You know, I really don’t mind that my mother has “found religion” in the last few years. I honestly don’t. Hell, I rarely see her as it is, and I can shrug it off with the best of them.
And, I know that when she shares her faith with me (I am not a Christian, as she knows), it is in the spirit of sharing something which she feels enriches her life, and I accept it as such. I do not think the less of her for it, and I respect her beliefs.
The better part of me, upon opening her Christmas present to me on Christmas Eve, feels the same way. She has this belief, and she finds joy in it, and she wants to share it with me.
And yet, as I uncovered the heavy, leatherbound Bible (a modern translation labeled “The Message”), I couldn’t help but get somewhat annoyed by it. My mother has sent my children religious-related books in the past, and she has also given me some as well. However, it always seemed like such gifts were in the spirit of discussion and mutual understanding. For example, a couple years ago she sent me C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters. I had been meaning to read both books (especially Screwtape), so they were welcome gifts. I didn’t agree with much of what Lewis said in Mere Christianity, but I had to at least admire his attempt, and I was not at all averse to reading it. I kept an open mind, and I found that I learned a few things about the Christian faith, or at least about Lewis’ perspective on it. That was a good thing.
This, though… this Message.
I don’t expect gifts from my mother. I’m bad enough myself about sending them, and I’d be just as happy receiving only a heartfelt card or letter from her as I would a mountain of gifts. This isn’t about materialism or wishing she had gotten me this or that. This is just the first time I’ve honestly felt that my mother is not trying to share something with me… this is the first time I’ve felt that she’s trying to convert me.
A little history… I’ve already said that I’m not a Christian. I have, however, read the Bible (twice, King James translation) and I’ve discussed Christianity pretty openly with many of my Christian friends. One old friend, in particular, had a strong faith but was always willing to question it… almost like a scientist (but not Christian Scientist, if you know what I mean). I admired his ability to question his beliefs, and to have them become the stronger for the questioning, and we had some great discussions. I think I have a pretty good understanding of the faith, and I definitely respect it, even though I very firmly do not share the faith in the Christian God or the Bible. I think my mother knows most of this, if not all of it. We haven’t discussed some of it at length, I admit… one of the side effects of living a few thousand miles away. But she knows that I do not share her faith. She also knows that I have a love of history, particularly Mideaval European history. I have my own beliefs, my own faith, though they are not adequately described by any one belief system.
So why, knowing this, would she send her agnostic son a Bible? Why, out of all the versions she could have chosen, would she have picked a modern (and frankly, dumbed-down) translation? Why, also, would she have left a conspicuous price sticker on it, letting me know that she had spent $80 on it? I saw this almost right away, and my wife has pointed out (probably rightly) that it seems to be a sticking point for me. My mother is normally very conscientious about that sort of thing… I’ve never received a gift from her that had the price left on it, unless the price was actually printed on the item. In this case, the price was fairly noticable, on a sticker, easily removable. Why was it left on? It may have been a mistake… but it doesn’t feel like one. It’s feels like a Message.
I’ll admit this… when I first opened it and saw that it was a Bible, I was kind of mad. In some ways, I still am. This gift means one of two things to me. Either she does not know me as well as I think she does, or she’s ignoring what she knows about me and trying to change what I believe in. I’m not particularly happy about either one, but given my mother, I suspect that it’s the second one.
I hate feeling this way about a gift, or about my mother. I feel like I’m in the wrong for feeling as I do about it. I hate feeling like I have to suspect my mother’s intentions now. I hate feeling like she’s trying to convert me to her beliefs… it’s as though, suddenly, she doesn’t respect my beliefs anymore. And, I feel like I can’t confront her on it without either hurting her feelings or somehow screwing all of this up and making her feel like I hate Christianity in general, just because I don’t believe. I don’t even want to confront her about it, because if I’m wrong (and I could be wrong), then it would only hurt her.
Perhaps it’s chickenshit to avoid the issue this way, but if she asks what I thought of her gift, I will most likely say “Thank you.” and leave it at that. It seems to me that in this case the best way to deal with it is not to confront it directly myself, to give her the benefit of the doubt, to turn the other cheek. It’s what Jesus would do… right? ironic laugh
I hate to say it, but this generous (at least, in a financial sense) gift has somewhat soured the holiday season for me. Fortunately, seeing my daughters opening their gifts yesterday morning (Our eldest was delighted with the boom box and the Avril Levigne CD, and the seven-year-old was positively thrilled with the LOTR book set we got her) more than made up for any ill feelings, so it was more good than bad, as it should be. But still, this one sour note is still getting to me. Next year, I kind of hope my mother just sends a letter.
