As an intellectual, I realize that the reason for the season isn’t Jesus, as so many people will profess. It is a well-known fact that the birth of Jesus (if we go ahead and assume for a moment that the rest of the story was accurate) was most certainly not in December, for a number of reasons. It is also well-known that the Roman Catholic Church, in an effort to assist the pagans in accepting the new religion of choice, used the existing Feast of the Son of Isis, the Goddess of Nature, which occurred on December 25th. Of course, since Babylonian times, the feast included partying, drinking, eating, and gift-giving. How could you get converts if you took away their favorite holiday? The holiday also coincides with most other cultures, celebrating the winter solstice. The Romans honored Saturn, the God of Agriculture, and the Europeans celebrated Yule, the birth of the Sun God Mithras.

But that’s honestly not what this article is about. It’s about the part of me that still misses my ignorance and the peace it brought this time of year.

As I sat in front of my Christmas tree this morning, adding bows, ribbons, and embellishments to the presents, I listened to Christmas music. And having grown up in a very religious household, and attending a fundamentalist school, I, of course, know all the words to every song by heart. Especially the religious ones. As I began to recall the songs, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, Silent Night, and Hark the Herald Angels Sing, I felt an intense sadness.

My separation from the church, unlike so many others, was not one that was my choice. I realize that had not certain events occurred, I would probably still believe, still attend church, and still find the security in my faith that I did growing up. I would encourage my children this time of year to embrace the birth of Jesus, attend candlelight services, and be filled with the joy of the season. Instead, I shudder at religious symbols, at prayers before Christmas dinners, and all the religious connotations the season brings. My hatred, and yes, I mean that honestly, comes from the time that, as a youth, the church that I had attended my entire life literally pushed me out the door and insisted I not return; all this through no fault of my own. But that is another story for another time.

The realization of where I might be in life, and how it would differ from where I am now was the source of my sadness. This morning, I had to admit to myself that I miss the warm, fuzzy security blanket of religious ignorance. The feeling that someone, somewhere, out there loved me unconditionally, and that all the bad things that happened in life somehow had a purpose.

As I listened to Oh Holy Night, I recalled Christmas Eve’s of my childhood; and I miss it. Now, each day, each action, is my responsibility. I have to live with the consequences and find my own way in the world. I have to lead my children to survive in this world, no unseen figure, no invisible avenger to fall back on or ask for help. I felt the loneliness. I cried. I grieved for easier times.

I envy believers. They have peace I can’t find anymore, a security I don’t feel anymore. But I can’t believe. If there is a g-d out there, and perhaps there is, I don’t know who he is. And while most of the time I feel proud and empowered by my own understanding of the world, today is different. Today, like so many years ago when I was rejected by my church, I am grieving the loss of religion in my life.