Over the last few years, the zealous
beliefs of many of my friends means I find myself scratching my head in
bewilderment and mumbling, “Really???” And then I tend to pull back, step
aside, and look at not only what someone has said on any given day, but at how
that person lives.
The “preachers” I shift into the
column of “grain of salt” because I doubt their sincerity. They spend so much
time proclaiming their views and sermonizing from their hilltops that they
rarely recognize their hypocrisy. This is the woman who posts a daily
devotional on her status up-date on Facebook but whose own relatives no longer
speak to her. This is the man that proclaims his undying devotion to his faith
while he lies to his co-workers and steals from his company. This is the woman
who asks friends to pray for her or her family because they need a new car or
money for a vacation. These are the people who always ask for more while they
give less. And they never see the flaws within themselves while they function
by spreading fear and misinformation.
I find myself avoiding this type of person
more and more. At a younger age, I’d try to engage someone like this in a
debate of ideas, but time and experience have taught me that extremists yell
loudly and insult freely—both things I like to avoid in my milder middle age.
I have other friends who have deep
and profound faith. Not all of them believe in the same religious doctrines,
and some don’t believe in any religion at all; yet they embrace a spirituality that
cultivates certainty and calmness. This is the woman who shares her beliefs not
because she’s expecting to convert anyone, but because she allows friends to
see her flaws within her life in the hope that others will find strength by her
example. This is the man who questions the canons of his childhood as he
survives a divorce and learns to redefine himself and his role as a single parent.
His quest takes him onto a different path and leads him to a new creed. This is
the woman who spent her childhood and early adult years mired in a religion
that piled guilt upon her for every wrong thought or deed. She shares her
journey for finding peace within her heart—and passing it on to others. These
are the “teachers” in my life.
And although I don’t embrace the
same beliefs as these friends, I never feel their criticism. They never react
to me with hostility. They don’t expect me to change who I am or what I believe
to match their viewpoints. They don’t define our relationship by forcing me to
fit into their round holes.
So I find myself puzzling over these
two types of believers—the Preachers and the Teachers. Both types profess great
faith and use their religions to guide their daily lives. Yet, one grates upon
me until I sometimes feel raw and bleeding. With the other, I see the nurturing
that comes from their convictions. I understand the reasons behind their need
to believe because it makes them better people.
Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
