Let Us Cleanse

11 Mar 2012 2 Comments

by Sherry in Conversion, God, Jesus, John, Lent Tags: , , ,

It is ironic in a sense that we find John’s version of the cleansing of the temple as our Lenten reading today. For John, written last, perhaps in the very late part of the first century, or into the second, moves the time of this event in Jesus’ life.

Instead of immediately preceding his arrest and trial and crucifixion, John places the event at the very start of his ministry. Let there be no doubt what Jesus came to do, John announces!

And John brings an added element of violence to the whole affair, introducing the whip to the story.

Jesus enters the temple and witnesses what were the normal goings on. The money changers were hard at work exchanging coin of the realm (Roman) for coin that was “legal” in the temple–coin that did not bear the idolatrous figures of Caesar on them. Animals, for purchase as sacrifice wander around in some disarray.

Jesus, sees that in some measure, what passes as worship has been reduced to financial transactions. Bonhoeffer would call it “cheap grace.” One buys one’s sacrifice, and presents it to the priest. Religious obligations fulfilled. No wonder Jesus was disgusted.

What Jesus is pointed to is that this building, this temple is not God, it is not even where God need by worshipped. He points to himself as the true temple, and prophetically indicates that he will be “raised up in three days.”

Of course, most of those who witnessed this event did not understand. John does, and he reminds his listeners that upon his death, his disciples remembered the words and fully understood at last that Jesus was the embodiment of God.

We are told too that we are “temples” of God.

We understand this since God is Spirit, and resides within us.

But we are not Jesus. We merely emulate him as best we can.

It thus stands to reason that our temple is prone to reflect that one in Jerusalem.

It is prone to contain all manner of extraneous stuff, adherence to rituals and practices that have become meaningless in their routine. We are prone to bringing into our temple those thoughts and beliefs not worthy of such a place. We bring our angers and our fears, our jealousies and house them in this holy place.

We allow our temple to be polluted with too much food and drink, and we fail to care for it in other ways. We lack the strength of will or physical ability to do the work we are called to do to welcome in the Kingdom.

Lent is a time of cleansing. It is a time of evaluating, of fasting, and reflection. It is a time of change, reordering, and prioritizing.

Are you cleansing your temple?

Isn’t it about time you did?

Amen.

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Why I Believe

06 Feb 2011 6 Comments

by Sherry in Conversion, Faith, Fundamentalism, God, Theology Tags: , ,

Like a Child was interested in people of faith giving their stories of why they believed. She asks, how do you retain faith when you believe in things like evolution and the big bang theory as regards the universe, and also believe the bible to be errant.

A tall older.

She assumes a reasonable amount of intelligence, education, and attachment to reality and reason.

So, assuming that I hold the above attributes, undergraduate degree in political science, graduate degree in law, a somewhat above average IQ, and a very strong adherence to reason, I felt I should respond.

Since my earliest memories as a child, I have sought to understand from whence I came. Not in the obvious sense, since I was raised by my biological parents, but in the greater sense. This might be somewhat unusual, but I dare say, such a question comes to most humans at least at some point in their lives.

For me, it became a quest of sorts. I recall a child’s book I had about the moon and how it came to be our satellite. Quite wrong in its conclusions or hypotheses as it turned out, but it was a book I never have forgotten. I wrote a “paper” in 7th grade about a tour of the solar system, and did a “Goldilocks” analysis of the then nine planets.

Although I didn’t pursue astronomy or paleontology in college, I from time to time read books on the subject. I was a huge fan of Carl Sagan and watched all the missions, especially those that toured the outer planets. I watched the results coming into JPL the way some are glued to baseball games. I knew about he Leakey’s work in Africa, and knew about all the “human” finds.

I grew up, as I’ve stated before, without religious training or belief. It was natural for me, I think to conclude that science would give the answers to “where I had come from.” I assumed, given my understanding of faith as being fundamentalist in nature, that science and faith were incompatible. I chose science.

I maintained this vision for over forty years, keeping up with new books and shows about both cosmology and evolution. But the desire for God, never really left me. I was sad that I could find no place for God; it seemed somehow wrong.

I recall the day quite well. I was sitting reading in my den. It was a book by a cosmologist or astrophysicist about the earliest beginnings of the Big Bang. We had traveled back in time and were able to describe with some clarity into the nano-seconds before the “explosion.” And then he said it:

He said in effect, that science would probably be INCAPABLE of ever moving beyond that place in time. For indeed, that was the beginning of time. Humans could probably never traverse to “before time”. Thus why and how the Big Bang occurred might very likely be forever beyond human understanding.

In a flash, I realized, that here was God. The First Cause. Now, anyone steeped in Greek philosophy could probably have told me the same thing and much earlier. But this was my beloved science making this ultimate admission.

From that moment, my brain went into overdrive. I went to the living room and sat down, as thoughts swirled. I began to look at all the tens of thousands, no millions, perhaps more who had believed in a god of some sort from the most ancient of times. In deep humility for the first time, I realized that perhaps several millions of them were frankly smarter than I. And yet, they found reason to believe. They found reason to believe in Christ, and in some God worth giving their allegiance to.

From that moment, I began my journey in faith in earnest. Because I had already rejected the concept of fundamentalist interpretation of the Bible, I was not burdened with having to reconcile the Bible with history or science. It had never meant any sense to me that a great omniscient, omnipotent being couldn’t write a more clear explanation of the world in the first place. So I always saw the Bible as a series of statements of believe by people had a much more primitive understanding of the world than I did, some 2,000 years later.

To me it has always been obvious that God is approached by faith and in some mystery, but that God must in the end “make sense.” God must be more perfect than anything I can imagine, but God must be at least as perfect as I can imagine. Thus God cannot demand human sacrifice, God cannot order genocide, God cannot hate any part of his creation. Further God cannot limit the free growth of any part of his creation. He supports and loves and offers to guide, as we, are willing to allow. He experiences through us, the wonders of humanity.

My theology has been altered and amended, tweaked and refined over the years, and I fully expect it to continue to be so. After all, I am on a journey. Things that appear logical today may not be so tomorrow, and I will have to spend long hours and much reading trying to figure out how this vision and that can be reconciled. In some cases, I may have to simply trust that I am not yet wise enough. But so far, I’ve not come upon anything that can’t be worked out. My vision remains of a God who loves unconditionally, forgives always, and draws us to the Godhead. We return, all of us, eventually.

It is what I believe, and why.

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Why I Am What I Am

30 Jan 2011 4 Comments

by Sherry in Catholicism, Conversion, Spiritual Growth Tags: , , ,

Some of you have read my spiritual autobiography over at AFeatherAdrift. For those unaware, it’s under my autobiography and is the last 10 or so posts.

I yearned to be a Roman Catholic since youth, and but did not fulfill my desire until I was 43. Once Catholic, I expected never to waiver from my decision.

I did, as some of you know. I visited a number of other denominations, specifically UU and Unity. I thought I had found a home in the Episcopal Church, and for some time, felt emotionally happy there.

But, in reality, I never left my Catholic “roots”, if such could be said of a late convert to Mother Church. I merely tried to sing louder, pray longer, and otherwise quiet the tiny voice that never relented from calling me home.

So, for good or bad, I am home again. It has so far, seemed right. I am comfortable, yet of course, uncomfortable. Only a Catholic perhaps can understand that. It’s a bit like a family. You may objectively find your relatives obnoxious and overbearing, petty and self-absorbed, gigantically stubborn and denialistic in more ways than one. But, in the end, they are family.

It is always a surprise to me, (even though I did so myself, and know so many who did as well) when I find people who have left the Church in search of a more compatible spiritual experience. But that may only because I learned that divorce was not possible. At least for me.

I have concluded, at least for me again, that tension and abrasion are fine foils and necessary ones. It keeps my spiritual journey alive and fresh. It whets my desire to understand and to know. For better or worse I am tied to this Church, this Mother of all Mothers. It condemns me on paper, but it offers solace at the same time. I am sinner, sinned upon, and forgiving and forgiven. I am resurrected as I cry out in anguish at times: YOU PHARISEES!

I can not be complacent, and I’ve come to believe that we, as believers, never can be complacent, in anything. We can never stop trying to make the Church more of what she should be, any more than we can be complacent in a world that is less than it should be. Any more than I can allow myself to be less than I can be. It is a constant struggle. It is, I believe, why we strive, and why we grow in every way.

I was thinking of what the world might be like sans faith in God. And I’m not sure if we would have left the caves. I’m not sure that we would not have been content to make do with our short span on this bit of turf. Faith gives us something to strive for it seems. I’m not sure if we can do without it, or could.

God could, of course, have made all this clear to us. But what would that have looked like? Generations of sycophants, perfect creations, acting perfectly, feeling perfectly, believing perfectly. What indeed would be the point? No, I see worlds throughout the universe, life reaching upward, sentience reached, here and there, the thought occurring finally: Who, why, how? And then the conscious journey to know. Are you not in awe?

Yet, Mother Church is perhaps a poor example of that journey. I cannot know. I can only know that she is ingrained in me as if my DNA were inscribed with her blessing.

I shall, I suspect, always be in this dance of push-pull with her. I shall desire her, and despise her, perhaps at the same time. I read this a few weeks ago, and kept it. It describes in some ways, my own feelings. It is not perfect, but nothing is. It gives a sense of what my words are too poor to convey.

How much I must criticize you, my church and yet how much I love you!

You have made me suffer more than anyone and yet I owe you more that I owe anyone.

I should like to see you destroyed and yet I need your presence.

You have given me much scandal and yet you alone have made me understand holiness.

Never in the world have I seen anything more obscurantist, more compromised, more false, yet never have I touched anything more pure, more generous or more beautiful.

Countless times I have felt like slamming the door of my soul in your face – and yet, every night, I have prayed that I might die in your arms!

No, I cannot be free of you, for I am one with you, even if not completely you.

Then too – where should I go?
To build another church?

But I cannot build another church without the same defects, for they are my own defects.

And again, if I were to build another church, it would be my church, not Christ’s church.
No, I am old enough. I know better!

It is by Carlo Carretto, and I read it via Enlightened Catholicism. It is perhaps a bit too dramatic, a bit too intense, but it in some ways speaks as I would.

My Cooking is Killing My Sheep!

28 Jan 2011 5 Comments

by Sherry in Conversion, Fundamentalism, God, Jesus, Spiritual Growth Tags: , , , , ,

Jesus told Peter to “feed my sheep.” That responsibility falls upon us as a believing community. Yet Paul reminds us that we all have different gifts.

One of mine is surely not pastoral care. Mind you, I did some graduate work in this area, but it’s not my forte.

I screwed it up, as they say.

You will remember that I spoke about finding some bloggers who were in transition, having freed themselves of fundamentalism. They were in deep pain, struggling to retain a faith that had lost it foundations.

I felt that my offerings were not helpful. Yet one commented on that post and I felt encouraged enough to continue. I should have left well enough alone.

I have not the right words it seems, or the right attitude, or something. In point of fact, I think I misunderstood the “place” of the other person. I negligently thought I saw a person still struggling to retain faith. Rather I think I found a person who rejected fundamentalism in its interpretation of the bible, but accepted its underlying threat: It’s all inerrant, or you have no reason to accept any bit of it.

This is the constant and insidious ugly side of fundamentalism. Not only does it convince that a book is God, it convinces that if the Book isn’t God, there is no God to be found.

Most of the other commenters on this post are agnostics or atheists, so they were challenging me as well as supporting the doubts raised by the poster. Trying to argue a person out of agnosticism or atheism, especially when it is newly acquired is a worthless proposition.

But it did get me to thinking. How very different my own journey.

While I knew plenty of Catholics in my young life, they were never ones to speak of their faith. It just wasn’t done. When I did learn anything about religion and God, it was from a fundamentalist point of view. This was true through my early 20′s and  through my 30′s.

I simply rejected it out of hand for this reason. I could never have believed in a God that was projected by a inerrant reading of the Bible. In fact, upon reading it, my reaction was, “what an evil and awful thing this God is!”

For, intuitively I knew this: God had to be at least as perfect and beautiful as ANYTHING I could create in my own mind. I suspected God was much more, but the Creator MUST be at least that perfect. I was merely a person, with a reasoning brain after all.

So reason, before I knew a thing about real theology, was a hallmark of believing. Remember, I am the one who, upon learning that there was no Santa Claus, placed God in the same category. Wispy magical imaginative whispers of non-reality. Nice, but not real.

Thankfully, God did not stop knocking at my door. And one of my first questions to Sister Doris when I explored entering the Roman Catholic church was, “Do I have to believe all this stuff in the bible literally?”

“My, my,” she laughed, “of course not. True, we do have tenets, things we accept in faith, but we don’t think God tricks us. The earth is certainly not a mere 6,000 years old, for instance. We have dozens and hundreds of fine Catholic scholars who study and examine the manuscripts and explain what certain texts mean.You will learn about myth and allegory and such in your preparation to join the Church.”  

We had a lively conversation, and I left assured that my common sense and reason would never be assaulted by the strange child-like machinations of fundamentalist demands.

Since that time, I’ve studied under priests and other nuns who were theologians and biblical experts, some in the Roman tradition, and recently in the Episcopal tradition. They, individually, studied in some of the most respected and intellectually rigorous universities in the world.

I was never asked to accept their beliefs. I had the benefit of their scholarly learning, but one thing that all of these fine men and women taught me, was that questions were never bad, God was big enough to handle them. And moreover, I understood, whether said directly or by implication, that the hallmark of a mature faith was one worked out individually.

I have come to see it this way: God is like a key hole. We are the key. Yet, we are a key blank at the beginning. Our experiences, study, prayer,  and so forth serve to try to create the key that we can place in the lock and turn. We work at this, making it sometimes jiggle, turn a bit, turn more, stick. We withdraw it at times and look it all over again. We hone, chisel, sharpen. Over time, with effort, we begin to unlock God.

Jesus, of course, was a perfect fit. Perhaps Buddha was as well. Others, those we revere as great mystics and teachers, have got the lock almost open. Once open, the kingdom is ours, today. Jesus tried to explain to us how to do this. He showed us “the way.” But there are other ways, I think, since I dare say the Dalai Lama thinks the Buddha’s way is such.

This is a God I can love, and revere and work hard to emulate. This God, who joyously provides all his sentient beings with keys, calling them to fashion themselves in his image.

Some wonder why it is hard? Should it be easy? What can we possibly learn if it is handed to us on a silver platter? No, we become Christ-like by the struggle. Study is my joy, teasing out the delicate threads of real value in sacred scripture. Sacred? Yes indeed, for all was wrought by believing minds speaking their truth as carefully and completely as they could.

Confound it, but I cannot speak this in a way that convinces the unbeliever. I preach to the choir only. It is my frustration. Is it yours?

Who is This About?

23 Jan 2011 9 Comments

by Sherry in Bible Essays, Conversion, Corinthians, Faith, Fundamentalism Tags: , , , , ,

I found myself this week reading a few new blogs I came across written by women who were in the throes of transformation.

And the transformation was exceedingly painful, and the end result mostly unknown. These were women raised, and deeply indoctrinated in fundamentalist faith systems. They had broken out of such systems, and the real struggling began.

Never have I read such painful, heart-wrenching descriptions of soul-searching.  My heart literally broke in agony as I read these stories. At first questions, and then more, the searching for evidence, and the final acknowledgement that nothing they had been taught was true.

And that is the issue. The Nothingness. Each expressed in various ways the loss of foundation, the mooring of one’s being in a philosophy that grounded one’s life. The anchor had been removed. As one put it, “there is no right or wrong, no up or down.” These women could see no basis for any moral decision, in fact they could no longer define what was morality.

In some cases they were plagued with fears that the very thoughts they were thinking were the work of Satan, causing them to rethink what they had determined. They were in chaos, swimming in circles, grasping for a lifeline.

Some were still determined to find God in all this mix. Others were not sure at all that any faith was any longer possible. This is the insidious evil of fundamentalism. It is taught as an all or nothing thing. “Either every word in this book is literally true, or we have no basis for believing any of it is true, and our faith is nil.”

It is the faith of fear, threat, and punishment. If you question, you are possessed by the devil and are going to hell. Open that bible, pray. Such people often end up in mental hospitals under sedation. Any psychiatrist will tell you that many a patient is locked in a vicious loop, the perfect catch-22, and some can’t escape.

As I have said many times, fundamentalism causes more atheists than any other single factor.

I left comments on a couple, offering sympathy, and hopefully insight. I offered hope. I offered encouragement. I offered a listening ear.

I, to date, have received no reply. And I was saddened.

And that caused me to think deeply as to why I was so saddened. Why had my overtures been seemingly rejected?

Of course, that is not necessarily the case. My offers of help, of counsel, may have been taken in and treasured deeply for all I know. There is a time for everything as Ecclesiastes tells us.

But I was more concerned over my own feelings.

They gained clarity with today’s second reading from Paul to the Corinthians. (1Cor 1:10-13.17). In it Paul is lamenting the “factions” that have arisen in the city among the faithful. Some are “for Paul”, others “for Apollos”. Others “for Cephas.”

In Paul’s time, there were indeed factions. Three or four to be certain. Paul represented the most “liberal”. His position was that these new gentile Jesus followers need do nothing than profess Jesus as Lord. Cephas, or Peter, represented a more moderate “Jewish” position. Namely that the new gentile members should follow at least some of the Jewish laws. Presumably Apollos represented another school, perhaps the stricter one that all new gentile converts needed to be circumcised and follow all the laws.

In any case, Paul admonishes them all, claiming that the message is distorted if it’s about who is right on all these particulars. The greatest thing by far, is the message of Jesus. That is what they are all called to preach. Losing sight of the goal is damaging to them all, as well as causing damage to the real point, the preaching to the ends of the earth of the saving power of Christ.

I began to realize that this is what I had gotten caught up in. I wanted these women to acknowledge and validate my advice. I wanted the “oh you don’t know how much you have helped me, how you have clarified things, set my heart at ease. I know that my faith is real!”

It was about me.

And I was humbled, as I thought about this. For indeed, I had never agonized over my faith in this way. I had never tossed and turned, fearing, and trembling. I had never felt the painful insecurity these women expressed.

My conversion was more intellectual. I made an assessment of arguments both for and against. I truly believe that God brought that to a head for me. And the choice was obvious to me. Still is. But I did not wrestle with the angel as Jacob did. I made a decision. I question it from time to time, I go over the “evidence”, but I don’t cry out and moan in pain.

And in some ways, I guess that means, that these women have a faith hugely bigger than mine. It is a faith fighting a behemoth of misinformation and out right lies, told to them for years. And they are still in the fight. I’m not sure I would be. Many a newly created atheist sure isn’t.

I am awed, and I am humbled. Perhaps I need do a bit more listening and a lot less giving of advice. Perhaps I am the one who needs to learn something about faith.

What of Faith?

07 Nov 2010 Leave a Comment

by Sherry in Bible Essays, Conversion, Jesus, Maccabees Tags: , , ,

I am always somewhat saddened when I realize that some Protestants don’t include the Apocrypha in their Bibles. They miss some inspirational stories.

None can be delineated more so that that found in 2Maccabees 7. It is the story of the seven brothers and their mother. It is a story of immense faith in the face of torture and death.

Moreover it is one of the few places in the Old Testament (that is proper here, since the Hebrew Bible doesn’t include them within its canon), where resurrection is directly discussed.

Maccabees was written sometime in 124BCE, and in Koine Greek, and most probably in Egypt. It relates the Israeli struggle against the Seleucid King, Antiochus IV Epiphanes. In the story, Antiochus seeks to force the brothers and their mother to eat pork, which is forbidden to them as pious Jews. They are each tortured and then killed. They go to their deaths, secure in their faith and that since God created them, He will resurrect them.

It’s a bloody tale, gruesome in fact. Today, we would be fairly appalled that someone would accept martyrdom for so trivial a thing as eating pork. It is akin to demanding a Christian to renounce the belief that Mary was perpetually a virgin until her death. We know enough of God to realize that God requires no such piety, especially about a subject that we are not truly “sure” about.

But it is instructive to us today for the depth and breadth of what it means to have faith. 

We, all of us believers, are subject to a certain complacency about our faith. We assure anyone who asks that we ”believe”. Fully ninety some percent of people in the US profess belief in God. The numbers who actually attend services or pray with frequency, or read spiritual things, or meditate are substantially smaller. So there is something of a disconnect between what we profess and what we practice.

And this calls into question, just how meaningful is a faith that is not close to our hearts and minds. Are we intellectual Catholics and Protestants? Or are we heartful?

Do we stop to think about the Creeds we recite, and other rote responses we make throughout the mass? I tend to recite every evening  an act of contrition. I can recite it without thinking much. I try not to do that. I try to think about what I’m saying. I often fail.

More important, if we are merely going through the motions, then perhaps we aren’t doing much about how we live our Christianity either. Do we even seek to see Jesus in the face of those strangers we meet during the week?  Are we quick to forgive, or quick to anger? Do we look for the best or worst in others?

Such questions are important to ask of ourselves. For if we find that our religious practices have little or no impact upon our daily living, then it seems to me that our faith is of little account.

I am not one to claim that only some will meet God upon death. I rather suspect we all will. But that is no excuse to live one’s life with only a cursory acknowledgement of God’s presence. Such a life is bereft of real meaning, real joy, and real love. We reject, in fact, most of what God offers us–the grace of his total love and help.

This is simply foolish it seems to me. We do God such disservice by ignoring him except when pressed to declare ourselves. We harm ourselves immeasurably. It is illogical and frankly nearly insane. But God honors our choice nonetheless.

Stories like that of the seven brothers serve to inspire us to examine our faith commitment and to redouble our efforts to be true disciples of Christ.

Amen.

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Come Down Out of Your Tree

31 Oct 2010 2 Comments

by Sherry in Bible Essays, Catholicism, Conversion, Dissent, Jesus, Luke, Magisterium, Wisdom Tags: , , , , , ,

We are, as believers, quite familiar with Zacchaeus and his story. We are most familiar with the meaning of the story.

We know that Zacchaeus was well-known in his town. He was probably not liked, for he was a senior tax collector, meaning presumably that he been a tax man for a long time, and more importantly, that he had done exceedingly well at his job.

There is nothing to suggest that he had any intention to meet Jesus, rather, he seemed to want to take a “measure of the man,” this man who people were talking about in the surrounding countryside.

There is nothing to suggest that Zacchaeus had any desire to be “saved” or that he saw himself as a sinner. He was merely sizing up the man whom he had heard of, perhaps wanting to see if there was anything about him that suggested he was any of the things people were whispering about.

Jesus arrives at the tree that Zacchaeus has climbed and looks up. He orders him down. And he tells Zacchaeus that he intends to supper with him. This must have shocked Zacchaeus, since he full knew the opinion of the Pharisees about him. And it was true, they complained, loudly passing the word that Jesus was intent on eating with a sinner! But eye to eye with Jesus, something happened.

This man, who must have been hard-hearted in order to do his job, had a transformation. He immediately told Jesus he would give half of his wealth to the poor, and return four times over any money he had acquired by unfairness. What a transformation indeed.

I recall, as I proceeded through the catechumenate, learning about all the Catholic dogma about social issues, sexual to be exact. Certainly most of these were touched on quite lightly, they were trying to convince us to join the Church not run from it. I was troubled indeed about birth control, celibacy issues, homosexuality, abortion, and divorce. These rules basically went against my natural inclination. None of them touched me personally at that time, and perhaps I could have simply ignored them.

Instead, I tried mightily to understand why my Church taught these things. I struggled with them in my heart. I prayed about them. In the end, I conformed for one singular reason: my conversion had arisen from the sudden conclusion that I was not wise enough to overcome the depth and breath of intellect that, before me, believed. Here now too, I came to the same conclusion. I must assume the Church to be wiser than me–at least until I had spent time looking deeply into these issues.

I trusted in the general logic of Catholicism, the fact that there were no places of which I was aware where there were logical dead ends, or places of deep conflict. All inexorably fit together, and so I accepted what I was taught, albeit with a heavy heart.

Over time, I was to learn a good deal more, read a good deal more, have the benefit of learned teachers who had studied these matters thoroughly and come up with different ideas. Slowly, I came back to where I had been, and came to believe that the Church’s dogma was flawed, and understandable from its own history.

My point is simply, that I think excluding people as “sinners” for violating innumerable sexual prohibitions should lead anyone to feel exceedingly sad. We are, after all, desirous of having everyone partake of the Eucharist I presume. We want all to be saved do we not? To conclude that some folks must be denied is painful. It was to me at that time, and I would think it would be to all faithful orthodox Catholics.

Yet, this is not what I find. Instead, I find that old bugaboo, arrogance come to play. All too many “orthodox” Catholics are eager, almost joyous in their condemnation of those who aren’t being “orthodox” as they see it. They are eager to label people–”you Cafeteria Catholic,”  they sneer. They tell me that “Catholicism is hard” and why don’t I “go to some feel-good Protestant church where they cater to what you want to hear”. When I protest that Jesus told us not to judge, they drag out plenty of ammo from Paul, about how they are they are not judging, but “admonishing the sinner” as they are “called to do.”

Some of them are quite ugly in their rhetoric. They clearly take great pride in “doing what is hard,” though I’m not sure what is hard about chastising others for not living up to their interpretation of things.

It all leaves me with a bad taste. Zacchaeus may have climbed a tree to see better, but some of our orthodox brethren are also up trees, just not to see. They are up there to pick out from the crowd those they believe must be culled from the congregation. They are there to spot the sinners and whisper loudly and complain–”these people have no right to be in God’s house!”

Perhaps, they will hear Jesus calling for them to come down, and eye to eye, they too might be transformed, as I ultimately was. Perhaps they will see that following Jesus was never about pointing out the sinner, so much as it was and is about ministering without judgment to all God’s creation. For we also learned today:

Yes, you love everything that exists, and nothing that has been made disgusts you, since if you had hated something, you would not have made it. And how could a thing subsist, had you not willed it? Or how be preserved, if not called forth by you? No, you spare all, since all is yours, Lord, lover of life! (Wis 11:24-26)

Perhaps, we might leave all this other stuff up to God to decide. After all, it’s His kingdom.

The Power of a Dandelion

03 Oct 2010 2 Comments

by Sherry in Conversion, God Tags: , , , , ,

I have something of a hard head at times. Therefore it took me a while to realize that having a debate about the existence of God tends to be an activity in futility.

You are immediately confronted with the demand that you “prove God exists.” With all due respect to the right-wing fundogelicals, it can’t be done.

All the so-called proofs from Aquinas on down and probably before are merely logical deductions of one sort or another. And logic does not always equal truth.

Moreover, it seems to me, that God not being provable in an evidentiary, reproducible way, is the way it’s supposed to be. After all, if God can be proven, then, God comes down to an intellectual proposition. If you have intelligence of a certain level to understand the evidence, you will believe.

The bible suggests that God might prefer that we believe as a matter of faith. Of course, if one takes the various Hebrew Scripture stories at face value, it would seem that God has made it quite clear that He exists. The parting of a sea, pillars of fire, talking to folks from bushes, all these would suggest that God indeed wishes us believe by incontrovertible evidence.

But, I suspect that these are more story to teach than writings of authentic historical events. In other words, we are to use the story to realize a certain truth about God, ourselves, and our relationship with Him. If the stories had been literally true, then it begs the question why we tended to forget the miraculous and so often strayed into “disbelief” as God so often reminds us.

God is gracious, this we believe. He has given us perfect freedom, this too we believe. He does not coerce. If there were proof positive of God, which He most clearly can provide should He wish, then no one would really have any choice would they? Unless they were insane, and then God surely wouldn’t punish one for having no functioning mind.

Part of freedom, then seems to me, that we much find God on our own. We must in short choose to believe, we must have faith. We must choose faith and then live a life in accordance with that faith. We, those of us who do have that faith, are richly rewarded, we believe. Rewarded with knowing that we are not alone, that God is with us. We are rewarded in turning to each other and recognizing that our faith calls us to sistership with all of humanity. That is an amazing gift.

So, for each of us, faith, it seems to me, comes in its own way and time. There is no one-size-fits-all. The things that make me believe, may not move you one whit. And vice versa. This is utterly unsatisfying to the atheist of course, but sorry, that’s the nature of God, we believe.

We do hope and we do pray that one day you too will be touched, and turn to faith in something greater than yourself. But we cannot make any argument that is “proof.”

What we can do is share our beliefs, the whys and wherefores. Because it is just such an argument that struck me as “truth” one day. Although we are deeply unique, we always share massive amounts of sameness. Thus I trust that what moved me may move some others. I’d like to think that something I say might resonate with someone else. That is my prayer.

While I was humbled by the idea that thousands of more-brilliant-than-me persons were believers, that was not enough. I pondered and could come up with no reasons why dozens, then hundreds, and perhaps more were witness to Jesus’ actions in the world and chose to make up a religion out of it that had no basis in fact. I pondered the idea that there was, and never could be proof that God did not exist.

This was enough for me to get me started.

I have more today. While I utterly find that evolutionary biology can and does set out a system by which life, once begun changed over time to the splendid and bountiful offerings we see about us today, I am not satisfied that evolutionary biology can explain one aspect.

That aspect is the intense, almost beyond belief desire of life to persist under the most extreme conditions. Life literally claws and clings to life no matter the odds. From the human being who struggles against what might seem impossible odds to survive in some accident, to the plethora of life that finds purchase under icecaps and in the depths of our oceans, life simply is tenacious.

I suppose that a biologist might tell me that that too is a genetic mutation–this desire to exist. I suppose they could be right, but I’m not sure they can ever prove that, and it seems to me much easier to believe that God’s indomitable Spirit, present in all life, is a truer proof.

Walk any city street in America, especially in the more depressed and old areas. See the cracked sidewalk. If you walk far enough, you will inevitably find that lone dandelion, growing tall in a small crack in the cement. How that seed came to land and fall down, how it came to find some soil, and some nutrient, we shall not know. But it grows, and it tries. In the heat of the days, being stepped up, ridden over by tricycles, it doesn’t give up. It grows, and it sets its seed and it gives them to the wind in the oldest story of time–the desire to replicate itself.

If we are all to die, and if it makes not a whit of difference that we have lived (at least to us, safely dead in our graves), then I wonder why we try so hard. It seems to me we do so, because the God within tries so hard. Through us, as through the dandelion, God experiences His creation. God never stops thirsting for experience, and never stops seeking relationship with his created.

It’s the proof of a dandelion. Maybe it will speak to your heart today.

Amen.

***

Do stop by Jan’s blog, Yearning for God,  for the perfect poem for this post.

They Have Eyes But Do Not See

26 Sep 2010 2 Comments

by Sherry in Bible Essays, Conversion, Jesus, Luke Tags: , , , , ,

As with most Jesus parables, the story of Lazarus and the rich man is bounteous in teaching. One could right a few dozen homilies certainly and still not exhaust its levels of meaning.

Today, as I sat at St. Elizabeth’s I was gifted with a new insight. Let me share it with you, with a few thoughts of my own.

Nowhere in the story do we learn that the rich man is a bad person. He is not cruel or actively unkind to Lazarus. In fact, there is no real indication that he is more than barely aware of Lazarus at all.

He is a wealthy man, and undoubtedly a busy one. He has business to transact, and presumably a large household to over see. He probably has a large family, servants, and other employees. He undoubtedly, because of his wealth, shares in the political life of his town. Thus, he may have barely noticed this poor sick man who laid outside his gate, much as other poor souls undoubtedly did at the gates of the other wealthy in town.

Yet, the rich man’s fate is to spend eternity in Hades, tormented. He is reminded that he lived a good life, and he has had his reward. Lazarus, whose life was mean, now reaps the rewards of heaven.

Yet we have no clue that the rich man did not attend to his religious duties (the letter of the Law) as required. Still, his fate is harsh.

We learn that we cannot bank on just doing no harm in the world. We can’t skate by, by paying taxes and raising decent children, providing food and home for our families, attending to our business, perhaps even in being a fair and honest person in all our dealings. This and all the normal accoutrements of the normal middle class life, will not suffice to raise us to share eternity with God. This is what we learn.

That’s kind of jolting isn’t it? I mean, most of us don’t have time to volunteer, to be politically active in our communities, to support needy causes, either financially or with our time. We are strapped to the max just in making an adequate living, getting a good education for our kids, paying health insurance premiums, and all the other things thought necessary to live “well.”

And if this is true for us, then we can take no comfort that mere attendance to the rituals of Sunday worship will insure our eternal life. For mere adherence to the formalities of our faith will not be enough according to the parable.

The rich man begs that Lazarus be sent to his living brothers to issue a warning to them. Surely, they will repent of their lack of attention to the real point of faith, and begin to live out their faith truly. Abraham says no, for if they are unable to see God’s teaching now, no resurrected being will make any difference. They will walk by, oblivious still.

And what does that say today? What has it always said?

When we are complacent in our faith, when we think that attending Mass on Sunday, praying a rosary, or whatever rituals we engage in, is enough to save us, we have become blind, truly unable to see the message that has been before us.

And we are all complacent to one degree or another. We become sure that our interpretation of the bible, of Jesus as man and/or God are correct. We become sure that our vision of God is correct. We relax and attend to all the other facets of our lives, thinking our faith life is in order.

And in doing so, we become fundamentalists. Sure of ourselves, sure of what it all means, sure of what we do, and what we don’t do.

Jesus walks among us every day, in the faces of all whom we meet, and we mostly don’t see Him. And if he were to appear in glory as the risen Christ, declaring himself, we would laugh and shake our heads and walk away, not seeing, not seeing. Because He will be almost assuredly other than we expect.

This is why Abraham knows that if the Gospel has not changed the heart yet, no resurrected being will do so, for He will not meet our expectations nor the box we have encompassed our faith into.

Enough has been said, and preached, and died for, and still we turn our concerns elsewhere, denying our responsibility to each other and to our earth.

The parable calls us to think deeply about who we are, what we are, and what we are doing. Who are the Lazarus’s in our lives? Those whom we systematically don’t even see. We have become so used to life as-is that we have grown lazy and complacent.

Shall we too find ourselves begging for a drop of water to ease our torment?

My Yoke is Easy, My Burden Light

19 Sep 2010 6 Comments

by Sherry in Catholicism, Conversion, Saints, St. Augustine, Theology Tags: , , , , , , ,

People have become aware generally of my decision to return to Catholicism. I can say all have been supportive, or at least quiet. That is not to say all understand, and, well I understand that. I’m not sure I understand it well myself.

When I mentioned to my husband, known at A Feather Adrift, as the Contrarian, he started to speak, and then said, “never mind.” I encouraged him to continue, and when he wouldn’t I surmised his response:

“You were going to say, why not keep quiet, for in six months you may change you mind, . . .again. Is that about right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

Another friend wished me well most sincerely but suggested she too didn’t understand.

What follows is my best attempt to explain, and well, as I said, understand myself.

I’ve been reading a lot of Tillich lately. He has a couple of books that are really collections of his sermons given in the late 40′s. Surprisingly, they speak as effectively today as then.

I read something in one that caught me. I cannot find it after spending some minutes searching, and think that it was more of an impression, one I created from a number of thoughts of his. Credit where credit is due, but I don’t want to blame  him either.

He was speaking I recall about religion and how it gets in the way of the message, and that that is what Jesus means about his yoke being easy and his burden light. He meant it in regards to a comparison of the onerous burden of the Law. No one could be obedient to the Law fully. It was an impossibility, but Jesus saw that it, as practiced in Second Temple Judea, was particularly so for the poor.

All the purity laws, all the rules, all were impossible for the average peasant to comply with. He was always “unclean” and rejected, although his Temple tax was always accepted.

From that, one might conclude that onerous religious ritual and dogma might be held in similar disdain, obscuring the “Way” as Jesus taught.

Leave it to me, to see something quite different. Again, I think it had something to do with something else Tillich said, about faith. In essence, when it became easy, then we were in trouble. We become complacent, sure we are right, no longer studying, no longer meditating, no longer moving on the path. We think in our arrogance that we have reached the end of the road. We are there.

I conflate the two, and find that when religion is easy for me, I become complacent. I start to become arrogant and sure of what is truth. And that is simply wrong. Augustine is a dear favorite of mine, mostly because he prayed to have his “concupiscence taken from him, but not quite yet.” I liked that bit of honesty, that humanness.

Anyway, Augustine is quoted generally as saying something along the lines of “whatever we think we have learned about God only adds to what we don’t know,” or words to that effect. I believe it. The more I learn, the more I suspect I’m wrong in other words, yet I also suspect I might be more right than some others. Meaning I guess that I increase in knowledge in minuscule amounts, ninety percent of “new learning” is probably wrong.

To be in a church that agrees with me, or gives me total license (more or less) to construct my own theology, allows me to do that and dust off my hands at my  creation, my God. My idol, the thing I worship as work of my own hands.

The Roman Catholic Church on the other hand, keeps me in severe tension. We are in some holy disagreements on a host of things. But, in humility, I know that I must learn as best I can the full force and reasoning of the Church, and then I must carefully examine all other evidence. Only then do I have a right to disagree. If my heart leads me against Mother Church on any issue, I remain in that tension, always seeking.

And in seeking, comes that minute new kernel of knowing I believe. And so the tension, for me, is essential. I am, without it, too prone to rest on my laurels.

In saying this, I want to make it most clear that others, who are happily ensconced with the Episcopal Church, or any other for that matter, are not wrong. That would be arrogant indeed. I mean quite something else.

I believe that we are utterly unique in our personal connection with God. We are meant to be, as I see it. God has created a perfectly perfect, yet supremely special one-of-a-kind way of union for each of us. And thus, it means that each path is unique.

Each of us is a different pattern of genes, personality, and life experiences. We, each of us, then, as I see it, must negotiate the world in a way different from each other.

My inability to stay honorably focused on truth without the crutch of “tension” need not, and no doubt is not everyone else’s. It is mine. I say no more.

If as Augustine suggests, I’m more wrong than right, well, I can but hope that some kernel of  new truth has emerged for me. And that kernel has led me to this place and time, and this decision.

Or as my husband suggests, six months from now? But for now, I feel content and at peace. That seems good enough now.

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