Yes Ma’am, I go to Church

My family is religiously unconventional.

My mother, a devout Episcopalian, committed her adult life to studying transcendental meditation. She’s from an ultra conservative church-on-every-corner Central California town.

Fate was cruel to my vehemently atheist father; we visited him on Sundays. He had to find a religion he could tolerate enough for the sake of his children’s spiritual development. We tried several churches but none were great fits.

Dad eventually found a welcoming congregation on the other side of town. Led by the brilliant Elizabeth Selle Jones, they worshiped a flame that affirmed the light of truth, the warmth of community and the fire of commitment, whatever all that meant.

One day during the first grade, my teacher spoke to the class about the importance of religious diversity. The subject was way over our heads. She went around the room asking about our family’s religions, pointing out the token Jewish kid and eventually stopping at me. I confessed I didn’t know which flying spaghetti monster my family worshiped, only that we lit a big candle in a yellow building.

“I believe in god, I think.” I really didn’t know.

Unsatisfied by my meek response, she decided for me, “You’re Chinese, you must be Buddhist!”

The following weekend, I asked my dad if we were Buddhist. He gave me a skeptical look.

“We’re Unitarian.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you’re not Buddhist.”

Please share your stories. To contribute, please send a message or submission (500 words or less) to James at themixedmessagemedia (at) gmail.com.