Lifestyle
I'm Not 'Blessed.' I'm An Atheist And I Don't Need God To Give Thanks Or Show Gratitude
Jennifer Furner,HuffPost 3 hours ago
The worn hinges squeak as I pull the heavy wooden door open. Inside is a cavernous room, its walls made of stone. Looking back at me is a fireplace with a wrought-iron log holder that reminds me of an overgrown spider. The stone surrounding it is scarred with black ash.
It’s dim in here; two small hexagon windows let in only a fraction of the sunlight on this relatively bright November day. A chalice rests on each sill. A few stones stick further out from the wall; on them, the remnants of candles.
Though the chapel has a vaguely druid quality, it too closely resembles a church from the organized religion I gave up many years ago.
I came to give thanks, but the chapel asks me to kneel, to pray, to light a candle, and that no longer feels authentic to me.
How does one give thanks outside of religion?
I thank my friends, family, strangers who make my coffee. But I am also thankful for a goodness that can’t be assigned to mere mortals ― a goodness, I feel, that is bigger than we are. Sure, I’ve accomplished things myself that contributed to my happiness, but I don’t feel I can take all the credit. So what deserves that credit? The universe? The energy around me? The earth? It’s not clear. But what is clear to me is it’s not a deity.
I came to the chapel to say “thank you,” but instead, I say, “No, thank you.” I close the door, turning my back on the stone structure built into the side of the hill.
The chapel is just one of the many religious markers on the 60-plus acres of this property used for retreats that I travel to several weekends a year. There are statues of Mary or Joseph peeking out from under bushes, but also Buddhas sitting quietly next to benches. There are crosses that seem to pop up out of the grass, but also symbols of other faiths and ways of thinking. This place celebrates sacredness in whatever form you like.
I prefer neither the Christian symbols nor those of any other belief system. I no longer believe in a superior being, much to my mother’s disappointment. She is a devout Catholic and tried to raise her children to be the same. Our Catholic community was a meaningful part of my childhood; for those memories, I will always be thankful.
But thankful to whom? No one, I guess.
As a child, I would thank God. I would kneel on the ground, fold my hands together, and look up to the sky. “Thank you for keeping me and my family safe,” was part of my daily evening prayers. The other part was my asking for something: more protection, more love, more patience. “Please, God, help me to...” I would say. If I didn’t receive what I asked for, then I would feel it was my fault. I had failed to please God. I wasn’t worthy to receive what I desired.
In America, God and thankfulness are often intertwined. When people are thankful, they frequently use the word “blessed.” God has blessed them, blessed their lives, has chosen for whatever divine reason to shower His good graces on them. And in return, they worship Him ― unless they are ungrateful, and then, we’re often told, they deserve to go to hell.
I don’t use the word “blessed” anymore.
Instead, I say “lucky.” I don’t believe in luck, exactly, only the arbitrariness of my good fortune. My life is merely a smattering of circumstances. If any of those circumstances had been changed in any way anywhere along the way, so would my life be changed.
I prefer this view. I will not believe in a God who gets to choose which people suffer. If people suffer, it’s because circumstances of life happen, and whatever those circumstances happen to be either end up causing suffering or they don’t. Likewise, I do not believe that good people get rewarded for being good. I don’t believe pop stars win awards because they pray more than others. I don’t believe football players make touchdowns because God has chosen them to.
I don’t think there was a day where I woke up and decided that I was an atheist. It happened over time, as I experienced more inequalities in the world, as I learned more about science, as I witnessed more suffering. My parents mourn that I won’t one day join them in heaven, but the only place I’ve planned on going for a while now is the ground, where my body can nourish the earth and my energy can give life to something else.
We believe in what gives us the most comfort. For my parents, eternity is their comfort. I personally like the idea of a more definitive end. It gives my time here on earth more meaning to know I only have the amount of breaths I take every day to be the best person I can be. And since I’ve given up God, I feel more satisfied being the best person I can be for me instead of following anyone else’s instructions for living.