I'm going to start of by saying that Paganism is by no means related to satanism or any form of devil worship and anyone looking for that kind of information is looking in the wrong place.
Paganism is a nature based religion and is often described as an earth religion or worldly religion.
I'm not going to tell you a little bit about what happened to introduce me to this way of life and things that influenced my decisions towards this path. I'd like to point out that I believe that I am not 'against' Christianity, and I know people who live true Christian lives and believe strongly in their faith, and it works for them. They are happy and I wish them well on the path they have chosen, hoping that they can give the same respect to my beliefs.
I was brought up in a Christian household and my Father is Roman Catholic and my Mother is Methodist. I went to both churches when I was little and I was jealous of my friends who only ever had to spend 1 hour every week at church. When I was very little I can remember sitting on the kneelers in St Patrick's Church (RC) 'playing the piano' on the seat in front of me along to the organ.
Anyway, I was happy in what I was being taught, there is a God, he loves me and everyone, Jesus was his Son who died for our sins and rose again and then rose to heaven and I didn't question this. I was at an RC School and everyone 'knew' that this was all true. I didn't find many differences between the Methodist and RC teachings, but the RC seemed a bit stricter and you had to sit really quietly in church.
When I was about 11, (after I'd been through First Holy Communion and Confession) I started asking my parents and teachers and priests questions that I wasn't sure were really getting ansered. Things like,
"How could God let things like WWI and WWII happen?"
"Why are there so many religions in the world?"
"How did we get here?"
"Why would God let his ONLY Son die for us?"
"If God is all good, all knowing and everywhere, why did he create us if he KNEW that everything would go wrong, that he would have to kill everyone (except two), and that we would then go on to ruin every good aspect of his creation called earth, and continue until we end up killing ourselves in the process?"
"Why does he let innocent children be murdered?"
"Why does he let people get raped?"
The questions just kept coming, and I was constantly being told to trust him, and I couldn't see any reason that I should trust something that I had no evidence that he existed other than a 2000 yr old book full of stories and poems and epic tales about a far away country, and the fact that everyone I knew believed it and told me that it was true. I also noticed that a lot of the people who called them Christians may go to church once a week, but that didn't necessarily mean that they lived a Christian life. They would swear and shout at people and hit people and to me, that's not the way that someone living in the way of Christianity shoud act. There was a lot of hypocrisy in the people I knew.
It wasn't enough for me, I needed to feel more, but no answers came and my belief dwindled until I realised that I was going to church because I was told to, not because I wanted to go. I realised my parents would be devistated if I didn't up-hold their beliefs, so I went along for about 6 months, church every Sunday morning, and every Sunday morning I sat in church, chanting along to the prayers, singing along to songs that had no meaning any more and I realised that even if I didn't believe in anything like this anymore, all the people around me did. I felt totally hypocritical myself, as though the fact I was there was almost mocking them and this mad me feel very alone and chlaustrophobic, but still, not wanting to dissapoint my parents, I went to church. I found myself having to sit at the end of the pews so that I didn't feel too bad... Until one day...
When we were 11 we started mainly going to the RC church, and only went to the Methodists' with Mam on special occassions. At the age of 13, I was watching a film that I'd never seen before and I didn't want to miss it and Dad was about to set off on the way to church. He started telling me to move and I get upset (the way only 13 year olds can) and told him that I wanted to stay and watch the film. He got angry and made me go to church. In the car I told him that I didn't want to go and sit through another mass because I didn't believe in God and I felt guilty for going and making a mockery of what he believed in and I just wanted to be at home. He still drove on. Once we got there I sat at the end of the pew in a huff! (kids - what can you do with them! - looking back I guess it was the only way I knew to express myself). Dad got really angry and said that if I didn't want to be there I didn't have to and he held out the car keys, daring me to take them to go and sit in the car for an hour... I don't know what came over me, normally I would have just ignored them and pretended that I hadn't heard him hoping that the whole thing would blow over, but I'd had enough. I took the keys from his hand got up and walked out not daring to look back to see Dad's face. As soon as I got out of the church, I felt free. I'd done it, I'd told my Dad that I didn't want to be there and that I didn't believe in God and I'd walked out! As I put the key to the lock, I heard a yell behind me. Dad reached me before my shaking hand reached the lock and dragged me back into the church to sit through another hour of chanting, singing and listening to someone telling me that I would be saved. It didn't seem like it!
Anyway, we got back without Dad saying ONE word to me and as soon as we got there, I went to the toilet to think for a while. I guessed he'd be telling my Mother and there'd be a lot of shouting etc. He didn't speak to me for over a fortnight except for the kinda things Dad's have to say to their kids and then he told me that I would be going to church until my 16th birthday. He had made that promise to his God at my baptism and he would stick to his beliefs even if I wouldn't. He had promised to bring me up in the way of God and apparently forcing me to go to church was his way of doing that. I hated it, but I was resigned to the fact that I'd have to go. Things blew up again at the time when our year group were getting confirmed. Confirmation is the point in your life where you stand up and say, Yes This is what I believe in, I'm making this choice myself to confirm what my parents said in baptism when I ws too young to say it my self. I said that it was my choice and I didn't want to get confirmed. I reminded my Dad that if I changed my mind in the future, I can get confirmed in my own time, but that wsan't enough. I think some of it was the fact he was upset and possibly a bit embarrased that his daughter was going against everything he believed in and wanted me to believe, but once again, I didn't have the choice. I would be disowned and my family would be ashamed of me and my Grandparents would be devistated and my Grandma would probably cry. I couldn't handle that at that age, so once again I went through with the whole ritual of confirmation. I was given the name Cecilia who was the St of Music (I love music so I thought if I had to go through with it, I might as well chose something I like) and came out of it with a beaming and proud family and me in tears.
Being at a Catholic school I had to do GCSE Religious Studies (mainly Catholic based, but it looked into different variations of Christianity, but never mentioned any non-christian beliefs other than Buddism and that teaching barely scratched the surface. I was starting to realise that there was something missing in my life, and couldn't think of anything other than my theory of "there's nothing out there but this" and I was getting really withdrawn, lonely and I was feeling very insecure about who I was. I was still very conscious of the fact that I'd let down my parents and the fact that they still didn't want my grandparents to know. I'd dissapointed the people who I loved the most and no matter what I did, I couldn't get my belief back. I told them that if they wanted I could tell them I believed in god, but they'd know in my eyes that I'd be lying. My parents had grown distant and my sister, who still believed in Christianity, seemed to become closer to them than ever. I can remember my RE Teacher taking me aside and telling me that I may need to go and see a counsillor as my grades were dropping and I was obviously upset about something and if I didn't want to see a counsillor, I may want to see a doctor as she was worried that I could be starting a nervous breakdown - AT THE AGE OF 15!
By the time I was 15 1/2, my Dad realised that it wasn't working, if anything I was getting even further away from his beliefs. He suggested that I went to the Methodist church (as a last resort?) for the last 6 months. I did, and there was still nothing there to me. There was a 'Sunday School' where as kids we'd colour in pictures of Jesus with multicoloured pencils, and come out proud of our work to show the whole world, but as a 'more mature' group, we'd discuss passages in the Bible and talk about what they ment to the people who wrote them and to us today. I discussed with the best of them what it ment to the people who wrote it and what it means to Christians today and then I'd go on to discuss the scientific reality of some of the stories that we were discussing. At least I wasn't yelled at for discussing different interpritations of the Bible, and I can remember having a few good old natters about things in the Bible. I even remember a few people coming to me and asking "What if..." But I always said they had to find out the answers for themselves and choose their own path.
At the age of 16 I was overjoyed. I didn't have to go back to church, I said goodbye to the friends I'd made at the Methodist Church and I even still keep in touch with a few of them now. And I moved on. I got a B for GCSE RE and decided that my quest for something to believe in should continue. I chose to take Christian Theology A Level to see if I could find something that I'd missed. At the time I didn't know, but halfway though the first year we were given the opportunity to visit Israel. The Land of Jesus and of the very beginnings of Christianity. I went, my parents hoping the same as me, that I would come back having found something that would help me back onto the 'right path'. I had an amazing time and learnt a load of amazing things. We went to various different churchs, buildings and locations related to Jesus' life and death and walked on the same paths as he would have, and I felt this awe knowing that I was in the same places as events that had happened 2000 years before, but there was knowledge, but no belief. I can remember when we went to a church on the Sunday and when the people were singing and rejoycing, there was something there. It was like an aura surrounding everyone in the room and I could feel it, almost see it, but I knew I wasn't part of it. I came out of there in tears and I just wanted to belong to something again.
To Be Continued...
