When I think of "god," I think of Grace

Yes, I know. The photograph is rather bland, but so am I, so nothing else matters, to borrow lyrics from a song. If you prefer, turn the page, to borrow from still another song. All right. I surrender. This bland photo is an example of what, in Minnesota, is called a slough. In other places, it might be called a marsh. This is about one-half its full size, and it is pretty much across the road from me. The land is soggy, and the water, where it is, ranges from a few inches to a few feet deep, and it is the home to thousands of birds and hundreds of land creatures. It is a favored place of waterfowl hunters, but, it might have quicksand here and there. In the distance, the leaves are beginning to turn. Push the photo up to its full size for a better look.

Kaya asks; I answer
Part 1 of 2

Kaya says: "The question is why in one of your comments on my blog you mentioned God as she, he, it and with a not capital letter?"

Fram responds: Because when I think of god, I think of Grace Slick. Check out the reason I say this, if you are curious. I am not going to tell you, although it is common knowledge -- if you are curious. Whether you do or not, listen to her music, since the opportunity is now, a few paragraphs down the page. You will like her, I am certain. She was the first and, many of us think, the greatest woman of rock. Maybe, the most beautiful. No, for sure, the most beautiful -- and, an unforgetable voice.

All right. To business now. Kaya asked about my belief, or lack thereof, in god. Here is the start of an answer. Believe it or not when you finish this first part, I really am trying to keep it brief.

Age ten, give or take a few months on either side of it, probably was the first "pivotal period" in my life: My first firearms and hunting, a boat for exploration and swimming expeditions, and first doubts about the existence of a god.

There was no father in my life at that point, so the religious element fell to questions for my mother. They really must have come as a shock to her. This first assault on religion, at least on the Christian faith, came when I caught a minister of the Lutheran church I attended in a lie. How could a man who was the earthly representative of perfection -- of god -- tell a lie?

My mother explained that the minister was not god per se, simply his representative. She said all men are flawed and commit various sins. That, she said, was the reason men prayed and asked for forgiveness of their sins, the principle for communion, the purpose of atonement -- and, the very reason Jesus Christ died on the cross.

My doubts did not subside, but continued to grow. My boyish belief was that a man who was the representative of god would choose to die before he would tell a lie.

In the Lutheran church of that time, confirmation classes took place for boys and girls during the years they were in seventh and eighth grade -- around ages thirteen and fourteen. My doubts flourished even more for a variety of reasons during these classes, none of which I will mention in this post. And, yes, the classes were conducted by the same minister who I knew to be a liar.

At some point in my second year of confirmation classes, I approached my mother and said I wished to leave the church. The end result of this discussion, which lasted for a few days off and on, was that I agreed to complete the confirmation process, but, once completed, she would not object to my abandonment of the church.

I am certain she never thought I would go through with it. But, I did. I was a confirmed agnostic rather than a confirmed Lutheran. Other than weddings and funerals and a high school baccalaureate ceremony, I have not attended any manner of church service since I was age fourteen. As of right now, I have no intention of doing so ever. In fact, I have said I plan to be absent from my own funeral.

While I was a teenager and into my twenties, as many do, I read extensively regarding religion (all of them) and philosophy. During my college years, I sought out clergy to debate the issue of god's existence one on one. Most ran for cover while I was still warming up. They usually could explain what they believed and why they believed, but generally faded like a vampire before a cross when confronted with John Stuart Mill's "first cause" commentary or mere mention of Bertrand Russell's essay, "Why I Am Not a Christian." In short, they had faith; I had none. It was as simple as that. The abstract centers upon faith; nothing more, nothing less.

And, I also discovered, that while most clergy were experts on the Bible and their own particular denomination, they had little knowledge of religions other than their own and had not devoted much time studying the writings and thoughts of disbelievers. They were like salesmen trying to sell a Ford, but had no specific knowledge for claiming it was better than a Chevrolet or a Cadillac or a Lincoln or …. In a sentence, they lacked knowledge of their "enemies." Either that, or they were taught to retreat and find a "softer sell" to whom to peddle their wares. The end result of this is that I have met few members of the clergy I hold in respect.

I was a student and a lover of history, so when I encountered Will Durant and his, "The Story of Philosophy," and read his personal narratives about his wandering in the desert of mankind's thirst for answers while searching for an intellectual rationale for belief in a god, I gave up my own search. I accepted Durant's conclusions and settled back with a comfortable acceptance that most, of not all, these questions can be answered through the study of history.

This has been the beginning of the story about Fram the Pagan. In a second post, to follow sooner or later, will be the present. Blessed be the curious, and thank you, Kaya, for inadvertently sending me running back to Grace's music. You might also have opened more than memory for me tonight -- maybe, a time tunnel within my subconscious.

(To be continued .... with a bit of luck)