Archive for January, 2009

Heresy: Wrestling to a Draw

January 25, 2009 · Filed under religion and spirituality

As a self-designated “faithful heretic,” amid my ongoing conflicts, I can continue attending church though so often I end up in battle with the saints and the angels because there are important areas of agreement. In my sermon notes there are frequently panicked comments about a sermon on judgement or Jesus’ exclusive divinity that morph into a kind of surrender when it comes down (as it did in fact today) to the “believer’s” accepting his or her inadequacy and surrendering to God’s author-ity.

I began today before church with some reading in Andrew Harvey’s Son of Man—which attempts to rescue Christ from the death-grip of Jesus-ism. A contemporary heretic of the best (or worst) kind, Harvey declares that Jesus never claimed divinity and that he aimed not to establish but to overthrow all religions. At the same time, Harvey celebrates the unconditional universal love of creator / creation for—itself / itselves, declaring that true Christianity—in the mystical tradition of William Blake and Julian of Norwich—begins with an acknowledgment of the soul’s essential oneness with God.

I felt a little guilty walking into church with this sacrilege ringing in my heart and prepared myself to consume second Corinthians so I could ignore the preaching I knew would focus on Jesus as singular savior and necessarily crucified, etc, etc, etc. I wasn’t completely wrong. the preacher did indeed echo a line I’ve heard before when I questioned whether Jesus is the only path: “Why did he have to die” if not to save us (me, you, everyone) from sin? That is, if other paths will work, why is this one there at all (I guess that’s a standard argument against any new plan: but the old one works fine. But this one seeks to be axiomatic.)

My answer is generally, maybe he didn’t “have to”—not in the sense of the choreographed (a.k.a. “purpose driven”) creation, which so distresses me with its lack of free will and surprise. Maybe he was led to because he had reached a point where self-sacrifice allowed him to accomplish two great things: first, to free himself for true union with the greater self—the Christ-soul, the Atman; and second to demonstrate that radical surrender to his followers.

But in spite of that (endlessly repeated) argument, I found myself completely at peace with several points Alex made and feeling that we’re headed to the same place even though his (and my fellow churchgoers’) path repudiates all other paths as leading to it. Here’s what I found I agreed with.

One, he said that the nakedness of Adam and Eve was not (or not exclusively) a lack of clothing but a complete openness between them and the creator: a mutual consciousness, if you will, a shared psyche. Humanity’s “natural” state is communion with the divine.

He also said that our own (rational) efforts to unite with God are fraught with failure and, ultimately, doomed. We must surrender and let the power of God / the universe wash through us. That power and awareness, which I (and maybe both of us) call Christ, leads us (as the Psalm says) beside still waters and restores our souls. As lilies of the field, we simply awaken to the eternal presence of divinity with and within us and, letting go of our petty claims to knowledge, wisdom and control, are led toward the essence of ourselves—or rediscover it. That enduring essence, bound up as it is with things eternal, outlasts this existence and buffers us against the trials we face—though it does not relieve us of the duty to address those trials when they cause other creatures / beings to suffer. (This remains, I believe, Christianity’s great contribution to sacred tradition: that relieving suffering of fellow beings and, generally, action in the world are part and parcel of the redeemed, enlightened, saved spirit. That willingness to sacrifice for the good of the whole is both a catalyst to and a fruit of spiritual maturity. Unless you’re doing some of that you’re probably not far enough beyond your own ego.)

We can surrender to and become like “God” because we are, first and foremost, “children” of “God.” This means we are by definition lovable—because (in the most central tenet—I think—of any Christian theology) God is love and loves unstintingly. Harvey extends this to plants, rocks, giraffes and fireflies. My church friends probably stop with people, but the essential message, which is naturally for people, remains the same. As offspring of the heavenly (chips off the old block), we can become like God, like Christ. We are of the same nature and stock, “heirs” as Paul says.

Thus redeemed by surrender to Christ (not by Jesus per se) we take up our staffs (and crosses) and follow because the journey leads to reunion—with the family, with the originator, with what we always were.

Sin is separation and blindness. We are separate from God not because we do what is wrong but because we cannot do what is right outside of recognizing that our actions and behaviors originate in God and are redeemed by definition if we simply acknowledge that. Like the prodigal son, just by coming home we receive blessing. It’s the relationship—the identification, even the identity—that matters not what we do.

Except that, once returned to that “nakedness” we must redeem the world. For God’s love mandates that. Other laws, divine or otherwise, are stand-ins for the law of love. As Jesus said, “Love God” and “love your neighbor” “on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” That’s all it’s about: Love.

And on that, my church friends and I most emphatically agree.

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Religulous? He sought. He found.

January 10, 2009 · Filed under film and tv, religion and spirituality

I didn’t want to see Religulous because I suspected it would be a broad-stroke, sardonic attack on Christianity–which it is. Oh, Maher throws in a couple of scenes of rabbis with quirky, non-mainstream views, but 90% of the footage and script concerns those crazy, unscientific, literal-minded Christians–including some particularly juicy footage of glossalalia (or speaking in tongues). What surprised me is that the film is not funny.

Okay. You’re thinking: well obviously she’s a Christian or a Christian sympathizer, of course she wasn’t amused. But, no, really, there wasn’t much laughter in the whole theater and my husband, who DID want to see it didn’t laugh either. Funny, it turns out, wasn’t the point. Maher (as those who’ve seen it can attest) used this film as his addition to the Christopher Hitchens / Sam Harris genre. The film is Maher’s essay declaring religion the greatest threat to civilization.

He has a point as did the others before him. Violence in the name of religion is undeniably a force for evil and destruction and, I would say, the greatest threat to religion itself, ultimately. And blind faith interferes with scientific investigation as it always has. But I’m not here to tease out the ways religion intertwines with other aspects of ethnicity and the fact that people have religions, people live on land with resources and wars are fought over territory and power–on earth–using God or whatever deity or concept as the precept for drumming up fervor at home. And I won’t go into the other side, that some force needs to temper wanton scientific inquiry for its own sake that neglects profound ethical imperatives, some of them as old as Moses.

Maher has another group of points: literal, fundamentalist faith must negotiate a mine-field of contradictions. True. But as his much underplayed and quite funny contact at the Vatican hinted, many people of faith disparage that God-said-it-I-believe-it-that-settles-it bumper-sticker-fitting version of spiritual / religious experience. Maher doesn’t even let this man at the gates of St Peter’s say what he does think. We watch the priest  chuckle through Maher’s challenging questions about literal beliefs (Adam and Eve is his favorite even though even many of the most literal believers in Christ will tell you “Oh, that’s mythology.”) agreeing with Maher. Adam and Eve? Ridiculous, the priest agrees. Does it bother him that people believe these things literally? Yes, abosolutely the priest answers–but what are you gonna do? And he laughs.

But the priest still works there–and don’t tell me he couldn’t get work somewhere else, he’s obviously bright, engaging and of course has a good education. He works at the Vatican because even without those stories (in addition to creation Maher spent a long time on Jonah–did we really believe he lived 3 days in a whale . . . or a great fish?) the priest like many others finds meaning, power, depth and, yes, reality.

Maher’s not interested in that. He’s looking for the most outrageous extremes of the phenomena that exasperate him–and he finds them. He spends a little time on Islam–not much quality time but he gives it lip service. He betrays his own atheistic Zionism speaking with a rabbi who believes Israel is too sinful to live in the promised land. (This guy was my hero in the film because he kept saying, “Let me finish.” Something Maher almost never lets anyone do if he disagrees–a bad habit I observed ten years ago when he had his roundtable discussion show on late night TV.) Unfortunately, even though this guy persevered through several such intrusions, he didn’t finish and we didn’t get to understand his whole point of view. Maher leapt to the conclusion that the man approved of the holocaust and stormed off angrily shouting, “Never again.” This from a half-Jew-half-Catholic who was raised on the catechism. Apparently even without belief he is capable of ethnic loyalty–does that tell you anything?

Maher’s not looking for thoughtful religion. He’s looking for the ridiculous so he can ridicule it (unfortunately without much humor), declare it unscientific and illogical, take that as proof that all religion is wrong (at least all Christian religion) and ultimately declare atheism the salvation of the world. Atheism and science.

Maher is not seeking–and so he misses–the still small voice of God, which he mocks by giving its mention to a man playing Jesus at the Holy Land Experience). He misses the peace of God. And while challenging (with good reason) the notion of a switchboard God, frantically answering the myriad prayers of humans in all languages simultaneously clamoring for attention, he misses the amazed realization even the marginally faithful sometimes experience, that prayers are answered. “Coincidence” declares Maher striding off-. But in small and large things,  answered prayer is a mighty convincing experience.

These fields have just as many boobytraps for the atheist as for the blindly complicit believer. These issues are deep, wide, engrossing and enveloping. Those who really address them confront the ultimate and the infinite in awe and with a humble inadequacy. Mystics all throw up their hands and declare, “Ineffable!” Or they turn to poems, which are all but ineffable by definition. Oxymoron, metaphor and yes, mythology take the place of Aquinas style theology because in the face of our “maker, redeemer, . . . and friend” as the old hymn puts it–as we “lean on everlasting arms”–we are hard put to express our experience and all but prohibited from reconciling the contradictions. Yet, there we stand with the priest at the Vatican laughing at scorn, shaking our heads and going back in to immerse ourselves once more in the presence of God.

Maher is right–very right. And absolutely wrong. He looked for what he wanted to find and, as we might have told him, he found it. If he’d made it funnier I might be more forgiving. But, he wanted to make a point. And he did.

He returns to the site where “Christians believe the world will end”. Standing on a this barren, rocky place–one like so many in the Biblical landscape, he says he’s calling for doubt, because doubt is humble. This is an excellent point and quite soft given the rabid tone of the rest of the film. Doubt is humble and humbling. Willingness to acknowledge contradiction and deal with it is indeed essential to our efforts to bridge the appalling chasms between our world systems and world views which are undoubtedly :-) rooted in the mythologies and rituals we hold dear.

Doubt is necessary for the unbeliever too. Doubt that acknowledges the surprising fact that religion persists in the face of the challenges logic, science and contrary theologies. Doubt that acknowledges as Maher does, too, at one point, “I don’t know. That’s my message.”

The same man who told Maher of the still small voice (and he was a pretty ridiculous figure, I admit) also told him he has a “god shaped hole” one that only God can fill. Ironically, Maher is filling that hole with a quest to trounce God in his sanctuary. He chases him down like a cockroach using the great boot of his not very funny satire, calling all other atheists to join him in the hunt–and save the world (sound familiar?). But he spent two hours of my time talking about God and from all that one of the memorable scenes I carry away is from a truckstop chapel.

In that scene–early in the film–Maher stands in what passes for the pulpit and challenges the men on his favorite issues. They’re literalists to a man. But Maher allows one to make a moving testimony of conversion–he had been a drug dealer and pimp. Then before he leaves Maher asks them to pray for him. Of course their prayer calls for him to find answers to discover God, but it’s heartfelt and across 15 rows of seats I could feel the heavyset trucker’s awkward hand on Maher’s head–a reaching out and contact that ineffably convey the thing both men were seeking–brotherhood, unity, peace of mind. The man’s grace filled up the screen (for me). And Maher too was moved, “Thank you for being Christ-like, not just Christian,” he says.

Then, Maher seeks to undercut the moment by saying, “Boy when he told me he was doing drugs and women, I wanted to say, and what was the problem with that?” But it’s hollow. Anyone who’s known addicts knows exactly the problem with that. Maher found the proof of his point. But the enormity of what he didn’t seek engulfs his message in the end.

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