I have been privileged over the years to meet some of the finest and purest Christians in the world. They have inspired me and changed my life. But I always think of a person who embodied the spirit of love, forgiveness, sacrifice and humanity more than anyone else I have ever encountered. Yet he wasn’t even religious, let alone a Christian. He had never really been taught about Christianity, knew little about Christian beliefs, and was convinced that the sandpaper of hypocrisy had rubbed away much of the splendour of organized faith. He was a secular Jew, his name was Phil Coren, and he was my father.
Take Christmas for example. The season for me began at around 2 a.m. on Christmas Day. That was when I heard the distinctive sounds of the London black cab diesel engine driving up the suburban east London Street to my house. To a child, work means nothing. I didn’t realize, and my father would have been angry if I had done so, that he was not paid when he didn’t work; but that whatever happened, he would always devote Christmas Day to his wife and children. So, he worked 14 hours on Christmas Eve. It was why he was always so sleepy when my sister and I ran into our parents’ bedroom horribly early and screamed about Santa’s generosity. Sometimes we almost resented Dad’s tiredness. I wish I could hug him right now and weep my sorrow. I’m sure he would tell me not to worry about it.
Very Christian that.
My father had driven a cab for most of his working life, after his years in the RAF and time spent as a boxer. The armed forces, tough sport and a rough upbringing had formed him into a hard but wonderful person. He told off-colour jokes, sometimes swore, and spoke his mind. When I met the woman I would later marry, I proudly showed my dad a photograph of this gorgeous girl whose mother was born in India. He agreed that she was beautiful, but said, “A bit dark, isn’t she?” I shouted at him and stormed off. Ten minutes later, he found me. “Mike, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me.” Not a human rights commission story, but a tale of fleshy reality. He was a product of his age and his environment, and he had reacted rather than thought. But when forced to consider what he had said, justice smashed pride. Here was authentic humility. We are not Oprah clones but broken people. What defines us is not pretending to be perfect but acknowledging when we’re not.
Very Christian that.
In 1985, I was received into the Roman Catholic Church. My dad’s reaction was, “Whatever makes you happy must be good.” But he was not a saccharine man. When I married my Catholic wife in a Catholic church, he said, “Mike, I love you, I’ll do anything for you, but I can’t come, I can’t. It wouldn’t feel right, I’d be a fraud.” But he cashed in all his savings and gave them to us to buy furniture for our rented apartment. Four months later, when my wife and I went to Britain for Christmas, he’d made a note of all of the local mass times for us.
Very Christian that.
Can people be good without God? Actually, it’s the wrong question. Better is, can people be good without knowing that God is working in their lives? Undoubtedly, yes. The atheists have it so wrong — even their denial is a product of a mind given by the creator, and conscious and creative thought is no more an accident than my father’s love for me, and my understanding that while I wish he had joined me as a believer, the God of love will welcome him with a smile as broad as the ocean.
Phil Coren died on Aug 14, 2002. He had had a second stroke, was suffering from cancer and had nursed my mum through Alzheimer’s. It was not a good death, if any death can be described as good. Yet he’d never complained, never blamed anybody for his suffering, tried to make the best of it and saw purpose in what was happening. The last time I saw him alive was when he came to visit us in Canada, and this time he came to Mass with the family and remained on his own while we went to receive the Eucharist. As I returned and sat down, I saw that he was crying, not with sorrow but with joy. I held his arm and thanked God for a father who, more than so many people who boast belief, taught me about the real thing.
Very Christian that. Thank you, Dad. I love you.
Lessons in Christianity, Without Belief
I have been privileged over the years to meet some of the finest and purest Christians in the world. They have inspired me and changed my life. But I always think of a person who embodied the spirit of love, forgiveness, sacrifice and humanity more than anyone else I have ever encountered. Yet he wasn’t even religious, let alone a Christian. He had never really been taught about Christianity, knew little about Christian beliefs, and was convinced that the sandpaper of hypocrisy had rubbed away much of the splendour of organized faith. He was a secular Jew, his name was Phil Coren, and he was my father.
Take Christmas for example. The season for me began at around 2 a.m. on Christmas Day. That was when I heard the distinctive sounds of the London black cab diesel engine driving up the suburban east London Street to my house. To a child, work means nothing. I didn’t realize, and my father would have been angry if I had done so, that he was not paid when he didn’t work; but that whatever happened, he would always devote Christmas Day to his wife and children. So, he worked 14 hours on Christmas Eve. It was why he was always so sleepy when my sister and I ran into our parents’ bedroom horribly early and screamed about Santa’s generosity. Sometimes we almost resented Dad’s tiredness. I wish I could hug him right now and weep my sorrow. I’m sure he would tell me not to worry about it.
Very Christian that.
My father had driven a cab for most of his working life, after his years in the RAF and time spent as a boxer. The armed forces, tough sport and a rough upbringing had formed him into a hard but wonderful person. He told off-colour jokes, sometimes swore, and spoke his mind. When I met the woman I would later marry, I proudly showed my dad a photograph of this gorgeous girl whose mother was born in India. He agreed that she was beautiful, but said, “A bit dark, isn’t she?” I shouted at him and stormed off. Ten minutes later, he found me. “Mike, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me.” Not a human rights commission story, but a tale of fleshy reality. He was a product of his age and his environment, and he had reacted rather than thought. But when forced to consider what he had said, justice smashed pride. Here was authentic humility. We are not Oprah clones but broken people. What defines us is not pretending to be perfect but acknowledging when we’re not.
Very Christian that.
In 1985, I was received into the Roman Catholic Church. My dad’s reaction was, “Whatever makes you happy must be good.” But he was not a saccharine man. When I married my Catholic wife in a Catholic church, he said, “Mike, I love you, I’ll do anything for you, but I can’t come, I can’t. It wouldn’t feel right, I’d be a fraud.” But he cashed in all his savings and gave them to us to buy furniture for our rented apartment. Four months later, when my wife and I went to Britain for Christmas, he’d made a note of all of the local mass times for us.
Very Christian that.
Can people be good without God? Actually, it’s the wrong question. Better is, can people be good without knowing that God is working in their lives? Undoubtedly, yes. The atheists have it so wrong — even their denial is a product of a mind given by the creator, and conscious and creative thought is no more an accident than my father’s love for me, and my understanding that while I wish he had joined me as a believer, the God of love will welcome him with a smile as broad as the ocean.
Phil Coren died on Aug 14, 2002. He had had a second stroke, was suffering from cancer and had nursed my mum through Alzheimer’s. It was not a good death, if any death can be described as good. Yet he’d never complained, never blamed anybody for his suffering, tried to make the best of it and saw purpose in what was happening. The last time I saw him alive was when he came to visit us in Canada, and this time he came to Mass with the family and remained on his own while we went to receive the Eucharist. As I returned and sat down, I saw that he was crying, not with sorrow but with joy. I held his arm and thanked God for a father who, more than so many people who boast belief, taught me about the real thing.
Very Christian that. Thank you, Dad. I love you.
The Reverend Michael Coren is the author of 20 books, several of them best-sellers, translated into a dozen languages. He hosted daily radio and TV shows for almost 20 years, and is now a Contributing Columnist for the Toronto Star, and appears regularly in the Globe and Mail, The Times, Daily Telegraph, Church Times, and numerous other publications in Canada and Britain. He has won numerous award and prizes across North America. He is a priest at St. Luke’s, Burlington. His latest book is Heaping Coals. His website is michaelcoren.com
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