Last Monday was my first session with my new therapist. Her name is Martha. In 45 minutes she was able to draw out the major conflicts impacting and constipating my life. I hate my job. Marriage is hard. I am wasting my time on earth. No surprises. But somehow we got onto the subject of religion. I've been an atheist for ten years. Before that I was a child obsessed with all things religious trying out each faith like a competitive sport. I eventually settled on Christianity but after two years it was over. I told her how one morning in 9th grade i just woke up and knew there was no God. Just knew it. I cried all day.
I admitted that sometimes I wish I could go to church although I didn't know why or what business I would have there. I never liked any of the churches to which I've been. There was always this atmosphere of restless awkwardness or a heavy cloud of boredom. Martha said I should try an Episcopalian church. I might like the symbolism. "But I don't believe in God." I told her. "Not to mention the Resurrection. Virgin birth. I'm not sure they would let me in the door."
"They will." She said.
Tomorrow is my second appointment. In the past week I've been reading obsessively about the Anglican church, arguments for theism, christian mysticism, C.S. Lewis' famed transformation from atheist to apologist, contemplative prayer, rosaries. Especially christian mysticism. That's my way in, I thought. I guess I wanted in.
I'm reading The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill by Mark Bittner. It's a book about how interaction with a wild flock found in San Francisco changed a darma bums life. Somehow this morning I came up with the idea of documenting this possible conversion. Or failed experiment.
I don't know if I believe in God yet. It probably doesn't matter. Faith is more important than yes or no. If I can experience God than that is worth more than historical fact. I would take just one breath from the holy spirit over knowing whether Gospel events actually happened 2,000 years ago.
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