When I was in the fifth grade we were Lutherans. Our religion depended on which church was closed to our house, because my mother didn’t like to drive and my father “prayed in the park”. I was in the church’s confirmation class, the treasurer of the youth group, and kept the group’s dough in a jar under my bed.
Dr. Wessell, who ran the youth group and taught the confirmation classes, was a little bald guy with a beautiful wife, a big blond woman, who was always happy. He had these two kids, 3 and five, or six and four, and they hung off him every chance they got, and the four of them, were one happy group, hanging off one another.
Dr. Wessell said to me: “So what do you think of faith and belief?”
Me: “I think they’re great. What I think is stupid are the immaculate conception, and Jesus ascending into heaven.”
Wessell: “What do you believe?”
Me: “I don’t know. My mother sent me!”
Wessell: “You don’t want to be confirmed?
Me: “I don’t think my Mom would like that. She likes me to finish things I start.”
When the dough for the youth group disappeared, my Pop had to cover it. He knew me and he knew that I would not take the money. Dr. Wessell was the same way. It was either my brother or one of my friends.
When my Pop died, they were Episcopals, and he’d been going to church for a couple of years, and his thing was taking care of the church’s plants, outside and in. He had a green thumb. At his funeral, the theme was my Pop and the plants. The whole church was there.
I was out of the country when my Mom died. Her father had been a Lutheran, her mother a non jew, jew. Grandma, an intellectual, who had known people like Jung and Adler, was a cosmopolitan European. She told me when I was about seven: ” All religions are mythogies,” and when I figured out what mythologies were in high school, it stuck.
When I was the most torn, and unhappy with myself, I was in love with a woman who was always mad at me. She said that she loved me, but she didn’t like me. As I was bailing out of that relationship, I used to go hang out at the Zoo. I had gotten to know this grey back gorilla who’d introduced himself to me by twisting a tire. He reminded me of Dr. Wessell, with his extended family hanging off him, too. He could sense my pain and hung out with me, on the other side of the bars. Because I hung out with him, his mentor, So Ho, who I’d heard had donated a bunch of bucks to take care of these creatures, also became my friend. He could sense my pain, too.
I asked him: “What do you think his religion is?”
So Ho: “Compassion.”
“What heaven does he go to?”
“Good Question.”
I have continued to wonder about animals, and the big God of my childhood, and the small god of animals. Recently, I came across the statement by Steven Hawking that the afterlife is a fairy tale. I had never talked to Wessell about the afterlife. I’d liked the guy, a kind and good vibes kind of guy, a positive force in his world of sermons, collection plates and church groups, and building funds, and potlucks. He had believed me. I found that endearing, that and the kindness with which he treated people. I would like to ask Wessell: “If the afterlife is a fairy tale, and all religions are mythologies, and we are all related to an ape called ‘Lucy’, what do you think?” Dr. Wessell would probably repeat his theme of faith and belief, and I would see in him his compassion.
So where does all of this leave me and my religious conversion? What do I see as the best religion?
My answer: Compassion, kindness, and good works.