(Dis)belief

I’m confused, and I hope writing this will help me figure out what I’m feeling.

Yesterday my mom told me about the accidental drowning death of the two year old son of a local radio personality. Any time a child dies, it’s heartbreaking…and even though I’m not a fan of the radio show the guy hosts (with a sidekick, of course) I spent several minutes thinking about how devastated the family had to be. Apparently the little boy slipped away from his siblings and went outside while his mom was in the shower, and drowned in the family pool. The dad (the radio host) was out of town and had to fly in after he heard the terrible news.

Now, when this radio duo first started their show here in Birmingham, I listened to them. They were down to earth and funny – at least to me at that time. I was probably 25 or so, and that was B. A. (before autism). Eventually the show became more popular and was syndicated in quite a few southeastern states, and, as a result, it also became more gimmicky and just plain stupid – bumper stickers galore and silly on-air games. The show popped around from one local station to another, and occasionally I’d see a commercial on TV, but mostly it dropped from my radar screen completely. I heard enough scuttlebutt to know that the two guys hosting the show had become very vocal about their Christian faith.

Which brings me to this morning.

I was curious about what format the radio show had taken this week – the little boy died on Saturday night – so I tuned in this morning as I drove to work. The first thing I heard was the dad’s voice, and I was surprised since I figured he’d take a long break after this tragedy. After a few minutes I realized that what I was hearing was pre-recorded; after a few more it became obvious that the father was in fact speaking (preaching) at his own son’s memorial service. The family attends one of the largest churches here in the Birmingham area, and I have no doubt that the service was attended by hundreds if not thousands. I listened in utter shock as this man who had lost his tiny baby boy a mere five days earlier preached and pontificated as enthusiastically as Oral Roberts or a sweat-bathed Jimmy Swaggart. This man’s son is DEAD…gone, vanished from his life, and he was not only in perfect control of his emotions, but able to preach as authentic a Southern Baptist sermon as I’ve ever heard. I listened for the inevitable and I wasn’t disappointed. To paraphrase him: “Now, some of you have asked me how I can stand here and do this, and to you I say that I can’t. But He [God] can. I am weak but He is strong.”

Okay. This is familiar territory to me. I was born and raised a Southern Baptist, and up until about 6 years ago was still very active in that life. I know that people of strong faith are meant to call upon it during the hard times, and to draw strength from it…and you know what? That still makes sense to me. Find a place, a storehouse of peace, and draw from it when you feel down or burdened. In my mind that does not, however, translate to preaching a sermon over the tiny body of your precious son. Where's the screaming and wailing? Your soul shredded and broken as you wonder how you're ever going to BREATHE again?

In short I was horrified, sickened…frightened by this man’s words. I have often observed to David as we sit watching the latest tragi-drama on CNN that people seem incredibly capable of appearing in the spotlight mere hours after losing a loved one. They stand there calmly, sometimes even smiling, while Anderson “Aren’t I handsome yet caring and serious” Cooper asks them inane questions like “So how are you feeling now that your [son/daughter/spouse] has [disappeared/been killed/been trapped in a coal mine]?” I got that same sense of surreal disbelief as the radio guy pounded the pulpit, demanding to know if people in attendance could handle what had just happened to his family…asking if they were “prepared” to give up what they loved most, since that’s what God did for us. He smoothly rolled out the platitudes about someday seeing his son again, and how there were certainly still “times for weeping” ahead – but he reiterated again and again that he was going to be fine, and that he knew that God meant for him to renew his commitment to sharing the Gospel, and to inspire others to do the same. Again, paraphrasing him: “On that plane as I was coming home, God told me that He wanted people to look at me, at my circle of family and friends, and wonder HOW we could go on and rejoice in this…He wants people to be amazed… If God had sat me down and asked me to give up my son, I couldn’t have done it. So He had to take him.”

WHAT?!!????

All I could think about was how I would feel if I lost one of my sons…all I could imagine was the grief that countless parents have felt at losing a child, and how utter despair would be the only reaction in my soul…it was sickening to hear this man basically telling me that if I’m unwilling to give up a child, or unable to immediately bounce back after a tragic loss that I’m not as good a person as he. If I lost one of my boys, I can’t predict how long I would be paralyzed by grief, and would do nothing but huddle in the fetal position in a corner. I couldn’t speak to anyone…or eat, or sleep. And he's OKAY with this? He's rolling with the holy punches?

I’m not saying this man didn’t love his son. I’m not even so far gone as to say that I don’t believe in a heaven, of some sort. You people trying to label me as an atheist…back away! I’m not even ready to admit to being agnostic yet. I’m just…confused. There, much better. Anyway…I DO understand the desire to know that people we love who die aren’t gone forever. I have lost beloved family members whom I have tucked away in my heart, and want to believe that they are “up there” and at peace. That comforts me, and that seems to me to be an appropriate but eventual place to come to after the other stages of grief have passed. About the only spiritual matter I can say I’ve come to believe for sure is that whatever religion we choose (or don’t choose) should be a source of comfort and protection…not something to be used to beat people over the head – especially if they don’t seem to respond to tragedy in the “right” way!

Now, more than ever, these words mean a lot to me.

We hold beliefs as a consolation
A way to take us out of ourselves
Meditation, or medication
A comfort, or a promised reward

Sometimes the spirit is too strong
Or the flesh is too weak
Sometimes the need is just too great
For the solace we seek
The suit of shining armor
Becomes a keen and bloody sword
(N. Peart)

Believing in something higher than ourselves – it can be a consolation. That may mean different things to different people, but that’s okay. Taking comfort when possible, peace from prayer or meditation, believing that our spiritual selves somehow live on after we die…I can accept those things without crimping or confusing my soul too terribly much. But how true is it that sometimes the “need is just too great”? Being told that God “allowed” Stephen to have autism, or that He “chose” us because He knew we could handle it? Sorry. That need is just too great, and there’s no solace in those thoughts for me.

The bottom line is ultimately this: I don’t understand it all. I don’t get how it’s all supposed to work, or even IF it’s all supposed to work. I know that there’s a part of me that feels moved by the great overwhelming peace of nature, or by beautiful music, or by a child’s face. I want to believe in something…a comfort? Maybe. A reward? Who knows. A suit of armor…to protect, to hold me up if I can’t stand on my own? Sometimes.

Today I heard a man proclaim that God took the life of his two year old son to teach him to be a better Christian. That “keen and bloody sword” kind of faith is frightening to me…and in my most humble opinion isn’t what spiritual life is about. Not even close.