People who study religion have a name for a certain kind of child; they call them eleven-year-old atheists. Children at eleven have a finely tuned fairness antenna. “That’s not fair,” they say, trembling with the absolute unfairness of it all. Some of these kids end up wondering why God doesn’t have the same sense of fairness. If God is so great, why doesn’t He fix everything?
I was one of those children. I mentally chewed on the idea of God all the time. I knew that you had to be a Christian, preferably Catholic, to get into heaven. But what about all the people born before Jesus? How could they have been Christians? There weren’t any Christians before Christ, right? Where did these early people go when they died? If they didn’t go to heaven, well, that just wouldn’t be FAIR!
These questions and other related ones worked away at me. The older I got, the more questions I had. One morning when I was eleven years old, I woke up, and I didn’t believe in God anymore. I was thinking, “ohhhhhhh noooo!” Because God was a pretty big piece of how I thought of the world. It felt like a chunk of something sturdy falling out of my brain. That chunk shook up a lot of other beliefs too. They were all coming loose. Chunk. There goes heaven! Wait, does that means no after-life at all? Chunk. What about my soul? Do I even have one? Chunk. Who created the world then? Chunk. What about Jesus? Who was he? Chunk.
Chunk indeed. The world made so much more sense without God; there was no going back. But little girl Katie wanted to go back. I remember the loneliness that came with all those realizations. The God-driven universe I had given up held warmth, safety, and sacredness. In this new Godless universe, I was standing alone and coatless in a featureless landscape, buffeted by a strong, cold wind.
I had a teenage sleepover at my friend Jill’s house a few years later. At two in the morning, Jill woke me up. Someone was outside the window shining a flashlight into the room. Jill began to pray out loud. “Oh God, save us.” She was crying and wailing this simple rescue prayer over and over. Then she looked at me, grabbed my hands, and began saying, Hail Marys. I joined right in, clutching her hands and chanting this prayer we both knew by heart. Our Hail Marys rang out through the house. Jill’s father got up and turned on several lights on his way to our room. The flashlight outside went out when Jill’s Dad came roaring in. He testily told us to go back to sleep; I’m not sure if he ever believed us about the intruder and the flashlight. But we laid back down, glad to be rescued and not even mad at Jill’s dad for being so grumpy.
Lying there, I was in a strange turmoil, unable to sleep. Jill’s faith had been so real. It was something she could reach right out and grab like a warm jacket with a rescue flare in the pocket. It was there whenever she needed it. What did I have? For the next couple of weeks, I wore Jill’s faith as if it were mine. It looked so good in that frightening moment that I wanted some of it. I told myself, “I believe in God, too. Now. Yes, I do.” But I was no longer very good at make-believe. My borrowed belief eventually faded away.
At least one other time, I have tried on the God jacket to see if it could fit me again. The last time was in seminary when I was surrounded by fellow seminarians filled with both the spirit and a lot of exuberance. We would gather in a circle, lay hands, and pray for each other whenever anyone had a challenge or a joy. This time picking up the faith jacket was less desperate and more exploratory. I spent a lot of time and thought on my relationship with God/No God.
My conclusion was that I wanted the warmth and sacred consciousness that came so often with a belief in God. Could you have that without God? Well, that was why I was in seminary and becoming a minister. I came to believe that you could.
And that is what this blog is about. I would love to hear about your experience of faith as a child. Please Share!
I didn’t have faith as a child. My mom was lapsed Catholic, my dad an atheist. I “got saved” my first year in college and spent the next 35 years in fundamentalist-type churches bordering on cultish dogma and behavior. Six years ago my youngest came out of the closet followed soon by my eldest. Having two children dear to my heart opposing everything the church proclaimed- forced a reckoning of my heart and soul. I left. It was hard. Now, I am still learning to live without the dogma and fear but also without the safety and certainty of belonging and the destination of heaven now a memory. Seeking the stability of self trust and peace. It’s a journey. Sometimes dark and lonely, other times glimpses of light and peace.🕊
This is interesting. I've actually been wondering recently why I never doubted the existence of God. I have doubted pretty much everything else about Christianity, but not that. I remember once when I was going through an exceptionally tough time I was actually wishing I would not believe in Him as that would make things easier--not as personal, I guess. But the belief stayed.
Maybe it's the disposition. I was a happy child (then I went to school). I have that extra something in the brain that scientists say is responsible for the happy feeling. Or maybe it's the gratitude. Czesław Miłosz wrote once that a grateful person will always believe in God. Or maybe it's just a good relationship with my Dad. I have no idea.
Looking forward to reading you. Hugs to the 11-year-old girl.