I believe in science. I believe that we are made of “stardust,” from matter created during the Big Bang. I believe that life on a planet with liquid water is inevitable due to processes that are beginning to be understood. There is evidence in the chemistry of our DNA and that of other beings that we evolved during a long process. We did not descend from current apes, but we do have common evolutionary ancestry with them. We are, in a phrase that I did not originate, “the Universe becoming aware of itself.” There are probably similar beings on other planets in the universe, perhaps at a much different evolutionary or technological stage than we are.
Do I believe in God? It depends upon what you mean. I do not believe in the God described in the scriptures that many of us are familiar with. And I don't believe in heaven or hell. When we die, I believe that we lose our individuality. I find this metaphor useful: We are a cup of water taken from a great river. When we die we go back into it.
I do acknowledge the possibility that there is a being of a higher order than we are, a creative force that was somehow behind the Big Bang and what developed of it. I feel a deep awe for the Mystery of our existence, and I believe that we are all in this situation together. For the sake of comfort and even existence of future generations and for those less fortunate than us, we are duty bound to tolerate and even appreciate our differences and to collaborate on identified common issues and especially on creating peace in the world. My resolve is renewed and inspired by interacting with my fellow human beings with similar goals, no matter their beliefs.
I grew up in a rural area of southern Ohio, where we went to a little church that was locally referred to as the “Christian Church.” (There were also a Methodist church, a Church of God, and a Quaker church in the same little town of about 100 people.) Actually, it was a Congregational Christian church, later called United Church of Christ. It was very small, with attendance of about 25 people, including adults and children during the time period of my childhood, and it folded when I was a teenager.
I have a vague recollection of a regular pastor in my very young years, but later the church started having Lutheran seminary students come to give the sermon and conduct the service on Sunday mornings. I remember one in particular who stayed with us for maybe a year or two, and I remember a couple of things that he did or said. My memory of him in the pulpit was probably near the end of the lifetime of that church, when he said, “and if you don’t believe in Him with all your heart, then you are damned!” as he pounded his fist on the pulpit. The fire and brimstone message of that sermon really stuck with me, but not in the way he probably hoped. Although it was really scary at first, it got me thinking and questioning the principle of “right belief,” that is, that if your theological beliefs weren’t right, then you were doomed to eternal torture and suffering. I was taught to believe in a loving god. Why would He allow all these religions to be here on Earth, requiring us to guess which one was right, with the stakes being either eternal bliss or eternal suffering? Nope, I concluded soon thereafter that that could not be the case. I later learned that the standard Christian dogma had been constructed by an elite committee of elders (all men, of course) at the Council of Nicaea, and that there was material rejected that might have supported unitarian or universalist beliefs. Later, people who argued against the trinity were deemed heretics and were sometimes burnt at the stake. And this was supposed to be a loving religion? That knowledge only solidified my skepticism.
As for religious experiences when I went to college, the most significant contact I made was with a graduate student in my place of part-time work, who told me of a church based not on theological beliefs, but rather on common values and discussion of religious and ethical questions. I didn’t feel the need to try the church at that time, but I kept that in mind and would from then on refer to myself as Unitarian if asked what my religion was.
Nowadays, I do go to the Unitarian Universalist Church, and my wife Theresa and I have done so since our twin girls were less than a year old. (They are now 35.) It is a church based on covenant, rather than dogma, so I feel right at home in that no one tells me what theology I must believe. We meet weekly to hear a sermon and experience a worship service that, in form, is very similar to any other mainstream Protestant services I’ve been to. We sing. We celebrate life and acknowledge the Mystery. We appeal to reason and encourage participants to follow principles that include giving respect and dignity to all people, and caring for the interdependent web of all existence. We get serious about seeking justice and equality for all people, but we also like to have fun together. It was a great place for support in raising our own children and for comfort when losing beloved family members. Now we enjoy being among the elders in a multi-generational community that still includes many young families and young adults. We sing in the choir and provide other assistance in adding music and lay participation to the worship services. Not everyone there characterizes themselves as atheist or agnostic, but even those of us who do feel welcome. Different theologies can acknowledge the Great Mystery and express gratitude for the gift of life, and can enjoy being part of a loving community. My attendance and involvement continues to renew and inspire my resolve to do what I can to make the world a better place, for today’s humanity and for future generations.
