APRIL 20, 2025 – This being the high holy day of (Western) Christianity makes it the high holy moly day for me, given my complicated relationship with this particular brand of religion. “Holy moly” means different things to different people, but to me in the present context it means, “Yet again I’m reminded of the distinctions between fact and faith; realism and symbolism; the concept of divine and the construct of man; the traditions of upbringing and the norms of cultures other than my own; and so on and so forth.” The short version (of “Holy moly!”) is simply, “Enough already! Haven’t we been through this before?!”
But just as the ardent believer celebrates Easter—with a passion—every year, so am I compelled to question the whole deal every year. I can’t let it rest any more easily than the believer can say, “Okay, got the message loud and clear. In fact, I’ve got it nailed down so well, I could never forget it, even if the rest of my memory takes leave from me. So, how about taking a five-year break in all the hoop-la?”
Now, to be clear, I’m not about to disabuse anyone of their religious faith. In the first place, my effort would be a fool’s errand, which I learned long ago with regard to influencing people in their political beliefs, and the two—religious faith and political beliefs—are in many ways the same thing.
Moreover, though I have my own flavor of thinking on all this based on a host of factors jammed into a perpetual motion blender. Some of those factors never lose their distinctly remembered identity, just as with an actual blender some ingredients never get blended—the slice of banana that’s stuck against the side molding of the jar or two blueberries caught under the whirling blades. In my figurative blender, such things are a book, a conversation, an encounter, some other discrete experience, the specific effect of which I can remember and articulate. But just as with a peach-blueberry-banana-chocolate-coconut-et cetera-smoothie yields a sweet, fruity, chocolatey taste, so have all the influences of my life produced a certain outcome in my thinking about religion generally and Christianity specifically.
Furthermore, as I’ve experienced all too often in various avenues of life, however much I think I know about one thing or another, the overwhelming odds are that there’s more to just about every story. That would include the story of Easter. And if to Easter, the pinnacle of the Christian faith construct, then why wouldn’t the axiom stated here apply to everything else about the religion? And if to this religion, then why not to all religions?
So, no matter how and why you, a Christian believer, has become one, I won’t claim standing to say you shouldn’t be. However God or god speaks to you is your business. If he, she, it appeared in a vision and said “Believe in me,” fine. Your vision, your perception of its reality is your choice. Who am I to suggest it was something funny about your brain chemistry or MSG in the fish you ate for lunch? Just so you know, however, I’ll draw the line at your claim that the voice of divinity told you to cut my head off or, “Vote for my guy Trump.” Oops! Didn’t I say religion faith and political beliefs are the same?
Back when we were churchy people and our parents, themselves the heirs of tradition, were among us, we celebrated Easter in the usual fashion of practicing Christians in America: church; group shot outside, weather permitting; easter egg hunt for the kids; dinner of ham with pineapple. We guarded the same traditions and shared them with our kids, our siblings and in-laws, nieces and nephews. But various forces intervened, and in time those traditions slipped from our grasp. The slippage was accompanied by dissipation of faith itself, and in some instances, sadly enough, by an irreconcilable divergence of political beliefs.
So here we are again at this annual cross . . . I mean crossing . . . of faith and doubt, or as I put it above, “faith and fact,” though how will I ever know that I’ve got all the facts; that I know the whole story, which is why, if I’m wise about it, I’ll say “faith and doubt.”
Whence this doubt? I still ask the question and still find the answer in my own variety of fruit smoothie—to which ingredients are added daily as the blender blades continue whirling and doubtless (pun fully intended) will to my last breath, at which point, all doubts will be laid to rest—one way or another.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
