Monday 29 April 2013

17. My Resistance to Atheism and the Ideology of the Individual


I recently began to read the writings of a prominent atheist.  I think he has some very valid points, even though I find that he is overconfident in the evidence of scientific observation.  One only has to consider that previous scientific theory and models have been replaced as our understanding of the world around us has expanded to understand the concept of overconfidence.  As well, this author should be aware that the absence of evidence is not the same as evidence of absence.  But for his valid points – Christians seemingly abandon compassion and intelligence in exchange for arrogance and judgmentalism.
          And while I do believe that there have been atrocious acts by groups using religion as their motivation I also know that these same groups would also use other justifications.  To think that Islam had anything to do with 9 -11 is to totally misunderstand the political dynamics involved.  And yet, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people perished at the hands of Christian Imperialism.  (We can claim that it was one particular institution, however, the inquisitions were done in the name of Christ.)
          To many it matters not if God grieved those acts committed in his name.  To many it was the belief in God that created and propagated such violence.  And it still continues.  Ignore the Westboro Baptist Church and their “God Hates Fags.”  In the same sex marriage debate we have reached beyond our church doors in an effort to condemn others, and deny them the right to express their lives and loves in a manner that respects their freedom.  One should read St. Paul’s opinion on how to relate to the world outside of our church.
          We as the body of believers, I believe, need to pay attention to what they say.  Those pesky atheists challenge our faith in ways that we are not able to do.  They see our faith in a different light; they see us from the outside.  While we need always be cautious as to not compromise our faith, we should appreciate their point of view.
          Yet.
          For reasons other than I am a Christian, I resist the ism of Atheism.  Forget that most Atheists I know are just as obnoxiously outspoken as most Fundamentalist Christians.  (Those Atheist friends of mine reading this blog are not those of the obnoxious ilk.)  I have sat at dinner tables where people have been compelled to hold court about the glory of or the idiocy of the Lord.  Both have taken away an opportunity for people to grow closer to each other.
          My objection, or my resistance to Atheism, is the same that I have of Fundamentalism of any sort.  In fact, most of what I have seen of this atheist writer is a reaction to the doctrines of Fundamentalist Christianity, so in a very odd sense they are very similar.
          My resistance to Atheism goes further. 
          I resist Atheism because of what I see.  In the brand of Atheism I see, that which ridicules the faiths and beliefs of others, is an arrogance that everyone else is not only wrong, but deluded.  That the vast majority of us on this mud ball called earth, who have observed the world and have come to the conclusion that some creative energy must exist, God or otherwise, are mentally ill.  Atheism, as presented, is just another closed system of philosophy.  Many people’s faith based upon scripture dismisses that which disagrees with scripture on the basis of being wrong simply because it disagrees with that scripture, or their interpretation of that scripture.  Atheism, simply replaces scripture with self-defined reason.
          One only needs to consider the rapidly changing understanding of our world through the perspective of science and reason in recent decades to see that a world view of reason, is indeed a malleable perspective.  What we understood to be true in one decade is found to be not so in this next decade.  And need I remind those who base their beliefs on science, that they have within their spiritual heritage the absolute conviction that the earth was flat.
          I also resist Atheism because of what I don’t see.  I don’t see a sense of humility.  I don’t see a respect or tolerance for the struggle to answer the more pressing issues of life, albeit those I see as being crucial to our existence; issues such as what am I here for, is this all there is, what of me when I die?  I don’t see a sense of compassion.  I don’t see a sense of responsibility for those around us.
          What I do see, is simply the tired old ideology of the individual, with its self-interest, independence and self-reliance.  I have no scripture references for my perspective or my beliefs regarding this.  Rather my knowledge that a life independent of others is impossible.  Think about it, we would be unable to do all of what is required for us to enjoy life if not for those around us.  We are a herd animal.
          Contained within all religion, least those that I know of, and more than just Christianity, is a call to community.  The second Commandment that Jesus gave was to “Love your neighbour as yourself.”  Further, we are called to tend to those who need clothes, and who are sick and imprisoned. 
          While I do agree that much evil has been done in the name of religion, and from my perspective, especially Christianity, there have been greater atrocities committed by the belief that I am distinct and separate from you.  While, I choose to be a Christian based on my own logic and experience, if it was a matter of choosing between two evils, I would not choose Atheism.
          Later this week I will have lunch with a good friend of mine who is an Atheist.  Just as it is the more vocal of Christians that seem to be obnoxious, so it seems with Atheists as well.  My friend the Atheist laments the current popular perception of the belief that there is no god.  He finds no ire in my Christianity, and I have much respect for his quiet belief that he has but just this life live.  We both agree that it is within our community that we must make a difference.  

Tuesday 16 April 2013

15. Dark Saturday


.John 14:20 & 21 Very truly I tell you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.

There is an emphasis on Good Friday and Easter Sunday, but Saturday seems to be well: nothing.  I know that in some traditions that the church is made bare, the altar is covered in black.  Some hold no services or masses while others hold vigils.  And to be honest I am not overly concerned about what happens in terms of church services.  The scriptures reveal little about what happened between the burial of Jesus and his resurrection.

We have the benefit of knowing how the story ends; they didn’t.  After this past Good Friday service my wife and I went for lunch, a bit of shopping and then came home.  Those who were at the crucifixion spent Friday Evening in horror and disbelief wondering what was to come next.  The next day, the Passover Sabbath, must have seemed incredibly cruel.

What must have it been like to be one of those who loved Jesus on that dark Saturday?  Your son, your friend, your brother, your teacher is dead.  Your hope for the world was lost.  The great change was not coming.  The man who loved you, he knew how dark your soul could be and loved you anyway, was dead.  It must have been a dark time indeed.

I wonder what it would have been like to be one of the apostles on that day.  Coupled with your grief must have been profound guilt.  I think of Peter, the one who swore to never abandon Jesus, how overwhelmed he must have been.  Having sworn to never abandon him, Peter denies that he even knew Christ.

I know I would have been distraught that the Sanhedrin had won: those who load up followers with heavy loads.  It would have been a bitter time for me, and I would have been so angry at Jesus that this man that I had trusted and put my faith in, that I had believed was God, had let me down.  After all if he was the son of God, if he was the messiah, what the fuck was he doing dead?

There were serious expectations of the Messiah.  He was to overthrow the occupying forces, free Israel from tyranny, and establish a new Kingdom of God.  The jubilation of Palm Sunday as Jesus entered Jerusalem is replaced with the despondency of the following Saturday. 

We get to live the story in hindsight.  We talk of how there was victory on the cross, that all our hopes were realized on Golgotha.  But that first weekend it would have been inconsolable defeat.  For on the cross that Good Friday, their hopes would have died along side Jesus. 

That dark space between the cross and the resurrection has significance. 

It speaks to my soul and reminds me of darker times in my life.  It reminds me of the time between my coming to the Lord and my recovery from my addiction.  When I had come to Christ it was for the Hallmark variety religious experience.  You know – that one.  The one where my soul feels like the windows have been opened and fresh air is blowing through me, and I am all shiny and new.  Yes, that one.

I wanted to be saved.  I wanted a reprieve from the violence that was my family.  I wanted to be spared from my alcoholism and addiction.  I wanted to not go to hell, either in this life or the next. 

Instead I struggled as much as I ever had.  Nowhere to be seen was the life that I thought I had been called into having.  I tried; I prayed for strength, I prayed to be spared temptation, all, in an attempt to be good enough for God to love me.  Did I not have enough faith?  Had I not been one of those so luckily chosen before time to share in the grace of God?

I think we all need our Dark Saturdays: that time when we realize that Jesus is not going to do, and probably never will do, what we think he should do.  I needed that, that despondency of spirit, that time when I come to rely solely upon God and what he wants for my life.  

Funny enough mine came on a Saturday in November 1983.  I am not sure all of what happened at that time.  Somewhere in the mix of the despair, depression and hopelessness of realizing that I was not getting saved, I was, um, saved.  That day, that morning, when I looked at myself and asked, “What has become of me?”  That moment allowed me to accept what Jesus had to offer.

It was not the Hallmark variety of religious conversions.  I still struggled, my life was not shiny and new.  But there was victory of my addiction.  There was a deepening of my faith.  I am grateful for that time between accepting Jesus as my Lord and my recovery.  It has added a depth to my life, my faith and my relationship with him.  That would not have been there with the conversion I had wanted.

For me the message of Dark Saturday is clear. 

I need to stop deciding what God should do in my life, and in your life.  I think, that our expectations of what God should do need to die, just like they did on the first Good Friday.  But most of all I should stop thinking that I know what is the Grand Design for your life.

Monday 8 April 2013

14. The Tearing of the Veil


Matthew 27: 50 & 51 - And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.  At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.

The curtain of the temple symbolized our separation from God.  On one side we had the courts of the temple, the inner court where the priests served the people and God.  Then there was the Holy of Holies; the part filled with God.  The curtain, really a cloth wall, was several inches thick and served as a barrier.

Only the High Priest could enter it, and then only on a special day, and then only after having performed rites of cleansing.  He could go in behind the curtain to the Holy of Holies.  The others would tie a rope around his ankle just in case being in the pure presence of God killed the High Priest.  Then, they could then drag the body out. To me, this arrangement smacks of man not of God.

The day that the High Priest could go into the Holy of Holies, was Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.  So on our Day of Atonement, as Christ dies, the curtain in the temple is torn. 

The symbolism of the tearing of the curtain of the temples has always been clear, the veil of the temple being torn made clear that we were are now reconciled to God.  No longer were there to be the sacrifices and offerings of restitution for sin.  The price had been paid. 

I like the wording of the King James Version for Hebrews 4:16
Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.

But I wonder.

It would have been a busy day at the temple.  It was the festival of The Passover.  Jerusalem was crowded, and the temple, while maybe not full, was definitely busy in preparation for the Passover Sabbath. 

In the tearing of the veil, those in the temple could see into the holy of holies.  And I wonder what they saw?  For so long they had been prohibited from seeing inside the Holy of Holies, so they must have at first diverted their eyes.  Then after a while, they must have looked, at least peeked.  When those who were around them did not die, surely curiosity must have gotten the better of them.

I would have looked, even risking death I would have looked.  And what would I have seen?  I think I would have seen an empty room. 

Acts 17:24 & 26 “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by human hands. And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything. Rather, he himself gives everyone life and breath and everything else.

There is so much about Christ that set what we thought, what we believed, and what we did on its ass.  He held no deference for trifling ways of people.  He still doesn’t.  Nor should he. 

Jesus had been executed by the religious powers of his day.  We, you and I, need bear that in mind.  It was the power brokers of the temple that arranged for him to be hung on the cross.  Jesus had managed to anger those in authority by speaking truth, loving others and God.  In return they killed him.  I think that as the killed him, it was probable that he showed them that in killing God they were protecting an empty temple.

The tearing of the veil is much more than the one-upmanship of Jesus telling them they were wrong.  In his exposing that the religion of the day was empty, I think it was his plea for those who claimed to love God to see they had more interest in adhering to rules, than in actually loving God.  Spirituality had become a contest of who is the most holy, not a channel of our love for he that has created us.

I don’t see the tearing of the veil as being an act of anger, but of sorrow, of deep sorrow.  I think it was the same sorrow that overcame Jesus when he wept for Jerusalem. 

Yes, I think with the veil being torn that we are able to confidently approach God.  But I think the message of the torn veil may be a bit more humbling than that, and maybe a warning for us not to get caught up in what we do so much as to why we do it.