being brought here with my mother and father as a child. I placed my hand on the copper door handle and could almost feel that day, it was so warm and I so happy.
A Forgotten Soul
As I child it was a joyous occasion to go to Sunday school. Running to the entrance I was so small I could not even open the large wooden door. That day, however, while I still enjoyed going to church I wanted something else.
My father was a deacon. He would always stand out front talking to faces I could not see. My mother carried Ashley, holding her against her chest. At age eight the sea of legs and voices was the beginning of my understanding that you can feel alone even when surrounded by crowd.
“ Dad, I’m bored.” I whined to my father.
Tugging on his pant leg finally got his attention. He knelt down next to me, even when busy my father would always take the time to listen to what I had to say, to talk to me, at least at first he did.
“ Timothy, you shouldn’t interrupt when I’m speaking to someone. It’s rude.” He said sternly.
“ I’m sorry dad. Nobody is talking to me. I wish Jonathan was here.”
I had asked if Jonathan could come with us to church many times. I never got an answer, at least not one that I understood. Taking my hand and leading me toward the door I thought yet again I would not get an answer.
“ I wish he could be here as well, Timothy. I’ve talked with Jonathan’s father and he said that Jonathan couldn’t join us. Even though I know you wish he was here it is his family’s decision and we all have to respect that.”
I did not understand most of what he said. All I could hear was that his father said no. Normally I would just accept it knowing I would see him after church, but that day it was not enough. I wanted to know why. My father opened the door to the church, but I did not walk inside.
“ Why, did his dad say no? Jonathan goes everywhere with us, why can’t he come here? Is he on punishment?” I asked adamantly.
Pulling me to the side, I thought he was going to scold me, but instead he knelt back down and looked into my eyes. I saw a look that was unfamiliar, it was contemplation. He wanted to explain to me why Jonathan could not be there, but he wanted to do it in a way that I could understand.
“ Timothy, do you know why we come to church every Sunday?” He asked.
“ Yes, we come to church to learn about Jesus and God and how he died for our sins and loves us.”
It was an auto generated robotic response programmed into my subconscious by my Sunday school teacher to be regurgitated perfectly when a specific verbal structured sentence was spoken to me. I was nothing more than a relay beacon.
“ We believe in God and we love him, but not everyone believes in God. There are many different beliefs and Jonathan's family has a different one than we do. Just as your mother and I teach you our beliefs, Jonathan's parents teach him theirs. That's why Jonathan isn't with us here today.”
It was more than that. Jonathan’s parent’s believed that religion was a major cause in the suffering of humanity. What I did not know was that they told Jonathan that at a very young age. It did not register for him until he got older and that is when he shared it with me. My father believed in the word of God and wanted his children to share in the love he felt, to tell me the reasons for Jonathan’s parent’s beliefs would destroy all that.
“ Does that mean Jonathan doesn’t love Jesus?” I asked.
He smiled at my question and quickly washed it away. I often wondered what that smile truly represented. Was it that I was so well conditioned to believe that all who did not conform to religious fundamentalism were God haters or was it watching an innocent child trying to understand a complex issue.
“ No, it just... well, it means that on Sunday mornings Jonathan is with his family
A Forgotten Soul
As I child it was a joyous occasion to go to Sunday school. Running to the entrance I was so small I could not even open the large wooden door. That day, however, while I still enjoyed going to church I wanted something else.
My father was a deacon. He would always stand out front talking to faces I could not see. My mother carried Ashley, holding her against her chest. At age eight the sea of legs and voices was the beginning of my understanding that you can feel alone even when surrounded by crowd.
“ Dad, I’m bored.” I whined to my father.
Tugging on his pant leg finally got his attention. He knelt down next to me, even when busy my father would always take the time to listen to what I had to say, to talk to me, at least at first he did.
“ Timothy, you shouldn’t interrupt when I’m speaking to someone. It’s rude.” He said sternly.
“ I’m sorry dad. Nobody is talking to me. I wish Jonathan was here.”
I had asked if Jonathan could come with us to church many times. I never got an answer, at least not one that I understood. Taking my hand and leading me toward the door I thought yet again I would not get an answer.
“ I wish he could be here as well, Timothy. I’ve talked with Jonathan’s father and he said that Jonathan couldn’t join us. Even though I know you wish he was here it is his family’s decision and we all have to respect that.”
I did not understand most of what he said. All I could hear was that his father said no. Normally I would just accept it knowing I would see him after church, but that day it was not enough. I wanted to know why. My father opened the door to the church, but I did not walk inside.
“ Why, did his dad say no? Jonathan goes everywhere with us, why can’t he come here? Is he on punishment?” I asked adamantly.
Pulling me to the side, I thought he was going to scold me, but instead he knelt back down and looked into my eyes. I saw a look that was unfamiliar, it was contemplation. He wanted to explain to me why Jonathan could not be there, but he wanted to do it in a way that I could understand.
“ Timothy, do you know why we come to church every Sunday?” He asked.
“ Yes, we come to church to learn about Jesus and God and how he died for our sins and loves us.”
It was an auto generated robotic response programmed into my subconscious by my Sunday school teacher to be regurgitated perfectly when a specific verbal structured sentence was spoken to me. I was nothing more than a relay beacon.
“ We believe in God and we love him, but not everyone believes in God. There are many different beliefs and Jonathan's family has a different one than we do. Just as your mother and I teach you our beliefs, Jonathan's parents teach him theirs. That's why Jonathan isn't with us here today.”
It was more than that. Jonathan’s parent’s believed that religion was a major cause in the suffering of humanity. What I did not know was that they told Jonathan that at a very young age. It did not register for him until he got older and that is when he shared it with me. My father believed in the word of God and wanted his children to share in the love he felt, to tell me the reasons for Jonathan’s parent’s beliefs would destroy all that.
“ Does that mean Jonathan doesn’t love Jesus?” I asked.
He smiled at my question and quickly washed it away. I often wondered what that smile truly represented. Was it that I was so well conditioned to believe that all who did not conform to religious fundamentalism were God haters or was it watching an innocent child trying to understand a complex issue.
“ No, it just... well, it means that on Sunday mornings Jonathan is with his family
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