The Invisible Sign

The Avenue Of Religious Confusion!

My ignorance was blissful.

To say that “I began to think about god,” is not to imply that I became a Jew, or a Baptist, or joined myself to a denomination, sect, or cult.

Just entering the sixth grade and with no true indoctrination, I had no concept of ‘joining’ anything. The fact is, I’m not exactly sure what I thought about it.

This much I gathered very quickly: EVERYBODY — had a different opinion, and everyone had their own god.

Perhaps I assumed that being either one or the other, i.e., Jew, Christian, or otherwise, was like being an American or a German, i.e., something you were born into.

Regardless, joining was not a part of my thinking.

“Papal Bull”

By this time, I was now old enough to understand that all of the hoopla of the holidays had nothing to do with religion. Just more “Papal bull.” (Add your own ending.)

Sitting with the Jews of the Agudath Achim Congregation is, and always will be, my first memorable contact with a religious organization.

There I discovered that Jews celebrated their own traditional holidays—no babies in a barn, no fat Saint Claus, or anything similar. Celebrations that actually meant something logical.

From my perspective, it was the perfect place to (accidentally) begin my search for God.

Shuffling The God Cards

Many are ‘born’ into a religion? One that the parents or grandparents introduced them to at birth. (I tried that with my children and failed miserably!)

Like branding their brains with Jesus, Buddha, or Vishnu, or perhaps sprinkling water on them when they are babies, or some other such ritual to shroud them in the mysteries of theological imbroglio!

“It was good enough for my daddy,
It was good for my mammy,
It what was good enough for pappy,
And it’s good enough for me!”
(Give me that old-time religion. 1873, the Fisk Jubilee Singers — from an Old Negro spiritual.)

Captive, oriented, indoctrinated, aka brainwashed, just like me and my training, and like me, you had no idea what was happening to you.

Being born into religion is a torment completely the opposite of mine, but a torment nonetheless.

Although I didn’t think of it at the time, unlike you, whose choice was made for you, along that avenue of religions, I was free to shuffle the cards and choose which God I would look to for answers.

If there were any.

Still, at that age, I didn’t have enough knowledge to make a choice. Which meant that, although I was far too young, immature, and ignorant, I wasn’t too young to question.

All that I needed to do was to figure out which questions to ask.

A Morning Tribute To The Gods

Grade school, back in those days (and those days were long, long ago), was all about patriotism, nuclear war, duck and cover, stop-drop-and-roll, air-raid sirens, and holidays. In between all of that, we learned numbers, letters, and cursive writing (to a much greater degree than today’s children).

Every morning we put our hands on my chest and mumbled a few words to GOD #1, the flag in the corner, to which my utmost allegiance was due (according to someone).

Then an ethereal voice would come through a crackling speaker, telling us to bow our heads to yet another god. Obviously the lesser god.

With the gods satisfied, we sat obediently waiting for instruction on the 3-r’s: Reading, Righting, and Rithmatic.

Who came up with that one is beyond my caring, but that was the saying at the time.

Religion and Holidays

Foremost in my mind are the holidays.

Those were the times we learned that “Santa” brought us presents at Christmas in the winter, and the Easter ‘Bunny’ brought us candy in the spring.

All Hallows Eve (aka Halloween — in the autumn) was that time of year when the dead walked on Earth, and we were all frightened, or supposed to be frightened — of dying — or worse!

Each holiday was celebrated with colored craft paper, water paints, crayons, chalk, and other media. An exciting time that did not include numbers or letters.

We drew pictures of all of our favorite religious characters like Santa and his reindeer. To whom we were grateful for all of the good things in life.

At easter, we colored eggs, made baskets from strips of colored paper, filled them with artificial grass, and laid the eggs in them. This was to thank the Easter Bunny for all of its hard work.

Halloween! Well, hell, who doesn’t like spooky stuff? Bats and witches, ghouls and goblins, horrifying creatures and (brrrrrrrr) ghosts?

Wait, something is missing?

Oh, and somewhere in the mix was a baby in a cradle, surrounded by farm animals and people dressed in long flowing robes, and the most odd thing about it was that the baby glowed in the dark.

What was that all about, anyway?

Whatever it was, we sang songs about it and then stayed up all night waiting for Santa — or the Bunny.

Religiously, however, the remainder of the calendar year was pretty much blank.

My First and Last Bible Authority

Returning to grade school in the city wasn’t as bad as I’d assumed, but it wasn’t what I would call good, either, and for many reasons.

As I was dragged through those final two years of grade school, I was unchanged. I had the attention span of a squirrel in a nut factory, and eyes full of desire for anything sexual, like Beth and Amy who sat in the row next to me.

On the other hand, one of my classmates was a boy my age who, after making his acquaintance at the Olympic Theater on Eleventh Avenue, we quickly labeled ourselves “best friends.”

Apparently, we were such — to a point. It’s easy to have a best friend when he’s the only friend you have, and one of the first things I learned about him was that he regularly attended church.

If I’m not mistaken, he was a Methodist, but I could be wrong. Maybe.

Regardless, what matters is that I have never forgotten him showing me his long string of attendance medals that he wore proudly on his lapel.

It wasn’t until many years later that I realized how much those medals told me about him.

That came many years later, after he had introduced me to the one religion that would change my entire outlook on God and religion.

Regardless, he could quote scriptures from memory, which, to my adolescent mind, meant he knew a lot about the Bible.

Our youthful intellects led us into many philosophical discussions about God, life, and the world, along with a healthy mix of music, science fiction, and novels such as Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels and Mario Puzo’s The Godfather.

The Answers To My Questions?

Answers cannot be given if you don’t know what questions are or who to ask them of.

The only thing I was able to determine was best expressed by an old Jewish acquaintance that I had many years later. He said:

“You ask ten rabis a question, you get twelve different answers.”

What I did know by the end of grade school was that, regardless of who I asked, the answers were always different.

If God exists, why was everybody, including myself, so god-damned godless?

—

I chose the following biblical verse to represent this section because I have learned that those metaphorical wolves rarely know they are wolves and most often wear sheep’s clothing without realizing it.

Beware of False Prophets (and Their Translations)

“Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.” (Matthew 7:15 KJV)