2001-11-26 - 12:47 a.m.

Okay, with all the great diaryland participation of late, you all get the chance to weigh in on another heady topic: should I or should I not take a job editing religion books?

Pros: I get a generous amount of money

I don't have to look for a job any more

I get health, dental and vision insurance

I get two weeks vacation, ten personal days and lots of paid holidays, including the entire Christmas to New Year stretch

The job is close to home

The job involves editing things, which I generally find amenable

They don't make you work overtime or even very hard from what I gather

The job would definitely be over in two years if I were to last that long

If I was a success, I could be well on my way to an illustrious career editing all sorts of crazy things

Cons:

I would be a religion book editor

I would have the same full-time job for up to two years, and thus less interesting diaryland postings

It might not be that exciting

Some things to consider: Would I become complacent and stop writing, or just run out of things to write about in such a job?

Is it wrong/unethical/immoral/sinful for me to be promoting, to children, a religious doctrine that I don't believe in myself?

Which reminded me of these words, written by me years ago (don't worry, everything turned out fine with my mother), edited slightly this evening, which ask the question,

Is it a sin to pray if you don't believe?

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The host leaves a familiar aftertaste. I feel at peace, quiet. I like church today. I kneel and lower my head. This pew, so familiar, these people, so warm, people I need. To my left, my brother and sister. To my right, father and mother. Mom. I sneak a peek over at her. Nothing to look at now but her. I try to imagine what he's thinking, try to see if she's afraid. She prays as always. She believes. It's nice that she believes. She wears that soft blue sweater that looks so comfortable. It looks so comfortable to be her. Those round glasses, those warm eyes, that soft skin. I can see her and Dad growing older, slowly acquiring wrinkles and gray, but beautiful.

I look back at my hands, down to my knees. Say some extra prayers, she told me. For me. Is it a sin to pray if you don't believe? Can it matter? Could it hurt? I want to pray anyway. I know that she will never hear it, it does not matter, but I do it. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. The words are nostalgia to me, but maybe it's more than that. Is this what it's like to be religious? I wonder where I turn the corner, when it starts counting?

Years ago, when I was still an altar boy, I lost my faith. I fought to not have to go to church. Then I went to church to make Mom happy, though it was too late to ever believe again. Then, somehow, it grew on me, though it meant nothing. I enjoyed it because it made them happy and it was a chance to think. I ignored the sermon and found my own version of the holy spirit, just thinking things out. Now I like it; I love to see these people who believe in things and are joyful and learn things. I even listen to the sermons sometimes. And I don't know about any kind of God, and Jesus was a man, no more. But I was praying just then and nobody was listening. Does it count if you just believe because it's nice to believe? Does that turn into real believing? Does it matter what's the truth? Is it wrong believe if there isn't a God?

I just want her to be okay. I want her to come out of that operating room just fine. But when I look at her, I see one of those thousands of people who believe in God but who die every day just the same, and telling yourself the Lord works in mysterious ways doesn't make a bit of difference. But maybe it does. Maybe if I believed then it wouldn't be so bad if something went wrong. Maybe I'm stacking my odds just in case. But I sure hope it doesn't come to that.

So I pray. It's better than just saying I hope she makes it okay, over and over again. It's better than developing a nervous twitch. It's better than saying when she dies that I hope there's no God because if there is I should have prayed but I hope there's a God because if there is then she's in heaven. It's better than that.

And later, after all the kneeling is over and the final announcements are over and I steal one last glimpse at Mom, I sing. I sing even though I haven't done it in years, because I just prayed and I might as well sing while I'm at it, and because my sister is right next to me singing and holding out the song book in front of me and I love her, and because it will make me feel good to sing a happy song, to feel like part of these people who believe something, and maybe that that happiness will one day translate to belief, a happy belief, and maybe one day I'll sing so much that all the thoughts go out of my head and they get filled back in with love and prayers and thoughts of God. I wonder if that day will one day come. When I look over at her I envy her.

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