No Church in the Wild

The vexed question of faith and religion seems to be ever-present these days, particularly at Axis Towers, whose inhabitants attend church, loosely and lazily, my belief in God being considerably more robust than my alarm clock. Daddio, a confirmed atheist, is none too impressed with this and is still pushing for membership of the Woodcraft Folk rather than the Scouts - fine with me, as church parade is, to my mind, a torture for all involved. In true obstinate, arrogant fashion, I've managed to perpetuate my belief that, er, my beliefs are no-one's business but mine and the Almighty's, and, consequently, I will do what I like. Happily, 'what I like' does not involve gunning down old ladies, selling class-A drugs to preschoolers, or committing obscenities in the street (I said in the street); so the worst I have to deal with are a few raised eyebrows and the occasional tut-tut at the surprisingly ample number of empties in the recycling box; the odd loud burst of profanity coming from the back garden; and the occasional insult of bad singing along to R Kelly or the Flaming Lips at 5am (sorry about that, next door).

The Pie is pretty ecumenical about faith, as he is in most things; he asks a lot of questions, drawing ever closer to a conclusion, thinks aloud about everything, seeks the input of others into his decision making process. 'Mum, who do you love more? Leo, or God?' Thus, he is thoroughly transparent, a developmental psychologist's dream. A,B,C; X, Pie, Z. The Kong, however, is a thoroughly different kettle of fish. 

One day, he wandered into the kitchen, a funereal expression lying heavy upon his exquisite features. 'Mum. You don't love me.' Horrified, I dropped the potato I was peeling and knelt down, sweeping my darling into my arms. 'Kongie! No! How can you say such a thing? Of course I love you. I adore you, little boy. You are my beautiful little lamb.' Undeterred, he shook his head. 'No. You don't love me.' My heart was beginning to palpitate; I could feel my eyes stinging lightly and tears rising to the surface. 'No, Kongie...why are you saying that?' The huge, chocolate-brown saucers of eyes, rimmed with the longest eyelashes in Christendom, turned up towards me. Solemnly, seriously, the Kong addresses me. 'I said, you don't love me. We prayed in church for our parents who love us. I said, my mum, if she will love me, she gives me biscuits. You said, 'No biscuits Leo', so you don't love me.' 

QED, evidently. Kong has apparently - hopefully - missed the point of what was being taught in that session. I suspect this might have been the same session where this was produced: 

  

What?! 

What is it? I ask the Axis. Pie looks at me as if I am a pitiful imbecile. 'Mum. It is a rock. With 'God' written on it. Honestly.' He throws his hands up in exasperation, shakes his head and walks off. 

By now I am thoroughly perplexed. Is there some sort of new dogma being taught in church? Am I missing something crucial? 

I've never got on well with the language used in churches and other religious organisations, to be honest. I can't ever employ the stock phrases, can't describe faith as a 'walk with the Lord', can't 'just lift myself up to you in prayer, Father'; it feels a cop-out to speak unnaturally and yet pretend it is natural. I know it works for some people; as with everything I can't grasp, I'm happy for those that do and don't find it odd or offensive for others to use it. It's just, when I do, I feel as if God is going 'Oi! Stop showing off.' Consequently, when asked, one Sunday, to come to the front of the church and discuss a course I'd attended, I ended up giving the ringing endorsement of 'well, you might as well give it a go. You never know,' before sidling off to appease the Kong with some malted milks filched from the vestry.

A lot of my friends are very spiritual people, yet deeply opposed to organised religion. I can sometimes see why. It can seem that the focus is very much on the minor rather than the major; that the personal morality of the individual, the victimless choice, is of more concern to the body corporate than it ought be. It's something to be wary of, and can, sadly, limit how engaged we become in our faith. I can't help but feel jealous of these people for whom everything seems to make so much sense, who can make a choice and be perfectly assured of its consequences.

I stumble through life with a great deal of confusion, to be honest. It's often a surprise to me that I function at all, let alone that the Axis are fed and clothed and relatively clean. I feel keenly the disapproving looks flung at me and my wild children on Sunday mornings, as we're not quiet and calm and biddable like the other children. I'm fed up of fielding questions about my lack of husband and it annoys me that so many people think my sex life is more their business than their tax arrangements are mine.

Perhaps Sunday mornings will be better spent doing things with the boys, rather than telling them to be quiet and sit down the whole time. I remember my mum coming to a similar conclusion when I was a little older than the Axis. But then she was always a bit odd, too.