My mom has always been worried about me and Jesus, since I was a little kid.
When I turned 18 and moved out immediately, I continued going to church twice monthly, mostly as a favor to Mom. It never slowed down her nagging about God, though.At about 18⅓, it dawned on me that if she nags constantly about God when I’m actually in a pew every other Sunday, why bother going at all? I didn’t actually believe in God.
So I stopped going to church, and Mom’s nagging about God continued. And continued.We argued about it, but she never stopped nagging.
It wasn’t because of Mom’s nagging about God that eventually I moved away and intentionally lost contact (best decision I ever made, and I have no regrets). There was lots more to it than that. But I sure didn’t miss the nagging while I was gone for thirty years. I lived my life happily, and even lucked into love and marriage. Then my wife died, and I realized I was old and wanted a family again, so in 2022 I moved back to Seattle.These days, Mom & I go to breakfast every second Saturday. We’re getting along pretty well, and I still don’t go to church. She started nagging me about it again in our second conversation after my return, but after I snapped at her in self-defense, she hasn’t mentioned it very often. At least not overtly, though she’d still invite me to church, and hint at the horrid fate awaiting my eternal soul if I don’t soon drop to my knees and repent.
A week or so ago, for the first time in months, she brought church into our ongoing text conversation. Instead of summarizing, I’ll just quote it:Mom: I overslept and did not go to church this morning. I can’t remember the last time I missed worship.Mom: And what has happened to YOUR Sunday habit? You went regularly when you were growing up. Apparently it was MY habit, not yours, huh.Me: Yeah.Mom: A habit can be changed any time you try. Sooo, what do you think? Is there a nearby church that has some interest to you?Mom: You could SHOW UP, be unnoticed and observe like a fly on the wall, but not even informing anyone you were in attendance.Mom: Or you could research a familiar type of church, and VISIT it.Mom: Or you could sacrifice your precious privacy and go WITH someone to a church of their choice.Mom: Or you could do as you are doing now, IGNORE any thought of your eternal destiny.
Mom: I love you very much, and hope when I die it is not the end of our relationship.Me: Yeah, I didn’t even reply, simply skimmed it and rolled my eyes at her last line, which struck me and still does as one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard. She wanted me to “think on these things,” though, and sure enough, here I am a week later, re-reading her texts. Is a week later too late to reply?
① Church was never my ‘habit’ when I was a kid; it was required — a cruelty I have magnanimously forgiven.
② I enthusiastically ignore any thought of my eternal destiny, because there’s no such thing.③ Any ‘God’ that would condemn people to the inside of a pizza oven forever, over skipping church on Sunday, can fuck himself.④ “… if and when you take responsibility for your decision.” Bite me. It’s more responsible to run my life my way, than the Godly choice of pretending a fictional entity is in charge.⑤ When we die it’s the end of all our relationships. That’s the nature of death — The End, same for believers in eternal life and disbelievers.Mom believes absolutely, and I don’t, also absolutely. Several times we’ve spoken of it at length, and every time it’s made her cry, but we haven’t had those conversations since the 1990s. I don’t like making my mom cry, so my preference is to avoid talking about it. If she brings it up again, my answer will be the old reliable, “You don’t want that conversation with me.” That line has worked before, a reminder of our long-ago conversations that made her cry.It’s been 30+ years, though. Maybe it’s time we have that conversation again. But I’d still rather not.
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