musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

A matter of belief


My father grew up a Baptist, my mother an Anglican; they compromised after they married: they joined the United Church of Canada. So for me, growing up in post war Winnipeg, there was no confusion, no need to meld different traditions into an edible stew -I had simply accepted the compromise that they had made; I knew nothing else.

But as time passed, and my curiosity about the reasons for their melange grew, I remember asking my father about it after a particularly stormy day in Sunday School at our local church. We’d been asked what we thought God wanted us to do with our lives, and I’d raised my hand and asked the teacher which god she meant.

“I told Miss Welch that you and mom believed in different gods,” I confessed to my father after the adult church service had finished. “She said there was only one god; that I must have misunderstood what you and mom believed…”

I remember placing my hands on my hips like my father did when he was thinking. “I think she was the one who didn’t understand…”

My father seemed amused at what I’d told her, but I could see some concern on his face as well. He put his arm over my shoulder -a sure sign he felt he had to set me straight. “God is just what we call the idea that there is something greater than us, G” he explained, using his pet name for me. “The name we call him, or the team he belongs to, is not important… In fact, the word ‘religion’ actually means ‘binding together again’…”

I knew nothing about etymology in those days, of course, and I’m not sure my father did either, but it sort of  made sense. I decided not to ask as many questions in Sunday School, but it did start me thinking about the different religions as I matured through the years. The only common thread I could detect amongst the confused tangle of names, beliefs, and traditions, was the idea that there was something more going on than we could see: as Shakespeare had Hamlet observe, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth… than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’  

So the question arises as to whether a particular set of beliefs is necessary to create a religion. Is religion, in other words, dependent on them for its existence? Can I, who commit to no particular doctrine, call myself religious without further specifying my beliefs? Is my non-directional awe of the fact of my existence, and my daily amazement at the world which contains me, enough? If I am thankful for all of this –truly thankful- and am unable to identify a bestower to whom I owe my gratitude, is that enough to qualify me? If I am pressed to further qualify my wonder, should I merely confess to being spiritual -whatever that means; whatever that adds to what I may be?

Ever since that remark of my father’s about religion and it’s etymology, I have wondered whether religion actually requires belief, or would be equally served by a feeling -a transcendent wonder, perhaps -without being imprisoned within some sort of doctrine. Even the word god confines it, doesn’t it: labelling something that is beyond labels; attempting to define something that cannot be defined…?

Religions need not be confined to particular buildings with different shapes and addresses; the idea that there is something beyond our understanding is really what each of them is celebrating, I think.

A few days ago, I was enjoying a coffee and an interesting book on a little patio outside a Starbuck’s shop. It was separated from the sparsely travelled road by a park filled with birdsong from the nearby trees. I was so engaged in the book that I didn’t notice the two men sitting at the next table until one of them laughed. It was more of a surprised chuckle than an amused one, actually, and when I glanced over at them, I could tell by their eyes that they seemed to be enjoying the parry and thrust of the discussion. Enjoying each other’s company.

I suppose I should have gone back to my reading, but their voices, although not loud, carried well on the little terrace. And the subject was close to my heart.

“I saw you at our church the other day, John,” said one of them, an elderly balding man sporting what appeared to be a white clerical collar… or maybe he had just fastened the top button of his dress shirt – I didn’t want to stare at them.

His friend, a man of similar age but with a tousled head of greying hair, dressed in a grey tee shirt and sweat pants just smiled at first. “I get around, Andy… I get around…” he finally ventured, as his friend continued to stare at him.

“I thought you told me you were Catholic.”

John’s smile widened. “I suspect you know that ‘Catholic’ means ‘universal’ in Greek… katholikos.”

“So…”

“So, I like to try different flavours every now and then.”

Andy shook his head slowly, clearly puzzled at his friend’s lack of commitment. “But…” he hesitated, uncertain how to phrase his question politely. “But what do you believe, John?”

John thought about it for a moment as he sipped his coffee, then shrugged. “Do I have to believe something to enjoy the experience…?” The smile reappeared, as did the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Suppose I just like the atmosphere of churches? Suppose in some I like the reassuring voice of the priest, or in others, the feel of the organ reverberating through the pews? If that gives me a sense of peace… shouldn’t that be enough? Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

Andy began to shake his head again, this time more vehemently. “It’s about the message, John.” He thought about how to phrase his words so his friend would understand. “Religion is about God’s message to us.”

John made a valiant effort not to roll his eyes -I could see that even from a table away. “And does this message have to be communicated in words…?” He had another sip of his coffee. “Does friendship have to be communicated words? Does love…?” He shook his head, a little wistfully it seemed. And then he sighed and reached across the table for his friend’s arm. “Don’t you think that words can get in the way sometimes…?”

I closed my book, finished the dregs of my coffee and pushed my chair back from the table, content with my morning. They both looked over at me, and I smiled as I walked past them. We had all shared far more than words that day…

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gozzter

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