The religion dilemma

I don’t believe in God.  And thats fine, as far as it goes – I’m the only one who could possibly suffer from that position, and even then, only if I’m wrong.  But what about my children?  Should I teach them about God, or should I not?

The question hasn’t really come up before now, because there has been no particular need to consider it.  However, recently my daughters experienced their first bereavement.  Fortuntately, it was a pretty gentle introduction to death, in the form of a beloved old family cat who lived with Nana and Grandad.  Nelson was much loved, and Madeleine felt his death very deeply.  Lucia was fortunately not so affected, she obviously has a lesser comprehension of the meaning, and perhaps the permanence, of death.  I tried to talk to Madeleine about Nelson dying as a release from pain.  I even went as far as to say that he was now playing with the other cats and dogs that Nana and Grandad had owned once, and who had also died.  But I never got as far as mentioning heaven, which was a relief to a non-believer such as myself. 

Because although I fully appreciate that it would be much nicer for Madeleine to believe that Nelson is happily frolicking through heaven with an endless supply of fresh fish, cream, and soft cushions in the sun at his disposal, the fact that I don’t believe this for a second presents a major ethical dilemma. 

Should us non-believers teach our children about God simply to give them something nice and comforting to believe in, or do we stick with what we believe to be true, and leave them to find more earthly means of comfort?  If I believed in God, that question would obviously make no sense, because I wouldn’t be teaching my children about God for such simple and limited reasons.  I would be teaching my children about God as part of the faith that underpins my life.  Getting to know God would be the same as learning how to crawl and walk, how to read and write.  It would just be part of their life, and an essential part at that.

I’m not really sure if my parents believe in God, we had a fairly athiest upbringing.  From the age of 12 to 17 I went to an Anglican school, and spent those five years attending a chapel service at least five times every week.  I did believe in God for a while, and was even christened in preparation for confirmation.  I wanted to receive communion like everyone else did, and went away to a confirmation camp (that sounds odd now that I’ve written it, but was just a week in a lodge by a river talking about God and Jesus and what they meant to me).  Unfortunately, the confirmation camp only raised doubts, and by the time came to be confirmed, I decided I wasn’t quite ready.  It wasn’t dramatic or difficult, I just felt like I was faking it every time I tried to talk to God, and it all seemed rather silly and made-up to me.  I was the only one in the school choir who was not confirmed, but four years of sitting back while everyone else went to recieve communition didn’t concern me.  At some point after that, and I can’t really say when, I just abandoned my belief in God, and nothing has changed since.   

Having said that, I did enjoy some of the ritual and certainly the singing that was part and parcel of religion.  I liked the annual harvest festival, when the small school chapel was filled with abundant produce and we all gave thanks to the Lord for the food that the earth provided us with.  Teams of mums would decorate the chapel with hay bales, large orange pumpkins, bunches of fruit and flowers and overflowing baskets of vegetables.  The hay tended to make half the congregation sneeze, but the hymns were wonderful and it was so popular we had to have two services to squeeze everyone in.  It was the same at Christmas time.  Everyone loved singing Christmas carols, the choir would practice for months before hand, the nativity scene would be set up, and again two or three services would be held to cater for the hordes who wanted to celebrate everyone’s favourite time of year.  We even had an annual celebration in honour of St Francis of Assisi.  Family pets would be bought to school to be blessed, and the school drive teemed with dogs, cats, guinea pigs, horses, rabbits, lambs, and the occasional goat (it was a boarding school with lots of farming children). 

As well as seeing it can be enjoyable to believe in God, I’ve often felt envious of the strenght that people draw from religion.  I don’t have any idea how God’s plan is being fulfilled by untimely and tragic events, but if it helps people to believe that there is such a plan, then all power to them.  I could never have a conversation with a spirit without feeling like a complete idiot, but obviously millions of people do so every day, and find it very comforting and helpful, and I imagine that must be wonderful.

So, what should I do?  Tell the girls that some people believe God exists, and that if you believe He exists, this is what He does?  Or should I just let them find out by themselves, somehow, some way, in the future?  I don’t want to deny them something that could become very important to them.  But I don’t feel right teaching them something I don’t believe in. 

Answers on the back of a postcard please