Jesus was an Alien & my Minister was an Atheist

by Giselle Renarde

My girlfriend believes that Jesus was an alien.

If you say to her, "Hey, Sweet, do you believe that Jesus was an alien?" she'll say no, no, no, not really. But you'll notice a glint in her eye, and if you know her as well as I do, you'll realize she's not being entirely honest with you.

She'll go on to say "for argument's sake" that it's entirely possible Jesus was an alien. "I mean, if someone from 200 years in the past were to see you using modern technology, they would think it was some kind of magic, right? Jesus is reputed to have performed all these miracles. Isn't it possible he just came from a more advanced civilization--whether that be from Earth's future, from another planet, or, more likely, from another dimension? From a race of beings that could adapt their physical forms to look human?"

Clearly, she's contemplated this topic quite a lot.

I haven't spent a great deal of my adult life thinking about Jesus, or religion in general. But when I was thirteen, religion was my bag, man! I loved reading about religion. Religions. I never read the Bible, but the Ramayana? Yup. The Bhagavad Gita? Check. I would peruse the shelf of sacred texts at the public library and read everything I could possibly understand.

And what did I understand as a thirteen-year-old? Excellent question. Probably more than I'd understand now. I feel like I've spent my entire adult life in an ever-quickening process of stupidification. I swear I used to be smarter than this.

But I digress.

There was a rule in my family, which came from a rule in my mom's family: kids go to the local United Church until they turn 14, at which point they can decide whether or not they want to continue attending.

That's why 13 was such a big year for me, religion-wise. This was a huge decision, something I took very seriously. Did I want to continue attending a Christian church? There were so many other religions in the world. Should I choose a different one?

My family wasn't churchy in the least. My father was too hung over to do much of anything on Sunday mornings. My mom "has always been a follower" (direct quote from my grandmother, there) so you could tell her pretty much anything and she'd buy into it. She only started taking me and my siblings to church in the first place because, when I was 6, I asked, "What is God?" and neither of my parents knew how to answer that question.

I don't remember my father's parents ever going to church, but I spent lots of time having deep philosophical conversations with my maternal grandparents: an atheist and an agnostic.

The only people in my family who really talked about God either questioned the existence of a divine entity, or staunchly disbelieved. (It was my grandfather's participation in WWII that convinced him God could not possibly exist, because a divine being would never allow the atrocities he witnessed to occur.)

As a kid, I was magnetically drawn to mysticism, and I really appreciate all the time my grandparents spent talking with me about this topic that seemed of vital and immediate importance. I didn't understand how all the other adults in my life could be so disinterested. If I asked my mom questions about God and spirituality and world religions, her eyes would glaze over and she'd tell me she never thought about those things. She wasn't interested in thinking about those things.

Now that I'm the age my mom would have been when I was asking all those questions, I get it. I experience spiritual joys, mostly interacting with the natural world, but spirituality is not something I actively think about or even attempt to process.

As a 13-year-old researching which religion was right for me, I ultimately decided... none. I felt that I was a spiritual entity, but I was just so put off by the massive corruption that seemed to accompany every organized religion I researched.

When I attended my childhood church later in my teens (I guess to keep an eye on the little ones or as a favour to my mother? I don't remember) there was a new minister, someone who has since become infamous as an author and atheist.

I remember her saying that Christianity wasn't the "right" religion. The United Church wasn't the "right" church. Different religions were right for different people, and any religion could be the right religion. It was up to the individual to use their religious beliefs to do good in the world, and not to use dogma as a tool of oppression.

Now I'm thinking: Right on! Sing it, sister!

But at the time, I thought... if my own minister doesn't believe this is the "right" religion, why should I?

When I turned fourteen, I decided to go it alone. One day I came across a word, "freethinker", and that sounded good to me. I wanted to be free to think and analyze and process the world against an internal sounding board, not a book or a building.

These days, if I'm asked to fill out demographic information, I check the box that says "No religious affiliations."

And that's fine. Authors are supposed to be all introspective and stuff, but I guess I've grown away from 13-year-old me. I just don't think about these things anymore.


------
On another topic, can you believe I've written a novel's worth of blog posts here at The Grip over the past four years? That's a lot of words! So I've decided to package them up into themed ebooks for your reading pleasure (and the reading pleasure of people who don't tune in here). 

The first in the series is available now. It's free, but not forever, so if you've got friends who are committed to failure, tell them to grab a copy of How to Fail Miserably at Writing!

The 87th Problem

Eight or so years ago, I found myself in quite a situation. My darling Hubster had been offered not one but two jobs. The first offer came with a salary high enough to let me quit my day job right then and there, plus it came with benefits galore. It was in a line of work that Hubster was good at, though not in his first choice of specialty. It would also require us to pull up stakes and move. The company would help us find a new house, sell our old one, and offer a moving bonus to boot. The second job did not offer nearly as much money, though it offered more than Hubster was currenly making, and the benefits were okay. It wouldn't require us to move, and it was Hubster's dream job.

I think you know where this is headed.

At the time Hubster had these two job offers, I was wallowing in abject misery. I worked for the Man, putting in 80 hours a week and getting paid for only 40. I was under constant threat of being fired or replaced, in spite of the fact that I was very good at my job and worked so many unpaid extra hours. I absolutely loathed some of the people I worked with, especially the ones who had say over whether or not I kept my job, and they seemed to loathe me right back. It was a pretty abysmal situation to be in. I was so stressed over work that I had started seeing a therapist because seriously, it was either pay someone to listen to me rant and rave about my job or else end up on the evening news when the cops started finding dead bodies in my backyard.

Hubster knew all of this, and he knew I relished the idea of pulling up stakes and moving to another state. In addition to my work stress, I was also embroiled in a protracted disagreement with some friends, one of those high drama painful things where everyone is fighting over something so stupid it's ridiculous. And it was ridiculous, although at the time that argument seemed like a matter of life and death to everyone involved. I was desperate to get out of my current situation. I wanted to quit my job, leave my friends, and move to someplace where I could start all over. If Hubster took job #1, I knew that would happen. At least back then I believed that's what would have happened. Now, I'm not so sure.

Obviously, Hubster did not take job #1. After two weeks of deliberating and considering, he came home one night and said, "I know you want things to be otherwise, but I'm taking job #2. It doesn't pay as well, and I know it means you'll be stuck in a job situation you hate, but this is what I went to college for. This is the job I've always dreamed of having. If I don't take this job now, I may never get another chance." And I nodded my head, and said "I'm glad you've made your choice. I know it wasn't easy, but I love you and don't worry." Then I went upstairs and cried.

And after that... I got on with my life.

In both the long and short run, Hubster made the right choice. The firm that offered the higher paying job started laying people off a year later. Friends of the Hubster who had taken similar job offers suddenly found themselves out of work and worried that they might not be able to make their next house payment. Meanwhile, my job situation did not improve, but Hubster and I came to an agreement about when I could leave my job. I would put in one more year at the hell-hole I called work, giving him time to save up money and take over all the bills, and then I would be free to do whatever I wanted. Until then, I found ways to alleviate the misery I labored under. I threw myself into my hobbies, devoured books, took some nice vacations with the Hubster, and just stopped caring about the argument with my friends (because it really didn't matter). Oh, and I joined a Zen meditation group, where I slowly learned how to just let things be and accept the present moment for what it is.

There's a story about a farmer who visited the Buddha. The man was probably as miserable as I was during that time of my life, and he wanted to know how to solve all the problems he struggled with. He sat down with the Buddha and listed everything that made him miserable. He came up with 86 problems, total. The Buddha listened, nodded, and said, "I'm sorry, but I cannot help you with any of those 86 problems."

"What?" the farmer cried. "What kind of wise man are you?"

"I am the wise man who can help you with the 87th problem," the Buddha said.

"The 87th problem? What problem is that?" the farmer demanded.

"The problem of not wanting to have any problems," the Buddha said.

And there it is, the most basic truth I know and the lesson I carry from that difficult period in my life. We all have problems. We all have our periods of abject misery where we look around and desperately wish we could flee from our current situation. And maybe we do flee and succeed in getting away from those problems, but it doesn't matter because even if we manage to leave behind one set of problems, there are always others waiting for us ahead. The best way to deal with all 86 problems is to accept that they are there; to live in the present moment and say, "Yes, this is how it is," then get on with life. Eventually, things will change. The situation will pass. I know it did for me.

Namaste.