Christianity

  • Never let it be said that timeliness is my strong suit. Alright, answers to the questions asked of me.

    @under_the_carpet asked:

    ok. I don't know how to exactly put it into a question. But I always wanted to know more about your faith. It'll be a few.
    I read you identify as catholic. To make it simple for me...WHY?
    How "gnostic"/agnostic are you?
    what do you do/think/feel when you stumble upon a 'rule' you actually disagree with? (or does that not happen?...I can't imagine.)
    How do you 'solve' the god vs gay question in your head, that I see so many people struggle with?

    Oh dear, you have asked a very complex and lengthy question that I'm not entirely sure I know all of the answer to. I was going to do a post trying to articulate some thoughts I've been developing on this very topic but, despite the many times I start, I haven't been able to bring anything to completion. Perhaps this may be a start.

    As I've said numerous times in a multitude of places, most of my friends (or, at least, the ones I have generally most felt comfortable around or the greatest intellectual connection with) have been atheists. The Midwest region of the United States is home to a wide range of Christian denominations with an inclination to groups such as evangelicals and fundamentals. The Chicago-land area is, thankfully, a little less strong in the general social acceptance of these groups but the influence and individuals are there just around the surface (as I'm pretty sure I've mentioned at least once in a post this year). Mauger whatever changes I've had in my personal beliefs (regardless of spirituality) and religious beliefs over the years, I think there's been a constant that I've felt safer amongst the irreligious; maybe that's because my sexuality has always made me unable to feel fully accepted in most religious circles; maybe, as I said, it's because I've had more in common, generally; maybe other reasons or all of the above.

    In college, I had doubts about the idea of God/s. While I've tossed out the fact casually a total of about five times since, I generally don't talk about that time period. I wasn't particularly happy there (though I'm sure there are many who eventually become atheists that feel the same feeling). The end result, however, was that I came to discover that I was far more strongly a religious person than even I had realized. For whatever reason, I tend to be inclined to the religious (as a concept, not the people, mind you); this was deafeningly clear to me when I was questioning whether to become an atheist. There are certain things which trigger off a sort of this-is-right-or-righteous-or-even-holy feeling for me; while I tend to value reason over feeling, I've found that particularly strong feelings tend to indicate something I think but haven't been able to put into rational words yet. The idea may be wrong but it's informative to know, generally, so I'll tuck it away and chew on it over time. There is a particular feeling I get when I encounter something I feel is fundamentally correct in a way. For example, I get that feeling when talking about governments and the freedom of religious belief. I don't know what to make of these feelings yet but I've found I also have them during religious experiences. This will be important later.

    You ask how agnostic I am (Gnosticism is an entirely particular belief system that I've found fascinating, flirted with, but ultimately leave not feeling inclined to join). Ever since I seriously contemplated the question (whenever that may've been), I've been of the firm belief that, given the information that we have at this moment in time (and, admittedly, given the You-can-do-ANYTHING quality we tend to ascribe to God), anyone who can say – with zero doubt – that there is or is not a God/s has lost all intellectual currency ze may have had in my eyes.

    Many atheists describe themselves as skeptics. I find that it's my skepticism that allows my religious belief. I simply cannot believe, with all that remains left unknown about the universe, that we can so soundly rule out the idea of God/s. Of course, any truly rational atheist would tell you that the degree of evidence inclining that there exists some supernatural being of the sort often described is outweighed by the evidence indicating that there is no such being; ze simply chooses to go with the more believable option. And that's fair; I'd be inclined to wager that atheists have a more sound argument, really. Still, I find myself religious.

    I do think part of it has to do with the fact that I tend to be a moral absolutist. Maybe it's also the fallout of being a rationalist. Everything has an answer. It may be complex and vary by certain conditions but everything can eventually be explained in a concrete way. When I first joined Williams Secular Community and we went around the room having each person say something that ze believed in, I wanted – as the sole religious person in that room – to say something other than "I believe in God" or something of that stripe. What I eventually decided on was "Perfect reason/logic is infallible". There is one vague bit to it, obviously. "Perfect logic" would seem to indicate that there is no contradiction or breaking of logical rules. The issue is, if you don't have information about something, you can't make certain deductions (e.g. if all you know about the sun and the moon is that they're round, you may say, "Sun = Moon," but that clearly isn't correct). So part and parcel to this idea is that all information relating to the subjects involved is considered and known.

    But I bring it up because I think it is indicative of my thinking process. To speak vaguely and allow variance until I have a greater understanding, I believe in a notion of Truth. We live in a reasonable and logical universe. It's a curious thing that there are even laws to our world, particularly if there is no creator; certainly it's not impossible for such world to exist without a creator (we would be the evidence) but it is curious. And I think, more so than the notion of a God existing, I have a need to believe that there is a sort of universal Truth that we can all reference and aspire to. I need order and I need logic; it doesn't have to be intellectually created (in the conversations I've had with my brother over the idea of an absolute morality, there has been some pretty fantastic discussions over the notions of systems (something that's a fascination of my own); assuming that there is no God, it's rather interesting the way that systems have been able to crop up naturally in our world and the way they sustain themselves in spite of it seeming they would need a designer). But, for whatever reason, I need to believe there is an order to the universe and a way that is proper to act in the same way we "all" acclaim the notion of freedom of speech for proper governments or believe in and celebrate the capabilities and self-belief in humanity as exercised through the government of a republic or believe in the great works and arts over time or believe in great ideas and celebrate philosophy. The greatest thought process that Western civilization ever accomplished was the notion that ideas could be ordered by logic and, by extension, you could come to finite conclusions about things, that not every single idea was necessarily correct. For better or for worse, I truly believe this.

    I tend to think that the notion of a Creator best explains this but, as I've mentioned, I do not necessarily think that has to be the case. To sort of put it another way and in relation, I once said on here, "If anything must be told about my spirituality, let it be said that intelligence was my religion, and education, my worship." If anything was ever to be described as my religious belief, it is these notions. Most everything else is debatable.

    Of course, none of that really explains "Why Catholicism?" (oh dear, this is probably going to take a while – but you asked the question). There was a moment, one time, when I was with my sister (and in a somewhat giddy and snarky mood) when I remarked (and, no, I don't recall what excited this remark), "The Evangelical believes that the root of all things tie back to God and, due to this, we ought to worship Him; all reasoning proceeds from thus and it is all he or she pursues. The Catholic, however, seeks Truth."

    For those (generally those who tend to have a thing against Catholicism) who might take that to insinuate that God is not important to Catholics, I would easily respond that, of course, Catholics believe all things proceed to and from God but that is merely a portion of the Truth.

    To somewhat explain my snark* and to provide another example, I have a very dear friend of mine who grew up in a very fundamentalist, evangelical town (though, really, she's  not the first friend I've had who's had a very negative experience in such an environment); as someone who was remotely agnostic (her parents are Unitarians), most of her time there was having people trying to convert her, feeling continually judged, and just pretty much being treated poorly (by my own standards, at the very least). By the time she got to college (thus where I met her), she was a fairly bitter, hard-line atheist. I forget the exact details of the story but she overhead (somewhere) an eventual mutual friend of ours mention that he was Catholic (maybe it was some orientation event?); shortly after, she cornered him on a bus the group was riding and, without much ceremony, immediately started grilling him regarding religious belief and why it was positively ridiculous to have any.

    During this, she asked him, "Well, I don't believe; does this mean I'm going to Hell?" to which, with some confusion, he responded, "No." This took her a bit by surprise; as far as she had ever been taught, this was what religion boiled down to: believe or perish. So she asked, "You don't?" After a moment of hesitation, his response was, "I believe Catholicism is the best way but not the only way."

    One more example. There's a book my mother has somewhere upstairs either written by or written about the pastor of the mega-church my aunt attends. On the back of the book, in large letters prefacing the book summary, is a quote that says, "People matter to God; therefore, they should matter to us," (or something of the like). Fundamentally, such a notion could only occur from one who takes the Evangelical path to logical reasoning (okay, that's not entirely true but quite frequently). In contrast to this, I think it was Pope Benedict who said that sex purely for pleasure, even in the confines of a relationship, is selfish because the other person is, thus, neglected. I, ultimately, disagree with His Holiness's proof but there's still a marked difference between the two forms of reasoning. The pope tries to give a reasoned response and justification. The pastor has just said, "Well, God says so."

    While I've explained "Why Religion" for me, I think the best explanation for "Why Catholicism" is simply that, for all its flaws and pitfalls, Catholicism is the closest thing to what I want in a religion here on Earth.

    And I think that, in particular, is what most people don't get when they suggest for Catholics to convert to elsewhere. Protestantism, as a whole, is not really an avenue because I simply do not believe in being saved by Faith. I could probably be alright with a holy book inerrancy sort of deal but not with the sort of limiting views that that tenet is often taken to; I am always brought to appreciate more greatly that Catholics have Tradition and the Magisterium to pull from to better understand the Bible.

    While the more liberal Protestant branches are probably more to my own political persuasion, I often find that the conservative criticism that, for them, "anything goes" holds true. It's very important to me that what you do is purposeful and fully thought out. I don't want to join a church simply because that was how I was raised and I want that special feeling (though, of course, that can be important). I want to make sure that, if my bible says it's okay to rape women, I have an actual response as to why that is. There was a liberal church in the middle of the campus of my college that was very awesome; they often worked with the Queer Student Union on campus, were very involved in social justice, etc. Being part of the QSU and InterFaith, I also worked with them. During conversation one time, the pastor mentioned that the church had been so focused on social justice (I believe that may have been the reason for their founding) that they've been trying to sort of rediscover their roots; while on this path, she mentioned that they were discovering all sorts of new things (as any root-searching should entail), including that there were parts of the bible they found they didn't particularly like. For me, dealing with those sorts of things would be where I'd build my base from.

    People often assume that it's the High Church and elaborate liturgy I like and often suggest the Episcopalians or some of the Lutherans. But what these fail to realize are the ways in which Catholicism itself is quite unique. I'll see if I can do it any justice in trying to point it out.

    I doubt I'll really explain it well but, if any religion could claim the title, you could argue that Catholicism is wedded to intellectualism. Perhaps extremely influenced by Roman and Greek culture (i.e. the Hellenic culture that had culminated by the time of the Roman empire), many in the early church philosophied about their religion (it's probably what earned religion the title of Queen of the Sciences). It's why they came to believe that God made the world ex nihilo (out of nothing): if God had to stoop to making the world out of existing material, that means there are things which even God couldn't control/do, etc. which would make Him less than an ultimate God. They attempted to apply the philosophy (much to many other denomination's dislike) of Plato/Aristotle. When the empire fell, a lot of the books and records were kept safe by monks. This often means that the theology of Catholicism is so much more elaborate and complex and, in turn, deep. God gave us a brain: "We ought to use it" is the answer of Catholicism.

    Once (I think when a televangelist came on the T. V.), I remarked to my brother, "I don't think I could ever stand worshiping in a religion that didn't have a liturgy." Of course, my smart-ass atheist brother responds, "I don't think I could ever stand worshiping in any religion." Maybe it's because I'm a writer and English major but I take symbolism and gestures very seriously. Naturally, liturgy is very cool to me (and also very beautiful; have you heard the chants Catholics and the Orthodox have churned out?). And, to a degree, I really like ritual. I'm not entirely sure why. The Catholic response is that, when we worship, we should worship with more than just our minds: the entire bodies ought to be involved in the process.

    And the last way I can attempt to let you understand "Why Catholicism" is the Catholic conception of the Church. I don't know how familiar with Christian theology you are but the idea of the Church is important to the religion. After the Protestant Reformation, the idea of what the Church is was to be understood as the body of Christian believers. This is partially, I think, why you have so many denominations and a lot of people feel comfortable (in the U. S., at least; I've heard it's a phenomenon frequent to us) church hopping: go the Methodists one week, go the Lutherans another Sunday.

    For Catholics, we believe that the Church is the institution founded by Christ and as it exists today. But the Church is more than just an institution. It is the body of Catholic believers but also an instrument through which the Holy Spirit works. The pope doesn't get infallibility because we decided we wanted to listen for the rest of our lives to whatever an elected member had to say. The pope is infallible because (in theory) God the Spirit is working through him and guiding him as He is working through the entire Church.

    You might respond with, "So what?" The significance of this is that God is active constantly through the institution that you reside in. It is not just that you're attending church; you are in the Church. It's for this reason that the Sacraments (Baptism, Confession, Marriage) can make sense to us while it just confuses other denominations as a pathway for Grace. It's not just actions being performed, they are actions being performed by and in the Church; it is God working through us. In a real physical way, God is presenting Himself before us.

    And with that, there's this real sense of security I have as a Catholic that goes beyond just belonging to an organization that is huge. Anytime I go to a Catholic Church, I know any Sacrament I may receive is valid and facilitated by God, regardless of who is giving me the Sacrament and their past. I think that's also why a lot of Catholics have remained Catholic in spite of the scandal and abuse recently: there are terrible people in our Church, as in all institutions, but they are not all of what the Church is. The Church spans across generations and is more than that. We would rather call for greater accountability and try to call for prosecution from within rather than ever leave the Church.

    When I was younger and dealing with the fact that there were certain attitudes within Catholicism that I didn't quite agree with, I'd take comfort in the fact that something like 60% of Catholics didn't obey what came from the Vatican. But, in a real way, we never stopped being Catholics. We still attended Mass, went to Sunday or Catholic schools, socialized in the circles, prayed in the same buildings, went to confession under the same priests. I don't think I understood it then but the reason I could find such strength inside those Cathedral walls while fragrantly disregarding the hierarchy was because, I knew, we were right. And in the end, that's what God cares about (Catholicism is about finding Truth). And we were safe within His halls of His Church. Frankly, the only other religion I can think of with anything close to such a concept is Mormanism.

    And I guess that's a good place to address your question of what do I do if I come across something I don't agree with. In technicality…there isn't anything. And part of this stems from the fact that most people don't understand how Church doctrine is formed. All that which is declared infallible and dogma is binding. Anything less is decreasing levels of required adherence but not anything which cannot change in the future.

    So, for example, I believe Purgatory has been dogmatically defined. You can't be a Catholic if you don't believe in Purgatory. However, while the hierarchy's position at the moment is that homosexuality is "severely disordered" (as in against the order of the universe), it is not something dogmatically defined yet. To a certain degree, I like this because it gives us a stable base from which build knowledge and keep unified. Someone like Curtis (who I really rarely agree with) and I can talk about something pertaining to Catholicism and be entirely on the same level because we both are Catholic.

    And I think the last thing I'll mention as to why I'm a Catholic is that, as far as I can see, Catholicism is the only religion that still seems to be growing. Most religions really tie themselves to the idea that nothing will ever change about them; they will always honor their past. Which, to be honest, is true of Catholicism (kinda hard not to be when it's a religion that uses Tradition as an authoritative source). But Catholicism doesn't change in that whatever it declares dogma can never be revised; other religions never change in the sense that everything they've done in the past is all they'll ever do (I once had someone who was Orthodox tell me that the Orthodox have it right because they've changed nothing since (I think…) the Forth Council; Catholicism, on the other hand, comes out with a new dogma "every two years"). The idea of Catholicism is that the Truth is never changing – we just don't know all of it yet; over time, we gain a greater and greater insight into what that Truth is. Which, really, is the basic idea of discovery. But it means that really interesting things happen and not everything is quite understood. For example, we know that, for whatever reason, the Sacraments were established for transmuting Grace and that Baptism redeems the soul of the Original Sin. And yet current thought within the Church is that people who haven't been baptized can be saved. After all, what about babies that die before the chance to be baptized? I don't believe the idea of Limbo has been entirely thrown out yet but you don't have many clamoring towards the idea. So, if you can be saved without baptism…what's the point of baptism?

    As far as I know, the Church's answer is that we don't know. We'll eventually know. But not yet.

     

    All that said, I'd be lying if I said that Catholicism is everything I want. While women ordination and homosexuality haven't been dealt with as dogma yet, either of those being dogmatically banished would probably force me to have to find another religion. There's the fact that the notion of preparing for shabbat has always elicited that feeling of something being *right* in me…and I had never prepared for shabbat until I had reached college.

    And there's the real troubling fact that Christianity tends to start from this path of "We're all guilty". It's true that Catholicism does a bit better in being firm that the Original Sin is not a sin for which any of us are at fault for (even if we still bear the scar upon our souls) but there is a *real* problem that I have with this notion of guilting ourselves (at its worse, I've seen people make the argument that none of us deserve Heaven, even just-born babies).

    The New Testament is actually rather interesting in terms of its political stances and the ways it tries to reverse common norms (the most well known one being the notion of the weak/meek being powerful/"the stone that the builder rejected"). And so it goes with the notion of works. Yeah, being good? Throw out everything you thought you ever had to do. You actually have absolutely *no way* of doing it without Him.

    Which, in a way, I get. It's the ultimate type of trust exercise. Throw out any expectation of your abilities and your capability to do anything and just entirely trust that He's got this.

    What I absolutely hate about this notion is that, when you take away a sense of responsibility and choice in the direction of your life, it's hard to really impart a sense of…awareness in people. I earnestly think this is why my friend who grew up around fundamentalists was treated so amazingly poorly. Those people have ceased entirely thinking about any of the actions they're committing and how they're treating her; in their minds, the most important thing is you follow Jesus (BECAUSE NOTHING ELSE MATTERS) and, if you don't follow Him, you're breaking the cardinal rule. And that's the scope of their thoughts. You can't get to "Well, let's think about how you're treating her" because, literally, nothing else matters beyond whether or not you're following that rule of believing in Jesus. Anything outside of it is wrong. Why? Because anything we do outside of trusting entirely in God and getting others to do so as well is irrelevant. Irrelevant.

    And I get that, in some way, it was trying to respond to a sort of legalism that was cropping up and the sort of people who do good just to look good. But I really think that when you start from a point of "You are disordered without Me", you endue this real sense of inferiority in individuals. I truly believe a just God doesn't tell you you're shit so you better believe in Me (but that's gonna be difficult too 'cause, you know, you're disordered) but tries to build the individual up. Let's stop focusing on following this one inane rule (and worrying about all the suffering you'll get otherwise) and instead focus on the fact that you're not entirely terrible (but wonderful in many ways) and that doing better and being a better person is important because it'll make you better and it's important to treat others well. The important thing is NOT how many times you fail but how much closer you are to making the world a better place because, really at the end of the day, it's every one that's important.

    I do think Catholicism is a bit better at this; a lot of denominations disagree with it because Catholicism teaches that you can lose your salvation even if you believe in God: your actions are of important. Still, there are some strains of serious guilting and "Forgive us Lord because we are so unforgivable!" that I find to really be just unhealthy and abusive habits.

    I also sometimes have to remind myself that our understanding changes. It was once understood that "There is no salvation but within the Church" meant within Catholicism but it's now understood as the Church being tied to that notion of the Truth; Catholicism is the best path but not the only one. That's a big change in meaning though the dogma didn't change at all. So who knows.

     

    Anyway, if you don't find religion interesting, all of that must've been terribly tedious and boring and I apologize. I'll answer your last question further below since Danni asked a similar one.

     

    @XxbutterflyknivesXx asked:

    You've indicated on Facebook, and partly here, that you strongly support the LGBTQ movement...and a lot of the time people support movements because they've experienced struggle...is there's a story behind it? Do you identify as a different sexuality than hetero/are you closes to someone who does?

    Man, you guys go straight for the meaty questions. I should be able to keep this one shorter than the last answer.

    I've always firmly believed that it shouldn't have to take personal involvement to be passionate about something. Caring about others should be something that we just do. The two examples I usually bring up is that I've never self-injured or been Trans and yet I'm supportive of these communities (though, to be fair, a good portion of my ex-girlfriends and friends have had histories of self-harm and an ex-boyfriend and friends of mine have been Trans). I've never quite understood that notion of "Well, it doesn't affect me, so why should I care?" I tend to make decisions constantly by thinking from others perspectives and trying to think who I might be disadvantaging with a particular decision; it always catches me off-guard when others don't do that (and it's usually pretty obvious pretty quickly when someone is making a decision based off their own interest and clearly haven't considered anyone else's) though I suppose that's naïve of me.

    I do identify as bisexual (though I suppose the ex-boyfriend part above may've given that away). But, at the time that I really jumped into the movement (I sorta consider that moment when I decided, in spite of my parents' opinions on the matter, to attend a meeting of my high school's Gay-Straight Alliance; I was quite a bit homophobic before that moment; thank God for change), I was taking the route of "God doesn't approve but I believe everyone has the choice so I'm going to support others ability to have that choice". So I really wasn't doing it on my behalf, frankly. The slow and rather boring story of my coming out was this slow progression of my views on the subject changing until I finally reached a point where I fully accepted myself and was able to see all the fascinating history and ideas that the Queer community really does have to offer. So you don't really get any dramatic conflict about my identity; I just slowly made decisions and, really, was very comfortable about who I was and what I believed.

    Which doesn't mean there aren't cool stories, of course. As you might imagine, I was *quite* the closet case throughout all of high school. I told people I trusted and it got to the point that I had to keep tabs on who I had told and whatnot; that way, I could also keep track of when someone I didn't tell had found out and figure out who was blabbing. Seriously, I was so far into the closet back then. I came out at the very end of my Senior year (I was graduating, going out East; it seemed safe). Beforehand, I messaged just about everyone I had secretly come out to (thus people I trusted) and talked it over with them. Then I came out on Facebook (ahh, the Internet age…). Everyone was so amazingly supportive. It's honestly one of my favorite memories. And, I guess, since I had the big coming out, it always confuses me when people don't want that (but, then again, I always had a thing for dramatics). For me, my coming out was such a huge moment in my life; you know, it's making a very big decision about what you believe and who you're going to be. I've always wanted to get in the habit of having a party every time the day I came out comes around but I haven't gotten around to doing it yet. It was just this moment of baring a very personal part of me to all these friends who were really important to me and who I think so very highly of and it was just great to feel that same respect and love back.

    If you do identify as a sexuality other than hetero, how has that been met? I know, and someone else has mentioned, that you're Catholic...has your family/other people in your faith had a problem with you?

    Well, I did have someone tell me I was possessed by a demon once so that was fun. Though, really – since I generally don't care too much what strangers think of me –, I think the largest difficulty has been from the family. Siblings and cousins have been fantastically supportive. I generally just don't talk about it with any of those over-40 folks. My dad knows. And I have a feeling I could probably get my mother to accept it (one of the uses of taking 4–5 years to accept yourself while being active in the cause is the parents just sorta get used to it). I just don't care to. But, of course, you always have to be vigilant, regardless of how much you might not care what strangers think. I'm truly amazed at how much things have changed since the beginning of high school when it comes to public acceptance (and how about from there since the 60s?). But people are assholes and, unfortunately, hate crimes are a real thing. I've been generally safe from any of that so far, though.

    Also, what do you do? I remember, you have a major in English, yeah? Or are you taking the gre to get the degree for what you want to do? I know a lot of people do graduate school because what they want to do requires more. Sorry if that's a stupid question.

    That's correct. And I also have Computer Science and Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies degrees. And they have earned me no occupation. Though, frankly, I do feel that part of that is simply that jobs expect work experience. That can be, in many ways, more important than the degrees you have. Partially because my coping method for both my depression and my parents was shutting everything out and partially because my parents didn't seem to find it important to explain this clearly, I did not spend my summers in college looking for internships or some way to pad my résumé. Now I've been trying to find work in a poor economy while balancing a severe sleeping problem along with a general social anxiety and my raging depression. It's not been well.

    I'm considering grad school simply since it's been a year now that I've been unemployed. If I could get a Master's (without sinking myself in debt) for Comp. Sci. or English, it might help in getting a job. I also wouldn't mind becoming a professor somewhere. But my grades weren't so great so who knows. I'll keep you updated.

    If it's not weird or intrusive...how much younger is your little sister? 

    Heh, not in the least. She's seven years younger. Now I'm just curious, why do you ask?

    How does the writing process work for you? Do you plan, or do you just sit down and write? Because, if you just sit down and do it...that's kinda impressive. I feel like your work should be in a literary magazine or something, and not just buried on xanga.

    Well now, that is a high compliment, particularly considering that I've submitted pieces to places before and none took (though, to be fair, I haven't submitted to many places); I hadn't realized you thought so highly of them. Thank you, sincerely.

    Honestly, I'm terrible at just jumping into things. Probably also my perfectionism but I need to have a full idea of what I'm doing before I start. That being said, I pulled "A Memory" from a larger piece of flash writing I had done. That last post I did was three lines from something longer I wrote years ago without thinking it through. And the new thing I'm working on (involving the characters Chrissy, Amy, 'Rome, and James) has been (largely) just written down without a great deal of pre-thought though that's because it's not as short as I usually tend to make my pieces and I have a feeling I'll never get anything done if I be my usual anal self.

    I think, either way, the thing that's consistent is that I tend to sit and chew and edit on things until I get them right. I'll notice something I hadn't before and then do edits. Sometimes I'll force myself to write something I then think I'll throw away just in case I come back in 6 months and decide that I actually was going somewhere and just need to flesh it out (or if there's a piece in there that would be great without all the extra fluff I wrote).

     

    Aaaand that should be it. Hope I answered your guys' questions well enough.

     

     

     

    *I'm usually incredibly slow to pass judgment or assume things simply because I could be wrong. The only real area where I'm generally willing to be strict in an opinion is when it comes to harming others. As such, I generally try to refrain from speaking negatively about Evangelicalism as if it's a given; that said, I have no a great deal of people who've been harmed by members of that religion and have generally found the culture that it propagates to be unhealthy not only for those who come into contact with it but also those who practice it. Obviously, no one enjoys being greeted on the terms of "Your religion is terrible" so I try to refrain and keep an ear open as to whether I may actually be wrong but I, at times, forget myself.

  • An excerpt from a New York Times article, titled Race in the South in the Age of Obama. It covers a black politician, James Field, who is a representative of Cullman, Alabama.

    Versions of Cullman’s old sundown sign hung beside county roads well into the 1970s, and all of them repeated the message that the travel writer Carl Carmer saw when he visited Cullman in the late 1920s: “Nigger Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on You in This Town.” The sign was notorious all over Alabama, and coupled with Cullman’s powerful Ku Klux Klan, it created a racial deterrent so effective that even today, Cullman’s are exits off the Interstate that most African-Americans avoid.

    You can find the full article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/28/magazine/28Alabama-t.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0.

     

     

    Once, when I visited Peek’s shop alone, Peek told me: “James is not like any black man that I know. He’s just different. He just don’t have that mentality, anybody owes him anything. He just gets out and works and helps people, earns what he gets. If James wasn’t black, you’d think he was white. That doesn’t sound right, but you know what I mean.”

    Everybody in Cullman knows what he means, perhaps most especially the men who gather weekday mornings at a round table at the All Steak restaurant, where many of them spent much of this past year not getting over the fact of an African-American president. The group fortified themselves with daily doses of rue — “Thought I’d never see it”— dared one another to use “the N-word” in front of a Yankee and shared memories of how Cullman used to be — “They were afraid to come to town.” One day in September, a retired Alabama state trooper named Charlie Shafer leaned back from his eggs and asked, “Have you all ever stopped to consider how much better off the country would be if Obama’d been. . . . ” Quick and fast came the replies:

    “White.”

    “Died in childbirth.”

    Periodically, Fields’s name came up, and people leapt to describe what “a hard-working, down-to-earth person” he is. It was recurrent. Harsh expressions of disdain for blacks in general would smoothly give way to admiration for the black individual in their midst. The dichotomy was expressed in a particularly blunt way by a jeweler named Richard White. “Cullman’s the best-kept secret in the South,” White said. “Low-key. Everybody gets along. And the three-tenths of 1 percent might have something to do with it.” Then, without any kind of transition, he added: “James is a good friend of mine. He’s a good man. He’s straight. He’s honest. He’s well educated.”

    When I asked Rozalyn Love, the medical student, about the daily scene at the All Steak, she said that in Cullman, “there’s almost to some degree pride about being a little bit notorious.” Then she added, “They’re a lot less racist there than some of them would like people to think they are.” This is undoubtedly true; it’s not 1964 anymore. Many older white people from Cullman also believe that attitudes toward race are slowly shifting. “My children have a different view of racial makeup than I had,” says Judge Chaney. “From my father’s generation — extremely prejudiced — to mine — we’re working through it — to my children, race is a nonissue. That’s not to say there still aren’t racial tensions, whether it be black or Hispanic.”

    The owner of a classic-car rebuilding shop, Jerry Burgess, made a similar generational point one day at his garage when he described something he saw in the 1960s and has never forgotten. Burgess is a bootlegger’s son with long, stringy hair under a dirty cap, a ZZ Top beard, an arm sleeved in tattoos and friendly eyes. “I can remember when the sign was on the edge of Cullman, down on Highway 31, close to the tracks,” he told me. “It said ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on a Nigger at Night.’ I can’t hardly say the word. My kids raise Cain about it. A lot of old-timers still use the word. My uncle does. Don’t think a thing about it. He’s a little old-fashioned. To me it seems like a very different time. Now most people would be O.K. with black people.”

    Still, when Cecil Parker, a retired African-American construction worker who grew up near Colony, thinks about race relations in Alabama, he says: “It’s better, but it’s not great. Some know better. Some don’t care. Same people who did all the hanging and burning are still alive. They were taught against us. That we weren’t human. Alabama do not like black folk telling him what to do.”

    That Fields evaluated this situation and sensed he could win an election remains a source of wonder among Alabama political insiders. “Other legislators,” he says, “still ask me, ‘How’d you do that?!’ I look at them, ‘How’d I do what?’ It’s not like I woke up and hoped people would vote for me.” But of course he was aware of what he was up against. The famous phrase that V. O. Key invented to describe the intensely localized, almost tribal nature of Alabamians at the polls is “friends and neighbors” voting. Key’s insight was that Alabama voters prefer political representatives who lived close by, even when the more distant figure might better speak to issues of common concern. A result, according to Morris Dees, the founder of the Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery, is that “I haven’t seen a lot of coming together in a shared cause.” Thus, the enduring importance of some feeling of personal connection: of a handshake, of being able to say a candidate embraces my values, if not my plight. In small communities like Cullman, there is an aversion to the intensely mediated sense of experience that the Internet has brought to so much American life — and to American politics. Fierce Southern resistance to political messages of change has a lot to do with belief in the value of immediate encounters and a primary fear of strangers and outsiders — especially black or Northern ones — who may bring harm. “Folks down here kind of like to touch and feel the merchandise” is the way a Cullman banker named Dan W. Mann puts it. So the problem for Fields as a candidate amounted to a fundamental, transformative question about race in the white South: could a black man be considered a friend and a neighbor?

    The candidate who ran against Fields in the special election was Wayne Willingham. The difference between Fields’s devoted life of public service and his opponent’s sparser record was stark. Further, a Cullman relative of Wayne’s, Joe Willingham, is a reputed Klan leader. At some point, Fields says, in the Deep South, the race card “always comes up when there are African-Americans running against whites.” At the campaign’s outset, people told Fields: “James, it’ll be hard to beat him. He’ll bring out the worst in folks.” In recent years, racial and sexual innuendo helped North Carolina’s Jesse Helms and Tennessee’s Bob Corker defeat black Senate opponents, and of course, race-baiting also happens locally. In 1992, Selma’s white incumbent mayor, Joe T. Smitherman, prevailed against his black challenger, James Perkins, in part by renting a room, filling it with rows of elderly white women and just as many telephone lines and instructing the women to make white voters aware of what was at stake. Fields understood that to win he especially would need to neutralize resentments, fears and prejudices by blurring his color into the background where it was subordinate to his character. His life was his case, but his means of expressing it would have to be his personality.

    To explain his thinking about elections, Fields talks about Charlie Shafer. Fields says that Shafer was on active duty in 1965 in Selma, during the seminal civil rights movement demonstration that became known as Bloody Sunday after lawmen carrying clubs and tear gas attacked unarmed protesters. “When they marched to Montgomery from Selma, he was one of the troopers,” Fields says. “But if he lived in my district, I think he’d vote for me. I truly believe that. Because he’s gotten to know me. But then again he may not, and that’s O.K.” Fields’s point was not that he was irresistible, just qualified, and that voting for him didn’t have to be a big deal. The more normal it could be made to seem, the better.

    Normal in Cullman means Christian. Conspicuous displays of faith by politicians are so common that it’s a surprise when one doesn’t have the Ten Commandments posted on his office wall. Accordingly, Fields began his last competition by placing a newspaper advertisement challenging Willingham to “a race that is God-driven and Christ-centered.” This was the only election on the ballot in the state at the time, and a black man running in Cullman was a big deal. Dozens of idealistic volunteers, most of them young and white, joined the campaign. Fields says: “I told the outsiders, ‘Don’t go out in the county. Just work the city.’ Out in the county there are people I grew up with, played ball with. If they went out there, some people would say, ‘Who are you, boy?’ ” Fields himself traveled door to door with his handshake and a message that, he says, boiled down to “vote for me for no other reason than you know and trust me.”

    He continued: “I sat beside you in churches, restaurants, parks, at funerals, on the streets of Cullman, on hospital beds.” There were, he says, no soaring pulpit elocutions: “I don’t say anything profound. Just common, everyday things.”

  • Habemus Papam.

     

     

    He is not remotely as progressive as I would have wanted (unsurprising), though ground-breaking in many ways (pleasantly surprising).

    It is done; I submit to our Holy Father's wisdom in informing my conscience, which has primacy in so much as I can discern it, with assurance that God the Spirit dwells within him as Vicar of Christ.

    Our Body is whole again.

    And Jesus came into the quarters of Cesarea Philippi: and he asked his disciples, saying: Whom do men say that the Son of man is?

    But they said: Some John the Baptist, and other some Elias, and others Jeremias, or one of the prophets.

    Jesus saith to them: But whom do you say that I am?

    Simon Peter answered and said: Thou art Christ, the Son of the living God.

    And Jesus answering, said to him: Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona: because flesh and blood hath not revealed it to thee, but my Father who is in heaven.

    And I say to thee: That thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

    And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven. And whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth, it shall be loosed also in heaven.

  • The Father which is not the Son which is not the Spirit which is not the Father is our God with the Son and the Spirit; the Lord is one.

    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    There is something which gets stirred within me at the professing of that Sacred Mystery, every time.

    It is the same feeling I have when standing before the amazing architecture of the Library of Congress or reading Shakespeare or simply taking in a beautiful day or taking in a particularly ingenious intellectual argument.

    I've always maintained, to some degree (and this is growing as time goes on), that there is very little difference between all these things; this, I would imagine, can be used to bolster an argument for absolute morality.

    This has also led to the confusion some have had to how I've viewed being religious and being a secularist as being seamless.

    But I don't want to discuss any of those things, things which have either been discussed in detail before here or would require detailed discussion that would escape the point I do want to address.

     

    Rather, read the portion listed below. It'll help me make my point, in my usual round-about way of doing things (also, it contains potentially offensive concepts if you're of more restrained mind about thinking about God).

    An excerpt:

    Growing up outside the church, I'd drawn my ideas about the Catholic god from Fellini movies as being something like Anita Ekberg driving a red Ferrari. It had never occurred to me to ask the question "Is God fuckable?" because I never doubted the answer. It's one of the reasons I wanted to be Catholic.

    When I first started going to Mass, in my thirties, I'd been studying Saint Augustine and was soaked in his language of intense longing for God. I wasn't surprised at all that in one of the first homilies I heard, the priest said he wanted Jesus to be his lover. I didn't realize this was an extraordinary thing for a priest to say. The mystics are always saying stuff like that. Sitting in the pews for a few years, I figured out that when it comes to sex, parish priests more usually offer a mix of awkward shame and romanticism right out of junior high. Mostly, though, it's just not mentioned.

    Catholic religious imagery is intense, but after a while, it can become as unremarkable as a pair of slippers. You almost have to be an outsider, a newcomer, or in some sort of crisis to notice it. 

    Took me a while to slip into the slippers. Once when I was supposed to lector (read out loud) at daily Mass, I glanced at the reading beforehand and saw it was something about Jerusalem offering her abundant breasts to suck and fondling you on her lap (from Isaiah 66, I think). 
    The priest who was due to say Mass that day was a man I wasn't altogether at ease with, and I didn't really want to read this facing him across a small room. 
    I said to the guy who set up the daily Masses that I didn't feel comfortable reading this passage. 
    He looked at me, absolutely shocked. "But it's scripture," he said. 

    I knew he would read it if I insisted, but I thought, OK, fine, lepers or lambs, it's all the same, people don't even hear it. So I read it and the priest stared into space and I stared into space and I could have been reading the Lord's laundry list.

    The passion, the body, can get pretty drowsy and domesticated in church, like urgent desire does if you give it warm milk and don't poke it with a stick. Still, it's there if you want it, or if you need it, and if I asked most Catholics I know if God is fuckable, I think I know what they'd say. 
    They'd say something like, The world is a sacrament. Take and eat.

    Now, the idea of God being "fuckable" is something completely new to me. The author's assurance at how most Catholics would respond to such a question sort of makes me wonder what world they live in and where would one find it.

    Yet the questions of sex and, in particular, the religious rituals toward the end do strike a cord.

    While I have yet to find the strains of liberal thought I am so certain are within Catholicism (somewhere…), the openness about sex in the context of religious imagery certainly rings true within my knowledge. I once had someone try to tell me that notions of homosexuality in older texts were simply people misreading descriptions of encounters with God because such encounters can take on a seemingly sexual nature (which only serves to reinforce the sacredness of sex and its sacramental component). It's one of the many ways Catholicism seems to gray what is normally taken as strictly black-and-white concepts in religion (though never going nearly as far as some would like and always having an explanation that maintains the traditional viewpoint). It's hard to explain unless you have familiarity with such things (or, seemingly, familiarity with Catholic thought, which is funny to me given my own late blooming that I keep coming back to on this xanga).

    But there's something more.

    It's that last portion (which is really so beautiful, if understood in its context, that I can barely take it): "They'd say something like, The world is a sacrament. Take and eat."

    Someone once told me they couldn't see themselves part of any religious branch which didn't have some notion of the sacraments. I couldn't have understood it then but I have come to. And, for those unfamiliar with the concept of the sacraments, I could give you a description but I don't think it would suffice.

    Thus, for now, I shall simply address the sacrament which the passage is clearly alluding to: the Sacrament of the Altar, Holy Communion, the Eucharist (arguably, the focal point about which all of Catholicism circles; without, there is no Catholicism, no Church, no Faith).

    For some, this is a concept entirely bereft of familiarity (which, for me, makes it all the more singular and significant).

    To make allusion to the Eucharist (the literal embodiment of God offered to us as sustenance, both spiritual and physical) is not simply to say enjoy experience or "take the most out of life". It is to literally make this engagement a holy and spiritual act given to us, again in a spiritual context, by God.

     

    I have continually said that I like that Catholicism takes every experience into consideration in worship: we cross ourselves to engage our touch as we simultaneously speak aloud our belief in the triune God, we use all the visual glory that candles might give a service and incense to reach our scent, etc.

    This concept can go into all sorts of fascinating conversations about the state of human nature and its relation to the spiritual, etc. but I don't want to address those here. Rather, in that context, the sacraments take on a more defining conceptualization.

    They become a sort of testament of sorts, helping to define the religion. In the ways of symbolism so defining for Catholicism, defining the religion around the Eucharist (for everything that it is from having to physically enact it out to the fact that is the act of eating to the spiritual concept behind its action) sets, tenfold, fundamental concepts about the religion at its very foundation.

    Perhaps this is the best (for now) way to describe why we become so impassioned by our sacraments.

    And it explains why the recitation of that Sacred Mystery at the top can be such a high to partake in. Were I more of a Protestant, I suppose it'd be the same for reciting John 3:16. Or the love of life without the Spiritual for the Secular Humanist. Or that the Summation of Life is to give Life meaning for the Existentialist.

    And the reason the end of that above passage is so great is that it ties these other aspects of life into these defining concepts of the Faith as seamlessly as these definers illuminate the Faith (though the current hierarchy would protest to the fundamentalism I seem to see sex as having, even outside of matrimony).

     

    Anyway (in spite of the difficulty to understand some of the above unless you understand what certain concepts mean and feel like), all of this was to articulate this emotion and the potential reasoning behind it.

    And to say that, while I always have this religious-like experience with other religions or religious places (only part of why I was involved in interfaith activities), there is only one other religion (or religion-related to encompass when dealing with intellectualism, thus including my secularism) I have ever had a similar reaction to when encountering the whole of the religion and that is Judaism.

    And I'm not really sure what to do with it.

  •  

    icon

    The Weekly Sift

    making sense of the news one week at a time

    The Distress of the Privileged
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    In a memorable scene from the 1998 film Pleasantville (in which two 1998 teen-agers are transported into the black-and-white world of a 1950s TV show), the father of the TV-perfect Parker family returns from work and says the magic words “Honey, I’m home!”, expecting them to conjure up a smiling wife, adorable children, and dinner on the table.

    This time, though, it doesn’t work. No wife, no kids, no food. Confused, he repeats the invocation, as if he must have said it wrong. After searching the house, he wanders out into the rain and plaintively questions this strangely malfunctioning Universe: “Where’s my dinner?”

    Privileged distress. I’m not bringing this up just to discuss old movies. As the culture evolves, people who benefitted from the old ways invariably see themselves as victims of change. The world used to fit them like a glove, but it no longer does. Increasingly, they find themselves in unfamiliar situations that feel unfair or even unsafe. Their concerns used to take center stage, but now they must compete with the formerly invisible concerns of others.

    If you are one of the newly-visible others, this all sounds whiny compared to the problems you face every day. It’s tempting to blast through such privileged resistance with anger and insult.

    Tempting, but also, I think, a mistake. The privileged are still privileged enough to foment a counter-revolution, if their frustrated sense of entitlement hardens.

    So I think it’s worthwhile to spend a minute or two looking at the world from George Parker’s point of view: He’s a good 1950s TV father. He never set out to be the bad guy. He never meant to stifle his wife’s humanity or enforce a dull conformity on his kids. Nobody ever asked him whether the world should be black-and-white; it just was.

    George never demanded a privileged role, he just uncritically accepted the role society assigned him and played it to the best of his ability. And now suddenly that society isn’t working for the people he loves, and they’re blaming him.

    It seems so unfair. He doesn’t want anybody to be unhappy. He just wants dinner.

    Levels of distress. But even as we accept the reality of George’s privileged-white-male distress, we need to hold on to the understanding that the less privileged citizens of Pleasantville are distressed in an entirely different way. (Margaret Atwood is supposed to have summed up the gender power-differential like this: “Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them.”)

    George deserves compassion, but his until-recently-ideal housewife Betty Parker (and the other characters assigned subservient roles) deserves justice. George and Betty’s claims are not equivalent, and if we treat them the same way, we do Betty an injustice.

    Tolerating Dan Cathy. Now let’s look at a more recent case from real life.

    One of the best things to come out of July’s Chick-fil-A brouhaha was a series of posts on the Owldolatrous blog, in which a gay man (Wayne Self) did his best to wrangle the distress of the privileged.

    The privileged in this case are represented by Chick-fil-A president Dan Cathy, who stirred up a hornet’s nest when he denounced the “prideful, arrogant attitude” of those who support same-sex marriage, saying that they “are inviting God’s judgment on our nation”.

    His comments drew attention to the millions that Chick-fil-A’s founding family has contributed to anti-gay organizations, and led to calls for a boycott of their restaurants.

    To which his defenders responded: Is tolerance a one-way street? Cathy was just expressing the genuine beliefs of his faith. As an American, he has freedom of speech and freedom of religion. Why can’t gays and their supporters respect that?

    “Nothing mutual about it.” Self starts his post by acknowledging Cathy’s distress, but refusing to accept it as equivalent to his own. Cathy is suffering because people are saying bad things about him and refusing to buy his sandwiches. Meanwhile, 29 states (including Self’s home state of Louisiana) let employers fire gays for being gay. There are 75 countries Self and his partner can’t safely visit, because homosexuality is illegal and (in some of them) punishable by death.

    The Cathy family has given $5 million to organizations that work to maintain this state of oppression. Self comments:

    This isn’t about mutual tolerance because there’s nothing mutual about it. If we agree to disagree on this issue, you walk away a full member of this society and I don’t. There is no “live and let live” on this issue because Dan Cathy is spending millions to very specifically NOT let me live. I’m not trying to do that to him.

    Christian push-back. That post got over a million page views and (at last count) 1595 comments, including some push-back from conservative Christians. Self’s follow-up responded to one commenter who wrote that he supported Chick-fil-A as

    [a] company with a founder who speaks for what seems to be the minority these days.

    In other words, I specifically feel BASHED by the general media and liberal establishment and gay activists for simply being a Bible-believing Christian. From TV shows, movies, mainstream news and music, so much is Intolerance of my conservative beliefs. I am labeled a HOMOPHOBIC and a HATER. … I neither fear nor hate homosexuals.

    Self brings in a blog post by Bristol Palin, in which she scoffs at an interviewer’s implication that she might refuse to have a gay partner on “Dancing With the Stars”.

    In their simplistic minds, the fact that I’m a Christian, that I believe in God’s plan for marriage, means that I must hate gays and must hate to even be in their presence. Well, they were right about one thing: there was hate in that media room, but the hate was theirs, not mine.

    … To the Left, “tolerance” means agreeing with them on, well, everything. To me, tolerance means learning to live and work with each other when we don’t agree – and won’t ever agree.

    Like Bristol Palin, Self’s commenter sees himself as the victim of bigotry. He isn’t aware of hating anybody. He just wants to preserve the world he grew up in, and can’t be bothered to picture how others suffer in that world.

    He wants dinner.

    Aesop II. Self answers with a story: a sequel to the Aesop fable of the mouse who saves a lion.

    [A story is] the only way I know to address some of these things without resorting to words that hurt or offend, or shut down discussion.

    Aesop’s tale ends with the mouse and the lion as friends, but Self notes that they are still not equal: The Lion is King of the Jungle and the Mouse … is a mouse.

    In Self’s sequel, the Lion hosts the Kingdom Ball, to which mice are never invited, because they disgust many of the larger animals. Nothing personal, the Lion explains to his friend, it’s just the way things are.

    At this point, Self breaks out of the story to explain why (in spite of the fact that his commenter feels “BASHED by the general media and liberal establishment”) he is casting conservative Christians as the Lion and gays as the Mouse: It is not illegal to be a Christian in any state. You can’t be fired for Christianity. Christians may feel bashed by criticism, but gays get literally bashed by hate crimes. Christians may feel like people are trying to silence them, but the Tennessee legislature debated a bill making it illegal to say the word gay in public schools. (The senate passed it.)

    There is a vast difference between being told you’re superstitious or old-fashioned and being told you’re an abomination that doesn’t deserve to live. There’s a vast difference between being told you’re acting hateful and being told God hates you.

    I’ve been gay and Christian all my life. Trust me: Christian is easier. It’s not even close.

    Leonine distress. But does the Lion have reason to be annoyed with the Mouse? Of course. The Mouse is making trouble by asking to go where he’s not wanted. The Mouse is “prideful” for expecting the rules to change to suit him. However, Self admits that the Lion probably doesn’t hate or fear the Mouse.

    I don’t think you hate me. I certainly don’t think you’re afraid of me. Neither is Bristol Palin. She probably even has LGBT people she calls friends. She just disagrees with them about whether they should be invited to the party (the party, in this case, being marriage).

    But here’s the problem: the basis of that disagreement is her belief that her relationships are intrinsically better than ours.

    There’s a word for this type of statement: supremacist.

    Ah, now we get to “words that hurt or offend”. Here’s what he means by it:

    Supremacy is the habit of believing or acting as if your life, your love, your culture, your self has more intrinsic worth than those of people who differ from you.

    Self sees a supremacist attitude in the commenter’s

    sense of comfort with yourself as an appropriate judge of my choices, ideas, or behaviors, … unwillingness to appreciate the inherent inequality in a debate where I have to ask you for equality … [and] unwillingness to acknowledge the stake that you have have in your feeling of superiority rather than blame it on God.

    […]Now let’s finish the fable: Uninvited, the Mouse crashes the party. The shocked guests go silent, the Lion is furious, and the ensuing argument leads to violence: The Lion chucks the Mouse out the window, ending both the party and the friendship.

    The lesson: Supremacy itself isn’t hate. You may even have affection for the person you feel superior to. But supremacy contains the seeds of hate.

    Supremacy turns to hate when the feeling of innate superiority is openly challenged. … Supremacy is why you and Bristol Palin have more outrage at your own inconvenience than at the legitimate oppression of others.

    We can talk about the subjugation of women later, honey. Where’s my dinner?

    George Parker’s choices. All his life, George has tried to be a good guy by the lights of his society. But society has changed and he hasn’t, so he isn’t seen as a good guy any more. He feels terrible about that, but what can he do?

    One possibility: Maybe he could learn to be a good guy by the lights of this new society. It would be hard. He’d have to give up some of his privileges. He’d have to examine his habits to see which ones embody assumptions of supremacy. He’d have to learn how to see the world through the eyes of others, rather than just assume that they will play their designated social roles. Early on, he would probably make a lot of mistakes and his former inferiors would correct him. It would be embarrassing.

    But there is an alternative: counter-revolution. George could decide that his habits, his expectations, and the society they fit are RIGHT, and this new society is WRONG. If he joined with the other fathers (and right-thinking mothers like the one in the poster) of Pleasantville, maybe they could force everyone else back into their traditional roles.

    Which choice he makes will depend largely on the other characters. If they aren’t firm in their convictions, the counter-revolution may seem easy. (“There, there, honey. I know you’re upset. But be reasonable.”) But if their resentment is implacable, becoming a good guy in the new world may seem impossible.

    […]Confronting this distress is tricky, because neither acceptance nor rejection is quite right. The distress is usually very real, so rejecting it outright just marks you as closed-minded and unsympathetic. It never works to ask others for empathy without offering it back to them.

    At the same time, my straight-white-male sunburn can’t be allowed to compete on equal terms with your heart attack. To me, it may seem fair to flip a coin for the first available ambulance, but it really isn’t. Don’t try to tell me my burn doesn’t hurt, but don’t consent to the coin-flip.

  • As always – as the holidays approach, have passed, or are in the process of going this month –, I just want to wish you all a Happy Hanukkah, Insightful Bodhi, Merry Christmas, and Solemn Ashura.

    You're fantastic people (regardless of whether you, yourself, believe it) and I'm glad to have met you all; I hope the holidays end up being the best for you.

  • By~ the
        wa~ters,
        the wa~ters of Babylon
    We laid down and we~pt,
        and we~pt
        for Israel
    We~ remember,
        we~ remember,
        we~ remember thee, Zion

    The~re on,
        the~re on,
        the~re on the poplars
    We hung up our ha~rps,
        when a~sked,
        when asked for songs
    Songs~ with joy, they
        called~ for joy, they
        called~ for songs from thee, Zion

    How~ can
        we~ sing
        the~ songs of the Lord
    While in foreign la~nd?
        strange la~nds
        Jerusalem
    If I~ forget thee,
        hands~, may they lose
        skill~ and tongue cleave for Zion

    Lo~rd, you
        sa~w when
        Je~rusalem fell
    Do you recall wha~t
        they cri~ed,
        Jerusalem?
    Tear~ it down
        tear~ it down
        tear~ its very foundation

    Daugh~ter, O
        daugh~ter, O
        daugh~ter of Babylon
    Heavy is our de~bt
        our de~bt
        and we want none…

  • I should really be going to bed.

    Our friend Ancient_Scribe recently shared, in a pulse, this article: http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/son-of-two-moms-defends-regnerus-study-on-same-sex-parenting/.

    This is a really simple matter so I'll try to be brief (if I actually hold that capability). While I hate to discount anyone's personal experience (the first rule of understanding is acknowledging there are other experiences beyond the ones you're familiar with; Mr. Lopez's full testimony can be found here: http://www.thepublicdiscourse.com/2012/08/6065), I'm going to assume that none of you are stupid and just acknowledge out the gate that articles such as these are used to discredit the notion of gay marriage (note my lack of scare quotes around the word marriage, unlike the article).

    However, the first point of criticism is the article's (and Mr. Lopez's testimony's) display of all the hallmarks of a piece written to fit a particular viewpoint (which often, in turn, defies lived experience). How?

    There's the never-failing-to-appear point that such behavior leads "one down a sodden path to self-medication in the form of alcoholism, drugs, gambling, antisocial behavior, and irresponsible sex". I once read an article from some site like Yahoo about a mother who (while dealing with her son's decent into homosexuality before he came back to his senses and "became" straight again) would have to tape her eyes shut when she went to bed at night because she cried so much (I don't believe such an endeavor would actually work…). Nothing like sensationalism to drive a point across.

    On that note, there's that hallmark expression of Mr. Lopez descending into the "gay underworld". Sounds scary. Particularly since it preys upon fears of a secretive society of homosexuals that are plotting to overtake your safe and cozy straight life (note that it also plays the card of the Other by literally creating another world of separation from what Mr. Lopez consider's normal). Of course, this is ridiculous. Really, underworld? Boy's Town in Chicago is literally just a 45 minute drive away for me. I've gone down there every pride parade I've attended. Friends of mine in high school have gone down there. There's nothing hidden or scary.

    There's the claim that being raised by two women rendered Mr. Lopez to having "very few recognizable social cues to offer potential male or female friends, since I was neither confident nor sensitive to others". Apparently the Lopez's didn't have T. V.s in their household. Or never left the house, for that matter. And apparently Mr. Lopez didn't go to school. But, you know what, I can somewhat understand. I flounder completely at social cues to give (as I've mentioned more than enough times on this Xanga) and find meeting (let alone befriending) other people difficult. It's not easy. But it's not life-ending.

    Then there's also this peculiar paragraph:

    Those who are 100-percent gay may view bisexuals with a mix of disgust and envy. Bisexual parents threaten the core of the LGBT parenting narrative—we do have a choice to live as gay or straight, and we do have to decide the gender configuration of the household in which our children will grow up. While some gays see bisexuality as an easier position, the fact is that bisexual parents bear a more painful weight on their shoulders. Unlike homosexuals, we cannot write off our decisions as things forced on us by nature. We have no choice but to take responsibility for what we do as parents, and live with the guilt, regret, and self-criticism forever.

    "Okay, alright, science says that being gay isn't a choice. Hmm, well, if we make the argument that those who have the choice to partake happily in heterosexual acts ought to [using the same evidence that's used when arguing that being gay is a choice, no less] then we still kinda win!" Honestly, you don't decide to live as gay or straight as a bisexual; just because I date mostly girls doesn't mean I live as a straight person. It's still trying to fit into a binary understanding of sexuality.

    But what makes the entire affair just hilarious is how disconnected from reality it is.

    I'm sorry that discovering you're bisexual caused you to run into the "gay underworld" and all the drugs and sex it must have contained (because gay people are inseperable from drugs and sex in these types of narratives). I'm bisexual too and – oh, wait, I'm still a virgin and I've never used illegal drugs, ever. I guess I just have self-control.

    Hey, look, Mr. Wahls above was raised by two women too. Except he looks rather well adjusted, doesn't he?

    Or I could appeal to my own life experiences and the people I've known raised in gay/bi households. People who were perfectly well adjusted and had plenty of friends.

    Or when a friend of mine, trying to appeal to how the past or the 50s (I forget which) was better, asked me if we had any decent male role-models these days. For the longest time, I didn't know how to formulate a reply. Here's why: what the Hell would that entail‽ Perhaps it's a generational gap but I can't begin to formulate how being neither confident nor sensitive would be a disability to getting to know a person. And, hence, I can't begin to figure out what it would mean to be, specifically, a male role-model since men (at least when I was growing up, in my traditional heterosexual household) could do anything they pleased. I know, I shouldn't be surprised but I always am whenever anyone lends actual legitimacy to the notion of gender roles (the family was watching a movie about Shakespeare the other day when my mother exclaims, "The king is wearing women's shoes!" This shift in gender roles is atrocious and I think we should all go back to the good old days when men wore feminine shoes, like is proper and natural؟).

     

    And, look, honestly, I am truly sorry if Mr. Lopez had a difficult time in his life because, for him specifically, he was raised by two women. I'm sorry that society was so cruel as to make life difficult for him just because he didn't fit their expectations. I imagine such worries plagued the first children of interracial marriages.

    But we should work to make society more understanding rather than bending to the current whims of today's society and, in turn, trying to make permanent its cruelties. Such behavior, even if under the guise of being practical or realistic, just continues to hurt people in the end.