God Almighty

Marquel, TPVs NYTimes Senseless Stories Section correspondent, was chewing and praying, when he read Religion Without God. Even atheists find that ritual helps them make sense of the world. Sense? Marquel was finding it hard to imagine a religion without God. But he was willing to learn.

• Could Detroit sell cars without motors?
• Cigarettes without tobacco?
• Bras without cups?
• Belts without buckles?
• Planes without wings?
• Blimps without helium?
• Boats without hulls?
• Stories without words?

Marquel thought that enough and turned off his imagination. Satire without imagination? Marquel was having trouble with the switch. But he did contact the people in the story and the first was a middle aged Catholic woman.

“What do you go to church for if you’re confident there is no God?” Marquel asked her.

 “I find it gives me peace and security.”

“But what gives you that if there is absolutely no chance of a God anywhere?” Marquel asked.

 “When I sit here, I feel the presence of a great spirit. It calms me.”

“What do you mean you don’t believe in God? What’s this spirit then?” Marquel asked, both confused and disappointed.

 “I don’t expect this spirit to talk to me or answer prayers or even hear me. So it’s not God. It’s more like a meal my mother fed me since birth and I’m just having a bit more.” She insisted.

“So it’s like porridge. You believe in porridge. A Great Porridge in the Sky. I don’t mean to belittle your feelings, but is that what you’re saying?” Marquel asked.

 She laughed. A good hearty non judgmental laugh. “Yes that’s about as close as anything else can come to it. I’m happy calling it porridge if that’s what it amounts to.” She said.

“That seems to be it. So lots of porridge to you this holiday season.” I wished her.

 I went to a synagogue mentioned in the article and I found the atheist. He wore a yarmulke on his head, a tallis around his body, and Teffilin on his forehead and arm, strapped on with leather strips. He looked like a Roman sandal. He repeated prayers, bowed his head, and rocked back and forth.

“Here you are dressed almost like a chasid and yet you say you are an atheist. How does that work?” I asked.

 When I go through all this I feel purified, as if 2,000 generations of my forebears were smiling at me.”

“So then you do believe in God. How could there be an afterlife without God?” I asked.

 “I don’t believe they’re alive. They’re as dead as old dog turd. But my imagination creates an atmosphere where I somehow feel their presence.”

“So this is a comforting fantasy.” I said.

 “Very much a fantasy and very comforting. The tallis, the Teffilin, the yarmulke all take me back.” He insisted.

“So it’s the fashion. It’s like wearing all Ralph Lauren’s latest, or Tommy Hilfiger. You believe in schmate (Yiddish for clothing, or rags, which were about synonymous for Jews in the shtetl).” I suggested, somewhat rudely.

He too laughed heartily. “Yes, I suppose I belong to the Shul of the Holy Schmate. Maybe we could rename this place. But it does recharge me, and I’m able to function better the rest of the week.” He said.

I had two mosques to choose from. It was a little more difficult to find my atheist. The congregants were suspicious of me, because of what they’ve gone through lately, but I found him eventually. He was kneeling on a rug, repeating what I assumed were koranic prayers, and bowing his head, a bit like my friend at the Shul of the Holy Schmate.

He stopped to look at me and I asked, “This is a lot of trouble if you don’t believe in God, isn’t it?”

 “Not at all. Muslims know there is no God. If there were the world would be quite different. Nobody hears my prayers except me. There is nothing to face in the East, except maybe the Canary Islands. I hear they are beautiful. And my bowing evokes no supernatural response except perhaps from my bone marrow stem cells, so maybe there’s some health benefit.”

“Then why do you come here?” I asked, “if there is no God to be placated nor any blessings to receive?” I asked.

 “I really don’t know. I am here among my brothers. It is like a giant fraternity without the beer. It’s very comforting.” He said, turning east again.

“So basically this is kind of an Al Anon meeting with a bit of geography thrown in,” I gently suggested.

 This one laughed like the world was ending. But it was still a great big nonjudgmental laugh. “Yes I guess you could call us an Al Anon with a twist. To the East.” And he laughed again.

 The Times story short changed these people. There is no religion here, at least not in the types the Times cited. After all, with no God, no afterlife, and total absence of the supernatural, how could it be a religion? It’s porridge. Or Schmate. Or a Twelve Step fraternity.

A hearty porridge would do me, and the world I thought, a lot more good than a make believe God. I had a very merry Christmas the rest of the day.

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BY  MARQUEL: God Almighty