Category: Religion

Howling Sea Lane, Religion

Hey Jealousy

the outside lane

There is nothing in the world wrong with observing what someone else has and thinking to yourself, “Man, I sure wish I had some of that.” If necessity is the mother of invention, then observational jealousy is it’s step-mother. “Ug have fire outside cave. I want! I find way to make fire inside cave! I make chimney!” Or something. (Now I want to draw cartoons to go along with this blog. I’m iced in. I’ve got the time.)

There is everything wrong with observing what someone has and thinking, “I should have that instead of him!” Then you end up with something like, “Abel gets attention that I should be getting! I know, if I kill him, then they will HAVE to give me all the attention. Hey, Abel, come help me with this thing over here…”

The book of Proverbs is filled with warnings against envy. The two that have always stuck out to me are 14:30, A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones, and 24:1, Do not envy the wicked, do not desire their company.

Most of the time, I can head envy off at the pass. Most of the time I can honestly look at what people have and say, “I’m very happy for you.” I was raised to strive for my own happiness, and to be glad when other achieved their own. My mother didn’t put up with petty jealousy. If SoandSo had a fantastic Somethingorother and I was whining about me deserving it more than she, my mother put a quick stop to that. If I wanted it, I should work for my own, and get off my high horse. I should pay less attention to what SoandSo had and more attention to what it would take for me to achieve the same, and I should also keep in mind, that maybe SoandSo needed that Somethingorother to make up for another emptiness. And, by the way, she would remind me, there are people who would give a right arm to have what I did. I should think of them, too.

I heard Joyce Meyer speak on envy a few times–and I interrupt myself to tell you that, from experience, while I have very, very little good to say about the major television ministries, I have a great respect for Joyce and her teaching, if only because she was the single ministry to fully cooperate when the Senate Finance Committee came calling–and she makes a cutesy, but convincing analogy. She talks about how silly it would be for your eye to be jealous of your hand because your hand gets to wear a beautiful ring. If you put a ring in your eye, you couldn’t see. She says that you might be an “eye” in the grand scheme of things, and envying what a “hand” has will only hamper your ability to live a productive life.

I have posted before about how I mean-girled a classmate into a corner out of jealousy. I wanted the attention of a boy she had managed to snag, fresh from a breakup with another girl I’d been sneering at, and I thought if she was out of the way, I’d have my shot. Of course you know I just ended up looking like a complete horse’s behind, and I carry what is a healthy scar of guilt over my actions to this day.

It is a healthy scar because it keeps me from repeating my past behaviors. When I feel that tightening of envy in my gut, I also feel that scar tightening right along with it. If it had been left on me by an evil wizard, it would have been shaped like a lightening bolt, and you would have seen me rubbing at it and grimacing yesterday, while looking through Facebook.

“Of course she shops at Posh Tots,” I growled, feeling a little sick to my stomach. She didn’t deserve that! I couldn’t shop there! I knew where that money had come from, and that was dirty, dirty money. I was clean as far as all that went, and it wasn’t fair!

I kept flipping through pages, jealous of this or that. Angry that no one had noted my righteousness and… Ugh. It’s just embarrassing what went through my head.

Here’s the thing: If you’re righteous and you know it, clap your hands. See what it gets you? You can’t really feel proud of your righteousness without spoiling it. It’s like adding lemon juice to your milk. Same thing with jealousy. When you focus yourself on envying what someone else has, you can’t enjoy what you’ve got.

No, I can’t afford to shop at Posh Tots, and I am not part of that clique, but you know what I do have? I have an amazing son, who is loved and well dressed, and a group of friends who love me no matter what kind of foolishness I’m up to. It is honestly none of my business what someone else has. My business is about taking care of what I have, and (because I am the ambitious sort) getting to the next level, and working out how to use what I do have for the benefit of people who are less fortunate.

Tell you one thing: It’s a lot easier to just scowl at Paris Hilton, than to acknowledge I’m being a jerk.

Howling Sea Lane, Lancient History, Religion

God! The Beginning.

the outside lane

Amy and I talk a lot about religion, namely because we met in a mire of religious misinformation and slipped through the nets one right after the other. We also talk a lot about religion because it is a passion of mine. I like religions. I grew up in among religious diversity, and was taught to appreciate and respect how people choose to (or not to) worship. I would say that I grew up in a loosely Christian household.

We did not go to church (outside the couple of times I can remember going with my mother–and I only remember that because I loved my fuzzy blue coat, and I thought the minister was yelling at me. he was actually yelling at everyone. Hell! Fire! Damnation!), or read the Bible, or do anything remotely religious for Christmas or Easter, but there was a Bible in the house, and I picked up a lot of my personal belief system through the Bible story books in the waiting rooms of doctors offices. Pretty pictures, you know?

In my tweens, after we had moved to Texas (which really cut down on my ability to go to Temple and to Mass with friends–sad) I visited a local Baptist church and was confused and frightened into something like salvation. That is, after visiting the church a few times, and being hounded by the Sunday School lady, I was in bed one night staring at the ceilng and suddenly became afraid I was going to die. I was afraid if I died, I was going to go to hell, and didn’t want to catch on fire. I went to my parents’ bedroom and told them that, and I told them I was going to be a Baptist so I wouldn’t go to hell. They were fine with that, and I announced my intention to be baptized. Mom, although she hadn’t darkened a door since I was two, agreed to go to church with me to see it done. Dad said no.

The next Sunday, when the altar call came–wait. Some of you might not know what an altar call is. In most Baptist churches, the service goes something like Singing-Prayer-Singing-Baptisms/Baby Dedications-Singing (to give the pastor time to get out of his hip waders)-Welcome of New Guests-Religious Announcements/Introduction of Speakers/Pastor-Soloist Singing/Awful Screeching-Prayer-20 minute Sermon-Collection of Offering-Prayer-Altar Call-Prayer-Introduction of those who answered the Altar Call to be Born Again, Baptized, or Become a Member of the Church-Congregation Accepts These People-Prayer-Dismisal.

The altar call goes like this: The pastor will pray and remind the congregation that none come to the Father, except by the son, and will ask everyone to bow their heads and close their eyes. Then, he will (sweetly or not, depending upon your flavor of Baptist–I’ve never heard a sweeter altar call than those given by Bill Skaar at First Baptist Church in Grand Prairie, unless it was by Jesse Duplantis, who is a Word of Faith evangelist) entreat those who are not yet Saved to accept Jesus as their Lord, and come declare their willingness to follow Jesus’ way of doing things, and leave off willful sin. He will also invite people who are Saved, but not yet Baptized, to come make a declaration of their faith through Public Witness (that’s just saying out loud, in front of people that you have chosen Christ) and announce their intention to be Baptized. Usually, those people get baptized the next week. He will also invite people to join the church family.

Those who answer the Altar Call walk down to the front where ministers are waiting. The ministers speak with, pray with, love on them, and write down their information on little cards. The choir will generally sing, very softly, repeating verses of a chosen hymn. My personal favorite goes, “Softy and tenderly, Jesus is calling…” I guess I like it because my Jesus is a tender Jesus. Anyway, when the pastor thinks everyone who is coming is there, he will go speak quietly to each one, determine their needs, and pray with them. The choir is exhausted by then, so the music goes a little more up tempo until the pastor returns to the pulpit.

Then, he will remind everyone that answering the Altar Call is a brave thing to do, and encourage those who did it. He will introduce each person or family, using the little cards to tell the congregation about them and why they answered the call. He will then ask for particular members of the church to come and stand with each person, picking out those he knows are good examples of what each person needs, and will ask those church members to take responsibility for introducing the Newbies around, and helping them feel connected.

After service is dismissed, all those people remain at the front of the church, and the congregation comes by to greet and congratulate, and hug them. The little old ladies are the worst for wanting to hug and smooch on you. Although, I have a strong feeling that when I am a little old lady, that’s where you’ll find me–though I’ve long since given up on being a real Baptist.

So, picture me, a very small eleven-year-old in a pink dress. When the altar call came, this one as gruff and unsanded as the proverbial old, rugged cross, I took a breath, set my jaw, and marched myself down that red carpeted center aisle, through the mothball scented rows of pews, to the front. The Sunday School lady asked me why I was down there. “I want to get baptized,” I told her. She said, “Have you made a public profession of your faith?” I said, “I don’t know. But I need to get baptized so I don’t go to hell.” And, they baptized me, told me I was saved and not allowed to sin anymore, and to come to more church services.

That’s the last time I went to that church, save for visiting once with Jamie.

So, you see, I did not accept Jesus or anything like that. I thought Jesus was a really nice man, and that it was super that he was the Son of God and all, and I wanted to be a really good girl, but there was no personal connection. I felt much closer to Aslan than to Jesus, in fact. I was just afraid of going to hell, so I jumped into his line.

I would not have any regular religious instruction again until 9th grade, when I transferred to Ursuline Academy, and began taking Catholic theology classes and going to Mass. Imagine my surprise at finding extra books in the Bible! I found that very suspect. The Bible Calvary Baptist had given me didn’t have all those extras in there, and I thought I was a Baptist, so I needed to stick to the bare bones of Protestantism. Sister Ann thought I would make a good nun, though. I thought I could not. I do think one of my classmates went on to join the sisterhood. She was a wonderful girl. I find myself hoping she did because religions need people like Jean. Jean would make the world better. You could stand next to her and feel her calm and warmth radiating, and believe everything was going to be all right.

Once I left Ursuline, with the exception of a few visits to a pre-Dr. Skaar FBC, with Karen, I didn’t bother with church. I still spent plenty of time on religion. There were a lot of them out there to read about, anyway. It wasn’t until college, when I followed a boy named Luther to a Campus Crusade group, that I started getting really involved.

Between December 1992 and March 1993, several things happened. First, I was date raped out of my virginity (I’ve never really counted that, since it wasn’t exactly my idea, you know?) and that put me quite out of my mind trying to act normal, since I chose to keep it a secret (save for telling a couple of friends and blurting it out to a group of near strangers, who were appropriately horrified at my outburst.) Next, Granny was diagnosed with aggressive cancer. And then, my father left very suddenly. Thus began my downward emotional spiral, which culminated with me sitting on my grandparents’ back porch in July, sobbing my heart out to God and making that actual personal decision that Jesus was going to be my Lord, and was going to be my model for how to live my life. My way wasn’t working, so I said I would give his way a try.

A month later, I was attending my first Southwest Believers Convention, then the Eagle Mountain Motorcycle Rally, then soon, I was a full-on member and volunteer at Eagle Mountain International Church. Those were the good days. They lasted about two years.

Lancient History, Religion

Wholly Holy? Not Bloody Likely.

the outside lane

A commenter made me realize that if I am going to be posting about religion, I ought to give you some idea of my background on the topic.  That way, you can form more informed opinions regarding my sanctimonious harpings.

I said to the commenter, “I admit that I am in a limbo concerning where I fall as far as Christian denominations go. I went from zero to sixty in my conversion, going from having been nothing to being part of a charismatic congregation. From there, I went into the Baptist church, and the Methodist. I’ve been very cranky about churches since the 10+ years I spent with the charismatic group. That has led me to a very bare bones way of looking at things right now, which is to say, if it isn’t in the Gospels, and if Jesus didn’t address it directly, I am wary and skeptical. I feel like, right now, the way to keep my heart pure is to rest it on the shelf of the message Jesus taught. Paul was a great writer, and no doubt a great leader, but after the abuse of power I watched in three different major ministries, I just can’t build my focus around what he, or any other minister says he heard from God.”

You see, I spent a decade in a church where men and women were appointed prophets, and what they heard from god became gospel.  I even spent a couple of years writing the style manual for that ministry (which was copied and used by three major international ministries that I know of, and heaven only knows how many others reproduced it without permission), including keeping up with the list of words we were not allowed to say because “God said so.” 

I graduated from Bible school after finishing my degree in English, completing 72 hours worth of credit and somewhere around 180 hours of volunteer work in childrens ministry.  I went on to act as a lay singles minister, taught Sunday school, and lead three devotional-based Bible study classes. 

From 1993 through late 1997, of my own volition, with the exception of the Spice Girls whose allure was undeniable, I tuned out of secular radio, film, and television.  I watched Christian broadcasting, listened to Christian radio programming (usually actual ministers because no matter how saved you are, Christian music is still awful), read Christian books, and immersed myself in Bible study.  I think it is telling that I went back to secular entertainment after I started working for the ministry in 1998.  I would not have survived that place without my internet friends.

I am obviously not just some book thumping yokel.  I am educated and I’ve done my homework, and I am proud of that.  However, I realize that I know less and less with every passing year, and I also realize that my education is lop-sided, weighted to doctrines of my own former denominations.  There are more things about God in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in my philosophizing.   

I would tell you this about me regarding my faith, and my discussion of it:  I will always be frank when it comes to religion because I have a heavy respect for it.  I respect mine, yours, and those other guys’, and I respect those who choose not to believe in a god at all.  I don’t take anyone’s religion lightly.  I have laughed about space clams and peep-stones in the past, but I realize that I hang my eternal hat on a virgin birth, a resurrection, and an ascension, so I don’t have much room to talk about the whickety-whack.  That doesn’t mean I won’t call out doctrines that seem patently absurd to me.  I can respect your faith and still think it is nuts that you married a dead guy.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.  And in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, and born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.

I believe He descended into hell.  On the third day He rose again from the dead. That He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of the Father.

I believe that He will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Christian Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.

And I need you to understand that I am aware of the difference between using the words “I believe” and “I know.” 

I could be wrong.  There’s only one way to find out, and I’m not in any hurry to do that.  In the meantime, I have chosen a faith that informs my worldview that every person is worth salvation, and so worth my patience, kindness, humility, politeness, forgiveness and consideration over self.  Actually, that might come more from being raised Southern…  I kid.  I’m also still not good at living that way.  If you keep reading this blog, your sure to find easy evidence of that.

I don’t care what color you are, where you are from, who you want to sleep with (as long as it isn’t my husband, a child, or someone/thing unwilling or unable to consent, or else all bets are off–and if it is my child, I will skin you  and wear your hide to church and dare the preacher to say a word to me about it), what god you worship, or if you worship one at all.  You’re fine by me.  Vive le difference, vive et vivant, laisser le bon temps roulez and all that jazz.

And now, no more religion for the day.

Howling Sea Lane, Lancient History, Religion

Father Where Art Thou?

the outside lane

By now you’ve probably all seen the AP news report about a Massachusetts third grader, who has been denied access to a local parochial school due to his parents’ sexuality.  Since I was on religion yesterday, I thought I would pick up the thread and share my opinion here. 

Prefacing all of this with the understanding that it is entirely legal for the school to refuse entry to any child, I want to talk about why I have a personal problem with the decision.  First, let’s go back to Matthew. 

Matthew 19:13-15 (King James Version)

 13Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them. 

 14But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. 

 15And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence. 

Jesus did not ask his disciples to do a background check on the adults bringing the children to him.  He did not ask if little Ezekiel’s parents were his followers, or if Elizabeth’s mother was still smoking crack, or if Alpheus’ fathers were still gay, or if Delphine was still being raised by her aunt because her mother was in prison and they weren’t sure who her father was.  And if he was aware of each child’s individual situation, he did not look over them with a finger against the side of his mouth, tapping away the ones who weren’t good enough until he found the ones whose parents lived up to his idea of pre-Christian standards.  No.  He touched each and every one of them, loved them individually, and then went on his way.  Such is the King of Heaven. 

More to the point, when Jesus taught he didn’t require your holiness before you were allowed to listen and learn.  He didn’t ask that you pass a test of righteousness, or be without sin.  He didn’t even ask that you be attempting to live according to Levitical law.  He asked nothing of you, and gave everything of himself.  

Jesus did not ask you for money.  He gave you fishes and loaves. 

Jesus did not ask you for your righteousness.  He gave you his own. 

I get so angry and so aggravated at the Church universal, and how exclusive and exclusionary it is.  You can’t come inside unless you fit the standard mold. 

There is a local christian (and I am always being purposefully distinctive about upper- or lower-case letters) radio station that advertises with the slogan, “Safe for the whole family.”  You would be hard pressed to find a piece of their marketing that would not lead you to believe the slogan ought to be, “Safe for the whole straight, white family, which includes at least two children.” 

I worked for an international religious organization for years.  Some things they got very, very wrong, but other things they got right.  One of the things they got right was that everyone was accepted into the church*.  Liars, cheats, drug addicts, fornicators, adulterers, gay, domestic abusers, gang bangers, strippers, abortionists and anything else you could want to shake a finger at, they were there sitting next to me.  The only things that required background checks or agreements regarding lifestyle choices were teaching positions–and that’s as it should be. 

How do people learn if they can’t be taught?  Imagine if the public school system was able to turn away a child because of the color of his skin.  How could that child learn, and grow into a man who could earn a living and participate as a citizen?  We aren’t so far away from that time in our secular history, and we all agree that it is wrong.  So why are we still shutting the church doors on people?  “I’m so sorry,” we say, with a prim little smile on our lips and sorrowful eyebrows, “but we just can’t have you in here.  When you stop drinking, you’ll be welcome.  But until then…  Tsk.  I’m sorry.  We just can’t.  Think of the children.” 

Yes.  Think of the children.  Please, for the love of God, think of the children. 

I attended Catholic school as a non-Catholic, and I am grateful for the education I received.  I am also grateful for having been forced to actually read the Bible in its entirety, and for having Mrs. Cardenas and Sister Sue Ann there to try and decipher it for me.  Though I did not make a decision for Christ until I was in my twenties, those ladies laid a foundation for me.  And isn’t that the whole point of having a religious school?  Even if I had chosen to continue in an agnostic existence, I am a better person for having learned the philosophies taught by Jesus.  

Aren’t religious schools intended to be places to instruct children on what your religion believes are the right and proper ways to live?  In that case, wouldn’t you be welcoming the ones whose backgrounds were contrary to your own with wide arms?  Aren’t those the children who need you the most?  Aren’t those the parents you want to win over with love?  Aren’t you in the business of saving souls through education?  And isn’t your god strong enough to overcome any taint that some poor heathen child might bring into your camp?  Aren’t you called to be a light unto the world? 

One of the things the ministry I worked for got wrong was money.  Money money money.  Toward the end of my time there, it was all about getting money.  We were in a meeting one morning, discussing just that.  We were instructed to pray that God would cause something to happen that would deliver over to our ministry the finances of wicked men and women based on this scripture: 

Proverbs 13:22 (King James Version)

 22A good man leaveth an inheritance to his children’s children: and the wealth of the sinner is laid up for the just. 

I’ll save my full Old Testament/New Testament rant for another time, and just say this:  Either you believe Jesus fulfilled the OT or you don’t.  You shouldn’t be mixing and matching Levitical law and the commandments of the Christ to build your doctrines.  That said, I asked in the meeting, “Shouldn’t we be praying that God [being no respecter of persons, who would do for anyone what he did for Paul] rescue the wicked, and turn their eyes from darkness to light, so that they turn to Christ?  And that way, doesn’t the wealth of the wicked become the wealth of the just?” 

If looks could kill.  They didn’t like my idea.  

Because even when you are righteous it is easier to pray for someone’s destruction than someone’s salvation.  And even when you are righteous it is easier to judge someone else’s lifestyle and avoid them than to share a cup.  (I am thinking of my grandmother spraying down furniture with Lysol in front of him when an openly gay friend of my cousin would visit her house.  Embarrassing!)  And even when you are righteous it is easier to say no to one child than have to explain to however many other children that even though your religion does not condone the lifestyle that this child’s parents lead, your god still loves that family and sees them as part of his family.  And, in fact, loves that family so much that he sent his son to die for them, just like he did for you. 

Do you see?  I get so angry!  God loves gays and God loves druggies.  God loves prodigal sons.  And do you know what?  God loves the ones who never love him back.  

I am a mother first and foremost and I want you to know that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will ever be able to separate my son from the love I have for him.  Nothing he does could make me stop loving him.  Nothing could make me give up on him.  He doesn’t have to be anything other than mine, and I birthed him, so that will never change.  He could deny me all he wanted.  He could change his name.  He could run to Timbuktu.  I am still his mother, and I would still love him.  And I would never, ever give up on him. 

God feels that way about you, about me, about Hitler, about Tom Cruise, about Rick James, about Betty Ford, about Marc Jacobs, about Ellen Degeneres, about that guy who lives next door to you, about your 7th grade science teacher, about that homeless man, about every single child in his creation.  That love doesn’t go away.  That love doesn’t die.  That love is perfect. 

The religious school is upset because the little boy in question only has mothers, and has no father.  I’ve got news for them.  That child has a Father, and it would serve them well to talk to Him about admission requirements.

*After Amy, who worked and sat in the congregation with me at this institution, read the post she reminded me:  I agree completely, except that I would say “that church” wasn’t accepting of everyone. You commit any crime known to man and be accepted but I dare you to be a divorcee in that church. Even though every gosh darn person in leadership was divorced [and they had created a whole new doctrine to allow divorce of ministers], you’ll be
treated like an outcast.

Howling Sea Lane, Religion

FISHing for Business of Fishers of Men

the outside lane

Context is everything, isn’t it?  You take one detail out of context and the whole story changes.  Out of context a stolen handkerchief becomes all the evidence Othello needs to believe Iago’s whispered machinations.  A half-heard conversation is the plot device in half of all romantic comedies.  Religion certainly suffers from contextual conflagration.  I am initimately familiar with that one.

We end up with cards and door-talkers on our front porch all the time, advertising this or that service.  Lawn, handyman repair, babysitting, you name it.  I don’t pay much attention to any of them, but the surest way to get me to throw a business card or flyer away is for me to spot an Ichthys (Jesus fish), cross, or dove on it.

I’m a Christian.  I am just wary of people who use symbols of faith to advertise their business.  I know that the various emblems are supposed to signify trustworthiness, or solidarity, or make me feel comfortable doing business, but I can’t help feeling that if you are willing to take something holy and full of meaning, something that should inspire reverence and awe, and slap it on a piece of colored copy paper as a means of recommending your ability to snake my drains, you aren’t taking it as seriously as you should.  So, my brain connects the dots to the conclusion that you don’t take the message of Christ seriously, and therefore don’t take me seriously, and won’t mind trying to charge me $500 for a new toilet when all I need is a $3 orange plug thingy.  No thank you!

Think about that.  Do you think Moses would have had an image of the Ark of the Covenant stamped on his business card?  Why, or why not?

The why-not is easy.  The Ark of the Covenant belonged in the Holy of Holies, and all it was was a container for the Ten Commandments.  How much holier the image of the cross, the fulfillment of every other commandment and the symbol of our salvation?  It’s not just a throwaway.  It means something other than that people should shop at your knick knack store.  I say this as someone who used to have an Ichthys on her car.  Reformed whatevers are always the worst, aren’t they?

But I digress.  I was talking about context and had in mind Matthew 6:19, which reads from the NIV: “19“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Usually, when we hear this scripture, it is in reference to monetary wealth or ownership of things, but when you look at the verse in context of its chapter, we are actually talking about prayer and charity, and whether we prefer God’s reward for our acts of righteousness, or the praise of men. 

I think this is why the use of holy symbols for personal gain bothers me.  A cross on your business card is shorthand for set of very detailed and defined characteristics.  What you are asking me to do, when you have that dove of peace stamped on your card, is make a connection between your business model and Jesus Christ.  You are asking me to make a mental connection between the service you are offering, and the service Jesus offered.  And as much as I need my air conditioning, it is a stretch to assume that your ability to fix my leaking coolant is akin to Jesus’ ability to save my eternal soul.  The context of the symbol means everything.

More, you are enticing me to give you my business based on a public show of your religion.  This means you are asking me to give you my business based on your having trumpeted your righteousness in the streets–exactly what Jesus warns against in Matthew 6. 

I should know your business is christian in its practices by reputation and living example, not by a logo that any thug can draw.