After a good five years of fully intending to go to church but never quite making it out of the house on a Sunday morning, we’ve been attending since the beginning of the year.
Religion is a touchy subject, I know. When my husband and I lived in the South, you could start an epic conversation by mentioning the wrong flavor of church.
Worse still was not going to church at all. Not a week went by without someone selling their God door-to-door. We didn’t buy.
My husband’s religious background is nonexistent, mostly. My relationship with religion has always been complicated. My father’s family is Catholic; my mother’s largely Southern Baptist. After years of long and careful thought, I became a card-carrying atheist.
(Note: There are no cards. We’re just not that organized.)
I have nothing against religion, mind you. Faith-based organizations have done and do wonderful things. They can offer hope where there is none. They can also do the exact opposite, especially when the “My God is better than your God” arguments start.
And while I’d like to think we could end half of the violent conflicts going on in the world just by outlawing religion, I know that we’d simply find some other divisive thing to kill each other over.
Human beings are complicated, solo or in large groups. Which is exactly why we started hauling ourselves to the service at the Unitarian Universalists Society of Oneonta every Sunday morning.
Yes, we joined the UU. We also listen to NPR. We do not, however, drive Suburus. Not that there is anything wrong with that life choice.
When the Diva was a toddler, lo these many years ago, she started asking questions like, “what do colored eggs and chocolate rabbits have to do with crucifixion?” The best answer I could come up with was: it’s complicated. I’ll explain when you’re older.