Nothing Is Impossible by Christopher Reeve Read Free Book Online Page A

“What is your religion?” That used to put me in an awkward position, because I could tell they wanted to hear that I am a deeply religious person. The truth is that I only found a religion very recently that I can reconcile with a lifelong quest for the meaning of spirituality.
    Religious studies were integrated into the core curriculum when I was in the eighth grade at Princeton (New Jersey) Day School. Religion was also mandatory in ninth grade; after that it was optional. The two-year course was an introduction to the world’s religions, and the history of those religions most closely associated with contemporary American culture. I enjoyed learningsome of the basic precepts of Eastern religions such as Taoism, Shintoism, and Buddhism. I liked the idea that all living things are sacred and that there are gods in trees, flowers, the earth, water, and sky. But I found many of the teachings and much of the history of Western religions quite disturbing. In my early teens I sang in the choir of the Presbyterian church, and was intimidated by frightening images projected by some of the hymns: “God the Father Almighty”; “Onward Christian Soldiers Marching as to War”; “the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword.”
    It seemed to me that this God probably loves us—His children—but uses scare tactics to keep us in line. If we are virtuous and righteous in His eyes, we are safe. He will protect us and deliver us from evil. But if we transgress or simply fail to live up to His expectations, we will be punished accordingly. That dynamic too closely resembled my relationship with my own father; why would I voluntarily choose to re-create it?
    Occasionally I attended Sunday school before the main service in an attempt to broaden my perspective and to please my stepfather, Tristam Johnson, a lifelong member of the church. Unfortunately I didn’t learn much in Sunday school because the teacher was former senator and pro basketball star Bill Bradley, who was aPrinceton University undergraduate at the time. My friends and I often went to Mr. Bradley’s home games on Saturdays and then managed to steer the conversation away from the Bible to basketball on Sunday mornings.
    The religious studies in school, combined with a thirteen-year-old’s burgeoning desire to butt heads with authority, continued to drive me away from organized religion. Our class learned about intolerance, oppression, persecution, and the accumulation of vast wealth by the church hierarchy at the expense of the impoverished and uneducated faithful. We learned that religion started wars, that the Great Crusades of the Middle Ages were actually imperialist conquests justified in the name of Christ. We read about sixteenth-century explorers and missionaries to the New World who believed it was their duty to claim as much land as possible for their countries and to convert the “savages” to their faith. In biology class, we learned about birth control and family planning; when we discussed contemporary Catholicism in religious studies, many of us struggled to understand it. We bombarded the teacher with questions: How can priests be marriage counselors if they’ve never been married? Since poor Catholics in developing countries are forbidden to use birth control,is that why they have so many large families living in terrible conditions? Aren’t overpopulation and world hunger going to be huge problems when we grow up?
    In addition to the influences of church and school during my formative years, my father’s atheism was an important factor. Not only did I grow up without a foundation in religion, but I lacked any sense of spirituality as well. I was preoccupied by the here and now, running on ambition and self-reliance. As I moved on to college and then to New York in pursuit of an acting career, I wasn’t looking for answers to the Big Questions: Why are we here? Do we have a purpose? Is there a “right” way to live?
    In the fall of 1975,