“They were under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III, or whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, we will serve you if you’ll get us free from the French. True story. And so, the devil said, okay it’s a deal.”  Pat Robertson

Must we imply that if there is hardship, poverty, war, illness–God must not be there.  Are all the wealthy, successful people finding favor with God?   Do earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, and flooding mean Satan is attacking?

Superstition rules and Science is out.  It must be the Devil.

My doubt through the Christmas season was strong.  I felt so much doubt, I meet with my Sunday School Teacher to talk about it over coffee.  He was not surprised, I had alluded to some of my questioning in class.  The odd thing about me is that I LOVE church and have no interest in leaving.  It is pretty amazing since I doubt so much of the time.  In my December struggle, I was given this perspective which gave me comfort.

Faith always includes uncertainty or else it is not faith. Unbelief itself is a long-standing perspective. See the works of Robert N. Bellah and Martin Marty. Marty, a historian, has written about unbelief as a tradition within American thought. Unbelief is a kind of faith, odd at it may seem.

So you may have heard (well, I know Anne and Judith have heard) that I recently had a baby.  Actually he’s almost 3 months old now, so not so very recently.  Anyway, now it’s time to decide if we want to have him christened at our Episcopal church.  My husband and I are now Episcopalian, but he was raised Baptist and I was raised a weird combo of Assembly of God, Church of Christ, Baptist, etc.  So this christening/infant baptism thing is not really part of our own heritage.  In our previous churches babies are usually “dedicated” which is basically a commitment by the parents to raise their children in the faith, but there’s no baptism by water involved.  Then when a child is older he’s encouraged to “accept Jesus” and follow it up with baptism by immersion. (Click here to read a previous discussion about baby dedications.)

I’m ready enough to have the new baby baptized — and would like to have the other two thrown in for a 3-for-1 deal. I checked with our priest and he’s cool with that.  However, my husband has never warmed to the idea of infant baptism.  I haven’t pressed him much yet about this baby (planning to broach the subject next weekend when he’ll have the free time to discuss thoroughly) but I know how he felt with the last baby. To me it’s equivalent to a baby dedication (don’t tell my church — it’s probably not a good Episcopalian thing to say) and confirmation is sort of equivalent to the older child getting saved and baptized in a Baptist church.  The first (baby dedication/christening) is about the family committing to raising the child in their tradition; the second (confirmation/older baptism) is about the child embracing that tradition of their own will (though we could get into whether many children are actually doing it of their own will or just responding to parental/peer pressure).

My point? I’m not sure — just sharing a minor struggle of someone who has left one tradition for another. It’s not even like I converted from a whole other religion, but it can still be tough to decide how much to embrace the new tradition. My husband holds back a bit and is not as crazy about the new church, and I feel I can’t jump in and do something significant like this with our children without him agreeing to it as well.

Does anyone have a well-thought-out opinion about these things? Did you have your babies dedicated or christened? Is it really any big deal? Is it really a matter of salvation either way? If you’re pro-christening, how do I convince my still-somewhat Baptist husband that we should do this?

Growing up, the notion of a child like faith was often praised.  I thought it was odd and irresponsible, even as a child.  Those who know me would say that is so me.  I have often thought and over thought much of life.  I didn’t doubt faith as a child, yet I thought it was something to be studied and not taken lightly.

Oh today I long for the faith of my childhood.   I wanted answers, yet I didn’t feel the answers would lead to disbelief.  I felt it would lead to understanding.  In my studying and struggle of adulthood, I have found more questions.  Lately those questions have been clouded with the darkness of unbelief. I WANT to believe.  I want the mysterious peace at passes all understanding.  The loss of faith saddens me.

A while back I asked my husband if he thought the American way of family life–a single nuclear family living in a private home–is the best model available.  He was either being wise or rude; I can’t remember that he engaged the debate.  The question lingered and resurfaced while reading an excellent book, Honeymoon in Tehran by Azadeh Moaveni.  The book itself is a wonderful, surreal portrait of life in modern Iran, but it was the author’s final personal remarks that hinted at this dilemma.  Born and raised in America to Iranian emigrants, she became a journalist covering the Middle East.  She married and lived in Iran but ultimately left with her family when circumstances became untenable.  Here are her concerns about raising her son in Western culture:

There were days when I was grateful for everything that London and life in the West offered—stability, a fast and uncensored Internet, and the luxury of worrying about toxicity in Hourmazd’s toiletries rather than in the propaganda murals on the street.  On other days…I felt unbearably lonely….In Tehran, the constant presence of relatives had meant that I had the pleasure of company, intellectual stimulation, and reassurance that was more steady than any parenting book, as well as time to shower, and even occasional moments of idleness.  I was poised and rested, and I actually found both working and mothering fun.  In London, I became the sort of woman, the sort of mother, who suddenly needed many extraneous and costly things—yoga classes, child-care gadgets, an agency-certified nanny, a housekeeper, bottled baby food—just to get through the week without becoming an exhausted wreck.

 And on a trip back to Iran:

We stayed with Arash’s parents, who were elated to welcome the grandson they had seen everyday for nearly a year and then not at all.  Hourmazd delighted in the company, finding incentive to turn his babble into near words, and was entertained enough to abandon his attention-thirsty naughtiness.  Watching my transformed little son play, I wondered whether this is how it was supposed to be—big families living together, generations under one roof, a whole community of well-intentioned relatives helping raise one another’s children.  I believe that children show you what they need in order to be happy, and if Hourmazd’s behavior was any measure this is what he needed: cousins, aunties, honorary aunties, and grandparents to be in his life every day, not just twice a year for a week.  Maybe I needed it, too.

 There are many accounts of unhappy living arrangements in Iran in this book.  This is mostly a singular, emotional-born reflection, but an important one nonetheless.  I am curious to know what others think on this topic, or if you have given it any thought at all.  I’m sure myriad things play into our personal views: cultural norms, relationships with family, our own personalities and desires, the number and temperament of our children….on and on.  I don’t expect this to be a conundrum with a solution, but I benefit greatly from the insight and discussion of others.  Comments are welcome from singles, childless, and men as well.

What do you think?

I am thankful to live in a country where I can speak out.  I can agree and disagree.  I do all of these things without worry for my family’s wellbeing or my job security.  I know I don’t appreciate these freedoms enough.  I have been fortunate to be born into a great life.  I am humbled.

I admit to knowing very little about God.  At times, I wonder if this overshadows what I do know.

In my doubt, I have always known God.  I believe in a God that has never left me.  In the darkness of my faith struggles God remained.

Today I was in Pier 1 with a friend.  I commented on the cute UNICEF Christmas cards to my friend.  Another shopper said, “Too bad they kill babies.”  I smiled, but didn’t say anything to her.  The sale’s clerk told me how the money each box of cards helps provide clean water for over a hundred children.  The previous lady started in on killing babies again–keep in mind she was not apart of our conversation in any way.  I looked at my friend and told her all that commotion about it made me want to buy cards.

Guess who was listening?  Same lady, she went on yelling at my friend and I about it was her right to say what she wanted to say.  My friend, who is very outspoken, kept it together.  We never engaged this woman at all.  Although, she returned with another friend both yelling through the store that UNICEF kills babies and that abortion is wrong.

I was looking at cards.  I think it would have been less odd to feel compelled to tell a stranger–Hey I think UNICEF supports some things I don’t agree with, like abortion.  It let’s me know her point of view and she let’s her feelings be known.  I would have smiled and moved on with my shopping.  This turn of events of yelling without any dialogue from the other side was odd.  The poor sales clerk was very shaken up over the whole thing.  She kept apologizing to us.  When we walked out of the store, I expected to be greeted by those women with more information.

I am very tolerant of other’s opinions.  Let them be known, tell me what you think.  I don’t mind hearing things I don’t necessarily agree with, but this whole shopping experience left me baffled.

It seems to me that an awful lot of people are talking, but not enough people are asking questions.  One person who I can always count on to ask great questions is my good friend, Anne, as you can see from her many thought-provoking posts here on PMIAB.  I have found another wonderful inquirer in David Dark, who raises questions as well as eyebrows from the front cover of his newest book, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything.  You can find numerous reviews of Dark’s book online.  Read them if you like, but you will only be wasting time that could be spent procuring and reading the book itself. 

As for me, I could quote ad nauseum from the book—and have elsewhere (you’re welcome, Facebook friends!), but I will appropriate here just one extended passage that I found personally remarkable, from the chapter on questioning our interpretations:

What will help you to give your otherwise theoretical faith legs?  Would reading the book of Job as if it were an allegory allow the Sermon on the Mount to change your buying habits?  If so, by all means, read it as an allegory.  Does the thought of Jonah residing in the belly of a large fish inspire you to share your resources with people deprived of access to food and medical attention?  Does inerrancy of the Bible assist you in being good to homeless people?  Does it prompt you to offer free tutoring to underprivileged children?  If so, move deeper in your commitment to the doctrine of inerrancy.  Read as you need to read to be invigorated and encouraged to do what you need to do.  Then believe as if your life depends on it.  Get worked up.  Quickly.  Move your interpretations in the direction of more righteous practice, and don’t look back.  Read as you need to read to be invigorated and encouraged to do justly.  Do what you need to do.  Love your neighbor.  Think what it takes.  This is the text.  Let it mean love.  The rest is commentary.(The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, p. 169-70.)

Now, go read it.

While listening to NPR this afternoon, I heard an interview with Harvey Cox. I was awed by him.  He discussed many things I love all in one interview on the Diane Rehm Show–Education, Religion, and Doubt.  What really struck me was when asked about his own faith.  He described himself as a practicing Christian, but not always a believing one.  Oh how I relate to this.  This sums up many years of struggle.  I love faith, I love church and tradition.  Somehow along the way, my belief has ebbed.