After the Service

Much to the disappointment of my parents and in-laws, I have eschewed organized religion for the last twenty years and have taught my children that every religion has its own beliefs and stories and that most of them think theirs is the only way, which means that none of them is the only way. My children must find their spirituality themselves, as I am doing. And while I think this has worked well, there are times when I wonder what they’ve missed, in the same way that I sometimes feel bad that they don’t have the benefits of living in a typical suburban neighborhood with lots of kids to play with.

Such were my thoughts as I sat in a two hour bar mitzvah ceremony yesterday. I was impressed with all the preparation the boy had to go through and the poise with which he carried himself. I was impressed with all the activities for kids and families listed in the bulletin, and wondered if Lima Bean was missing out on having a group of friends like that to play with. This boy was only one year older than Lima Bean, but he carried himself with so much more confidence and maturity.

I also wondered what it would be like to have a scheduled time like that to focus on connecting with one’s higher power, because that’s something I don’t have either. I squeeze it in when I can. I don’t know if my children ever do it at all, unless I take Lima Bean for a walk in the Zen Garden or Labyrinth nearby.

I sat watching these two blended families sitting side by side, supporting the bar mitzvah boy, who seemed to have benefited from such a strong religious upbringing, thinking that Lima Bean was at a disadvantage. When the Torah reading was over, the boy read a personal essay. He talked about learning the consequences of his actions after he and his friends threw rocks across a fence into someone’s yard and the police came to his house. And it occurred to me that I didn’t want Lima Bean to learn about responsibility that way; I was thankful once again for not living in a neighborhood with a bunch of kids.

As the day wore on, the conclusions I had made earlier slowly unraveled. The harmonious blended family was an illusion for one day only; the parents fought bitterly and had recently been back in court. The stepson who appeared so mature and responsible had recently been kicked out of the house.

And then I realized that the sermon I had listened to earlier had been chosen for a reason. It was about the importance of only entering into arguments for the sake of furthering good, not for power struggles or egos or money, and that in all arguments, one should be respectful of each other. I wondered if it had made a difference, really, to anyone sitting in the synagogue.

I’ve concluded that as far as organized religions go, the Quakers probably have the best idea: come to a service and sit for an hour in complete silence and figure it out for yourself.

My father-in-law spoke at his 70th birthday party recently, and one of the things he said was that his only regret is that not all of his children and grandchildren attend church regularly. He is a devout Catholic and a genuinely good man; I respect him for following what is good about his faith: compassion, charity, forgiveness. I also realize that I am more spiritual than my brother-in-law who attends church every Sunday but is a greedy, unscrupulous, corrupt businessman, and that my father-in-law will never understand that. So be it.

That’s the beauty of finding one’s own spiritualism, the connection to a higher power through yourself. There is no wrong way to do it. Mine is not better than yours. If you live your life in a holy way, it doesn’t matter whether you need a sermon from a priest, zen meditation, a twenty minute walk in the woods, or a passage from Eckhert Tolle’s book to do it.

What matters is how you live your life, every day.