An Atheist at Easter
P. E.
Going back (in a way)
I was born in Poland, returned to Poland, and now I live here again. Catholicism is a big part of my culture and my life, even though I do not relate to faith in the way I used to.
There was a time when I looked down on people who went to church only once a year, during Easter, and not even for Easter Mass, but for the food-blessing service on the Saturday before. It was short and pleasant. Now I am one of them. Perhaps for a different reason, perhaps the same.
That change in my own attitude also made me rethink how I approached religion in my children’s upbringing. Having leafed through the RE coursebook for first graders, and after discussing it with my husband, we decided that our children would skip RE classes at school. I also worried that they might disrupt the class with their curiosity and critical thinking. Now I regret it. I worried about indoctrination, but I now think I overestimated the danger and underestimated the value of cultural literacy. They are surrounded by Christian customs and rituals and keep asking questions. Instead of me explaining it all to them, it could have been the RE teacher. And I should not have worried so much about injunctions such as “God is everywhere, He can see your deeds”, “you have to fulfil God’s commandments”, or “God comes before everyone else”, because they are smart children and I, well, I am not my parents.
The burden of guilt and charity
In a way, Catholicism screwed me up. For a long time, it made me feel guilty for actions that were apparently sins but were, in fact, simply part of growing up and maturing. We should not be made to feel guilty for being human. Tell that to the ten-year-old me, who treated the subject of sin and atonement with complete seriousness.
And the problem did not end with private feelings of guilt. Some of the moral lessons I absorbed also seem damaging in social life.
Forgiveness and turning the other cheek, at least in the sense I was taught, did not do us any favours either, whether as individuals or as a collective. If my next-door neighbour is a crook and a scammer, I want to be free to dislike her, and not to be rebuked for failing to hold her in high regard when she does not deserve it. I will not require my children to say “good day” to her when she keeps trying to harm our family, even if Christian spirit advocates it.
The same applies at the collective level. What is praised as Christian compassion in personal life is often used to shame societies into forms of self-harm. I do not share the view that nations should share their prosperity – meaning, pay for others with their own sweat and tears – with economic freeloaders and criminals who contribute nothing in any sphere simply because Jesus preached compassion and charity.
And the damage has not come only from doctrine or moral pressure, but also from the institution itself. The faithful have suffered because of Church structures and because some corrupt people were entrusted with the power of being bishops, parish priests, or popes when they should never have held such authority.
More than belief
For all that, I still distinguish between the harms done by aspects of the religion or the institution, and the kind of civilisation that grew out of it. In my eyes, being born in a Catholic country has proven much better than the alternative, because it shapes the entire society: its customs, its moral language, its rhythm of life, its sense of continuity, and the quiet feeling that life is shared with others and not lived alone. That does not mean that all Catholics or Christians are honest and hardworking. It means that the broader culture formed by Christianity leaves marks on everyday life that are real and valuable.
Most of all, these customs and rites are part of my identity. They give me a sense of community. Christmas and Easter are the most joyful holidays of the year, and the rituals that surround them – baking gingerbread, decorating a spruce or pine tree, and having borscht and carp on Christmas Eve – belong to both family memory and national tradition.
So, can I participate while not being a believer? Culturally, civilisationally, and emotionally? I think I can, because Catholics, although self-deprecating and humble, are cool people (and they reject no one). They are where I feel at home.