Random Thoughts on Religion

It seems that, everywhere I turn lately, there is a religious angle.

Sometimes it can't be avoided. Just yesterday, I wrote about Liberty University's decision not to recognize the College Democrats. You can hardly write about that subject without, at some point, observing that Liberty is a private Baptist college that was founded by the late Jerry Falwell.

Sometimes it can be avoided. This week, I've been thinking a lot about my hometown — Conway, Ark. — which has been cast into the spotlight with Kris Allen's victory in the "American Idol" competition.

I suppose Allen makes his home in Conway these days. He wasn't born there, and he didn't go to school there until he was in college. But I assume he is living there now. And, apparently, he's been active in evangelical Christian groups in the central Arkansas area.

"American Idol" seems to have done a pretty good job of resisting whatever temptation there may have been to exploit Allen's faith — but it was mentioned quite a bit when the finale came down to a showdown between Allen and an avant–garde, heavily favored rival from California. I guess the contrasts were too appealing to pass up.

When you live in Conway, Ark., you are surrounded by religion. At least, that was my impression. Many of the people in Arkansas — nearly 40% — are Baptists, and Conway was no exception. There were a lot of Baptists in Conway, and they went to services on Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday evening — without fail.

All the other Protestant denominations, as well as the Catholics, come in under double digits in Arkansas. But the Methodists just barely missed, with 9% of the population.

I was raised in the Methodist church — and today, incidentally, is Aldersgate Day, which commemorates the day 271 years ago — on May 24, 1738 — that John Wesley experienced his conversion. It's probably of consequence only to Methodists, since Wesley founded the Methodist movement.

My father was a professor of religion and philosophy at a small Methodist college in Conway. To hold that position, he had to be an ordained minister. I can remember several occasions when he was asked to perform the wedding ceremonies for his students.

I attended the Methodist church in Conway. Because of his job, my father became acquainted with all the ministers who came to our church and the nearby churches. Eventually, we heard them all. Some gave good sermons. Some were pretty dry.

We went to church fairly regularly when I was a child, then attendance became more sporadic when I got into my teen years and my mother went back to work. For awhile, I wasn't attending church at all, then I started going, many times by myself. I felt like I was making my own decision, and it seemed to fill a personal need.

Then, when I was in college, I stopped going to church — ironically, right around the time that I talked my mother into going again. I think she continued to attend church for the rest of her life, but my lapse lasted for several years, until I found myself living and working in Little Rock, which is a short drive from Conway. In Little Rock, I resumed my church attendance, even though I was working the night shift on Saturdays and Sundays.

But, after I left Arkansas, my church participation began to lapse again. And this lapse went on for many years — until early this year, as a matter of fact. In February, I began attending a Methodist church here in Dallas. And my attendance has been pretty consistent. I've missed a few services in the last four months, but not many.

Why do I keep going? I've been wondering that myself. There are no simple answers, I guess. I've been out of work for awhile, so I guess that's played a role. If nothing else, it can help to have the support network a church congregation can be.

I don't think this is a fear–of–the–wrath–of–God kind of scenario, though. I've seen that before, and this isn't like that.

Nearly 18 years ago, a good friend of mine in Arkansas was dying of cancer. I had left Arkansas a few years earlier, but I made a couple of trips back to visit my friend. His deterioration was rapid, and I remember, during my last visit to Arkansas before he died, observing that some of my other friends had started attending church regularly. When I lived there, I said, my friends never went to church.

"A lot of us have been going since Mike got sick," one of my friends replied quietly.

That kind of event is bound to inspire some life–altering changes. I guess it depends on what you believe, what you feel in your heart, that determines whether those changes take permanent root. Some of my friends are still going to church while others lapsed into non–attendance after Mike died and the sense of urgency passed.

Mike's illness didn't bring me back to church, nor did the loss of my close companion, my dog, who died after being struck by a car one night a couple of years later. Nor did my mother's death in a flash flood the year after that.

But something has been nudging me back to church this year. Maybe, as I said, the bad economy has had something to do with it. But, while it is true that I have prayed for the end of the recession and guidance for my job search, that isn't the whole story.

I just don't know what the whole story is.

Whatever has been nudging me in this direction, there are times when I wish spirits from the other side could visit me for a few minutes, the way some do in sci–fi TV shows or movies. Maybe my mother or my grandmothers or my grandfathers — or "Aunt Bess," an older lady who was a dear friend of mine when I was growing up and had very strong religious beliefs — could shed some light on some things for me.

Part of it has to do with a friend of mine who lives in St. Louis. He had a heart attack last month and had a bypass this week. From what I've been able to learn about his condition, his doctors were always pretty confident that he would recover because, statistically, he's rather young.

But a bypass is major surgery. And any major surgery carries with it a possibility — however small it may be — that something could go wrong.

I had already been attending my church for nearly three months when my friend had his heart attack. So his condition did not inspire me to return to church. But it did keep me coming to services.

Still, I ask myself — what is it that I truly believe?

That's a hard question for me to answer. At this stage of my life, I am more inclined to believe there is a higher power than I was when I was younger. Does this higher power have "a plan" that is unfolding before us? Of that, I'm not certain. It seems more likely to me that this higher power created the earth and everything in it — or oversaw its evolution — but what we do with it is up to us.

I'd like to believe there was more than a nugget of truth in the words of George Burns, who played God in "Oh, God!" — "However hopeless, helpless, mixed up and scary it all gets, it can work. If you find it hard to believe in me, maybe it would help you to know that I believe in you."

I guess the things I've seen in my life make me hopeful that, if God exists, he's like Burns because that is the kind of God I want to believe in. When Burns was asked about the future by John Denver in the movie, he told Denver that he could speak with authority about things as they exist and about things that have already happened, but he didn't know what would happen in the future.

Considering what most denominations teach about God and the existence of a "plan," I find it oddly reassuring to think that God didn't plan what happens, that "free will" is more than just a human theory.

"If you're God," Denver said to Burns at one point, "how can You permit all the suffering that goes on in the world?"

"I don't permit the suffering," Burns replied. "You do."