In the early summer of 1932, 14 years had passed since the Great War ended, three years since the Wall Street crash, and the world was nine years from the opening salvos of the second World War. I was five years-old.
A decade of drought and dust could not harm me, since my father had an income sufficient for the necessities of life. My village, with an abundant water supply, was an oasis in a desert bedevilled by choking dust storms. My mother had her Good Book and applied herself diligently to instructing me in stories of Jesus and a scattering verses from both the Old and New Testaments. I lacked nothing.
I was sent to Sunday School with a nickel tightly wrapped in a white handkerchief. The high, plastered ceiling of the new church caught the light from many windows. I knew God and Jesus were in that pure brilliance. I knew they would keep me safe and happy now and for Eternity.
Sometime during that decade we call the Dirty Thirties doubts crept in. I remember hearing my father say despairingly, "There will be another world war and both sides will pray to the same God for victory." How could it be, I wondered, that any child of God could seek the death of another child of God?
I am a very old man now. I understand that victory and defeat in war are very much the same. War, no matter how history records it, is a story of flawed judgements and ignoble motives. War is failure.
Unless some family crisis intervenes, I am still in church every Sunday morning, one of only a few males among a congregation made up largely of senior citizens. I understand that the worshipping women are still nurturing children, either in fact or in memory. I don't understand why males seem to think whatever they choose to do is more important than the nurturing required to build a moral framework for the future.
It seems obvious to me religious beliefs, of whatever variety exist most safely in a secular state. It seems obvious to me religious faith is accepted not enforced. It seems obvious to me any legal system that incorporates any of the beliefs of any particular faith is, to some degree, compelling the many to accept the orthodoxy of the few.
Early Christianity, like my childhood beliefs, was faith in its purest form. Many times since, that faith has been sullied by alliances with political power. France was the first European power to make the separation of church and state a part of its constitution. Thomas Jefferson was the author of the words which brought the doctrine of separation of church and state to America. It seems peculiar that Christian fundamentalists are still able to hold such formidable political power in the United States.
There are state churches elsewhere in Europe. In most of these countries this means only that the state pays the stipends of the clergy of only one church. The state church in the United Kingdom, where attendance has been plummeting, is Anglican, but other sects, also in decline, are not hindered. Freedom of association and of conscience is still valued in Britain. Canada, to its credit, has no state church .
In 2011, except for faithful Muslims, more people seek recreation than the solace of a place of worship. When I was a boy, most small towns had outdoor skating rinks, curling rinks, ball diamonds and perhaps a community hall and a theatre. By unspoken agreement, these rustic facilities were not allowed to intrude on Sunday church services. It is not so now.
I have no boat, travel trailer, propane barbecue or even golf clubs. I don't go on ocean cruises or visit casinos. What I have is garden tools, some inherited. It seems to me that the teachings of the early Christians, of present ecologists and the laws of physics overlap. The early Christian, assured of their souls' redemption devoted themselves to community and good works. We devote ourselves to pleasure, seven days a week. We worship the unholy alliance of wireless technology and trivial entertainments.
It seems obvious to me that the riches extracted by the entertainment industry are resources diverted from community concerns and from the succour of millions of people in this wounded planet who, due the starvation, homelessness, disease and violence are only hours away from death.
If religious faith continues to decline, we become like gardeners without tools. Who will plant the seeds of concern for the common good in the fertile soil of new generations?
