Being inquisitive is an admirable trait. I always tell my kids that. But why must they ask their biggest questions before breakfast?
‘Mum, why are there so many religions?’
I take a breath. Caffeine. I need caffeine. ‘Well, I suppose there are a lot of people in the world, with lots of cultures and backgrounds . . . ’.
‘But which is the right religion?’
‘Easy! Catholicism!’ My husband is buttering his toast. He’s never been one to complicate matters.
‘Does that mean if you’re not Catholic you’re wrong? Should I tell Amir at school that he is wrong?’
‘No! No, don’t do that. Amir prays to God just like you do. It’s like . . . ’. I close my eyes, trying to remember that analogy from RE class. ‘It’s like there are a lot of people in a dark room and they are trying to work out what this big – um – presence is in the room with them, but it’s too dark to see and the thing is really big. So they have to feel in the dark with their hands.’
DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES
I pull the Weet-Bix box on the table in front of me and start pointing all around it. ‘So, you have some people in this part of the room and they say “it’s a big solid wall!” And then you have people up here and they’re all convinced that the thing is flappy. But back here, the people are saying “What are you talking about? It’s a long rope!”’
‘Why doesn’t someone just turn the light on?’
‘Well, such are the limitations of this mortal coil.’
‘What?’
‘The light is broken.’
‘Oh.’
‘So, they are all arguing. “It’s flappy and flat!” “It’s a big long rope!” and then there are those weirdos who think it’s like a fat wrinkly snake.’
AN ELEPHANTINE PROBLEM
Penny frowns at the Weet-Bix box. ‘But which one is right?’
‘The Catholic ones!’, my husband pipes up, a cavalier glint in his eye. ‘They have a torch!’
I shoot him a look, then turn back to Penny. ‘That’s the funny thing. They are all in the room with an elephant. It’s too big for any of them to feel the whole thing, so they each feel one aspect of it – the side, the ears, the tail and the trunk.’
Penny’s twin sister looks up from her breakfast. ‘Are you saying an elephant is a Weet-Bix box?’
Penny shakes her head. ‘No. She’s saying God is a Weet-Bix box. Or is God an elephant?’
‘Yes, what are you saying, Kate?’ My husband’s eyes have that infuriating twinkle in them.
I take a breath. ‘I’m not saying that God is an elephant. What I mean is . . .’
‘This is what we were learning at school. There is a god who is an elephant and has a whole bunch of arms. But there were other gods too.’
‘You must have been learning about Ganesha. Ganesha is part of the Hindu understanding of God.’ I really need more coffee for this conversation.
HOW MANY GODS?
‘Wait. How many gods are there?’
‘We believe there is only one.’
‘No, I thought there were three gods: Father, Son and Holy Spirit?’
‘That, my dear, is Tritheism. It’s a trinitarian heresy. You don’t want to get the Inquisition after you.’ My husband is enjoying this far too much.
‘What is Daddy talking about?’
‘Daddy is not in this conversation. Daddy needs to focus on making Mummy coffee. Lots and lots of coffee, please Daddy.’
I’m desperately underqualified and undercaffeinated, but I manage to summon up a basic understanding of the theological foundations of interfaith dialogue and translate it into an eight-year-old’s level of understanding. Penny seems satisfied, or maybe she’s just bored of the conversation. My husband presses a large mug of hot coffee into my hands. I sigh deeply and take a sip.
Penny pauses, a spoonful of cornflakes halfway to her mouth. ‘Hey Mum, if God made everything, who made God?’
Kate Moriarty is a freelance columnist, author and reviewer. Under Kate Solly, her novel Tuesday Evenings with the Copeton Craft Resistance is available now.