Childhood Faith Revisited

I remember saying to my parents one Christmas that everyone had bought me a present except them. You can imagine how they felt. They had saved and skimped all year in order to buy me presents which I thought came from Father Christmas! My parents had a board meeting and came to the conclusion that, that was it - the time was ripe for me to learn that Father Christmas was a scam!

"Now look here," I thought, "this is something new!". My parents had always taught me that I should tell the truth; and here they were one Saturday morning confessing that they had told me a “porky”. I was devastated and I wasn’t sure if I liked Christmas without Santa. He was a cheery figure, full of fun and I felt totally let down. Why had I been so gullible and why had my parents lied to me?

As an adult I understood that they meant the best. But what about this God thing? If parents can create a fanciful illusion every Christmas, who was to say that what I was being taught about God at the church school was true? I vaguely remember reflecting on this as a small child but there was something inside of me that seemed to say that this was true. One autumn evening in bed, I remember thinking that there must be a God for the world to have been created. Not rocket science but quite profound to an 8 year old.

I had mixed feelings about the church school I attended. We had moved house and I started in the school for the first year in the juniors. I don’t remember much about the Christian input that year, but I was somewhat in awe of the teacher. She seemed to me to be a bit of an actress, and always wore a lot of makeup. I have to admit that her bark was worse than her bite, but she had a sudden tendency of lurching across the classroom and scaring the living daylights out of some child who was speaking out of turn.

Worse was yet to come. The next year we had a lady teacher who was quite palatable but the year after the rain clouds appeared on the horizon and we went with fear and trembling into the dreaded Mr Smith's class. Although again his bark was far worse than his bite, his maths lessons were quite hair raising “7X6= ? 8x4= ?" He would shout out the tables like a military sergeant major, marching up and down with a cane, bringing it down with a heart rending crack on the table of some poor child who didn’t just know the answer or couldn't quote it fast enough. He would wheel round and start marching between the aisles of desks which were set in rows banging his cane to the rhythm of his bark. I remember the tension and fear of getting the wrong answer and breathing a say of relief when the maths lesson was over. Music was his subject and this, surprisingly, I did enjoy.

What about the Christian content? It is true that we had a lot of bible stories, but we also had to learn the church of England catechisms. We had to memorise the 10 Commandments and the Two Commandments of Jesus. Looking back this was helpful as it gave us an ethical framework on which to base our life and conduct. However what does a young child make of being taught about the evils of “all the pomps and vanities of this wicked world and all the sinful lusts of the flesh”? Having been brought up in congenial circumstances the world did not seem such a bad place.

I remember attending the classes for confirmation when I was about 12 and being bombarded with a lot of information about the Christian faith. I had heard some of it before in my church of England school but a lot passed over my head. When eventually the service took place, I felt nervous as I went forward for the Bishop of Chester to confirm me. However when he prayed and laid his hands on me I felt a sense of peace and a sense of being accepted by God and also a sense of belonging in the family of his people.

There seemed to be a good feel-good factor about going to church for the next few months, but although it did seem to be meaningful I had little understanding of what it meant to be a Christian and a follower of Jesus. My memories of going to church are mixed. On the one hand I enjoyed taking part in the refrains and liturgical chants but on the other I remember itching and twitching as I knelt on my knees. Also I found that the church had a strange beauty but it seemed cold and dark and I felt slightly intimidated by it.

One day my parents said I should try Sunday school. I wasn’t that impressed particularly as it was at the school, but I thought I should go to keep them happy. Also the deal was that if I didn’t like it then I could go with them to the church. The first week was OK although I was not too impressed at the bad behaviour of my peers, but the second was a disaster. Could you believe it, they actually expected as to do some writing! “Do they think it's school?" I thought. I never spilled the beans till years later but I simply told my parents that I preferred to go to church. Phew, at least you don’t have to do writing there!

What have I learnt from this phase of life? The Father Christmas experience revelealed a deep-down belief that God existed and he wasn’t a fable made up by adults. There was something in my DNA that gave me the feeling that there was more to life than what we see. Although there was much as a child that I didn’t understand about the Christian faith, I believed that there was a God to whom we were accountable. There was something special about life as it came from God.

Although I felt the church was a dark place and saw God as a stern father with a big stick, I learnt that the Christian faith offered life guidance. We were taught the values of compassion in the story of St Francis and the parable of the prodigal son. We were told stories of heroism such as the story of David who as a young shepherd boy slew the giant Goliath. Also we committed to heart the commandments God gave to his people through Moses and Jesus.

Years later whilst going through a period of turmoil I remembered the teaching we received on the two commandments of Jesus. Passion for the God who loves us and compassion for people is a firm foundation upon which we can build our lives. I think it is sad that the school that laid this foundation has ceased to exist and has been forgotten. In front of what used to be the school there is a car park and a few years ago I was very impressed to notice that if people had not used their allotted time they would pass on their parking ticket to somebody else. Notices suddenly appeared on the car park to say that this practice was now an offence punishable by a large fine.

I find it ironic to think that the school that had taught me the virtue of being a good neighbour should have a car park on its doorstep where the act of being a good neighbour is punishable! If the ticket has been bought, the space paid for, then surely it is only fair that we should be able to share it if we so wish.

So what have I learned? That adults don't always tell the truth? That the Church has been less than perfect in teaching its young? That people don't always practice what they preach? That money earned for the Council is more important than caring for others?

Most of all, I've discovered that God is a God of grace, who has made himself known to me, in spite of the failures of those who have set out to teach, guide and govern me. 

A Few Years Later!

I remember lying on the grass and gazing at the clouds in the clear blue sky. It was almost as though God had a creative burst, blowing bubbles heavenward in an endless display of beauty and variability. There is something ethereal about the patterns and the displays of creativity that we see in our skies. I remember reading a short story by Maxim Gorky where the main character did the same. It was in fact my inspiration and was part of my search for God or spirituality.

What about the beauty of trees? Why did I find them to be so significant? I remember the excitement of going into Rivington with my grandmother. She had a sense of adventure and a love for nature. The shapes and forms of trees would give her endless hours of fascination. She would puzzle over the difference between fern and bracken, watch a bird in flight and comment on its sounds.

Oh what days these were! The thrill of climbing trees and hills, breathing deeply and looking at the sights and sounds of nature.

I remember reading a book on the subject of beauty, the patterns and shapes of objects and life forms and what it is that creates beauty. I think it was partly this and the writings of Arthur Mee, that prompted me to seek inspiration in the beauty of art and nature. I felt that there was a divine presence that we could perceive through reflecting on its splendour. How I loved to walk with the dog along the lane that overlooked the fields of Cambridgeshire and gaze at the tree at the end of the lane which had all grown one way due to what my mother called a 'present from Russia' - that icy blast of wind that had little to halt it on its swift passage from the Ukraine.

I discovered that there is a sense of mystery and awe that emerges when we have reached the end of human reasoning and just gaze upon the beauty we see around us in everyday life. This I sensed was the beginning of spirituality, that innate sense of divinity that lies within the heart of our nature.

During these walks I would listen to the voice of my spirit that seemed to teach me wisdom. This was an experimental exercise and I would often carry a notebook where I would write down my latest ideas.

I was fascinated by Beethoven, Tolstoy and Napoleon, the common denominator being that they were people who followed their heart and sought after greatness and excellence in their given field. I can still hear the strains of Beethoven’s 5^th symphony sounding out the opposition of all that would quash his creative talent. Despair would give way to triumphal procession, that victory parade of musical mastery that portrays his triumph over fate.

I suppose I had a sense of having a “divine calling” and that I was called to be myself and not be influenced by peer group pressure. I struggled with the issue of the extent to which we are determined and to what degree we have free will. My conclusions were positive in that I realised that we are determined in many ways but we can break free by having a clear picture of what we want to be and resist the temptation of being moulded by others. I am not sure that I discerned correctly how to apply this wisdom.

In the past people seeking to live in step with the divine dimension have gone into the desert, some solitary Pembrokeshire bay or even a monastic community of monks and nuns. Artists have often lived on the fringes in the way that prophets often did. Somehow I missed out on the simplicity of this relationship with the divine, as I allowed religion and the desire for doctrinal truths to take over in my life. It is not that these things are bad but they should never be allowed to stifle the wonder and sense of mystery that lies at the heart of spirituality.

Whilst in Cambridgeshire I attended a congregational church were they preached a personal relationship with God. Whilst walking home from church one Sunday night I did what the pastor had described as 'asking the Lord Jesus Christ into my life'. This involved asking for forgiveness for the wrong things I had done and believing in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ for our sins. In many ways I already had an experience of God in my every day life but sometimes we need to make it official.

One of the things I realised whilst reading the biographies of many Christian people is that none of us are perfect. It is true that we can aim for perfection, but we all fall short of the standard of God.This is why we need forgiveness for past and present failings. It is good to know that we don't have to be perfect but God accepts just as we are.

Some time later when I was at college I realised that we need to accept Jesus as Lord as well as saviour, and I decided to get baptised in the River Dove. This in many ways was the outward symbol of my relationship with God. Being baptised in the open air brought together my faith in God as creator and saviour, and now Lord, as I committed myself to serving him.