A theme that emerges a lot from my friends is that they would like their friends to pray for them, for some issue. It's not surprising. The people I hang with tend to be people with deep, abiding faith, and they know that I am such, also. And, so, I type on their post that I will pray for them.
Isn't typing easy?
Prayer, on the other hand. . .
Some examples: I pray for Kim and her daughter who have some difficult health issues. That prayer would be so empty, but I'm a dad to five, and I know the sleepless nights and endless worry. I can enter into their suffering, because I can identify. Typing is easy, but reminding myself of what that suffering was like, and thus pulling the prayer up from the depths of my soul, is something else again.
I pray for a former third-shift colleague who has battled some of the same health issues that I do, and has had a really (REALLY) significant new issue. Having been through much of that, I can pray for her from the depths. I hope you know that, even if I'm not with you, Pam, I am with you.
I pray for a niece (OK, technically a - niece-in-law?) who has had one child, is awaiting their second, and has had great difficulties each time. I've never been pregnant (how's THAT for stating the obvious?) but my wife and some daughters have experienced difficult pregnancies. I've never met Leah - I hope to some day - but I can pray from the depths because I've seen some of the problems of pregnancy up close and personal.
I have prayed for someone who works on the same program as I. Actually, I've prayed for her husband, who injured himself playing basketball. They thought it was a broken ankle. It wasn't, apparently, and we're glad. But, I tore a calf muscle once, and being immobile is pure misery. So, I pray for him, because of the misery. I pray for her, because my being immobile put those around me in misery.I'm guessing. . .
And I have prayed for my own family, in countless ways and for countless reasons. For myself, usually more than once a day, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
I would not suggest that a person can't pray for another's issues unless they have themselves gone through those same issues. That would be nonsense. I don't see God keeping a reject file of prayer, and those having troubles would appreciate all prayer from anyone.
As I look through this list, doesn't it seem that it's a shopping list? "God, I want this, and that, and - no, not that grape jam, I want the strawberry preserves!" And, maybe if our whole prayer is "God, I want the strawberry preserves!" we don't hear God saying, "My plan is grape jam. Sorry!" Or - "The strawberry preserves were to be your surprise later."
A second method of prayer has been a blessing to me. It's not "I want, I want, I want. . ." I still do the prayer of supplication, because I believe in the power of that prayer, and I love the awesome God in whom I believe. But, it is so easy for that to become a one-way conversation. So the other method of prayer I've found valuable:
Just be quiet. Listen. Rest in the presence of that awesome, loving God.
This is, in my experience, a far more difficult prayer to offer. You create a quiet space. And then, quietly enjoy His presence. But then your own mind keeps making its own noise. Try it sometime. Just sit quietly, even for five minutes. It won't take that long for your own thoughts to pop up, seemingly out of nowhere, and you can't just shove them back into place. (The secret here: DON'T fight those thoughts. Just become an observer as they float by.)
You may find it useful to enter into this prayer by a slow, meditative reading of a passage of Scripture. This should not be a long passage - a chapter is too much - and you read it until some word or phrase catches your attention. Focus on that. Turn it over and over in your mind. Let it become your prayer word.
Much has been written about this contemplative type of prayer, or centering prayer, and lectio divina ("divine reading"), and I won't try to capture it all. It has meant much to me.
As always, thanks for hanging with me for a few. I'd love your thoughts! I appreciate all of the responses to the posts, whether you agree or not. It helps me to know I'm not sailing these off into thin air.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Truly Random Observations and Musings. . .
. . .leading to no point in particular, but hey. . .
THIRD SHIFT: In one job or another I've been on third shift for seven or eight years. Those days are now done. I think. For the last year or so that I was on third we could watch TV. A little. Well. . .Not that I ever would. Nope. Not me. (Hmph.) During third shift by about three in the morning you realize that not only are your life and schedule all backward, but you're no longer even sure what they're backward from. You've either lost a day or jumped ahead one. You're so tired that your eyelids feel like boards and your face feels like drywall. Right when you're at your absolute worst the ad comes on the television. Lindsay Wagner, whose voice sounds like she just got up from a sound sleep - deep, thick, syrupy - talks about the wonders of that Sleep Number bed.It's just what a third-shifter needs to hear at that time of night. By the end of the ad we wouldn't even need a Sleep Number bed. Just a blanky on the floor and a coat for a pillow would do. Or the ad comes on for the sleep aid: "Only take ___ if you have eight hours to devote to sleep." You can only whimper "OK?!"
By the way, if you're trying to watch your weight, third shift is the absolute worst thing that could happen to you. Just sayin'.
A box of donuts almost got me killed one afternoon at work.
I got an e-mail from my U.S. Senator, Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa.) Haven't heard from the man for five years, but now he's up for reelection, so - well, you know. My computer labeled it "junk."
Smart 'puter!
I now work in the energy efficiency department for a midwestern utility. My job mostly consist of looking at a lot of rows of a lot of numbers. There are many people who do much more important stuff than I do in this arena. I'm proud and honored to have some as friends, Facebook or no Facebook. It amazes me that a small saving in kilowatt hours leads to a huge difference in the amount of noxious stuff that gets poured into the atmosphere.
I like that.
'Cuz I like breathing and stuff. Yes - breathing is good.(Don't tell the smokers that.)
ON MSN.COM: "Shipwreck discovered in Lake Michigan." So that's where the Cubs went.
TALK ABOUT BADLY TIMED COMMERCIALS. . .They run Viagra and Cialis commercials in prime time? Seriously? I wonder how many parents have had to have THE talk earlier than they wanted to because. . ."Mommy, that man has ED. What's that?" "OK I know you're six, but sit down. . ."
Well, enough random musings from me. I'd love your reactions.
As always, thanks for hanging out for a few!
THIRD SHIFT: In one job or another I've been on third shift for seven or eight years. Those days are now done. I think. For the last year or so that I was on third we could watch TV. A little. Well. . .Not that I ever would. Nope. Not me. (Hmph.) During third shift by about three in the morning you realize that not only are your life and schedule all backward, but you're no longer even sure what they're backward from. You've either lost a day or jumped ahead one. You're so tired that your eyelids feel like boards and your face feels like drywall. Right when you're at your absolute worst the ad comes on the television. Lindsay Wagner, whose voice sounds like she just got up from a sound sleep - deep, thick, syrupy - talks about the wonders of that Sleep Number bed.It's just what a third-shifter needs to hear at that time of night. By the end of the ad we wouldn't even need a Sleep Number bed. Just a blanky on the floor and a coat for a pillow would do. Or the ad comes on for the sleep aid: "Only take ___ if you have eight hours to devote to sleep." You can only whimper "OK?!"
By the way, if you're trying to watch your weight, third shift is the absolute worst thing that could happen to you. Just sayin'.
A box of donuts almost got me killed one afternoon at work.
I got an e-mail from my U.S. Senator, Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa.) Haven't heard from the man for five years, but now he's up for reelection, so - well, you know. My computer labeled it "junk."
Smart 'puter!
I now work in the energy efficiency department for a midwestern utility. My job mostly consist of looking at a lot of rows of a lot of numbers. There are many people who do much more important stuff than I do in this arena. I'm proud and honored to have some as friends, Facebook or no Facebook. It amazes me that a small saving in kilowatt hours leads to a huge difference in the amount of noxious stuff that gets poured into the atmosphere.
I like that.
'Cuz I like breathing and stuff. Yes - breathing is good.(Don't tell the smokers that.)
ON MSN.COM: "Shipwreck discovered in Lake Michigan." So that's where the Cubs went.
TALK ABOUT BADLY TIMED COMMERCIALS. . .They run Viagra and Cialis commercials in prime time? Seriously? I wonder how many parents have had to have THE talk earlier than they wanted to because. . ."Mommy, that man has ED. What's that?" "OK I know you're six, but sit down. . ."
Well, enough random musings from me. I'd love your reactions.
As always, thanks for hanging out for a few!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Hello, young lovers
On June 21, 2010, Cindy and I will celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary.
Happy anniversary, dear. It wasn't until we'd been married 25 years that we really began to know what this means: I love you. And I love you now more than I ever have.
I've been around long enough to have observed this first point: Most relationships end badly. They do. And that's probably a good thing. It's a good thing to be sure that you're matched up with THE ONE before committing yourself permanently. Men and women being men and women, and hormones being hormones (OK, no one reading this needs THAT talk, do you?) carries the implication that you'll burn through more than one relationship before getting to THE ONE. That's all well and good.
I've been around long enough - in a 35-year-so-far marriage, after all - to know the second point: Relationships aren't easy. They are hard work. The initial glow doesn't last forever. The commitment does. In any relationship there will be times when you'll think that the only reason you're staying together is that commitment. We've worked through those times, Cindy and I. And now we have our 35 years together.
There will be mornings when you wake up, look at each other and say, "Who ARE you?" (Alternative version: "Lord, what did I get myself into?") There will be times when you don't even like each other much. But, if the commitment and vows are central for you you will work through those times.
There will be long hours and days spent in the hospital when the other is sick or hurt. There will be nights when the two of you are deciding who will spend tonight in the hospital with your sick child.
There will come the time when you realize that you're not as young as you were. Cindy married a healthy Navy guy. Now she's got a diabetic who has had open heart surgery and occasional difficulty getting around. We both know what the words meant, though: "For richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health. . ." Believe it or not, "in sickness" is usually easier than "in health." (I don't know how this happened, but Cindy stopped aging some time ago. She's still 30. I, on the other hand. . .)
There will be the times when you are responsible for kids, which carries agonies of its own. Then will come the time when you're not responsible any more, and the pain is different, but there.
There's a lot of garbage to carry out - a lot of coupon-clipping and shopping the off-brands - a lot of dishes to be done - a lot of choices to be made when each of you needs to buy something, but you can only afford one of the items. It's difficult sometimes to compromise on what you want without compromising who you are. As you get older you get the knack. Trust me - we've worked through this too.
So, we've worked through all of this, and now we have 35 years. I'm only beginning to learn what I need to learn. But I know this:
I love you, Cindy. I can't wait to see what the next 35 years bring.
Grow old with me;
The best is yet to be -
the last of life, for which the first was made.
Happy anniversary, dear. It wasn't until we'd been married 25 years that we really began to know what this means: I love you. And I love you now more than I ever have.
I've been around long enough to have observed this first point: Most relationships end badly. They do. And that's probably a good thing. It's a good thing to be sure that you're matched up with THE ONE before committing yourself permanently. Men and women being men and women, and hormones being hormones (OK, no one reading this needs THAT talk, do you?) carries the implication that you'll burn through more than one relationship before getting to THE ONE. That's all well and good.
I've been around long enough - in a 35-year-so-far marriage, after all - to know the second point: Relationships aren't easy. They are hard work. The initial glow doesn't last forever. The commitment does. In any relationship there will be times when you'll think that the only reason you're staying together is that commitment. We've worked through those times, Cindy and I. And now we have our 35 years together.
There will be mornings when you wake up, look at each other and say, "Who ARE you?" (Alternative version: "Lord, what did I get myself into?") There will be times when you don't even like each other much. But, if the commitment and vows are central for you you will work through those times.
There will be long hours and days spent in the hospital when the other is sick or hurt. There will be nights when the two of you are deciding who will spend tonight in the hospital with your sick child.
There will come the time when you realize that you're not as young as you were. Cindy married a healthy Navy guy. Now she's got a diabetic who has had open heart surgery and occasional difficulty getting around. We both know what the words meant, though: "For richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health. . ." Believe it or not, "in sickness" is usually easier than "in health." (I don't know how this happened, but Cindy stopped aging some time ago. She's still 30. I, on the other hand. . .)
There will be the times when you are responsible for kids, which carries agonies of its own. Then will come the time when you're not responsible any more, and the pain is different, but there.
There's a lot of garbage to carry out - a lot of coupon-clipping and shopping the off-brands - a lot of dishes to be done - a lot of choices to be made when each of you needs to buy something, but you can only afford one of the items. It's difficult sometimes to compromise on what you want without compromising who you are. As you get older you get the knack. Trust me - we've worked through this too.
So, we've worked through all of this, and now we have 35 years. I'm only beginning to learn what I need to learn. But I know this:
I love you, Cindy. I can't wait to see what the next 35 years bring.
Grow old with me;
The best is yet to be -
the last of life, for which the first was made.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Dad's Day
I was six when this happened. We lived in an old house at 918 W. 6th Street in Davenport. There's not even a house there any more and the current use of that lot is more constructive than the existence of that house would be. It had two apartments upstairs that shared a bathroom. There was one apartment downstairs. If you had the downstairs apartment you didn't have to share a bathroom and you even had a shower in the basement. Later we moved into the downstairs apartment. We were living large, indeed!
When I was six I went to Jefferson School in Davenport. I was a first-grader, and therefore mature enough to be in the throes of my first crush. It was for Miss Takano, our teacher. She was from Hawaii, and I took to all things Hawaiian. I must have looked awfully silly, using a bath towel as a substitute for a grass skirt, hula-ing my way around the house. Yeah - "cute" my a**. . .If anyone has pictures, please burn them.
On December 24, during that six-year-old first-grade year, we awoke to find that the door to one of our rooms wouldn't open. Try as we might, we couldn't budge that door. We were sure that Dad could open it, but there was a mystery too: Dad was nowhere to be found. It didn't occur to me that it might not be a coincidence that Dad was missing and there was a door jammed shut.
The next morning, Christmas morning, when we woke up Dad had magically reappeared. And, lo and behold, the door could be opened. When we did open it, we saw something new. There was a piece of plywood. It seemed monstrous to me, but I think it was really about four-by-six feet. Maybe 5x8. Most of the wood was painted grassy green. There were gray-silver streets painted onto it. There were small buildings attached; Dad had built a little village on that board. There were railroad crossing signals where railroad tracks crossed the street. Yes, railroad tracks, from the model electric train that was also on the board.
To this day I have a thing about trains, and if there's a childhood hobby I'd take up again if I could, it would be model railroading.
Another experience Dad shared with me also involved trains. Many years ago a company in the Quad Cities - I do not remember who - sold packages for Iowa Hawkeye football games. The package included a round-trip train ticket from the Rock Island depot almost to the gates of Kinnick Stadium. It also included game tickets and a box lunch. We made that trip in two consecutive years. The Hawks lost both times. I am no longer a fan of the Hawkeyes (I don't hate them; I pay no attention to them.) I am still a fan of the memory. And there's still that thing about trains.
What follows is my opinion, based on nothing more than my observation. Of the four types of parent-child relationships it seems to me that the relations that cross gender lines are the easiest to understand and maintain. Not that these are easy in any absolute sense. Relationships, no matter the nature, are complex and require hard work. But, I think that fathers and daughters, and mothers and sons, understand each other comparatively well. Mother-daughter relationships can be a bit more difficult, but the hardest to understand of all of them may be the father-son relationship. I have no idea why. I can't substantiate that by research. My feelings won't be hurt if you tell me I'm wrong, or that your experience is different. But my Dad and I were certainly no exception. Neither are my son and I. I love both my Dad and my son dearly. We do try, and most of us get to where we should be. I just think the dynamics of that are really tough to grasp. It's the stuff of The Brothers Karamazov and Field of Dreams, not to mention the greatest of all short stories, the Parable of the Prodigal Son.
Dad never claimed allegiance to either political party. "Vote for the man, not the party," he'd say. But when he voted for the man it was Landon, Willkie, Dewey, Dewey, Ike. . .The one exception was in '64. He voted for LBJ because he couldn't stand Goldwater. Dad later regretted this. I voted for a Republican - Nixon - with my first vote for President. I have not since voted for any Republican. For anything. At any level. I don't think Dad put much of a stamp on me there!
There were other arenas in which Dad most definitely left his mark. Dad read the newspaper every day. He was a tool-and-die maker who could teach some civics teachers a thing or two. I skim - and sometimes more - six or seven papers a day. Dad would have done that, too, if he'd had the internet. We're both news consumers of the first order.
We both loved baseball first, with football a close second. Basketball and hockey? Something to fill time between the real sports. We both had a firm grasp of the history of the game. Ted Williams hit .406 with 37 home runs in 1941. Lefty Grove was 31-4 in 1931. Joe DiMaggio had his 56-game hitting streak the same year that Williams hit .406. The highest single-season batting average in the modern era was by Rogers Hornsby (.424). These days we would be astonished if someone hit .367 over a single season. Ty Cobb hit that over a 20-year career. These are things that Dad and I would both know off the top of our head.
We both valued concepts like work. . .duty. . .fidelity. . .honor.
We lost Dad in 1984. Our daughter Cheryl was eight; Becky was six. None of the others were old enough to have any real memory of him. I think of him frequently, and I miss him every time I do. In a very real sense I carry him with me still - with every step, in every gesture, with every glance.
This Father's Day, for those who still have your father with you, tell him you love him. Try to tell him how much you appreciate him. He may get all gruff and act like he doesn't need all that. He does. For those who have lost their father, the pain of loss never goes away. Your hurt is my hurt too. In the end the sweetness of the memories and the gratitude for their life and for what they shared with you will win out.
Thanks, Dad. I love you.
And thanks to those who've read this for hanging with me for a few. Love to know what you think.
When I was six I went to Jefferson School in Davenport. I was a first-grader, and therefore mature enough to be in the throes of my first crush. It was for Miss Takano, our teacher. She was from Hawaii, and I took to all things Hawaiian. I must have looked awfully silly, using a bath towel as a substitute for a grass skirt, hula-ing my way around the house. Yeah - "cute" my a**. . .If anyone has pictures, please burn them.
On December 24, during that six-year-old first-grade year, we awoke to find that the door to one of our rooms wouldn't open. Try as we might, we couldn't budge that door. We were sure that Dad could open it, but there was a mystery too: Dad was nowhere to be found. It didn't occur to me that it might not be a coincidence that Dad was missing and there was a door jammed shut.
The next morning, Christmas morning, when we woke up Dad had magically reappeared. And, lo and behold, the door could be opened. When we did open it, we saw something new. There was a piece of plywood. It seemed monstrous to me, but I think it was really about four-by-six feet. Maybe 5x8. Most of the wood was painted grassy green. There were gray-silver streets painted onto it. There were small buildings attached; Dad had built a little village on that board. There were railroad crossing signals where railroad tracks crossed the street. Yes, railroad tracks, from the model electric train that was also on the board.
To this day I have a thing about trains, and if there's a childhood hobby I'd take up again if I could, it would be model railroading.
Another experience Dad shared with me also involved trains. Many years ago a company in the Quad Cities - I do not remember who - sold packages for Iowa Hawkeye football games. The package included a round-trip train ticket from the Rock Island depot almost to the gates of Kinnick Stadium. It also included game tickets and a box lunch. We made that trip in two consecutive years. The Hawks lost both times. I am no longer a fan of the Hawkeyes (I don't hate them; I pay no attention to them.) I am still a fan of the memory. And there's still that thing about trains.
What follows is my opinion, based on nothing more than my observation. Of the four types of parent-child relationships it seems to me that the relations that cross gender lines are the easiest to understand and maintain. Not that these are easy in any absolute sense. Relationships, no matter the nature, are complex and require hard work. But, I think that fathers and daughters, and mothers and sons, understand each other comparatively well. Mother-daughter relationships can be a bit more difficult, but the hardest to understand of all of them may be the father-son relationship. I have no idea why. I can't substantiate that by research. My feelings won't be hurt if you tell me I'm wrong, or that your experience is different. But my Dad and I were certainly no exception. Neither are my son and I. I love both my Dad and my son dearly. We do try, and most of us get to where we should be. I just think the dynamics of that are really tough to grasp. It's the stuff of The Brothers Karamazov and Field of Dreams, not to mention the greatest of all short stories, the Parable of the Prodigal Son.
Dad never claimed allegiance to either political party. "Vote for the man, not the party," he'd say. But when he voted for the man it was Landon, Willkie, Dewey, Dewey, Ike. . .The one exception was in '64. He voted for LBJ because he couldn't stand Goldwater. Dad later regretted this. I voted for a Republican - Nixon - with my first vote for President. I have not since voted for any Republican. For anything. At any level. I don't think Dad put much of a stamp on me there!
There were other arenas in which Dad most definitely left his mark. Dad read the newspaper every day. He was a tool-and-die maker who could teach some civics teachers a thing or two. I skim - and sometimes more - six or seven papers a day. Dad would have done that, too, if he'd had the internet. We're both news consumers of the first order.
We both loved baseball first, with football a close second. Basketball and hockey? Something to fill time between the real sports. We both had a firm grasp of the history of the game. Ted Williams hit .406 with 37 home runs in 1941. Lefty Grove was 31-4 in 1931. Joe DiMaggio had his 56-game hitting streak the same year that Williams hit .406. The highest single-season batting average in the modern era was by Rogers Hornsby (.424). These days we would be astonished if someone hit .367 over a single season. Ty Cobb hit that over a 20-year career. These are things that Dad and I would both know off the top of our head.
We both valued concepts like work. . .duty. . .fidelity. . .honor.
We lost Dad in 1984. Our daughter Cheryl was eight; Becky was six. None of the others were old enough to have any real memory of him. I think of him frequently, and I miss him every time I do. In a very real sense I carry him with me still - with every step, in every gesture, with every glance.
This Father's Day, for those who still have your father with you, tell him you love him. Try to tell him how much you appreciate him. He may get all gruff and act like he doesn't need all that. He does. For those who have lost their father, the pain of loss never goes away. Your hurt is my hurt too. In the end the sweetness of the memories and the gratitude for their life and for what they shared with you will win out.
Thanks, Dad. I love you.
And thanks to those who've read this for hanging with me for a few. Love to know what you think.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Doubt and Faith
The story is told of two Jewish men from New York. They met in the street one afternoon. Their discussion turned to the existence or non-existence of a supreme being. One of the men says, "With all of the suffering in the world - with all of the kids in Africa and Haiti and even our own Appalachian region living on the edge of starvation - with heart disease and cancer being the killers they are, and Alzheimer's there for those unlucky enough to live into it - with mining disasters that take parents from children and spouses from spouses - how could it be possible that any God exists?"
The second man replies, "I lost my family in the Holocaust." Nothing more needed saying. If there is a God, where was He? How could we take seriously a God who so deserts His Chosen People?
Just then one of the men looks at his watch. "It's almost 3!" he exclaims. And the other replies, "Oh - we gotta hurry. We'll be late for prayers!"
I do frequently get myself caught up in the same sort of attitude - finding myself certain that no loving God could permit what seems to be going on, but then it's time for prayer.
Doubt and faith. Faith and doubt. I'm not sure that it's possible to have a meaningful, life-defining and life-changing faith unless you have first wrestled with the other side. Faith that is there only because of upbringing, because of cultural conditioning, is a start, and we'll take it as a start. But it's only a start. Mature faith, a faith to grow by, is faith that has had an honest encounter with its flip side, doubt.
If you are not familiar with Elie Wiesel's work you should become so. Wiesel survived the Nazi camps. His family didn't. He was in the same camp as his father. Wiesel went to sleep one night. His father was in a nearby bunk. When Wiesel awoke the next morning someone else was in his father's bunk. That's how Wiesel found out his father had passed away. In another passage Wiesel describes the hanging of another prisoner, a prisoner who had committed a terrible offense. Well, as terrible an offense as a ten-year-old could manage. Because of the boy's small size he was strangling for quite some time before death mercifully intervened.
After the war Wiesel moved to Paris to live with relatives.This boy, all of seventeen, recounts looking into a mirror, and seeing only a corpse looking back.
And the question, always the question: God, where were you? Were you busy? Had a better offer? Wiesel did come to a point where his faith and his Jewish tradition took on renewed meaning for him. But that question - that one question - can it ever go away?
Do you think that Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu - yes, Archbishop Tutu - went through their periods of doubt? How could they not?
And where was God in that June twenty-six years ago when I was living out of the back of my station wagon by a stream in western Pennsylvania, with my wife and kids in a perfectly good home 700 miles away? There was that night when I remember drinking two beers out of a case. I woke up the next day in my car, having no clue how I'd gotten there. I looked for what remained of the case of beer after the two cans I'd remembered drinking, and found out that I'd gone through the case. I remembered nothing after the first two. Just FYI: that's called a blackout. A blackout is a big red flashing warning sign that you're in trouble. Deep.
I had no right asking the "Where were you, God?" question. My damage was self-inflicted. I was the perp. But my wife and kids certainly could have been asking.
Every single one of the people I've described found their faith after - or during - their fight with doubt. Me too.
Why doesn't God just fix everything? In When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Abraham Heschel describes three characteristics attributed to God. God is all-loving. God is omnipotent. God is omniscient. Heschel's position is that we must surrender one of these attributes. That's not my answer. To me, to give up any of these is to give up God.
So why does God let this stuff happen? Short answer: I don't know. I wish I did. Or, maybe I should be glad I don't. I do know that my walk, as wobbly-legged as it is at times, is a walk of faith. It's faith that I only found on the other side of doubt.
As always, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for hanging out for a few, my friends!
The second man replies, "I lost my family in the Holocaust." Nothing more needed saying. If there is a God, where was He? How could we take seriously a God who so deserts His Chosen People?
Just then one of the men looks at his watch. "It's almost 3!" he exclaims. And the other replies, "Oh - we gotta hurry. We'll be late for prayers!"
I do frequently get myself caught up in the same sort of attitude - finding myself certain that no loving God could permit what seems to be going on, but then it's time for prayer.
Doubt and faith. Faith and doubt. I'm not sure that it's possible to have a meaningful, life-defining and life-changing faith unless you have first wrestled with the other side. Faith that is there only because of upbringing, because of cultural conditioning, is a start, and we'll take it as a start. But it's only a start. Mature faith, a faith to grow by, is faith that has had an honest encounter with its flip side, doubt.
If you are not familiar with Elie Wiesel's work you should become so. Wiesel survived the Nazi camps. His family didn't. He was in the same camp as his father. Wiesel went to sleep one night. His father was in a nearby bunk. When Wiesel awoke the next morning someone else was in his father's bunk. That's how Wiesel found out his father had passed away. In another passage Wiesel describes the hanging of another prisoner, a prisoner who had committed a terrible offense. Well, as terrible an offense as a ten-year-old could manage. Because of the boy's small size he was strangling for quite some time before death mercifully intervened.
After the war Wiesel moved to Paris to live with relatives.This boy, all of seventeen, recounts looking into a mirror, and seeing only a corpse looking back.
And the question, always the question: God, where were you? Were you busy? Had a better offer? Wiesel did come to a point where his faith and his Jewish tradition took on renewed meaning for him. But that question - that one question - can it ever go away?
Do you think that Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu - yes, Archbishop Tutu - went through their periods of doubt? How could they not?
And where was God in that June twenty-six years ago when I was living out of the back of my station wagon by a stream in western Pennsylvania, with my wife and kids in a perfectly good home 700 miles away? There was that night when I remember drinking two beers out of a case. I woke up the next day in my car, having no clue how I'd gotten there. I looked for what remained of the case of beer after the two cans I'd remembered drinking, and found out that I'd gone through the case. I remembered nothing after the first two. Just FYI: that's called a blackout. A blackout is a big red flashing warning sign that you're in trouble. Deep.
I had no right asking the "Where were you, God?" question. My damage was self-inflicted. I was the perp. But my wife and kids certainly could have been asking.
Every single one of the people I've described found their faith after - or during - their fight with doubt. Me too.
Why doesn't God just fix everything? In When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Abraham Heschel describes three characteristics attributed to God. God is all-loving. God is omnipotent. God is omniscient. Heschel's position is that we must surrender one of these attributes. That's not my answer. To me, to give up any of these is to give up God.
So why does God let this stuff happen? Short answer: I don't know. I wish I did. Or, maybe I should be glad I don't. I do know that my walk, as wobbly-legged as it is at times, is a walk of faith. It's faith that I only found on the other side of doubt.
As always, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for hanging out for a few, my friends!
Monday, June 14, 2010
More BP, then 'nuff of that for me
Yesterday's blog post was about the BP oil spill. There was some reaction. Interestingly enough, my wife reposted it on her Facebook page, and the post drew more comments from her friends than I did from mine. Hmmmm. . .I am grateful for all of it. I'm hoping for some discussion or observation any time I post. Those who know me know I'm a gentle, tolerant soul. I will take you seriously, and I only look like I bite. (That's a joke, son.)
I do want to respond to one of the responses. It tended toward a point of view contrary to mine, and that response deserves a serious, respectful response.
The person (I'm not using his name - not because of anger but because I'm not sure he would want it used) pointed out that this was an accident. My question: at what point in the BP hierarchy was this an accident?
There is no doubt in my mind that, among the rig workers, this was absolutely a tragic accident. Nobody wakes up in the morning and goes to work thinking, "Gee, I think I'll blow an oil rig, create an environmental catastrophe, and kill a bunch of coworkers while I'm at it." Nobody in their right mind would think that, and I'm confident nobody did. For the workers, it was an accident.
But a little higher up the ladder. . .from Wikipedia: " Internal BP documents show that BP engineers had concerns as early as 2009 that the metal casing BP wanted to use might collapse under high pressure. . . In March 2010, the rig experienced problems that included drilling mud falling into the undersea oil formation, sudden gas releases, a pipe falling into the well, and at least three occasions of the blowout preventer leaking fluid.[26] The rig's mechanic has stated that the well had problems for months and that the drill repeatedly kicked due to high gas pressure providing resistance. . .the blowout preventer was damaged in a previously unreported accident in late March 2010. . . Preliminary findings from BP’s internal investigation released by the House Committee on Energy and Commerce on May 25 indicated several serious warning signs in the hours just prior to the explosion." I won't quote the whole article. But the point is, BP knew this, and ordered drilling to proceed anyway.
Can you seriously refer to this as an accident from management's point of view? If you take your car around a sharp curve at 100 miles per hour, you will probably have a crash. You most certainly will not have an accident.
The person who responded pointed out that they put gas in your car. Let's not give them too much credit here - they didn't do it for charity - but he does point to a valid, larger issue. Our problem isn't just addiction to foreign oil. It's addiction to oil, foreign or domestic. It really doesn't matter if you boycott BP gas stations. They're usually franchisees, and you'll be hurting one of the innocent parties. When a service station needs to fill their underground tanks, in most instances they make phone calls to local storage facilities to see who has the best price that day, and that's where they buy. You may be in a Clark station, but the gas could be Shell. It could be BP. You don't know.
The ironic think is, it's still hard to find someone to admit that Jimmy Carter was right - just 30 years ahead of his time. And Al Gore? Maybe he's absolutely wrong. Maybe he's a complete crackpot. But. . .but. . .what if he's right? Al Gore has presented his evidence. Where's the contrary evidence? What if he's right?
BP does employ a lot of people. I just can't see the argument that employing thousands compensates for killing two dozen in two incidents. Yes, the workers knew what they had gotten into - deep water drilling is a risky business - but in this case the company's management seems to have ignored and maybe even worsened the risks. Criminally so? That remains to be seen.
This wasn't meant to be a broadside against BP, but maybe it was. Other companies do deep water drilling more safely. BP has a particularly bad track record. My heart goes out to the workers who were lost. . .to their families. . .to those who continue to work at this dangerous job. Bless you all.
But this doesn't change what I see as the larger issue in all of this. Many of both parties have noted that we are just too dependent on the gloopy toxic messy environment-killing stuff.
As always, thanks for hanging out with me for a few. I do hope I've been respectful in addressing this.
I do want to respond to one of the responses. It tended toward a point of view contrary to mine, and that response deserves a serious, respectful response.
The person (I'm not using his name - not because of anger but because I'm not sure he would want it used) pointed out that this was an accident. My question: at what point in the BP hierarchy was this an accident?
There is no doubt in my mind that, among the rig workers, this was absolutely a tragic accident. Nobody wakes up in the morning and goes to work thinking, "Gee, I think I'll blow an oil rig, create an environmental catastrophe, and kill a bunch of coworkers while I'm at it." Nobody in their right mind would think that, and I'm confident nobody did. For the workers, it was an accident.
But a little higher up the ladder. . .from Wikipedia: " Internal BP documents show that BP engineers had concerns as early as 2009 that the metal casing BP wanted to use might collapse under high pressure. . . In March 2010, the rig experienced problems that included drilling mud falling into the undersea oil formation, sudden gas releases, a pipe falling into the well, and at least three occasions of the blowout preventer leaking fluid.[26] The rig's mechanic has stated that the well had problems for months and that the drill repeatedly kicked due to high gas pressure providing resistance. . .the blowout preventer was damaged in a previously unreported accident in late March 2010. . . Preliminary findings from BP’s internal investigation released by the House Committee on Energy and Commerce on May 25 indicated several serious warning signs in the hours just prior to the explosion." I won't quote the whole article. But the point is, BP knew this, and ordered drilling to proceed anyway.
Can you seriously refer to this as an accident from management's point of view? If you take your car around a sharp curve at 100 miles per hour, you will probably have a crash. You most certainly will not have an accident.
The person who responded pointed out that they put gas in your car. Let's not give them too much credit here - they didn't do it for charity - but he does point to a valid, larger issue. Our problem isn't just addiction to foreign oil. It's addiction to oil, foreign or domestic. It really doesn't matter if you boycott BP gas stations. They're usually franchisees, and you'll be hurting one of the innocent parties. When a service station needs to fill their underground tanks, in most instances they make phone calls to local storage facilities to see who has the best price that day, and that's where they buy. You may be in a Clark station, but the gas could be Shell. It could be BP. You don't know.
The ironic think is, it's still hard to find someone to admit that Jimmy Carter was right - just 30 years ahead of his time. And Al Gore? Maybe he's absolutely wrong. Maybe he's a complete crackpot. But. . .but. . .what if he's right? Al Gore has presented his evidence. Where's the contrary evidence? What if he's right?
BP does employ a lot of people. I just can't see the argument that employing thousands compensates for killing two dozen in two incidents. Yes, the workers knew what they had gotten into - deep water drilling is a risky business - but in this case the company's management seems to have ignored and maybe even worsened the risks. Criminally so? That remains to be seen.
This wasn't meant to be a broadside against BP, but maybe it was. Other companies do deep water drilling more safely. BP has a particularly bad track record. My heart goes out to the workers who were lost. . .to their families. . .to those who continue to work at this dangerous job. Bless you all.
But this doesn't change what I see as the larger issue in all of this. Many of both parties have noted that we are just too dependent on the gloopy toxic messy environment-killing stuff.
As always, thanks for hanging out with me for a few. I do hope I've been respectful in addressing this.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
And then there was BP
And then there was BP.
My full-time job involves working with energy efficiency. I almost fell into the job, and I'm very glad I did. My view of our proper relationship to our planet is a stewardship view. This earth was not given to us to use in any way we wish. Rather, it's our task to care for it and pass it on in the best shape we can manage. I want all of my kids and grandkids - and all of your kids and grandkids - to enjoy this world, this marvel of God's creation, just as I have.
And then there was BP.
Working in energy efficiency does have its discouraging aspects. Even if we in the U.S. build every building to maximum possible efficiency - even if we convert our entire automobile fleet to all electric cars - even if we manage as an entire society to become completely carbon neutral - the increase in energy demand from China would eat our entire energy savings for breakfast. The problem with the Kyoto protocols (remember those?) wasn't what they demanded from us. It was in what they didn't demand from anyone else.
Even from China, there's some hope, although that hope is accompanied by another note of discouragement for us. The Chinese have moved into using more wind power. They have moved into the manufacture of the equipment for wind generation in a big way. The discouraging note? This is a field that could have opened up a lot of green jobs for us. The Chinese beat us to it. I'm not shocked. Our view of history tends to go back no further than the last election. Our idea of long-term financial planning gyrates between the Democrats' tax-and-spend-like-drunken-sailors policies, the Republicans' don't-tax-and-spend-like-drunken-sailors-anyway policies, and the new entrant, the Tea Partiers' all-we-want-is-everything-for-nothing policies. Our corporate mentality rarely thinks beyond the next quarter. Long-range planning, long-term investment? In any arena, at any level - FUHGEDDABOUTIT!
And then there was BP.
There have been those who suggested that President Obama should meet with senior executives of British Petroleum to discuss the situation. Never mind that an investigation has started to determine if the Gulf oil leak was a result of a crime or crimes. Just meet with the guy, will ya?
Gee, why didn't Herbert Hoover have a cup of tea with that nice Al Capone?
There is a congressman from Alaska who said that this was no catastrophe.. This was the same congressman who wanted the "Bridge to Nowhere" built. It's enough to make one think that Alaskan politicians have a loose attachment to reality. There is other such evidence. Alaska did have the Exxon Valdez. That incident was a fraction of the size of this Gulf spill, and clean-up should have been simpler. The Alaska coast was rocky, and water sprayed at high pressure was an available tool.
It's been 20+ years, and the effects are still felt.
A Republican does get some props from me. Governor Jindal of Louisiana has responded with the passion I'd hope for. Part of the reason I supported Obama in 2008, and will again in 2012, is his coolness of temperament and his formidable intellect. But this is a situation in which I'd like to see him fire in anger (not literally, OK?) as Jindal has done. I'd like to see how much this matters on a visceral, emotional level. There is such a thing as constructively losing it.
Even Jindal whiffed on the question of resuming and even expanding deep water drilling. I fear that the administration may miss this one too. My question for the "Drill, baby, drill" folks (and Sarah Palin is not alone on this front): You have now seen how things have gone terribly, terribly wrong. Before this happened oil executives talked much about their ability to drill safely in deep water. You saw the ads. You now know that they were lying. Not misinformed. Lying. But we bought it. Where was the voice that asked, "this well is under a mile of water. If something goes wrong, what's the action plan? You can't get divers down there and all equipment acts differently under the kind of pressure that's down there?" Nowhere, that's where the questioners were.
You have seen two explosions at these facilities in the past five years claim 26 lives. Are you OK with that?
Southern Louisiana has roughly 40% of our nation's wetlands, with incredible biodiversity. These wetlands may already have been thrown into a slow-motion but irreversible decline. That tool that was so handy in Alaska - that high-pressure water - would destroy those wetlands. Once the oil gets into the wetlands, there may be no cleanup available.
You want more deep water drilling? With no more assurances than we have now that the safeguards are adequate? We found out that there are no safeguards. Even if all the oil companies offered every assurance that this would never happen again, would we seriously believe them?
This evening as I walked from the kitchen to my den-home-officey-kind-of-room, Logan, our 6-year-old grandson, was playing at the kitchen table on our daughter's laptop. This caused some consternation to said daughter because Logan was supposed to be eating his dinner at the time. Meri, our 9-year-old granddaughter, just on the edge of preadolescent hormonal upheaval, was eating her dinner. Lovely brown-blond hair, green eyed, long-limbed Meri. Next week the Colorado grandkids will come here for a visit. We've got three in Quincy that we think about every day. And, one of our daughters married a guy with three kids, and they are now our grandkids too. Twelve in all. Twelve.
To all twelve of you: I have wanted to hand to you a world at least as awesome as the one I have had the privilege to enjoy. I've been to the top of Pikes Peak, and I have seen the view that inspired the writing of "America, the Beautiful." I've been on the ocean, and have seen darkness so thick it seems to have a density of its own - you feel like you could reach out and touch it. I've seen stars reflected in the ocean waters. I've felt the power of earthquakes and seen the might of thunderstorms. Just the quiet by an Iowa farm field is awe-inspiring if you know what to listen for. I have hoped to help preserve all of that for you.
I have done what I can. I am so sorry I could not do more.
Because then came BP.
My full-time job involves working with energy efficiency. I almost fell into the job, and I'm very glad I did. My view of our proper relationship to our planet is a stewardship view. This earth was not given to us to use in any way we wish. Rather, it's our task to care for it and pass it on in the best shape we can manage. I want all of my kids and grandkids - and all of your kids and grandkids - to enjoy this world, this marvel of God's creation, just as I have.
And then there was BP.
Working in energy efficiency does have its discouraging aspects. Even if we in the U.S. build every building to maximum possible efficiency - even if we convert our entire automobile fleet to all electric cars - even if we manage as an entire society to become completely carbon neutral - the increase in energy demand from China would eat our entire energy savings for breakfast. The problem with the Kyoto protocols (remember those?) wasn't what they demanded from us. It was in what they didn't demand from anyone else.
Even from China, there's some hope, although that hope is accompanied by another note of discouragement for us. The Chinese have moved into using more wind power. They have moved into the manufacture of the equipment for wind generation in a big way. The discouraging note? This is a field that could have opened up a lot of green jobs for us. The Chinese beat us to it. I'm not shocked. Our view of history tends to go back no further than the last election. Our idea of long-term financial planning gyrates between the Democrats' tax-and-spend-like-drunken-sailors policies, the Republicans' don't-tax-and-spend-like-drunken-sailors-anyway policies, and the new entrant, the Tea Partiers' all-we-want-is-everything-for-nothing policies. Our corporate mentality rarely thinks beyond the next quarter. Long-range planning, long-term investment? In any arena, at any level - FUHGEDDABOUTIT!
And then there was BP.
There have been those who suggested that President Obama should meet with senior executives of British Petroleum to discuss the situation. Never mind that an investigation has started to determine if the Gulf oil leak was a result of a crime or crimes. Just meet with the guy, will ya?
Gee, why didn't Herbert Hoover have a cup of tea with that nice Al Capone?
There is a congressman from Alaska who said that this was no catastrophe.. This was the same congressman who wanted the "Bridge to Nowhere" built. It's enough to make one think that Alaskan politicians have a loose attachment to reality. There is other such evidence. Alaska did have the Exxon Valdez. That incident was a fraction of the size of this Gulf spill, and clean-up should have been simpler. The Alaska coast was rocky, and water sprayed at high pressure was an available tool.
It's been 20+ years, and the effects are still felt.
A Republican does get some props from me. Governor Jindal of Louisiana has responded with the passion I'd hope for. Part of the reason I supported Obama in 2008, and will again in 2012, is his coolness of temperament and his formidable intellect. But this is a situation in which I'd like to see him fire in anger (not literally, OK?) as Jindal has done. I'd like to see how much this matters on a visceral, emotional level. There is such a thing as constructively losing it.
Even Jindal whiffed on the question of resuming and even expanding deep water drilling. I fear that the administration may miss this one too. My question for the "Drill, baby, drill" folks (and Sarah Palin is not alone on this front): You have now seen how things have gone terribly, terribly wrong. Before this happened oil executives talked much about their ability to drill safely in deep water. You saw the ads. You now know that they were lying. Not misinformed. Lying. But we bought it. Where was the voice that asked, "this well is under a mile of water. If something goes wrong, what's the action plan? You can't get divers down there and all equipment acts differently under the kind of pressure that's down there?" Nowhere, that's where the questioners were.
You have seen two explosions at these facilities in the past five years claim 26 lives. Are you OK with that?
Southern Louisiana has roughly 40% of our nation's wetlands, with incredible biodiversity. These wetlands may already have been thrown into a slow-motion but irreversible decline. That tool that was so handy in Alaska - that high-pressure water - would destroy those wetlands. Once the oil gets into the wetlands, there may be no cleanup available.
You want more deep water drilling? With no more assurances than we have now that the safeguards are adequate? We found out that there are no safeguards. Even if all the oil companies offered every assurance that this would never happen again, would we seriously believe them?
This evening as I walked from the kitchen to my den-home-officey-kind-of-room, Logan, our 6-year-old grandson, was playing at the kitchen table on our daughter's laptop. This caused some consternation to said daughter because Logan was supposed to be eating his dinner at the time. Meri, our 9-year-old granddaughter, just on the edge of preadolescent hormonal upheaval, was eating her dinner. Lovely brown-blond hair, green eyed, long-limbed Meri. Next week the Colorado grandkids will come here for a visit. We've got three in Quincy that we think about every day. And, one of our daughters married a guy with three kids, and they are now our grandkids too. Twelve in all. Twelve.
To all twelve of you: I have wanted to hand to you a world at least as awesome as the one I have had the privilege to enjoy. I've been to the top of Pikes Peak, and I have seen the view that inspired the writing of "America, the Beautiful." I've been on the ocean, and have seen darkness so thick it seems to have a density of its own - you feel like you could reach out and touch it. I've seen stars reflected in the ocean waters. I've felt the power of earthquakes and seen the might of thunderstorms. Just the quiet by an Iowa farm field is awe-inspiring if you know what to listen for. I have hoped to help preserve all of that for you.
I have done what I can. I am so sorry I could not do more.
Because then came BP.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Why I'm Catholic
I hate to go about it this way, but I' starting with a negative approach to this question. (This is a topic that will take more than one post. I promise I won't post them all in a row). Maybe today's post would be more properly called, "After all that's gone on in the past ten years, how could you possibly still be Catholic?" It breaks my heart to admit it, but it's a fair question. I would not have you think me a Pollyanna-ish naif. For those who know me well, naive is about the last word they would use to describe me.
So, after the John Geoghan and the Lawrence Soens and all of the other priests who have abused children - and after finding out it wasn't just in the US - how could I still be Catholic? Why would I want to claim that status?
After the scandal of some bishops being complicit in the cover-up - an angry prosecutor in Boston said that the only reason Cardinal Bernard Law, Archbishop of Boston, wasn't indicted was that the statute of limitations had run out on any chargeable offense - how could I still be Catholic? Why would I be proud of that status, as I am?
Fair questions.
Soon after Jesus' earthly ministry the church was started. Most accounts would place the beginning of the church on Pentecost. For some years afterward Christianity was thought of as another Jewish sect, similar to the Essenes. At one point both Christians and Jews realized that this new group was different enough in thought, doctrine and practice that it could no longer be thought of as Jewish. And, thus, the Christian Church as a separate entity from the Jewish synagogue took more definitive form.
The Church, as founded, was a perfect, pristine institution. But, the Holy Spirit made probably the only mistake She has ever made. She let people in. You know, real life, flesh-and-blood human beings. Warts and all. And She continues to let these warted warped humans stay. My dominant image of church: not a runway fashion show, but a hospital for souls. I saw one church newsletter - denomination to remain nameless - that closed with "Let's all impress Heavenly Father with our righteousness." I didn't know whether to gag or laugh out loud.
So where does that put me with the sex scandals of the Church? I'm furious. Read that, "FURIOUS!!!" My first thought is for the victims. Of all the people in this world around whom you should be absolutely completely safe, a minister of any denomination should be thought of in the same class as parents, the doctor, your teacher. And I am outraged that some priests - and some teachers, and some doctors, and some parents, and some ministers - have not lived up to this. Those kids often are scarred forever.
I see no reason for any priest, teacher,minister or anyone else in a position of authority to be treated less severely in the criminal justice system than anyone else. Quite the opposite. That would mean that anyone complicit in a cover-up should be treated as an accessory.
I'm not impressed by the press' coverage of this issue. It has fed an anti-Catholic bias that is already well-fed. One would easily lose sight of the fact that the vast, VAST majority of priests understand celibacy as a gift from God to the church. They understand the vow they took, and live out that vow faithfully. Most of those folks don't get stories in the newspapers. And there's always the cluck-clucking of those who say, "I knew they did it. They all do it." No they don't. If you must spew your ignorance - if you must advertise how ill-informed you are - you may do so. Please be aware that I, for one, will be paying no attention to you.
I'm angry because this has provided grist for the mill of the right-wingers within our church who think that screening gay men out of the seminaries and priesthood will solve all ills. It wouldn't. If you were to draw up a profile of the pedophile, the word "gay" wouldn't be there. These people are usually straight. Often they are or have been married. Often they are divorced or their marriages are troubled because they don't deal well with relationships with equals.
Besides, if you understand celibacy, and have taken a vow to it, what difference could it possibly make whether you are gay or straight? The Catholic Church has never held sexual orientation to be sinful.
I'm upset because the left-wingers in our church also ride their hobby horses over it. "Let them marry! That'll relieve the sexual pressure!" Please see the paragraph above about the difficulties of pedophiles in relationships. Pedophilia, like rape, is not a crime of sex. It's a crime of power. If you take a pedophile and marry him, you don't have a non-pedophile. You have a married pedophile.
I did note that this will take more than one post to cover. One's faith is a deep issue, and if discussed at all should be discussed in depth. But, the scandal has had such prominence that, before discussing the positives I find in my faith, I have to acknowledge the negatives we've had.
As always, I'd love your thoughts. Thanks for hanging with me!
So, after the John Geoghan and the Lawrence Soens and all of the other priests who have abused children - and after finding out it wasn't just in the US - how could I still be Catholic? Why would I want to claim that status?
After the scandal of some bishops being complicit in the cover-up - an angry prosecutor in Boston said that the only reason Cardinal Bernard Law, Archbishop of Boston, wasn't indicted was that the statute of limitations had run out on any chargeable offense - how could I still be Catholic? Why would I be proud of that status, as I am?
Fair questions.
Soon after Jesus' earthly ministry the church was started. Most accounts would place the beginning of the church on Pentecost. For some years afterward Christianity was thought of as another Jewish sect, similar to the Essenes. At one point both Christians and Jews realized that this new group was different enough in thought, doctrine and practice that it could no longer be thought of as Jewish. And, thus, the Christian Church as a separate entity from the Jewish synagogue took more definitive form.
The Church, as founded, was a perfect, pristine institution. But, the Holy Spirit made probably the only mistake She has ever made. She let people in. You know, real life, flesh-and-blood human beings. Warts and all. And She continues to let these warted warped humans stay. My dominant image of church: not a runway fashion show, but a hospital for souls. I saw one church newsletter - denomination to remain nameless - that closed with "Let's all impress Heavenly Father with our righteousness." I didn't know whether to gag or laugh out loud.
So where does that put me with the sex scandals of the Church? I'm furious. Read that, "FURIOUS!!!" My first thought is for the victims. Of all the people in this world around whom you should be absolutely completely safe, a minister of any denomination should be thought of in the same class as parents, the doctor, your teacher. And I am outraged that some priests - and some teachers, and some doctors, and some parents, and some ministers - have not lived up to this. Those kids often are scarred forever.
I see no reason for any priest, teacher,minister or anyone else in a position of authority to be treated less severely in the criminal justice system than anyone else. Quite the opposite. That would mean that anyone complicit in a cover-up should be treated as an accessory.
I'm not impressed by the press' coverage of this issue. It has fed an anti-Catholic bias that is already well-fed. One would easily lose sight of the fact that the vast, VAST majority of priests understand celibacy as a gift from God to the church. They understand the vow they took, and live out that vow faithfully. Most of those folks don't get stories in the newspapers. And there's always the cluck-clucking of those who say, "I knew they did it. They all do it." No they don't. If you must spew your ignorance - if you must advertise how ill-informed you are - you may do so. Please be aware that I, for one, will be paying no attention to you.
I'm angry because this has provided grist for the mill of the right-wingers within our church who think that screening gay men out of the seminaries and priesthood will solve all ills. It wouldn't. If you were to draw up a profile of the pedophile, the word "gay" wouldn't be there. These people are usually straight. Often they are or have been married. Often they are divorced or their marriages are troubled because they don't deal well with relationships with equals.
Besides, if you understand celibacy, and have taken a vow to it, what difference could it possibly make whether you are gay or straight? The Catholic Church has never held sexual orientation to be sinful.
I'm upset because the left-wingers in our church also ride their hobby horses over it. "Let them marry! That'll relieve the sexual pressure!" Please see the paragraph above about the difficulties of pedophiles in relationships. Pedophilia, like rape, is not a crime of sex. It's a crime of power. If you take a pedophile and marry him, you don't have a non-pedophile. You have a married pedophile.
I did note that this will take more than one post to cover. One's faith is a deep issue, and if discussed at all should be discussed in depth. But, the scandal has had such prominence that, before discussing the positives I find in my faith, I have to acknowledge the negatives we've had.
As always, I'd love your thoughts. Thanks for hanging with me!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)