decided I had to fish or cut bait. If we were to be a cohesive family, I decided that our family would be much better off if we all went to the same church together on Sunday. I was somewhat daunted by the mystery and the pageantry of the Church, and I knew I had a lot to learn. Over the years, it has proven to be a good fit. It has provided me with the foundation I was seeking and the privacy I prefer. I have had, and still have, issues with my faith but I am at peace with where I am. That is probably because I have never abdicated what I regard as a fundamental intellectual obligation to question everything, and reject nothing out of hand where the scales are tipped on the side of truth. That is one of the great gifts I took away from the traditions of the university from which I graduated.
I can assure you, however, that nothing has ever been quite as formidable or ecclesiastically terrifying to me as Reverend Pulis and that horse tank full of cold water at the JESUS SAVES Baptist Church.
I will pursue this subject further in a future column.
Cowboy Bob
October 8, 2008
I came from a family that, for the most part, did not subscribe to any particular religious doctrine. However, as tenuous as that commitment might have been, I think I can safely say their beliefs were rooted in Christianity.
The only one whose religious convictions were rock-solid was my Grandmother. She came from a long line of devout Baptists, and she made no bones about her beliefs and the strength thereof. She had a well-worn Bible from which she read passages everyday. She could quote scripture with no effort and never doubted that she was literally correct every time. She was singularly responsible for instilling within me a fear of the awesome power of that Divine Being who was poised to rein down all sorts of pain and suffering for the slightest infraction of His myriad rules and proscriptions.
My Grandmother was a staunch supporter of Vacation Bible School. In retrospect, I don’t doubt her commitment one bit. However, given the religious makeup of the rest of the family, I cannot help but wonder if they aided and abetted her fervor just to get the kids out of the house for a few hours. Regardless, I enjoyed getting away and having the opportunity to draw, color, sing and socialize with my peers. What was put forth as education was so alien to me that I gave it little attention.
When I had matured to that of a pre-pubescent boy, my Grandmother decided it was time for me to be exposed to church services, the most important aspect of all that being the revival meeting. She took me by the hand, and I dutifully followed, to a sandstone building with a neon sign that read “JESUS SAVES,” prominently perched atop the structure. There was a lot of smiling, shaking of hands and shouts of approval for the inspired word as preached by Reverend Pulis. The meeting built to a crescendo of excitement when the moment came to “go forward.” I was not just in awe of what was going on around me; I was absolutely terrified. When my Grandmother asked me if I wanted to “go forward,” I hadn’t a clue as to what that was all about. All I knew was that it resulted in making some sort of a verbal commitment from the front while looking out at all those rapturous people, to be followed by a complete immersion in a tank of water by Reverend Pulis. That was not my idea of a good time. I refused my Grandmother’s offer and was relieved when we exited that exercise in fear, and back into the cool air of the autumn’s evening. I never went back to the Baptist Church.
I aligned myself with the rather lukewarm religious convictions of my parental home and was quite content to forego any further ventures into the world of religion.
After I graduated from high school and joined the United States Navy, there was a growing desire within me to seek a religious foundation that would sustain me through all that my adult life was to throw at me. One could ask, and rightfully so, why did I find it necessary to engage in such a pursuit? As I matured, I became increasingly aware of the demons within me, something I shared with all my fellow mortals. There is that constant conflict that goes on within us from the beginning to the end of our lives. Within that conflict is the ease with which we can rationalize the less noble aspects of who and what we are, so often not just to our own detriment but to those of a whole host of others we will meet on the road through life. I felt a growing need to find and subscribe to a moral compass in order to maximize honesty with myself, minimize the propensity towards self-deception and treat others as I would like to be treated in return.
I first tried the Presbyterian Church. That quickly proved to be an uncomfortable fit for me. My next sampling was the Episcopal Church. The ritual and props of it all were a bit overwhelming, so my tenure was rather brief. I was becoming somewhat discouraged by it all, but one thing I did know for sure. I needed a compass to guide me on my mortal journey.
A couple of my shipmates regularly attended a local Methodist Church in Honolulu, and one Sunday they asked me to join them. I accepted the invitation and was pleasantly surprised at what I found. I liked the fact that it was not an emotional religion and that it had an intellectual bent to it. That made it appealing to me and my comfort zone. I stayed with that church for several years. However, when I was a university student, at the end of the academic year I received in the mail one of those “window” envelopes that was, in those days, a clear sign of an overdue bill. When I opened it, I was reminded that I was in arrears by $4.50 on my annual pledge. I was further admonished to remit the unpaid balance within ten days. The completely put me off and I never went back. I thought I had joined a church, not a commercial enterprise. There is a right way and a wrong way to do everything, and the way that issue was handled was, in my opinion, totally inappropriate for a religious institution. It was particularly offensive, given that I was going through college on the $110 per month provided by the G.I. Bill.
Prominent in my quest for religious enlightenment was that offered in the Bible. I tried reading that rather formidable tome several times, only to be discouraged at the thought of having to wade through all that “begetting.” It exhausted me just thinking about it. While I was a university student I signed up for an elective course titled “The Bible as Literature.” I looked forward to being guided through that work by a real pro. However, when the professor introduced the course as “the greatest fictional work ever written,” coupled with the requirement that a term paper had to be written as part of the course, I chucked it in. I didn’t like his rather flippant manner and I sure as hell didn’t want to take on five term papers that semester. So, that ended my flirtation with any notion I may have had at becoming an aspiring biblical scholar.
When I was engaged to be married, I decided I had to fish or cut bait. If we were to be a cohesive family, I decided that our family would be much better off if we all went to the same church together on Sunday. I was somewhat daunted by the mystery and the pageantry of the Church, and I knew I had a lot to learn. Over the years, it has proven to be a good fit. It has provided me with the foundation I was seeking and the privacy I prefer. I have had, and still have, issues with my faith but I am at peace with where I am. That is probably because I have never abdicated what I regard as a fundamental intellectual obligation to question everything, and reject nothing out of hand where the scales are tipped on the side of truth. That is one of the great gifts I took away from the traditions of the university from which I graduated.
I can assure you, however, that nothing has ever been quite as formidable or ecclesiastically terrifying to me as Reverend Pulis and that horse tank full of cold water at the JESUS SAVES Baptist Church.
I will pursue this subject further in a future column.
Cowboy Bob
October 8, 2008
1 comment:
Bob, you surely do have a good memory of times gone past. SD
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