It’s the season for looking back. There’s nothing like the change of year and a scuff of Winter snow to feel in the mood for some reflection, so here we go.

Last year, I spent Christmas with Christians and New Year’s with Buddhists. This was for practical reasons and a wish for company, not because I was looking to infuse the season with spirituality. At Christmas I attended a community dinner organised by a local church. I was very grateful to be able to go there, and sit with others in a place that felt suitably Christmassy, and eat a traditional Christmas dinner. I am not a Christian, and neither were all of the people attending the dinner. Some were widowed pensioners. Others were people doing it tough. Some were like me – just those who would otherwise have found themselves alone, or living in a new place without connections.

This is one of the things I like about The Church – not just Christian churches, but any church or religious group that makes people feel welcome whoever they are, and whatever their circumstances. The other thing I like about churches is that church communities are often actively on the lookout for ways to help others. Volunteer work is another way in which I have found myself mixing with members of religious communities or churches. A third thing I like is being inside a physical church. I like the fact that they are usually quiet. Sometimes I step inside a church just for a quiet moment – somewhere to take a deep breath, reflect and spend some peaceful time.

In light of all of these reasons, I have sometimes thought about joining a church. The issue is that I don’t meet the one key pre-requisite, which is having a belief in God. Nor do I believe in any other deity, or deities. This makes church membership rather problematic. I am sure that many members of church communities, perhaps most of them, would be only too happy to share and impart their teachings anyway. I am generally curious to learn about these teachings. But that’s it — I am simply curious in an objective kind of way. It is not a curiosity with any view to building belief or finding faith. Worship is out of the question. I have had ample opportunities to find God. I have faced circumstances in which I might reasonably have been expected to find Him. I found other things, but not God.  

It is my understanding that God is like the glue that holds church communities and their members together. In Christianity, this ties into ideas about service, sacrifice and beneficence to humankind. Dedicated Christians serve God, and serving God means serving humankind. Because all humans are perceived to be part of God’s plan, they all need to be looked after and cherished. As a non-Christian I cannot see why dedication to humanity and helping others has to hinge on having a belief in God. I know, it doesn’t, yet it seems that many of the more committed organisations that help others, particularly the grassroots kind of ones, take their inspiration from a deity. It is the foundation of their community and togetherness; the very basis for their spirit of service.

Last New Year’s I was once again looking for company and community. There was a cat, a very lovely natured cat, but there is only so much one can say to a cat before it becomes a bit repetitive and one-sided. The city was promising all manner of ‘Hogmanay’ celebrations. I was looking for something that didn’t involve a primary emphasis on drink, drunkenness and partying. The Buddhists were offering that alternative. When the clocks struck twelve, the chanting of mantras marked the beginning of a new year. I liked the mantras for their tone and rhythm. I could relate to the ideas around compassion, love and simplicity. But again, there was an element of worship and belief which I struggled with. I met a non-Buddhist couple there who’d given up drinking that year. Like me, they were there for reasons of not wanting to stay at home alone, while avoiding the booze. We agreed that it seemed there were few in-between options.    

A year has gone by. Thoughts about where to spend Christmas, or that New Year’s might be spent sitting at home alone, have paled into irrelevance. Christmas and New Year’s in a country at war present altogether different realities. In fact, it is easy to lose sight of festive occasions altogether, at least in the sense of thinking that one ought to be making something of them. Community is found in the things that can usefully be done together, out of necessity. There is enough commotion in the air some nights to be grateful for simple existence by morning. Planning to go anywhere carries an element of risk assessment, and a consideration of necessity. Curfews and interruptions to the internet must be taken into account when straying into new places. Fireworks are banned.  

When the night involves flying things – not bats, or owls, but drones and missiles – thoughts tend to be along the lines of “go away, dastardly flying things”. Except that in wishing them “away” there is the very sobering realisation that they will go somewhere. There is the sound of attempted interception of the flying things – valiant efforts that go on at all hours of the night. Inevitably, some will still get through. “Not children – not to a house with children”, I find myself thinking. There is this tendency to start prioritising lives. Better my place, than a house with children, on two counts: one that I have lived longer; two that adults are more capable of coping with such things, should they survive them. By morning proper, the news carries reports that drones hit an apartment building and a number of children were injured. There is more talk about “negotiations” and peace talks with Putin, and commentary on Trump’s assessment that Putin “wants Ukraine to succeed”. It is hard to imagine any other situation in life where a confirmed terrorist regime and its leader are afforded serious consideration and air time.

The ‘frontlines’ of this war are in two places. They are in the places that have traditionally been ‘frontlines’ – those where fighting takes place. And they are in the civilian places – in the towns and cities where people live their lives, where children try to sleep at night, and where daily life keeps on keeping on.  This New Year’s it is with a degree of hesitation that I wish anyone a “Happy New Year”. Even the most committed optimist might struggle with the sentiment. As usual, places not at war will discharge huge amounts of money into the night sky in the form of fireworks. There will be parties and celebration. This year, all I hope for is peace. “May our skies be peaceful”, as someone put it.

Image credit: A.I.