I was in a meeting for our diversity team at work. It was the kickoff meeting where we were welcoming new members. We went around the room for introductions, and each of us shared one "diverse" thing about ourselves. One person shared that she followed a religion called, "Bahai," that she recently started following after being raised Catholic. She's very into this religion, which is pretty cool.

Since I love learning about different religions, I did a little reading about Bahai. I liked what I read.

When my turn came, I said there is nothing really that diverse about me (nothing fascinating, anyway), so I said, "I'm not religious at all, but I love learning about different religions." And then I looked at my Hindu friend sitting beside me and we both smiled. She so very openly shares information about her faith, and I love that about her.

Why can't I say, "Atheist?" I am an Atheist. I should not be afraid to share that.

I still think there is a stigma around it. It's not that I'm afraid that people won't like me. If people don't like me because I don't believe in deities, then that's their problem, not mine. My fear is shutting people out, or having them believe that I'm against all religions (which I'm not--well, maybe Catholicism).

A funeral mass

I attended the funeral of my husband's aunt and uncle. They died about six months apart, and each was cremated. The aunt was the one that was the more dedicated Catholic. According to the Catholic church, in order to be buried in a Catholic cemetery, they had to have a Catholic mass. So they did. It turned out that even though they were being buried together, with one service and one priest officiating, the family was required to pay for two funerals. WTG Catholic church! Gotta pay for those legal fees somehow I suppose.

The Catholic mass is long, boring, and robotic. I hate it. I think I've always hated it, even when I was a good Catholic. I remember all the prayers and responses since I've had so many years of it being crammed into my head, but this time I didn't say one word. It wouldn't have been genuine. It's not like anyone noticed or cared. Most people didn't speak or sing anyway.

The sermon was nice. The priest seemed to know the deceased, and spoke of them from memory. Most of the sermon was more of a trip down memory lane instead of being about the scripture that was just read. I thank him for that!

When it came time to kneel, I didn't. I probably should have, but it didn't feel right to me. I wondered if the family members who know I'm atheist were looking to see what I'd do during the mass. But I didn't really care.

At the reception afterwards, I talked to one of the daughters of the deceased and told her how lovely the service was. And I meant it. I've been to so many services where the agenda was teaching the scripture, and not so much about the life of the deceased. I'm sure part of it is that these priests probably don't really know their parishioners well enough to speak of them so they use a generic sermon.

It reminds me of my mother's funeral. She wasn't a regular at Sunday mass, and I didn't get the sense that she spent any time after mass talking to the priests. So when we had a church service for her, I was interested in seeing how it was handled since they probably didn't know her.

We met with the priest beforehand to plan the service. That meant choosing readings and hymns from a little pamphlet. The bible means nothing to me so I was basically going to pick something short and sweet. My son volunteered to do the readings, but he wanted to choose his own, rather than be limited to that pamphlet. The priest said no. I was rather shocked by that. So my son had to read something he didn't really want to and I know why. It's because there are carefully scripted sermons behind the readings in the pamphlet. The sermon would be generic. Perfect for a parishioner that he didn't even know. Easy for the priest. I was actually pissed about this. But for me, the mass was just a formality. It was expected. It was more for the living than the deceased. The people in attendance had no clue it was a scripted, generic sermon. But I know. Now I know, and I will never look at a Catholic funeral mass the same.

Believer versus non-believer

Non-believer article on CNN | Believer response to non-believer on CNN

CNN published an article that could potentially be tagged as offensive. Finally an Atheist speaks. I immediately read the article, which was well-written, and pretty open-minded, in my opinion. The author basically said she made her choice in how to raise her children, but she didn't actually attack believers. Well done.

A few days later, CNN published a response written by a dad. He seemed well-spoken, and had his thoughts laid out nicely, but he was defensive. I could feel myself getting frustrated and wanting desperately to add a snarky comment.

Part of the fun with these controversial topics is the feedback by readers. Some people seriously need to get a life! Each side can go on and on trying to convince the other side that they are ridiculous! What is the point? Neither side is going to suddenly have a lightbulb moment and say, "Dang, I think I was wrong!"

I think people react so strongly out of fear. The believers fear the world will go to pot without God, and the Atheists fear that believers will dominate the world and suppress free-thinking and logic.

I didn't add a comment to the non-believer article because I agreed with her, particularly her statement that religion belongs in the home and in the church.

The non-believer, however, really ruffled my feathers and I felt compelled to comment. He was DEFENDING religion and God. And I ask, "Why?" Something so personal should not need to be defended--it just is! And if people don't accept that, who gives a shit! I sat in front of my computer for about an hour, drafting and re-drafting a response. I didn't want to be one of "those" people who feels like my opinion is welcome or will really change anything.

In keeping with my choice to be open-minded, this is what I posted, along with one single response.