“Religion is responsibility or it is nothing at all.” –Jacques Derrida
“Yale professor Harold Bloom observed that Karl Marx had it only partly right when he said that religion is the opiate of the people. More broadly speaking, it is the poetry of the people, both the good and the bad, for better and worse. According to Bloom, trying to attack or conquer such a massive target is almost as useless as blindly celebrating it. But religion can, and should be, objected to, questioned, and talked about.
Devastating criticism of religion is always part of religion. The religiously faithful aren’t just permitted to critique and complain and reform; they’re bound to do it by religion. Without it, there is no faithfulness. When religion won’t tolerate questions…it has an unfortunate habit of producing some of the most hateful people ever to walk the earth.” –David Dark, in “The Sacredness of Questioning Everything.”
Beginning with myself, since I know none quite so well: I grew up in a Christian home. Conjure up stereotypical ideas or memories of “that Christian family” you knew. It may be close to my life. I accepted the existence of God as firmly as the peas on my plate, and the Bible as His revealed will for us was as real as my running bath water.
It took a long time to realize that not everyone believed the same thing. That was confusing. God and religion were a set of rules that I felt happy when I followed and guilty when I didn’t. They made me a moral person, but not a good person. “We may quote a verse, put it in a Power Point presentation…but if it doesn’t scandalize or bother us, challenging our already-made-up minds, we aren’t really receiving it. Not religiously anyway (David Dark).”
But somewhere along the way something changed. I met God. I found something bigger than myself to live for, and I am in for the long haul. “In the end, it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything.” –Thomas Merton
Church—denominations? I still haven’t figured that out. Community church, Baptist church…they felt the same, and that was what was important to me. They felt like home. There was doctrine, but I don’t remember spending a lot of time arguing about it. You believed it or you didn’t. You got out of it what you were ready to receive.
At the Missionary Baptist church, to keep from politically correct or incorrect terms, we simply referred to race as food: I was a “strawberry,” while my best friend Deandra was “chocolate.” I was the whitest thing there, next to the choir robes. I can still hear the music—tight harmonies, rhythm, and passion. There was an absence of men, but overabundance of generosity, personal involvement, and food—no one had a better BBQ. I wasn’t just home, I was family.
To continue my over-simplistic generalizations of different denominations, my uncle is a Lutheran pastor, which seems to involve a lot of tradition. Certain phrases are repeated, prayers are read from a book, and wine is for communion. But then again, my aunt is a pastor as well which isn’t so traditional.
One set of grandparents were Methodists, and I remember services in a big, old building that seemed stuffy, even with the high ceiling, but perfect for the bell choir. The other set were Apostolic Christian, meaning the men sat on one side and the women sat on the other. They sang acapella, and I found something refreshing in the simpleness.
I had a friend who told me he was Presbyterian. I asked him what that meant and he said it meant that doctrine was important and that he needed to study it more. I visited Pentecostal churches, which were very emotional. I kept looking around, wondering if they were for real, or just faking it. I kept waiting to see if I would “get” whatever they had. I didn’t.
Church in Brazil is charismatic and colorful, as are the Brazilians themselves. They sit for longer sermons, often dance, and begin and end whatever hour the people are there. Brazil is Catholic like America is Christian, but Evangelicalism is growing, especially in the lower socio-economic classes. Churches are most often small groups, meeting in homes.
Why Christianity? He chose me. We pattern our choice of religion after what we admire. Many of my friends grew up Christian but then saw only hypocrites and nothing to admire, and left. That is the power we have on one another. I admired God himself and a personal relationship. The rest got thrown in and like family—“love ‘em and hate ‘em and can’t get away from ‘em.”
“There’s a whisper of revolution whenever people really speak to one another and really listen.” –David Dark
“Baha’i are people who believe in God,” A friend told me, “Who believe they have a soul that needs nourishment and care, and that other people in the world also need that. It teaches that religion is progressive, that it goes in a cycle, and Baha’u'llah (which means Glory of God) is the latest messenger in the successive line of Messengers from God. We believe in all the major prophets like Moses, Buddha, Christ, Krishna, Zoroaster, Mohammed, etc. These messengers have brought a lot of the same teachings, and at their cores, they all basically teach the same things, only they got more progressive as time went on.”
I told him I thought this was the easy way out—accepting everything. That Baha’i was a religion of knowledge—all the religious books are sacred and have things we need and must use in our lives. My friend pointed out that this was not easier, but harder, in that he felt so small in the vastness of all that needed to be learned. We agreed on many things, like seeking God, knowing God, and walking in His presence. We disagreed about Jesus being God’s only way to heaven. We agreed to cheer the other on in their search.
“If I am a good listener, I don’t interrupt the other or plan my own next speech while pretending to be listening. I am not in a hurry, for there is no pre-appointed destination for the conversation. There is no need to get there, for we are already here; if I am a good listener, what we have in common will be more than what we have in conflict.” –Merold Westphal
“Aunt” Brenda had short curly red hair, a dog named Moppet, and diabetes. She used a scooter most of the time I knew her, which I thought that was great because she let me ride on her lap and honk the horn. Aunt Brenda was Jewish, and like everything else about Aunt Brenda, it was very pronounced. I remember going to a Jewish community center for Purim, my favorite celebration with poppy seed triangle cookies, where I got to dress up like Esther. Esther was in my Bible too, so I didn’t think we were different at all. But Aunt Brenda seemed to think so.
My mom said it would be better for me not to talk about certain things around Aunt Brenda. Certain things like Jesus. Aunt Brenda liked me just fine, so we got along. I was in slight awe of her, being from a place talked about in the Old Testament. I wondered if she was any closer to God, since she was one of God’s chosen people. But Aunt Brenda didn’t seem to think she was very chosen.
My mother enjoyed saying “Chutzpah” and using a Jewish accent now and then, but mostly she loved Passover. We read books about the symbolism of Jesus foretold in the Jewish traditions. We had an old record of Jewish music that I would dance to as a little girl, but the best part was Matza, the unleavened bread. If you want to make me happy, give me Matza. During the Passover, they would take three Matzos, break the middle one, and hide half of it. All the children would hunt, and the finder would receive a prize.
The Jewish people are still waiting for their Messiah, while I believe that he has already come. I am awed at the price paid for this difference of belief. I read a book called “Girl Meets God” by Lauren Winner. She converted to orthodox Jewish, but became a Christian after college. She relates changing religions to getting a divorce and remarriage. Not easy. By the end she was able to not just look at the differences and what she left behind, but in the similarities, and what she brought with her.
Catholics went to big buildings that had stain glass windows, lots of pictures of a bleeding Jesus, and prayed to Mary. They had a pope and fish on Friday. That was all I knew. When I was little, I went to a nursing home and talked with an old man who told me he was Catholic. I decided to convert him. I gave him an explanation and asked if he believed that Jesus died for his sins, and he said yes. That Jesus was God’s Son and yet God as well? Yes, he believed that too. I went through every other doctrine my young brain could explain and he agreed with all of it. I pronounced him a Christian and went on with my life, a little more confused about what it meant to be Catholic.
History was full of Catholics and Protestants killing each other. That couldn’t all be about praying to Mary, could it? As I got to know some people who were Catholic, I learned that they came in all different shapes and sizes. Some seemed to be following a religion of symbols, statues, and traditions—while others seemed to be on the same page as I was—we both loved Jesus. I find it difficult to find or keep any grudges with someone who really loves Jesus.
While I have been challenged by Henri Nouween, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa, and a nameless girl who blogs about her life and Catholic faith, in Brazil Catholicism seems to be a different breed. Being 85% Catholic, each town has a saint and they celebrate its holiday with fervor. The Brazilian Catholics I have met feel empty. The big, old, beautiful buildings make me ache, cry, and want to fill them with something. With relationship. For so many, all of the things meant to bring them closer to God have just become relics that stand between them and God.
I mix up Buddhism and Hinduism. Buddha was the fat god, and the Hindus had all the gods with arms. Hinduism was the religion of so many gods you could not remember them all, a caste system, and Gandhi. Buddhism had no god, nothingness (nirvana), and the Dali Lama.
If age gets brownie points, Hinduism wins as the world’s oldest religion. It is the uniting of a lot of thoughts over a lot of time, but most often comes together under the Vedas, their sacred writings. They have 33 million gods, but really it is one god, with many names, and all is god (pantheism).
There are four castes, and then there are the untouchables. You are born, live, and die in your caste: that is your lot in life. There are four ends of life (purusharthas): the pursuit of material wealth and well being (Artha), the pursuit of love and pleasure (Kama), and the pursuit of liberation from concerns and worldly life (Moksha—liberation, like a drop into the ocean). These three come under the fourth, and main end, being Dharma, the pursuit of doctrine and duty of each caste system. Sorry, but Dharma only reminds me of “Lost.”
Buddhism began when Buddha broke off from Hinduism, and decided that no god was needed—you need to follow your own path to enlightenment. His Dharma is based on the four noble truths: there is suffering in life, suffering always has causes, the end to suffering is possible by ending the causes, and the Noble Eightfold Path is the way to end suffering. You should look up the Eightfold path for yourself. You do all this to become free from desiring anything. That is your goal. But “Having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. This is not logical, but it is often true.” –Spock from Star Trek
“Islam” means “surrender.” There is one God, and Muhammad was his prophet. The five pillars of Islam are declaration of faith, prayer, fasting (Ramadan), almsgiving, and pilgrimage. The Qur’an is their holy book, where Jesus was a prophet, but Muhammad was the last one, and more important.
When I was young, I learned that Muhammad had multiple wives, including one that was nine years old. I never forgave him for it. You can’t have Islam without Muhammad, and I don’t like him. I know there are many great men with many personal problems who do many great things…but this is my bias, and I admit it.
Religion: of strangers, friends, family, and myself. I have found things I agree and disagree with. I have asked myself why I feel that way about it, and sometimes I have answers and sometimes I don’t. I have asked what I am supposed to DO about what I know, and sometimes I have answers and sometimes I don’t.
“God is not made angry and insecure by an archaeological dig, a scientific discovery…or by people with honest doubts concerning His existence. God is not counting on us to keep ourselves stupid, closed off to the complexity of the world we’re in…I’m not required to cut off my questions or try to uncritically place my faith in particular doctrines. The call to worshipfulness is a call to employ my imagination and therefore the whole of my practice—a mindfulness that requires an engagement.” –David Dark
I wonder if I only want to know what is right and what I believe so I can go out and start yelling it. I can be sure of it. I can protest and do something and dare them to say I am wrong. Instead, I find that the center of religion, belief, and myself is relationship with God. And what flows from that relationship is love to all people. Those with the same beliefs and those with different beliefs. And that is what I needed to know.
“Reality, Philip K. Dick reminds us, “is that which, when you stop believing it, doesn’t go away.” It is the work of the prophet—the poet, the songwriter, the teacher, the preacher—to seek out reality and to never stop questioning it.” –David Dark
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