Who made me? God made me. Why did god make me? God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in heaven." - From my fifth grade catechism; I can recite it from memory. 

But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you... Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Luke 6:28-31,37-38)

Sounds like the Baltimore Catechism.

I was raised in a religious tradition without a catechism, without explicit doctrine, and with a strong anti-doctrinal bias.  In this tradition we were each to become as priests.

At age 12 or 13 most of us - reluctantly - spent several Saturday afternoons in the pastor's office reviewing the Bible, especially the New Testament, learning to ask questions of scripture, and to recognize questions scripture was asking each of us.

At age 12 or 13 we were presumed to have entered the "age of reason" where we could examine scripture with sufficient critical skill and self-awareness to determine whether or not we were willing to enter into a committed relationship with God.

If we decided yes (clearly the "tribal" expectation) on a Sunday in the Spring the curtains behind the altar would be drawn back, the steel baptismal tub would be filled with about 4 feet of water, and dressed in white cotton robes each of us took our turn in the tub with the pastor.

Standing in the water, in front of family and neighbors, we were each asked if we were ready to commit ourselves to God and to one another and if we accepted Jesus as our savior.(If there were other questions, I have forgotten.)  Shivering in the cold water we would whisper yes and the pastor, with one hand holding the base of our skull, briefly immersed our whole body in the water, "in the name of Jesus."  We would walk up three steps out of the water and "into new life."

What can I say?  I am still asking questions of scripture. I am still listening for the questions scripture asks me. My commitment to God and neighbor is often lazy or double-minded, but the commitment continues to inform my decisions and actions.  I still understand that Jesus is my savior.

Whenever I run water into a bathtub I am reminded of the sound of the baptismal tub filling, the cleansing of sin, the renewal of relationship, and the invitation to new life.

One is very likely to share the faith of one's parents. 

For I have come to turn “a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—  a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household." (Matthew 10:35-36, quoting Micah 7:6)

Tribalism is an especially pernicious idol because it often assumes religious disguise.

Enticing religious accouterments are used to adorn ugly tribal prejudice.

But the conflict between idol worship and authentic worship is seldom fully obscured.

Too often we thoughtlessly adopt the idolatry of our family or tribe without asking questions, especially without asking religious questions.

Yet...

I love Armenian hymns and Russian pageantry and Greek icons and Jewish traditions.

I value Buddhist discipline, Islamic hospitality, and the subtle wisdom of the I Ching.

I celebrate my own Anglican customs.

The diversity of these essentially tribal traditions must also reflect the expansiveness of my God.

It is a conundrum.

So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets. (Matthew 7:12)

Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself. (Confucius, Analects XV.24)

You should forgive and overlook: Do you not like God to forgive you? And Allah is The Merciful Forgiving. — Qur’an (Surah 24, "The Light," v. 22)

Love your neighbor as yourself. (Leviticus 19:18)

Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful. —Udanavarga 5:18

When a child talks about his imaginary friend, we smile. When billions of people talk about their imaginary friend they expect others to take it seriously.

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them. (Mark 10:14-16) 

As children we are open to experience. We have not yet learned to filter, categorize, and selectively neglect. As children we authentically engage the constant complexity of creation.

Too often adults use religion to filter, categorize, and aggressively exclude or worse. This is not becoming as a little child.

A forensic analysis of my faith might reasonably conclude I have personified a sort of Freudian super-ego as God/Jesus; God as a psychological projection of my "oughts" and aspirations. I cannot disprove this analysis.

I can only report that I experience a persistent sense of abiding with something beyond my comprehension yet profoundly intimate. In this other I perceive a connectedness that infinitely extends.

There are moments or more when I perceive I am well-aligned with this otherness. In these moments I have a sense of greater awareness, wholeness and happiness. I understand this as God's reign.

I did not have a stereotypical imaginary friend. But around age seven or so, I earnestly prayed that God would preserve and protect my imagination. It is the first prayer I specifically recall. I prayed in particular that I be saved from the blindness and boredom I saw in so many adults.

The extraordinary claim of God's existence must be justified by extraordinary evidence. Awareness of god's existence doesn't count. 

Now Thomas (also known as Didymus, one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe. ”A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” (John 20:24-27)

I do not make a claim regarding God's existence.

Claim [kleym] verb (used with object) 1. to demand by or as by virtue of a right; demand as a right or as due: to claim an estate by inheritance. 2. to assert and demand the recognition of (a right, title, possession, etc.); assert one's right to: to claim payment for services. 3. to assert or maintain as a fact: She claimed that he was telling the truth. 4. to require as due or fitting: to claim respect.

I do assert and maintain that God exists. But I cannot demonstrate a factual basis for this assertion. I do not demand or require that others share my perception of God's existence.

I would, if under attack, argue it is fitting for others to respect my sense of God's existence; but I do not claim any extraordinary privilege for religious belief over other beliefs or non-belief.

At dinner on Tuesday there were twelve of us around a large round table.  It was a mix of friends, colleagues, and the practically unknown.  Prompted by a colleague's sweet story of childhood memories of attending an Episcopal Church, I shared my own story.

I was in Philadelphia on Good Friday and chose to attend the noon service at a very high Episcopal church.

Over dinner I included more description and flourishes than I will here.  It was a beautifully austere liturgy reaching it's climax with a congregational procession to a very large crucifix before which we each kneeled or prostrated ourselves three times.  Then each person kissed the feet of Jesus.

This was a first-time experience for me.  I am not sure how I was heard.  But my intent was to communicate it as someone might tell the story of encountering an exotically beautiful, never-before-seen creature.

One of my friends immediate response was to ask, "Did they wash the feet between kisses?"

"No," I answered, "I guess I should have air-kissed his feet" and I mimicked kissing over our Chinese food.  Most of the table laughed.

But one man did not laugh.  He told me later my attitude disturbed him.  He had worked through the noon-hour on Good Friday and admired, perhaps envied, my piety.  But I seemed to be treating Jesus hanging on the cross as a joke.

Someone once called me a connoisseur of worship.  I hope so.  I love good food.  It makes me happy, especially to share, and often encourages laughter.  In December I attended a fabulous opera at Lincoln Center. The music and message was meaningful. It was also surprisingly funny.  I "attend" museums and galleries as much as church, some weeks more.  Fine, silly and weird art inspires me, opens me, and I often laugh in appreciation.

Each of these experiences can also cause me to sigh, occasionally to weep.  In all beauty there is an exquisite, fragile mystery.

From The Crucifixion by El Greco.

Before Copernicus people believed the earth was the center of the universe. Their belief did not make it so. 

Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath; humans have no advantage over animals. Everything is meaningless. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth? (Ecclesiastes 3:18-21)

Before Johann Galle people understood the solar system consisted of seven planets. Their understanding did not make it so.

Belief can conceal reality. This tendency is not restricted to religious belief.

The greater part of the gospels consists of Jesus encouraging the most religious of his time and place to put aside various beliefs and look with fresh eyes and open ears for the reality of God.

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:9-14)

Whenever religion or any human belief serves to exalt our (my) centrality, our (my) righteousness, our (my) wisdom, we should be skeptical.

The fundamental impulse of both faith and religion is to acknowledge the paucity of our understanding, capability, and power.

Faith is not certainty. Faith abides with doubt, especially self-doubt. Uncertainty is the fuel of faith.

 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. (I Corinthians 13:2)

Man created god when god was needed. It is time to move beyond that need. 

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)

In his most recent book, The Social Conquest of Earth, the great biologist Edward O. Wilson describes how across human history religion has contributed to social stability, in-group collaboration, survival, and great cultural achievements. But he also perceives these ancient benefits have been superseded. Too often, he suggests, religion is "no more than a tribe..." If religion is principally characterized by distinction from and antagonism toward other religions, then Wilson argues it is a biological trap that we need to move beyond.

Tribalism is also trap for religion.  It is a trap that many -- including Isaiah, Jesus, and Mohammed -- have warned against.  It is a trap that needs filling in for good.

Any God -- worth the name -- is beyond my full comprehension. The source of generative order, animating principle, creative dialectic, emergent reality cannot be fully framed by any scripture sermon, liturgy, or tribal claim. No matter how accurate a particular religious insight may be, no language or human conceptualization can define the infinite.

And the LORD said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the LORD, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” (Exodus 33:19-20)

Each of the great traditions is an angle on That Which Exists.  Much as biology, chemistry, physics, mathematics and their subordinate specializations each tell us something particular regarding empirical reality, so do Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism and more each have their unique claims and perspective on transcendent reality.

And That Which Exists said, "I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you..." This morning the fragrance of honeysuckle is in the air, the stars glisten, a soft breeze caresses my face.  This same goodness is offered to all.

The god hypothesis cannot be verified, falsified, or contradicted. 

Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. (I Corinthians 1:23-25)

The hypothesis cannot be verified by any empirical method of which I am aware.

Depending on how the proposition is bounded, the hypothesis can be falsified or contradicted.

Empiricism requires some form of direct observation of the object or the object's influence.

Galileo saw Neptune, but treated it as a star. Most early astronomers altogether missed the planet -- 17 times the size of earth.

Until 1821 Neptune was absent. The solar system was fixed. Any additional planets could be falsified with considerable confidence.

But then we observed an unexpected variation in the orbit of Uranus and deduced the presence of an unseen planet. Only a quarter-century later did we confirm the mathematical "ghost" by direct observation.

Cartesian doubt, empiricism, and error elimination are all helpful tools. They also produce perpetually tentative results.

Thomas Kuhn wrote, "No theory ever solves all the puzzles with which it is confronted at a given time; nor are the solutions already achieved often perfect. On the contrary, it is just the incompleteness and imperfection of the existing data-theory fit that, at any given time, define many of the puzzles that characterize normal science. If any and every failure to fit were ground for theory rejection, all theories ought to be rejected at all times."

I vaguely perceive surprising variations in my experience. There is some unseen, so far undefinable influence. I hypothesize regarding God. I find it an interesting hypothesis. I do not claim God as empirically demonstrable given current conditions.