Now when I talked to God I knew he’d understand
He said, "Sit by me and I'll be your guiding hand
But don't ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answer that you want me to."
(Peter Green)
Religion has been a huge part of my personal and academic life, strange though for someone who doesn’t subscribe to any formal or organised religion.
My reading has taken in chunks of the Baghavad Gita, the Bible, the Vedas and Upanishads, the Koran, Zen and Mahayana Buddhism, Totemism, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, Marxism-Leninism, to name a few. Through all those tomes though Peter Green’s verse (above) from Oh Well (Part 1) has stayed with me as a particularly wise text.
I have been fortunate to visit famous churches, hidden chapels, mighty cathedrals, monasteries, synagogues, mosques and temples, even John the Revelator’s Cave of Apocalypse. In all those places have I ever encountered or felt God? No, and I wouldn’t expect to. These are place of communion. I do not believe God inhabits these structures, these are the places where we take our gods, they are not there waiting for someone to arrive. But one old lady sitting alone in a front pew silently praying with tears running down her face can fill the biggest church with a humbling, awe-inspiring presence.
The reason for this article is not a personal revelation or a ‘Holy Joe’ sermon, far from it. In fact, from the outset I’d like to dispose of ‘God’. It is a term I consider of personalisation from an era of superstition, ignorance and bewilderment. Nature’s forces, be they good or bad, were intimidating and awesome, and an explanation was needed, as well as appeasement required. Behaviour also needed controlled and standards for society set. All this coincided with the creation and arrival of our gods.
Science is the friend of religion. It has removed the superstition, allowing us to focus on greater indefinable phenomena, good and bad.
It’s an English language thing but can we just play with two letters and ‘O’ and a ‘D’ to avoid anyone reading this as a Bible thumping sermon? Taking the de-personalisation of God, let’s add that ‘O’ and, although of secondary importance personality wise, let’s drop the ‘D’ from Devil.
The reason I want to do this is because I was offended and annoyed at a Facebook post which began, “I am an atheist, but I’d like my Christian friends to explain why their God would allow …” and then went on to outline a terrible tragedy that befell a refugee child.
Now the implication from the atheist is that there is an external ‘God’, sitting somewhere on high, with beard and robes, all-seeing and ready to spring into action, like that Michelangelo Marvel superhero who adorns the ceiling of the Cistine Chapel.
Undoubtedly there are Christians out there who see their ‘God’ as a celestial Clark Kent, people with minds smaller than Smallville, who have designed and defined their deity to fit with selected passages of the ‘Good Book’. A blind, almighty God that can be summoned into action without seeing the hypocrisy and bigotry.
There are others who will see their external deity and the official teachings as a light to guide them through life. This god is ominpotent and all-caring, with the ‘bad bits’ of their 'Good Book' edited or ignored.
These are the gods of the atheist's ire. The former is an easy target, the latter is the organised flag for all faiths to rally round for the theological defence.
But if you accept ‘God’ not as a pseudo-physical entity but as the much bigger, all encompassing concept of ‘good’ then the atheist’s question is a verification that there is a greater force, one that makes you highlight that something is seriously wrong in how we behave.
A refugee child dying is a failure of ‘good’ because only those void of care or compassion would not be moved. And where has ‘good’ failed? Long before the final tragic act.
Good failed to stop the training in making the means of destruction; good failed by training us to assemble them; by endorsing the industries that make them; by negotiating a good pay, holidays and health and safety regulations in their production; by electing a government that approves their sale to the highest bidder; by turning a blind eye to how and where they are used; by failing to act on the deaths caused; by refusing to save innocents from having to flee their homes; by denying them a safe haven in their escape; by robbing them on their passage; by providing them with false promises and unsafe transport; by letting that child, and so many others, die.
How many atheists while they sit with a glass of wine in a comfortable chair in a comfortable house, with a blazing fire, a smart TV, central heating, hot and cold running water, a clean bed and food that will be binned, look at a picture of a starving family and use it to justify their perceived notion of an absent ‘god’.
The truth is the journey to find the power of good isn’t by looking at the heavens or walking through blessed doors, it is much shorter though probably harder, and that’s to venture inside your own heart. What you find then needs harnessed to everyone else. Only through that you force change and find faith.
It means sacrifice, not necessarily money, but in giving time for perpetual agitation.
I will reluctantly mention Olivia Colman here, because I believe she is a genuine, caring person. But her appeal on behalf of the children of Yemen really rankled. Instead of asking ordinary folk to dig into their pockets, a public condemnation with tears of rage over the bombing of these children, and the UK’s complicity in that, would have made me call for Olivia’s election to No 10. As for the multi-millionaires Bono and Geldof, as well as others, urging more donations while their personal fortunes grow in tax havens is frankly repulsive.
Instead of knocking a pre-conceived idea of God why don’t people embrace the goodness they already have within, follow that and force change to end the injustices they rage against?
Instead of the Baby Jesus simply being a seasonal decoration and the concept wheeled out for those nativity scenes, realise every homeless child in every corner of the world, with love and support, has the potential to be truly special for all of us.
Some years back, we spent a couple of days on a converted rice boat in the Keralan backwaters in India. I mentioned to the deckhand that I would really like to visit a Hindu temple, something not really encouraged, and rarely allowed. He knew a remote place where he was sure it would be okay. It was hard to believe but just at the dawn of the 21st century many of the villagers there had never seen a white person before.
The temple made a huge impression on me, like all places of worship it was valued and cared for. I considered the visit inspiring and a huge privilege and it gave me a deeper understanding of Hinduism. But that’s not the strongest memory. We took a walk through the village on the way back to the boat, picking up quite a following of children who were fascinated by their unusual visitors. One child, with a big smile, reached out to touch a hand. Country, culture and colour meant nothing next to contact. That is more important than any temple wall, and it comes from that sacred place within and not from any external power. Something every single person, irrespective of race or religion, has access to but needs the courage to release and use it.
And that’s where Pete Green’s lyrics come in.
If the force of good could ever be personified, be it in the form of Brahma, Buddha, Muhammad, Akal Murat or the Christian god, if asked what sort of people we are, “I might not give the answer that you want me to”, might not be such a surprising response.
Picture: Capri23auto
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