Last night a program remembered the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor sixty years ago. Amidst all the historical details, a story of a serviceman stood out. He was a youngster then, still in his teens and stationed in Hawaii, when he sent his mom a card to let her know of his condition. Today, he's an old man and as he added to the review of his experience, he got a little teary as he recalled his mother's reaction to the card he sent her in 1941.
He has the card he sent her. The camera zoomed in on the first four words of his words to his mother:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Mom,
I'm okay.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Dear mom. I'm okay." After that, what else he said was gravy. Music to her ears those words must have been.
Some time after getting the card, she was able to tell him in person how his card made her feel, how relieved and happy that her baby boy was not only alive, but in good shape. The thought of putting his mother's mind at ease was pleasurable to him and brought a big, boyish grin to his face, half a century later.
For some reason, the segment made me think of religion's purpose.
When I was a Witness, the focus of the religion was to give the membership an historical overview of Jehovah's dealings with humans so that we could get to know his personality. After that, the goal seemed to be on showing me exactly why I did not (and could not ever) measure up to god's lofty standards -- all the bad traits I had to get rid of and the good ones I either needed to find (if I didn't have them) or if I did have some, work hard to perfect. I never got the impression that the Jehovah of the WTS loved me just as I was.
Instead, the religion of The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society taught me to "fear" a god that was displeased with an entire world of people, no matter what their intentions were or that most of them were ignorant of him and his purposes. Even for one like me who knew him, the future did not necessarily offer a comforting conclusion. It was made clear that the Almight Lord of Hosts may very well kill even a servant of his like me at Armageddon anyway, especially if the amount of time I spent knocking on doors didn't match the national average. I could even be judged adversely for thinking wrong thoughts.
Seeing the retired serviceman's sublime and touching reaction to the memory of his mother made me think: shouldn't that be one of the goals of religion? To help people feel good about the past, the present and hopeful about the future? To put their minds at ease -- to help us ease through the miseries and hardships linked to ordinary life while receiving gentle prods that help us head in the right direction?
Or is it simply to fill the worshippers head with facts and instill a fear of a powerful diety who's very hard to please? To let us know that we aren't doing enough, probably can never do enough, leaving us feeling depressed and unloved, uncared for?
Why religion, I wondered. What purpose should it serve?