Suebob explains why she goes to church and why she's a church lady. (There's only two reasons and they're both Social Gospel reasons - though she might disagree with my use of the word gospel in relation to her post at all.)
Are your parenting philosophies primarily red or blue?
Red parents tend to be:
Blue parents tend to be:
What about your parents? Which camp did they fall into?
Again, I know these lists oversimplify matters, since some amount of red and blue are needed in any parent/child relationship. But how much of each is needed? Does it depend on the child? I lean toward the blue parenting spectrum and tend to feel guilty when I have to invoke my red parenting skills. Likewise, I was definitely raised by blue parents. My mom in particular is about as blue as you can get. And, it seems to me, if you can get the blue part right as a parent, then very little red is needed.
(Let me remind you that we're talking parenting philosophies here, not politics. If we were talking politics, I'd have a hard time calling my parents blue.)
Is your God a red God or a blue God? It doesn't matter if you're Christian, Budhist, Atheist, Jewish, Agnostic, Muslim, Pagan, or something else altogether. Just review the two lists below and tell me which God you're more drawn to.
Believers in a red God view the almighty as:
Believers in a blue God view the almighty as:
I recently listened to a recorded talk by the controversial Joseph Sprague, a retired Methodist Bishop who said, "I will no longer give service to that red God."
Certainly God is larger and more complex than either of these two lists reveal, but the breakdown is intriguing to me as someone who has always believed in the liberal, blue God and still gets antsy and uncomfortable around any belief system that primarily embraces the red God gospel.
So why is that red God so popular today? Why has America embraced those red God ideas so full-heartedly? What is it about that strict, stern ruler that attracts so many people?
David, at True Ancestor describes what he calls the spiritual ecosphere:
The realm of the spiritual is its own ecosphere. Just as each species finds its niche and fills its role in a healthy ecosystem, so the realm of the spiritual always will -- always must -- have atheists, agnostics, fundamentalists, mystics and everything in between.
Plus, David and his sister, amba, are talking about doing a 'radio show' together to discuss religious views from every possible niche within this ecosystem.
Taking all types of spiritual quests into consideration, Tim at Pop Occulture proposes a heuristic for understanding the process of spiritual exploration:
I’d like to present my own fledgling map of personal internal growth. This model was created based on my own experiences - both good and bad - and those of countless people who I’ve interacted with through my website and in my life who walk the same roads as me. The most important thing to keep in mind is that this model is just that - a model. It’s designed to help people out on their own journeys of exploration. Use it if and where it helps you; throw it aside when you’re done with it. If you have any ideas about how this could be improved, please share them.
Richard Lawrence Cohen allows himself the freedom to interpret signs and maybe even the luxury to believe in something:
One thing that has always kept me from accepting any specific religion is that I think God is fundamentally incomprehensible to the human mind, and thus theology is mostly arrogant guesswork and culture-bound fantasizing. Nevertheless, I’ve felt, for equally long, that it’s guesswork and fantasizing about something real.
A Buddhist adage I like very much is that all religious doctrines are like fingers pointing at the moon. If we concentrate on looking at the finger, we’re missing the idea. (In modern terms, someone who looks at a finger instead of what the finger is pointing at is autistic.) We need to look at the moon.
But then, a person pointing at the moon can be beautiful ...
Robey, lately, is enamored with the moon. We don't see it much here in the wintertime, but he loves to look for it through the windows, through sleepy eyes and through long hours of driving on country roads. His searching is a joy to watch and his wonder each time he sees it - whether it's shining full in the afternoon sky or peaking through the clouds at midnight - is so authentic.
And that's the point of these Sunday Sparks: to understand the beauty in our searching for the moon and, of course, to try - in some small way - to understand the beauty of the moon itself.
Scheherazade at Stay of Execution finds comfort - and more - at a new church:
And then the sermon. Oh my goodness. The minister softened me up by bringing Annie Dillard into it, and from then on I was toast. He hit me in my softest places. He painted pictures with his words and my eyes welled up and soon I was crying. He made me laugh. He touched my longing. Besides Dillard he brought in GK Chesterton and Winnie the Pooh, and, of course, Jesus Christ. He talked about wonder and adoration and fear. This is my place. I want to listen to this minister some more, I thought. I didn't even care if the attorney beside me could see me crying. It felt safe.
Rachelle at Notes from a Truth Seeker reflects on her chosen faith:
What does that say about me–that I knowingly and repeatedly choose this one? A baby in a manager. A carpenter king. A crazy man on a crowded hill. A dead man on a cross. Perhaps it means, in all honestly, that I am not too smart. Perhaps it means that I am deluded, overly emotional, too easily swayed by tradition and heritage. Or perhaps is means that deep calls to deep, that knowledge sometimes surpasses reason, that many decisions are made primarily by the heart.
These posts generated thoughtful comments as well, so you'll enjoy reading them both from top to bottom.
Melissa at Suburban Bliss ponders the significance of holiday giving:
Those are cute but homeless people don't need 'cute', they need warm. They don't need mittens either. They need a warm house and a job and a way to kick an addiction or a mental illness. They need mittens that can do all of that, and I'm not seeing that brand here.
Tim at Popular Occulture asks, "What's wrong with mega churches?" and elicits some interesting responses. I call them "big box" churches myself, because - when I attend them - I experience the same uncomfortable feelings of congestion and mass consumption that I experience at Wal-Mart. One commenter, James, makes a similar comparison:
Mega-churches aren’t bad. It’s the difference between seeing your favorite band play a small club vs. opening for U2 at the Hollywood Bowl. One is bound to be more intimate, and it’s usually the one where you don’t feel lost in a sea of people.
Finally, my latest blog obsession - checking in multiple times a day to read the comments about The Wounded Angel at ambivablog. I stand by my original interpretation, but I'm fascinated and amazed to "see" this painting through the eyes of so many other spiritual critics as well. Go check it out and add your thoughts to the comment section too.
This week the spark's on me. With inspiration from these posts about labels from fellow bloggers, I wrote and shared the speech below with the congregation at our church last Sunday. It felt great to be so open and honest with a group of people that I thought - just a few years ago - would never accept me and my liberal belief system. Judging by the reaction, most of them not only accept me but are glad to welcome me into their community. And some of them even agree with me.
The Labels of My Faith
Published the year I graduated from high school, Douglas Coupland’s novel, Generation X, characterized my generation – at the time – as a cohort of twenty-somethings whose main characteristic was a tendency to have no main characteristics. It was a label that stuck in the media. And then, of course, the label was quickly embraced by a generation of self-proclaimed label haters.
It’s true. My generation, now known as Generation X, has produced legions of independent voters, including myself. Outside of politics, we defy labels like house wife, soccer mom, yuppie, hippie, punk or workaholic. We don’t want to be pegged or pinned down or stereotyped, so we focus on individuality and rebel against anyone’s efforts to pigeonhole us into specific categories.
This is especially true when it comes to faith. And that’s really what I want to talk about today: The labels of faith – and why so many men and women in my generation are more likely to say they’re spiritual as opposed to religious.
David at True Ancestor meets a kindred spirit and a "free" soul:
She was beyond us. She had discovered truth. She was free. She was gone.
The water at waiterrant tells about the time his godfather lectured a room full of pro-lifers, saying:
“Let me tell you something about Hell,” my godfather says, “We know there’s a hell because Jesus said there’s one. But we don’t know if anyone’s actually in it ... What’s more,” he says, “Jesus never liked hypocrites. He once said, ‘They do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy burdens and lay them on people’s shoulders, but will they lift a finger to move them? No! Every thing they do is done to attract attention!’”
Dave at Via Negativa muses on paradise:
15. Paradise is others. Paradise is the world in the midst of creation, which is on-going. The sabbath is not-yet.
Infision at Social Gospel today argues that the Southern Baptists are preaching the wrong message:
No, if the SBC is indeed declining it is not for lack of evangelistic zeal. It is declining because it has the wrong message. Jesus Christ is about more than saying a magic spell, getting baptised and refraining from pre-marital sex. As more and more Christians realize this, the SBC will continue to decline.
As a rule, I don't blog on Sundays. In fact, I try pretty hard not to go near the computer at all that day. But I've also been bookmarking favorite posts from faith-inspired bloggers for months that I'd like to share. So, I'm going to try something scheduling a weekly Sunday post with links to blog entries where I've found wisdom, guidance or simply an interesting point of view.
One thing you should know is that I'm pretty open in my definition of faith. Although I call myself a Christian, I learn from Unitarians, Pagans, Jews, Buddhists and assorted spiritual nomads - a lovely term coined by Amba.
The first installment of Ali's Sunday Sparks follows.
Rachelle at Notes from a Truth Seeker is saddened by people who choose conversion over conversation and doctrine over communion:
And it’s sad, very sad to me that people just cannot ... see past the fact that we don’t have a doctrinal statement; that we care more about conversation than conversion; that we see all of life as an invitation into relationship with God; that we don’t mind if you can’t call God ‘Jesus’, or’ the Trinity’, or even ‘God,’ as long as you, like us, are longing for connection to the Divine. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think that’s a way in, for me and for others around me—a way into the loving reality of God. And if I can provide that, in any little way, I’ll do it.
Mark at Better Living takes Pat Robertson to task for condemning a whole town in Pennsylvania:
Along with Jerry Fallwell and James Dobson, he's a straw man that skeptics, agnostics, atheists, and genuine inquirers into Christian faith can read about in their local paper, easily knock down or dismiss, and decide that Christians are every bit as legalistic, clueless, and venomous as your average Islamofascist.
Augustine Interviews God - Part Fifteen
Amba finds a sanity clause in at least one major branch of religion:
Catholics and evangelicals may have drawn closer together over life issues and the spirit of revival, but here's where they part company: Catholics, it seems, can open their hearts (and their Bibles) without losing their heads.
The Zero Boss argues that religious texts are not our sole source of religious inspiration:
The Bhagavad Gita is one of my favorite religious texts. Yet even it - like the Holy Bible, the Talmud, the Quran, the Nag Hammadi, the Vedas, the various Sutras of Buddhism, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and even modern classics like Starhawk's The Spiral Dance - are riddled with the prejudices and errors of their otherwise gifted authors. Is it little surprise, then, that modern Americans are bypassing the wisdom of old, and going directly to the Source for their religious communion? It's evident that the writing is on the wall: most Americans would prefer to talk to the Divine directly rather than go through a mediator - whether that mediator be a man in a white collar or a stack of bound pulp.
In her lectionary blog, Dylan questions our culture's focus on family values:
One problem with our talk about "family values" is that it's just that: TALK. Pontificating about the standards to which all families ought to rise makes us like the Pharisees and scribes Jesus condemns unless we act to lighten the burden for others rather than merely condemning those who don't rise to our ideal. Got a problem with out-of-wedlock births? Want to reduce abortions? There's a direct correlation between rising levels of education and reduced rates of both. Wagging fingers and punishing women or their doctors won't lighten the burden, but making sure that every neighborhood school is safe and provides quality education – and that every neighborhood in the world has a school that will receive all its children – will.
Finally, Mr. Gobley extends a daily challenge to himself that we all should strive to achieve.
There is an old, mystical truth (or untruth) that states God is best known through "unknowing." In other words, the more you try to define and intellectualize and corral The Truth (whatever that may mean), the further you move away from it.
Most of the time, I am a Believer with a capital B, but I realize my beliefs are shadowy and contradictory and often out of focus. And that's the way I like them. I can tinker with the lenses of my belief system and try to bring the objects in the foreground into sharper focus, but when I do, I lose sight of everything in the background. Regardless of which lens I use, however, I am comfortable with the fact that in this lifetime, I will never see the whole picture in complete clarity.
This doesn't mean that spiritual exploration is pointless to me. Instead, I see exploration as a process to enjoy rather than a means to an end. After all, if you believe that truly knowing any real absolute Truth is not within your grasp, than any exploration that seeks absolute knowledge as its end is futile, right?
Dave at Via Negativa turns the whole idea of belief on its head, by offering his list of un-beliefs. And let me tell you - if most of us spent even half as much time exploring our beliefs as Dave does exploring his un-beliefs, the world would be an amazing place.
It's a long post but worth reading in its entirety. If nothing else, read the un-beliefs in italics and savor the punchline at the end, which brings a welcomed, light-hearted chuckle after the rapt attention required to read the preceding thoughts.
This is what I meant to say with my cryptic post last month on fear. It's an excerpt from a recent article by David James Duncan in Orion magazine:
America's spiritual vocabulary—with its huge defining terms such as "God," "soul," "sacrifice," "mysticism," "faith," "salvation," "grace," "redemption"—has been enduring a series of abuses so constricting that the damage may last for centuries. Too many of us have tried to sidestep this damage by simply rejecting the terminology. But the defamation of a religious vocabulary cannot be undone by turning away: the harm is undone when we work to reopen each word's true history, nuance and depth. Holy words need stewardship as surely as do gardens, orchards or ecosystems. When lovingly tended, such words surround us with spaciousness and mystery the way a sacred grove surrounds us with peace and oxygenated air. But when we abandon our holy words and fail to replace them, we end up living in a spiritual clearcut.
I know. That's not really what I said in the original post, but it is right in line with what I said via e-mail to those who inquired about the post at that time:
[The post on fear] was my attempt at going back to the basics. When it comes to religion, the biggest turn off for me (and many others of my generation, I suppose) is the language in which so much of it is expressed. The terms sin and savior and lord and grace and many others are so loaded that the key to really understanding them - for me - is a matter of deconstruction. So what does it mean to fear God? I've always been bothered by that concept. I'm not at all attracted to people who seek to be feared, so why would I be attracted to a God who wants to be feared? So, I say to myself, well, maybe He doesn't want to be feared in the sense that we fear a bully or a mean step father. Maybe the fear is our construction, and if so, where does it come from? I think it comes from not knowing ... but I think it's the exploration of that unknown that brings us closer to God. You just have to get past the fears first.
This is how I re-examine my faith: through language and prayer and experience. Each word, each concept, each symbol gets looked at again and again from a new perspective. And this is how my faith grows - by tearing down my own tall Babel and rebuilding it piece by piece. A touchstone here. An open window there. A softened piece of beach glass. A gray, flat rock for lounging. The construction is slow but enjoyable. I like the path of re-creation.
Are the beliefs of the heart more real or more true than the beliefs of the mind?
Sometimes it's hard to know the difference between what you believe and what you want to believe. What you think you believe vs. what you really do believe. Or what you were trained to believe vs. what you've come to believe on a more examined field.
Sometimes I nod in agreement with every contradictory thing I read. Other times I want to shout that this - this is something I've been waiting to read for years. This is something I would have written myself if I'd only known how to say it.
It seems to me that there's an obligation of examination that comes with knowledge. But how well can you know a thing without tossing it around a bit, palming its soft, leather roundness and fingering its red, raised stitches? How well can you know it before you must throw it back to the mound?
I don't know. But I (think) I know this:
We fear God (only) because we fear the unknown.
We know God (only) because we know the fear.
According to this review by Leora Bersohn in The Revealer, I may be one of the few people who've actually read the national bestseller God's Politics by Jim Wallis. Instead, she says it's one of those books that sits unread on your night stand or book shelf and makes you feel guilty for not having read it.
She's probably right. If I hadn't been reading it for a book group, I may have done a lot more skimming and page turning than I did underlining.
But do I regret it? No. I agree with most of Bersohn's editorial critiques of the text and voiced many of them while reading it. Her theological critiques seem valid too, though I'm not qualified in that area to make a firm statememt one way or another. What I agree with most strongly, however, is this comment posted to Bersohn's review:
[The book] could have [been] better if, as Bersohn points out, [Wallis'] editors had done their job properly. I suspect it was published in a hurry, and for a good reason. The book's value is in its existence. It's a concrete representation of a point of view that is very badly needed right now, and if readers only scan it, they will pick up at least one hugely important fact: Not all Evangelicals think alike. I hope journalists, above all, are getting that into their heads at last.
More to the point, not all Christians think alike. And thank God for that. As I've mentioned before, my beliefs are more of the progressive ilk than the evangelical, but I still sometimes read Sojourners magazine (of course, I've also been known to read Playboy and People too, so most fundamentalists and some liberals will discount me from the get go).
For me, the experience of reading the book with other members of my church -- and learning that I wasn't the only liberal in the whole congreagation -- was worth every unedited sentence that Wallis could have written. I know he's received a lot of slack for being The Liberal Talking Head in all matters religious, but within his muddied writing and faint theological connections, he makes some valid points.
Most shocking to me was the revelation that the Southern Baptist church was the only Christian denomination to support Bush's decision to go to war in Iraq. In fact, many church leaders of other denominations were united in an effort to prevent the war. Why didn't we know that? Why are so many Christians across the country afraid to express opinions against this administration?
Since -- as Bersohn points out -- you're not going to read the book, I'm sure you won't mind if I talk briefly about its conclusion. In fact, if you are one of the thousands of people who own a copy that's collecting dust at home, let me make a suggestion. Try, at least, to read the last chapter. Its main point is this:
If there is a choice to be made by Christians, it is not a choice between faith and secularism. The two can and do co-exist much more easily than most fundamentalists are willing to admit (even - gasp - in their own homes and congregations). Instead, our choice should be one of hope over cynicism. And, in making that choice, we should do our part in giving people something to be hopeful for. Instead of bellyaching about society's problems we should try, in whatever small ways we can, to help solve those problems.
As Walt Whitman says in Leaves of Grass:
Love the earth and the sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God.
To that, I say, Amen.
Leigh had a great post recently on how faith evolves -- and sometimes gets lost -- as we mature and re-examine our beliefs in light of new experiences. As a fellow OU alum, I can relate to her thoughts:
So, college … Didn’t take away my personal belief – something I have and will struggle with. Rather, it taught me that my beliefs are just that – beliefs: a theory, a world-view shaped profoundly by experience, a preference for how to answer enduring questions.
Regardless of where life takes you after high school, you are bound to encounter new ideas and situations that challenge your beliefs and re-shape your world view.
In Athens, Ohio, I never stepped foot in a church. While I continued to attend occasional church services on weekends at home, the one time I needed a bible for an assignment my freshman year, I had to borrow a dog-eared copy from a girl two doors down the hall. She was a devout evangelical Christian, but I'm sure even her systems of belief were shaken a bit before she left Jefferson Hall.
Last week I attended a church service "in the hood." Since some of you may debate the actual presence of a hood in this small town, I'll provide you with the full name of the church: All God's Children. The Church in the Hood.
Also, you should know that my home town, which I often refer to on this site as a small town, is actually a city of approximately 50,000 people located in a once prosperous industrial region and positioned at an intersection of two major highways. I have read that we are the third largest drug trafficking city in Ohio. I have seen the empty, haunting warehouses downtown. And I have heard stories of shootings, drug wars and gangs.
These are the stories that folks in my church -- primarily white, middle class and suburban -- would, for the most part, prefer to forget. Perhaps that explains our behavior at the service last week. Perhaps it does not. Either way, it's no excuse for snubbing the communion of others.
I know I'm being hard on myself, but I think I should be. I think the story I'm about to tell is a metaphor for a problem we face throughout this country. While many of us try hard to be faithful and giving, our compassion has definite bounds -- both emotional and financial -- that do not extend past our own well-padded comfort zones.
The church -- All God's Children -- is located in an old, nondescript building downtown. A white, single-story, brick structure, it has the feel of a long, narrow classroom with one full wall of windows. The remaining three walls are decorated with photos of baptisms and celebrations, and art work made by the children.
When we arrive at the church, we are greeted by a handful of teens and pre-teens who we put to work carrying food, water coolers and large casserole cookers. We work together awkwardly. The kids hover briefly before someone asks for their help. Once asked, they are eager to chip in, but no one provides introductions or offers a hand to shake.
Inside, we busy ourselves cutting bread, arranging plates, and checking the temperature of our casseroles. We confine ourselves to one end of the church -- the end without windows -- as the congregation begins to grow at the other end of the room.
Alone, I break away to wander the room and admire the photos covering the walls, noting in particular a newspaper article that describes the day Mary Wilson of the Supremes came to sing and talk with the members of this church. I return, unsatisfied, to the dark end of the room without any further interaction.
Letha, one of the directors of the church, ventures down to our end of the room and thanks us for providing the supper. She invites us to participate in the service, which is about to begin. The six of us crowd around a table intended to seat four and settle in for music and prayer.
The pastor says a few words then hands the service over temporarily to CJ, the keyboardist and band leader, who injects life into the room with his lyrics of conviction, his demeanor of peace and his bright, multi-colored attire.
We clap and nod shyly with the music. We sing softly, and we open our bibles as the pastor requests. When he talks about the shots fired on his block last weekend, we cringe. When he notes that any of those stray bullets could hit his wife or son, our eyes widen in fear. His wife listens. Perhaps she tightens her grip on her son who smiles on her lap.
The pastor moves on to belittle the power of weapons in comparison to the power of faith, and we nod approvingly. The message is aimed primarily at the teens, who are threatened repeatedly with a canceled trip to Cedar Point when they don't pay attention. It's a threat they take seriously, and again we nod our approval.
After the service, we retreat behind the buffet table and serve apple sauce, marzetti, bread and brownies. We offer multiple helpings, countless options and large portions to go.
But we do not offer ourselves.
Our conversation is confined to food, our eye contact is limited, and we never provide our names.
I leave feeling thirsty, hungry and alone.
I don't sign e-mail appeals, but if you sent me a petition that said, simply:
I am a person of faith and my views are not represented by the Religious Right.
I would sign it with aplomb and forward it to everyone I know.
Disgusted with the type of Christianity portrayed by the Religious Right, I've been concentrating on what faith means to me. In the process, I've discovered many great blogs and a lot of good books (reviews to come).
Then, in the midst of all this pondering, I found a series of comic strips - of all things - that depict God simply and beautifully: Augustine Interviews God. My favorite is part six. Which do you like best?
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