thoughts on religion while i watch my father die

My father asked for my forgiveness during one of the last few moments he had when he was truly himself. I couldn’t bring myself to forgive him.

“I’m in this position because of you.” 

It wasn’t “you” that I said when I said it to him – I used his business partner’s name for reasons we’ll get to – but it might as well have been him.

As my brother brought up some good memories he had with my father, I sat there trying to think of one good memory. What was something I could reflect on with my father that made me smile, that made me proud, that made me forget that I had a father who never saw me as my own independent person? I still can’t think of anything. Every memory is tainted with him getting frustrated with me being a kid and unskilled because, as mentioned, I was a kid. Every memory is tainted with yelling, hitting, choking, insults, demeaning, being used as a prop for his own ego. Every success I had with his help became his success, his story. Every success I had outside of his help was worthless, stupid, a waste of my time.

It's such a trope in films for the son to desperately seek the attention and acceptance of his father, but I think it’s a trope because for so many men it’s at the heart of our struggle as human beings. To say it’s a trope isn’t to say that it isn’t still impactful; season 5 of the series Fargo shows that a “trope,” when executed well, is extremely impactful. The reason it’s impactful is that it’s relatable, so many men in this world know what it’s like to pursue their father’s attention, his acceptance, and ruin their lives pursuing it. At least I can relate to that.

All the advice my father ever gave me was just bad, ill-thought advice or was pure selfishness. He needed me to act in a certain way or make a certain decision because he thought it would benefit him in some way. Of course, when the time came for someone to help me get through the decision and the work required of the decision made, he was nowhere to be found except to call me a failure. I kept falling for it, the belief that if I succeeded independent of him, he’d finally be proud of me for just being me. But the only time I received acceptance from him was when he could take credit, and so I kept asking for advice, I kept making crucial life decisions not in my own best interests, but in the best interests of my father.

The ultimate betrayal was the last one, the one right before he got sick. His business partner threw me under the bus for a business dealing we had been working on and my dad took the side of my business partner. Despite all the evidence that showed that I did all the work necessary, I received the blame for the failure. My dad didn’t stand up for me and joined in on throwing me under the bus, all because I had done what he couldn’t do; I got the business going. He had worked at it for two years and got nowhere. It took me three weeks to get the business up and running with investors. I was doomed to failure, but too blinded by success to see it.

That betrayal left me unemployed during the height of COVID. I couldn’t find jobs and then my dad got sick. I had to move in and help. I couldn’t find a job. I kept helping, kept watching him get sicker. I couldn’t find a job. I began to spiral. I found work, but it was never meaningful or gainful. I learned to code and the industry collapsed. I couldn’t find a job. I walked through so many doors only to find the homes empty and in a state of disrepair.

I ended up having a mental breakdown at my job, one that lasted days. I ended up on the verge of suicide. I kept helping my father. I kept watching him die. I kept watching him turn to his business partner until my dad got so sick that the partner had no more use for him and abandoned him to his fate. Life lost all meaning to me. Even on my best days my depression prevented me from remembering what happiness and joy felt like. All because my dad’s ego and desire to have a best friend accept him overrode what little business sense he had.

My dad wanted to be accepted by his friend, he was desperate for it. He made it over seven decades on this planet and never learned to find value in himself. That’s why he used me as little more than a tool for his ego, everyone became expendable in his search for meaning and acceptance. I lost years off my life, relationships, friendships, opportunities, joy, meaning, and almost my life. Years of abuse, years of him setting me up to fail so that he could stroke his ego, years of him sacrificing me to try and impress his friends and gain acceptance. And for this, he wanted forgiveness for the price of just saying sorry.

“But I said I’m sorry.”

The response he gave was meant to illicit guilt. See, I’ve now apologized. You need to forgive me, or God won’t forgive you in Heaven.

It’s been years since I believed in God. I’ve been an atheist far longer than I even realized, and most people from my seminary life still don’t know (though they probably suspect). Yet, I still feel like I must forgive people who’ve wronged me. I feel obligated to, which has caused a lot of turmoil in my personal and professional life. I still act as though I believe in God and need his forgiveness, and my dad tried to play on that to get a deathbed forgiveness ceremony. It’s cheap.

Religion itself is cheap, for the average adherent. It’s no coincidence that both Islam and Christianity are the world’s largest religions and for many adherents it’s a simple prayer that one says to be considered part of the “in” group. Religions of conquest usually have easy entry requirements. Of course, most will paradoxically tell you that it’s way more than a prayer, but then you watch how they live their lives and you see that, ultimately, they believe it’s basically just a prayer, and maybe no buggery.

Religion is cheap, it’s easy. The forgiveness it offers comes with a simple “I’m sorry.” No actions required. No having the offender work on themselves. No understanding that forgiveness is and always has been for the one offended, not for the offender. No. Religion, for the most part, is perfect for emotional abusers who want to act however they please and then say a few magic words and watch it all disappear.

The theologians will tell you that I’m a liar, that I’m building a strawman. The pastors will say that I haven’t studied the scriptures well enough. Everyone will say, “Well quote a religious author that says all of this!” And to all that I say I don’t need to; I merely need to point to how these religious people act.

Almost half the world is either Christian or Muslim. Both religions preach charity. Both preach giving to the poor. Yet, we still have poverty. We lack charity in this world. Where is the evidence these theologians can offer to show this is a strawman? Listen to the silence of the pastors about the Bible and all its commands when the poorest of their flock are evicted from their homes, despite giving what they could, while the wealthiest enjoy personal dinners at the pastor’s home. The religious authors have all their words, all their books, all their fame, and the hungry remain unfed.

Religion is cheap.

“But I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m here because of you.”

I finally said it, but to no effect.

“But I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Sorry doesn’t cut it.

Sorry is cheap.

Sorry isn’t earned.

Sorry is the quick fix to something that just happened, when it was an obvious mistake, and the wound hasn’t had time to heal and scar over. Sorry makes sense in that situation. But sorry over not just one pain, but a lifetime of pain? A word? And according to religion, specifically Christianity, I am supposed to forgive him. A lifetime of pain, consequences that I still live with and am fighting through, but he gets to feel good because he said a word.

Fuck. That.

I am not religious, I’m not spiritual, I don’t believe in a God, a force, or anything. I get to set the terms of my forgiveness. There are no ancient rules written by people who had a very different understanding of the world than I do telling me how to live my life. I have no fear of a God that will refuse me forgiveness because I don’t believe any such God exists, and if he did then I would require him to seek forgiveness from me first long before I sought it from him. The shit he’s done, if he exists, compared to me is lightyears beyond any wrongs I’ve committed in this life.

There it is, the core of religion and why it’s so toxic. Our Father, who art in Heaven. God the Father. The God of the Old Testament is the abusive, controlling father in the trope. Perhaps that’s another reason the trope is so popular and effective, it reminds us of the Christian God. You are a sinner, lost without him, and only by following his divine will and his divine plan and following his divine way can you possibly gain his favor and go to Heaven. Yes, all you must do is say a prayer, but you also must earn it, and you do that by following his way.

This hierarchy plays out in the Christian religion over and over. If you’re Catholic, the Pope is the ultimate daddy on earth being that he’s Christ’s representative and all (the damage this does to Trinitarian doctrine be damned!), but he’s followed by a bunch of other daddy’s after him that you have to obey. If you’re a more evangelical Protestant type, then you likely get to choose your daddy, but you still have a daddy. The pastor is the “father” of the church. They’re the head, guiding the church like a husband guides his bride (or so the many, many, many sermons I heard said).

It plays out most in the home. Again, Fargo Season 5 does capture this in a hyperbolic (but only so much) way. The Pharoah was a god to the people. Under some Caesar’s, the ruler of Rome was a god to the people. Father, pater, the father is the god of the house. What goes for god goes for dad and what goes for dad goes for god. Protestants and most Christians of any denomination would never put it in terms like this, but it doesn’t make the result any less true. If the man is the “head of the household” and essentially a representative of God to the family, then a sin against the father is a sin against the Father. 

Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who trespass against us. We must forgive, or God will not forgive us. Who am I not to forgive my dad when I’ve sinned against God? My sins against God are far greater than my dad’s sins against me, and God has forgiven me, so why can’t I forgive the familial god that is my father? This god has given me life. This god has raised me up. This god has tried to show me the right way. Why would I not forgive him, especially if this god meant well? Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who trespass against us. If you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, he will not forgive you.

“Please forgive me, I said I’m sorry.”

It’s really baked into the religion, this twisted and warped understanding of forgiveness. It’s amazing to me how religion allows for so much abuse, how it normalizes it, rationalizes it, and if you’re raised in it, you never question it. You never look at it from the outside and go, “Wait one fucking second, this is really weird.” While not all religions are bad, there are dark aspects of all religions and the fears, anxieties, and illnesses of humanity all latch onto those darker aspects of religion and exploit them. Those who spare the rod hate their children, but those who love them are diligent to discipline them. See? It’s in the Bible, that’s why your dad hits you. It’s because he loves you. Sure, it doesn’t feel like it when he’s laughing afterwards at your reaction to getting hit with a belt, but no, the Bible says it’s love and you need to accept that your dad loves you.

I watch as people he hasn’t spoken to in years come by the house to pray with him. Everyone says the same prayer, “Lord, if it’s your will that he goes…”

If it’s God’s will that the 70-something-year-old man who has been bed-ridden for three years due to complications from cancer goes? The man who could have extended his life and even the quality of his life if he had done the work required him by his doctors instead of wallowing around, seeking people to feel sorry for him? God’s will has nothing to do with it. It’s called nature.

Religion is cheap.

Come over, say a prayer, leave. Everyone hears of how my mom is struggling financially, how it’ll be touch-and-go for a few months after my dad goes. A few people offer help. Some bring money. They’re all religious – in this part of the country even the atheists are Christians – but the ones who aren’t as religious as the others are the ones who typically offer the most help. This has been my experience in life, that to find that Christ-like love I grew up craving, I must move as far away from the Christ-centered religion as possible.

I sometimes wonder if I hold my atheism a bit ironically, that when I die I’ll awake in the presence of God and be told that by giving up God entirely and throwing myself into trying to love humanity that I did the ultimate Christ-like act. That by living a hedonistic life, but one that understood I still belonged to others and sought happiness in the happiness of others, I paradoxically lead a life by the Spirit. That in fully abandoning my belief in God, in throwing off my entire education, upbringing, and identity, I somehow found myself, honored the good aspects of my upbringing, completed my education, and found God.

I don’t know what will happen when I die. I know my father fears his own death. I watch him there in his hospice bed. Weak. Frail. He can’t even lift himself up. When I lift him up and he grabs my arm, I am gripped by a paradox. The hand that in my younger years twisted my arm and yanked it and threw me around now holds onto me out of fear of falling, entirely reliant upon my good will. The hands that went around the front of my neck so he could laugh at how it sounded when the air escaped now weakly cling to the back of my neck as I lift him up and adjust him.

He asks for forgiveness, the word, because he cannot recognize the deed, and my deeds have never been enough. Such is the way of religion.