Parents, just say no to religious instruction

It happened every Wednesday morning. The Catholics would all go off to a room and the local priest would join them for a couple of hours. The rest of the class, nominally Protestants, would be addressed by the local Anglican vicar. A few of us would be excused from RI (Religious Instruction) because our parents – a motley collection of teachers, scientists, radicals and hippies, were non-believers. We were sent to the library and we pretended to finish homework. I would ask my mates who stayed for RI if I had missed anything. ‘‘Nah,’’ was always the reply.

At my state secondary school, I had no formal RI whatsoever. However, our principal, a committed member of the Salvation Army and a good guy, liked to read Bible excerpts at assembly.

I can’t remember the point of any of them, though I do remember the time he let his hair down by reading a passage from Jonathan Livingston Seagull,

which had just been published.

When some teachers took his lead and started performing songs at assembly from Neil Diamond’s concept album based on the book, I realised that there were worse things in the world than religious fanaticism. Over the next few years at assembly we endured most of Jesus Christ Superstar and half of Godspell.

Years later I found myself teaching instrumental music in a Catholic boys’ school. I expected degenerate priests swinging incense holders, chanting in Latin and describing Hell in gory detail, but all I encountered in the staff room were caring and amiable teachers who smoked more and drank more coffee than most.

The idea was that the students would rotate their lessons with me each week, so they didn’t miss one class over and over. But most of the studious ones always wanted to miss RI. ‘‘I can’t miss maths or physics because I’ve got an exam coming up, but I could come during RI again,’’ Masters O’Leary, O’Sullivan, O’Grady, Walsh and Devlin would say. I acceded to their requests and hoped no-one would tell the Vatican about the heretical music teacher.

Today, RI is taught in many state primary schools. The trouble I have with it is that it’s instruction, not education. Learning about the religions of the world, even if you’re a non-believer like me, can be fascinating. In fact, a bit of religious knowledge could go a long way in New Zealand right now. Talk to someone from any religious minority and they’ll tell you all about the myths many New Zealanders hold about their religion.

But surely in a state school that teaches RI, nonChristians have the right to opt out? It’s not quite that simple. I had a stroppy father who would happily write notes excusing me. (‘‘Please excuse David from RI on Wednesdays. It is all rubbish.’’)

But what about kids whose parents aren’t as militant as my father was (‘‘Dad, how can you be an atheist when you can’t prove there is no God.’’ ‘‘Ah, I have faith.’’)?

What about parents of refugee kids who don’t want to cause a fuss in their new country? What about Hindu and Muslim kids who often already get teased for not being Christian so beg their parents not to complain?

But even if you are Christian, do you really want your children being taught by someone who might have different beliefs? What do liberal Anglicans think about a born-again Christian teaching their kids, and vice-versa?

When it comes to religious instruction, I think we need to borrow a rule from the old sex education curriculum: Just Say No.

In the past, there have been few votes to be won over the abolition of compulsory RI, such is the power of the church and private school lobby.

That is why I am delighted that the Education and Training Bill passed its first reading in December, before the public holidays that celebrate a pagan festival that coincides with the time of year when Christians believe that Jesus was born. The bill has a provision that requires explicit written permission from parents before RI can be taught in a state school.

That we have an education minister, Chris Hipkins, who publicly expresses his support for secular education shows how much New Zealand is changing. We have a growing number of people from non-Christian religious groups and an even larger number who have no religion at all.

Look at the census figures and you will see that one of the big stories of New Zealand’s last 100 years or so is the decline in church-going and the increasing secularisation of our society.

I look forward to a New Zealand where schools focus on religious education more than doctrine, and where we respect all beliefs equally, including those of non-believers. Then again, I tend to be a bit of an idealistic hippy preaching peace and love at times, no doubt a result of all those performances of songs from Jesus Christ Superstar at school assembly back in the 1970s.

Talk to someone from any religious minority and they’ll tell you all about the myths many New Zealanders hold about their religion.