Well, actually you had me at "We're more pagan and humanists than anything else."
This week we ventured into the Unitarian Universalist congregation and I fell in love. We met some of the lay ministers when we first arrived and I believe that there was the assumption that EK and I were partners (in the physical and spiritual sense). Generally wherever she and I go, people might think that we are lesbians, but this is the first time anyone asked us outright. And the wonderful part of it all is that there was NO judgement made towards us either way. In fact, we would have been one of many lesbian couples at the service (including the minister herself).
The greatest thing about the UU church, in my humble opinion, is that they have succeeded in doing what I dislike about most religions-they took the "God" out of the church. This, to me, is like the ultimate Baha'i: we can be humanists, we can believe in freedom for all, yet we can talk about politics and liberalism and peace on earth and we don't have to make God part of the conversation within the congregation. Let's keep God to ourselves, meditate upon what it means to have a belief or not have a belief, and let's be a community of hope. Radical. I might be sold!
I was struck by the community themselves. There were a lot of older people, or "gray heads" as I like to call them, and definitely a feminist slant. There were probably 75% women, many of whom were there with their partners, with short hair styles (as EK and I just discussed), and without bras. I have hear about the large hippie community in our town, and I think I found where most of them go to church.
The service was very emotional for me. The moment for sharing thoughts was followed by a lighting of candles/sharing of "joys and sorrows" when we heard stories of death, pregnancies, and etc. I was moved to tears several times. This was followed by a moment of meditation, which was really the best part of my day (other than the coffee and cookies social hour post-service). We also sang some songs (not as fun as the Pentacostals) and we ended service with meeting our neighbors.
I'm going to read more about the UU's, and I may or may not have found a community with which I can actually belong.
Now, a brief thought on EK's previous entry:
Another time, he was marching through the ice when he had this thought: "Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love." How did he not want those Nazis to suffer as he had?
This idea of unconditional love: can it ever truly exist? I think of our housemate whose friend, despite (or because of) a broken relationship with his father, saw his father through his dying days. This is truly heaven to me. The ability to love is an incredible gift. Without it we are lost and unhappy. Perhaps the UU's can provide the community support that might somehow help me to get closer to unconditional love. Sigh.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Are you partners? And other greetings at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Corvallis
Lauren and I decided to go to the Unitarian Universalists today. We rode our bikes there and were early, so we helped some peeps there set up. I helped by breaking the leg off a sign. Oh well. The friendly people (mostly old, gotta admit) shuffled around, putting things in order and trying to make us feel comfortable.
The service itself was wonderful. Singing, a little meditating, some heartfelt wishes, the goodbyes to their pastor who is going on sabbatical. There were over 100 people there and they were a diverse group, though heavily trended toward: 1) older, 2) liberal (!), and 3) white (it is Corvallis). I teared up a few times during the service and I felt like it was the best service I've been to. Maybe the Pentecostals are close, but this was a community of people that I was comfortable with on many levels. They are non-dogmatic but committed to particular values, primarily social justice. And one of the women we spoke to assumed we were a couple but broached the topic in such a nice, unassuming way (hence the title of this post).
In terms of the history of the whole thing:
Unitarians - they do not believe that Jesus was divine (rejection of the trinity)
Universalists - they do not believe that people are going to hell
The two groups collided to bring you friendly people who like to drink coffee, eat cookies, and wear rainbow scarves. Their website also proudly states that they have "always been heretics." And though I phrased their beliefs in terms of what they do not believe in, I think that what they do believe in is just as interesting (plagiarized and paraphrased from a little booklet we received):
"1) The inherent worth and dignity of every person
2) Justice, equity and compassion in human relations
3) Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth
4) A free and responsible search for truth and meaning
5) The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process
6) The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all
7) Respect for the interdependent web of all existence"
These values are my values: what they say and what they do not say. I especially like that they included #5, the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process. As one woman said to me: "Deeds, not creeds." Exactamundo. The assumption that we are united by sin and defect is replaced with the assumption that we are united through love and possibility. And the rejection of the trinity is important to me on a weird level. I can't explain it, but I don't like the trinity. To me, it's a three-headed monster of history. It represents the oppression and hypocrisy of the church as it became a political beast under Constantine. It is a symbol of the dominance and hierarchy of modern Christian churches, particularly Catholicism.
The Unitarian Universalists may be the church that I go to. At least for now, I feel that I embrace their values and yet I do not have to suspend my disbelief. I just fit there.
But certainly, I will continue to go to other churches. I have thought about why we are actually doing this, and I have a few reasons. One: I am interested in Corvallis and the communities of people who exist here, side by side, but who can see the world so differently. Two: I like religions, in particular religious history, and I think that even a superficial knowledge of what people believe is good for my brain. Three: I think that maybe, somehow, I'll find a religion that I can believe in.
The service itself was wonderful. Singing, a little meditating, some heartfelt wishes, the goodbyes to their pastor who is going on sabbatical. There were over 100 people there and they were a diverse group, though heavily trended toward: 1) older, 2) liberal (!), and 3) white (it is Corvallis). I teared up a few times during the service and I felt like it was the best service I've been to. Maybe the Pentecostals are close, but this was a community of people that I was comfortable with on many levels. They are non-dogmatic but committed to particular values, primarily social justice. And one of the women we spoke to assumed we were a couple but broached the topic in such a nice, unassuming way (hence the title of this post).
In terms of the history of the whole thing:
Unitarians - they do not believe that Jesus was divine (rejection of the trinity)
Universalists - they do not believe that people are going to hell
The two groups collided to bring you friendly people who like to drink coffee, eat cookies, and wear rainbow scarves. Their website also proudly states that they have "always been heretics." And though I phrased their beliefs in terms of what they do not believe in, I think that what they do believe in is just as interesting (plagiarized and paraphrased from a little booklet we received):
"1) The inherent worth and dignity of every person
2) Justice, equity and compassion in human relations
3) Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth
4) A free and responsible search for truth and meaning
5) The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process
6) The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all
7) Respect for the interdependent web of all existence"
These values are my values: what they say and what they do not say. I especially like that they included #5, the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process. As one woman said to me: "Deeds, not creeds." Exactamundo. The assumption that we are united by sin and defect is replaced with the assumption that we are united through love and possibility. And the rejection of the trinity is important to me on a weird level. I can't explain it, but I don't like the trinity. To me, it's a three-headed monster of history. It represents the oppression and hypocrisy of the church as it became a political beast under Constantine. It is a symbol of the dominance and hierarchy of modern Christian churches, particularly Catholicism.
The Unitarian Universalists may be the church that I go to. At least for now, I feel that I embrace their values and yet I do not have to suspend my disbelief. I just fit there.
But certainly, I will continue to go to other churches. I have thought about why we are actually doing this, and I have a few reasons. One: I am interested in Corvallis and the communities of people who exist here, side by side, but who can see the world so differently. Two: I like religions, in particular religious history, and I think that even a superficial knowledge of what people believe is good for my brain. Three: I think that maybe, somehow, I'll find a religion that I can believe in.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Do you have something else to wear? And other Christmas greetings.
I thought I'd throw out a quick blog for Christmas. Merry Christmas! And I thought I'd respond to one of your comments, Lauren, about Jews. That is, you mentioned that
Liberal Jews (probably excluding Israelis) acknowledge that the conquest of Israel/Palestine is an expression of symbolic capital: Jews are expressing their strength, mainly in military and wealth.
Interesting thought. I would think there are a number of Israelis who are liberal, and so probably recognize that 1) Israel/Palestine has been "conquered" and that 2) this is a show of strength. But it's an odd bind, isn't it, to be both socially liberal and to be supportive of a militant government? I guess that "socially-conscious" doesn't necessarily mean unconflicted. I wonder about the internal identity of "jewishness" (let's call this habitus, per Bourdieu, and say it is complex, multifaceted, sensitive to suffering) and the external reality (field) of a militarily-dominant nation run by Jews.
I remember reading A Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood when I was in high school, and at that time in my life, I was anything but a pacifist in my mind. I thought about killing men (especially military men) all the time. Weird, huh? It's like I wanted to beat them at their own game - it's not enough to hate them for what they do to the world, you want to give them a taste of their own medicine. I suppose I don't feel so different today about Dick Cheney; I think that he deserves what he has done to the world. And yet ... and yet ... is it true? Would it destroy my own identity as - whatever I am - to inflict physical violence on another, or to wish it done? What are Jews doing to themselves in this perpetual war? How is their habitus changing? I think that humans can easily hold contradictory beliefs - "I am a pacifist," "I wish harm on another" - and yet, at a certain point, I also think that these contradictions manifest in decisions, in action. With the Jews, I wonder if some of the peacefulness of the culture, the cultured-ness of the culture hasn't died a little with the actions against Palestinians.
One of my favorite (?) stories of the holocaust was about the existential philosopher Viktor Frankl, who surviving the holocaust emerged with a theory about love and the inherent goodness of man. I heard about Nazi soldiers throwing his writings out in the snow, and he went out, barefoot, running around and collecting them. Another time, he was marching through the ice when he had this thought: "Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love." How did he not want those Nazis to suffer as he had?
This is not to say that Viktor Frankl represents all Jews, but has Jewishness, in some way, survived through a culture of generosity and love in the face of hate, and has Jewishness diminished because of Israeli's institutionalized hatred and military might? Could the nation of Israel, in its pact with the military might of the Americans, be devouring some of the good of Jewishness? Or is it just another opportunity for individual agency to shine through the evil of particular structures? How can "good" individuals survive amidst the greater culture of military strength and material excess? This is, of course, not limited to Israel or to America or to any other country. Perhaps part of my problem is in conceptualizing countries as monolithic, when in fact they are structures upon structures, fields within fields, with agents running around and through them, combining them and separating them.
Another interesting thought, courtesy of my dad: when Bourdieu talks about trading symbolic capital for economic capital (as when a businessman buys a piece of art), he is actually talking about infusing the symbolic with economic capital. That is, the piece of art that is bought for $1 million is now worth $1 million. It is an investment, and because this symbol (this painting) now is worth this much, the businessman has commodified it (yay Marx!) and it is not just a symbol of his wealth and taste, it is an investment, a reservoir of economic capital.
Liberal Jews (probably excluding Israelis) acknowledge that the conquest of Israel/Palestine is an expression of symbolic capital: Jews are expressing their strength, mainly in military and wealth.
Interesting thought. I would think there are a number of Israelis who are liberal, and so probably recognize that 1) Israel/Palestine has been "conquered" and that 2) this is a show of strength. But it's an odd bind, isn't it, to be both socially liberal and to be supportive of a militant government? I guess that "socially-conscious" doesn't necessarily mean unconflicted. I wonder about the internal identity of "jewishness" (let's call this habitus, per Bourdieu, and say it is complex, multifaceted, sensitive to suffering) and the external reality (field) of a militarily-dominant nation run by Jews.
I remember reading A Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood when I was in high school, and at that time in my life, I was anything but a pacifist in my mind. I thought about killing men (especially military men) all the time. Weird, huh? It's like I wanted to beat them at their own game - it's not enough to hate them for what they do to the world, you want to give them a taste of their own medicine. I suppose I don't feel so different today about Dick Cheney; I think that he deserves what he has done to the world. And yet ... and yet ... is it true? Would it destroy my own identity as - whatever I am - to inflict physical violence on another, or to wish it done? What are Jews doing to themselves in this perpetual war? How is their habitus changing? I think that humans can easily hold contradictory beliefs - "I am a pacifist," "I wish harm on another" - and yet, at a certain point, I also think that these contradictions manifest in decisions, in action. With the Jews, I wonder if some of the peacefulness of the culture, the cultured-ness of the culture hasn't died a little with the actions against Palestinians.
One of my favorite (?) stories of the holocaust was about the existential philosopher Viktor Frankl, who surviving the holocaust emerged with a theory about love and the inherent goodness of man. I heard about Nazi soldiers throwing his writings out in the snow, and he went out, barefoot, running around and collecting them. Another time, he was marching through the ice when he had this thought: "Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love." How did he not want those Nazis to suffer as he had?
This is not to say that Viktor Frankl represents all Jews, but has Jewishness, in some way, survived through a culture of generosity and love in the face of hate, and has Jewishness diminished because of Israeli's institutionalized hatred and military might? Could the nation of Israel, in its pact with the military might of the Americans, be devouring some of the good of Jewishness? Or is it just another opportunity for individual agency to shine through the evil of particular structures? How can "good" individuals survive amidst the greater culture of military strength and material excess? This is, of course, not limited to Israel or to America or to any other country. Perhaps part of my problem is in conceptualizing countries as monolithic, when in fact they are structures upon structures, fields within fields, with agents running around and through them, combining them and separating them.
Another interesting thought, courtesy of my dad: when Bourdieu talks about trading symbolic capital for economic capital (as when a businessman buys a piece of art), he is actually talking about infusing the symbolic with economic capital. That is, the piece of art that is bought for $1 million is now worth $1 million. It is an investment, and because this symbol (this painting) now is worth this much, the businessman has commodified it (yay Marx!) and it is not just a symbol of his wealth and taste, it is an investment, a reservoir of economic capital.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Little God in my skis
Today's church will be out in the snow, cross-country skiing with my parents and my dog. I am way too excited. Today, I got up and shoveled the driveway, which puts me in rarefied company here on Nina Lane. After shoveling, you get the privilege of talking about shoveling for the rest of the day ("ooh, it sure does hurt the wrists to shovel," "my, it's nice to have a shoveled driveway" and so on). Marvin is next to me, barking at the snow faeries, so we're excited to go out and find ourselves some trouble to get into.
I thought I'd comment to you, Lauren, about the "jewishness." I think that catholics have a similar thing; the "catholic identity." It's also why so many Americans claim to be Irish: the "otherness." I hated how O'Reilly liked to say that John Kerry wasn't really a catholic because he's pro-choice, as though catholic identity is some sort of checklist instead of a continuum, or even a grid of cultural and religious affiliation. This grid (four squares, top is high religious identity, bottom is low religious identity; right is high cultural identity, left is low cultural identity) is a useful conceit, but it also doesn't capture the very abstract notion of self-identification.
Anyhow, I think this is a peculiarly American ability - that of choosing your cultural affiliation. Perhaps because of the melting pot (or tossed salad, tee hee), we kind of cling to our otherness. As well, all Americans like to be "working class" or somehow slighted - it's our anti-elitism, and no American wants to be an elitist. So saying that your grandpa didn't go to college, or your great-grandma was from Romania, or whatever it is that makes you special and not elitist, you are salt of the earth. I remember Maureen Dowd suddenly claiming her blue collar status when Barack Obama was running against Hillary; Dowd pointed to some relative and somehow came out as blue collar. This was one week after she used opera as a metaphor. My point is that our disadvantaged creds are carried like medals, perhaps to remind others that we, too, "pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps." My dad's favorite joke, that Bush was born on third and thought he hit a triple, is probably true for most of us middle classers in today's America. We were born into unthinkable material privilege and comfort, but we're also of peasant stock. There is a tension. We're all so damn nouveau riche, treading unsteadily between gloating in our success and reminding ourselves that we're not far from failure.
Bourdieu claimed that we try and use certain forms of capital (say, economic) to trade for others (say, cultural). So a rich businessman will pay a (relatively) poor artist for a painting and both increase their capital - the businessman gets cultural capital, the artist gets economic capital. I think that, in Bourdieu's America, we seem to want to buy a folk capital. The French buy themselves class, the Americans buy themselves street cred.
Marvin is still getting upset at the snow faeries, so we'll go chase them down with my god-skis.
My, how the back does ache after a hard shoveling.
I thought I'd comment to you, Lauren, about the "jewishness." I think that catholics have a similar thing; the "catholic identity." It's also why so many Americans claim to be Irish: the "otherness." I hated how O'Reilly liked to say that John Kerry wasn't really a catholic because he's pro-choice, as though catholic identity is some sort of checklist instead of a continuum, or even a grid of cultural and religious affiliation. This grid (four squares, top is high religious identity, bottom is low religious identity; right is high cultural identity, left is low cultural identity) is a useful conceit, but it also doesn't capture the very abstract notion of self-identification.
Anyhow, I think this is a peculiarly American ability - that of choosing your cultural affiliation. Perhaps because of the melting pot (or tossed salad, tee hee), we kind of cling to our otherness. As well, all Americans like to be "working class" or somehow slighted - it's our anti-elitism, and no American wants to be an elitist. So saying that your grandpa didn't go to college, or your great-grandma was from Romania, or whatever it is that makes you special and not elitist, you are salt of the earth. I remember Maureen Dowd suddenly claiming her blue collar status when Barack Obama was running against Hillary; Dowd pointed to some relative and somehow came out as blue collar. This was one week after she used opera as a metaphor. My point is that our disadvantaged creds are carried like medals, perhaps to remind others that we, too, "pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps." My dad's favorite joke, that Bush was born on third and thought he hit a triple, is probably true for most of us middle classers in today's America. We were born into unthinkable material privilege and comfort, but we're also of peasant stock. There is a tension. We're all so damn nouveau riche, treading unsteadily between gloating in our success and reminding ourselves that we're not far from failure.
Bourdieu claimed that we try and use certain forms of capital (say, economic) to trade for others (say, cultural). So a rich businessman will pay a (relatively) poor artist for a painting and both increase their capital - the businessman gets cultural capital, the artist gets economic capital. I think that, in Bourdieu's America, we seem to want to buy a folk capital. The French buy themselves class, the Americans buy themselves street cred.
Marvin is still getting upset at the snow faeries, so we'll go chase them down with my god-skis.
My, how the back does ache after a hard shoveling.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Evil gnomes. That's right.
Why, yes, EK. As a matter of fact, I do have thoughts. Actually, I made an earlier attempt at blogging a few days ago which was thwarted by small gnomes who cut the internet connection in a failed attempt at world domination. So I lost all my well-crafted thoughts, and you shall have to deal with half-baked ones instead.
First, a brief aside: I was raised Jewish. But much like my fellow cultural Jews, I hold it at arms length. I claim to know almost nothing about the religion and sometimes refer to Jews as though I am not one, thereby pushing it away. Other times I cling onto it in a desperate attempt to "other" myself, letting other people know that I'm not like "them." I'm unique, I'm not mainstream American because I'm not a Protestant (phew). And I don't make carrot-raisin salad for a side dish. I never enslaved your people because I was busy over there counting my money and practicing my blackface. And frequently, I am the self-effacing Jew. (For a better description, watch any movie made by Woody Allen.) Summary: my opinion does not reflect that of many Jews.
So, while I am certainly not a pro-zionist, I would also not call myself an anti-zionist either. I hesitate to say that the idea of a Jewish state is bad... assuming that a Jewish state refers to our emphasis on social equality and justice, intellectualism, and damn good food. However, poor execution, Israel. Jews have always been marginalized, whether we do it to ourselves or we become society's scapegoat. Historically, we have suffered many systematic oppressions and yet we persevere as a (culturally shifting) group. It is our memory, the Jewish collective consciousness, that holds us together as a people. (Read Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer or see the movie with Elijah Wood.) While some people perceive "Jewish" as an ethnicity, it is only a culture that can pass along memory. To me, the consideration that our diasporic culture could need to reclaim a physical space is incomprehensible. Let the Wailing Wall be a place of pilgrimage, but let it be so for everyone.
However, it would be wrong to deny that, as an historically oppressed peoples, we do not need a safe space. (We should probably question why "space" is inherently unsafe.) To call it a "return/reclaiming of the holy land"? Why even bother. Liberal Jews (probably excluding Israelis) acknowledge that the conquest of Israel/Palestine is an expression of symbolic capital: Jews are expressing their strength, mainly in military and wealth. If Jews are so socially-oriented, how can we let this happen?
Summary: Not pro-zion, but not anti-zion, per se. California is, after all, a state of mind, right?
In other news, I've been stuck in heavy snowfall for the past 4 days. After extensive travels to places far warmer than the Northeast, I vowed that I would never use a snowshovel again. Well, I failed. But the repetetive motion got me thinking about seasons, changing of seasons, and how we connect with the world according to how we experience changing seasons. Animistic religions saw something greater in the prescence or absence of the sun or rain. They connected with it, prayed for it, loved it, feared it...Which led to thoughts on spirituality. Which I dig. Even though I am pretty sure I have yet to find a religion that suits me, I have a connection with something greater (I think). Being outside, being in a place where I can re-connect with the earth, with natural processes, helps me reconnect with myself. Nature is my favorite temple. It's scary and illusive. It's wonderous and massive. It's endless (despite our constant attempts at splitting it up, breaking it down). It's predictable and totally not. It is amazing and awesome. It's what I need, more than any visit to church. And since I'm stranded this week, no church. Just outside time.
First, a brief aside: I was raised Jewish. But much like my fellow cultural Jews, I hold it at arms length. I claim to know almost nothing about the religion and sometimes refer to Jews as though I am not one, thereby pushing it away. Other times I cling onto it in a desperate attempt to "other" myself, letting other people know that I'm not like "them." I'm unique, I'm not mainstream American because I'm not a Protestant (phew). And I don't make carrot-raisin salad for a side dish. I never enslaved your people because I was busy over there counting my money and practicing my blackface. And frequently, I am the self-effacing Jew. (For a better description, watch any movie made by Woody Allen.) Summary: my opinion does not reflect that of many Jews.
So, while I am certainly not a pro-zionist, I would also not call myself an anti-zionist either. I hesitate to say that the idea of a Jewish state is bad... assuming that a Jewish state refers to our emphasis on social equality and justice, intellectualism, and damn good food. However, poor execution, Israel. Jews have always been marginalized, whether we do it to ourselves or we become society's scapegoat. Historically, we have suffered many systematic oppressions and yet we persevere as a (culturally shifting) group. It is our memory, the Jewish collective consciousness, that holds us together as a people. (Read Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer or see the movie with Elijah Wood.) While some people perceive "Jewish" as an ethnicity, it is only a culture that can pass along memory. To me, the consideration that our diasporic culture could need to reclaim a physical space is incomprehensible. Let the Wailing Wall be a place of pilgrimage, but let it be so for everyone.
However, it would be wrong to deny that, as an historically oppressed peoples, we do not need a safe space. (We should probably question why "space" is inherently unsafe.) To call it a "return/reclaiming of the holy land"? Why even bother. Liberal Jews (probably excluding Israelis) acknowledge that the conquest of Israel/Palestine is an expression of symbolic capital: Jews are expressing their strength, mainly in military and wealth. If Jews are so socially-oriented, how can we let this happen?
Summary: Not pro-zion, but not anti-zion, per se. California is, after all, a state of mind, right?
In other news, I've been stuck in heavy snowfall for the past 4 days. After extensive travels to places far warmer than the Northeast, I vowed that I would never use a snowshovel again. Well, I failed. But the repetetive motion got me thinking about seasons, changing of seasons, and how we connect with the world according to how we experience changing seasons. Animistic religions saw something greater in the prescence or absence of the sun or rain. They connected with it, prayed for it, loved it, feared it...Which led to thoughts on spirituality. Which I dig. Even though I am pretty sure I have yet to find a religion that suits me, I have a connection with something greater (I think). Being outside, being in a place where I can re-connect with the earth, with natural processes, helps me reconnect with myself. Nature is my favorite temple. It's scary and illusive. It's wonderous and massive. It's endless (despite our constant attempts at splitting it up, breaking it down). It's predictable and totally not. It is amazing and awesome. It's what I need, more than any visit to church. And since I'm stranded this week, no church. Just outside time.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Countdown to Hanukkah 2008!!
As the non-Jewish contributor to this blog, I decided to devote a little time to Hanukkah ... a holiday I have never celebrated and until this moment did not know how to spell. I found this website that provides very useful information for the neophytes among us. For one thing, I learned that Hanukkah is not all that important to Jews - not as important as the many other Jewish holidays of which I no nothing.
Also, I learned that the Maccabees were bad-ass Jews whose name comes from the Hebrew word for "Hammer." Apparently, the Greeks were defiling the Holy Temple in Jerusalem (offering pigs for sacrifice to multiple gods) and the Jews fought back. All this was about 165 BCE. When the Jews got their temple back, there was a miracle at the temple: candles remained lit for eight days on oil that was only supposed to last for a day! If you are underwhelmed by this miracle, you are not Jewish.
That is my Jewish lesson for the day.
As for personal opinions on Jewishness, I have very few. I was once afraid that I'd insulted Lauren because I said something anti-Israel, but I later found out she's anti-Israel, too. One of my problems with Israel (besides the whole geopolitical thing) is that the young men get out of the military, no doubt a hard, dangerous military (not the namby pamby military of, say, the Swiss), go to foreign lands (especially India and Thailand) and do as many drugs as possible. This creates a good deal of tension, as you may well imagine. Some Israeli who is used to carrying around an automatic weapon and having people fear him comes to a poor country, yells at people a lot, wears tie-dye and velvet pants, and takes ecstasy every day. The former-military-turned-insta-hippie is a poor representative of Israel. I think there should be a prolonged de-programming after the military, and it should involve frequent reminders that bongo drums are not toys and LSD is a superfluous drug in a country that deifies cows.
Actually, I think I can summon a bit of an opinion about Jews in general. I am jealous of the culture, the ability of a people to maintain their identity over centuries while also adapting to the economic and social realities that they find themselves in. That is, truly, a miracle. What other religious group has survived so long - maybe Zoroastrians? At any rate, it may take a religion to keep people glued like this for such a long time. Any thoughts, Lauren?
Also, I learned that the Maccabees were bad-ass Jews whose name comes from the Hebrew word for "Hammer." Apparently, the Greeks were defiling the Holy Temple in Jerusalem (offering pigs for sacrifice to multiple gods) and the Jews fought back. All this was about 165 BCE. When the Jews got their temple back, there was a miracle at the temple: candles remained lit for eight days on oil that was only supposed to last for a day! If you are underwhelmed by this miracle, you are not Jewish.
That is my Jewish lesson for the day.
As for personal opinions on Jewishness, I have very few. I was once afraid that I'd insulted Lauren because I said something anti-Israel, but I later found out she's anti-Israel, too. One of my problems with Israel (besides the whole geopolitical thing) is that the young men get out of the military, no doubt a hard, dangerous military (not the namby pamby military of, say, the Swiss), go to foreign lands (especially India and Thailand) and do as many drugs as possible. This creates a good deal of tension, as you may well imagine. Some Israeli who is used to carrying around an automatic weapon and having people fear him comes to a poor country, yells at people a lot, wears tie-dye and velvet pants, and takes ecstasy every day. The former-military-turned-insta-hippie is a poor representative of Israel. I think there should be a prolonged de-programming after the military, and it should involve frequent reminders that bongo drums are not toys and LSD is a superfluous drug in a country that deifies cows.
Actually, I think I can summon a bit of an opinion about Jews in general. I am jealous of the culture, the ability of a people to maintain their identity over centuries while also adapting to the economic and social realities that they find themselves in. That is, truly, a miracle. What other religious group has survived so long - maybe Zoroastrians? At any rate, it may take a religion to keep people glued like this for such a long time. Any thoughts, Lauren?
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Gays. That's right. I'm going to rant.
Now we've finally set up two separate accounts so that we can tell each other apart. Hopefully this shows up as written by "EK."
We didn't go to church this week, though we both went hiking in some old growth spruce forest in the Oregon coast range. That's pretty close. We had every intention of going to the Kingdom Hall (Jehovah's Witnesses), but then a long, slow breakfast interfered. F- it.
Lauren and I both got these incredibly nice cards from the Pentecostals, thanking us for going to their service. I think that they have the best service I've been to so far, in terms of how I felt afterward. I'd like to go again. Maybe I will.
I'm currently listening to a This American Life radio program called "Heretics" about a man who stops believing in hell and starts believing that everyone gets to go to Heaven (even gays). It's got me thinking about gays, and now I'm going to expound a bit. This is called procrastination.
Since Measure 9 in Oregon (1993), I have thought of myself as pro-gay. Not ambivalent, or somehow not anti-gay, but pro-gay. I'm convinced it's the civil rights issue of this generation. I guess it takes your first taste of overt hatred to make you angry enough to embrace people you don't even know. I didn't know any gay people then; well, I didn't know I knew any gay people then. Some people in my high school who were (apparently) in a government class, put up a poster in the hallway that said "Burn Fags not Flags" to support Measure 9. It was taken down, but not quickly enough to avoid a small spontaneous pro-Measure 9 cheering squad, consisting of (I can only assume) the most flaming, self-loathing, closeted gays in my high school.
This will be my preaching for the day. Here we go. I'm going to take the stupidest arguments against gays and give you (um, whoever you are) my spin. Why? Because this is my goddamn blog.
1) Gays should "just be quiet."
First, this assumes straights are "quiet" about their sex lives. Everyone gets treated to non-stop hetero exposure. It's leaking out of crappy magazines (Cosmopolitan), crappier TV shows (all of them), and even on Christian websites. Why don't those straights stop walking around, holding hands and kissing and rubbing my face in their straightness?
Another angle on this argument could be that if gays would just shut up about their orientation, there would be no prejudice against it. This is the "I could care less" argument, one that I hear frequently invoked by right-wing radio hosts, who seem to also be the only non-racists in the world - so much so, they don't even see race! This is the closest corollary I see to the civil rights movements of the 1960s, when blacks were told to just be quiet because they were stirring up all kinds of uncomfortable feelings among nice white people who didn't even think of themselves as racists. But the acts of violence against blacks, though carried out by few whites, were symbolic of a much larger system of inequity. Of course the whites couldn't see the inequity; it wasn't part of the fabric of their lives, it didn't shape their interactions. Read Du Bois (Souls of Black Folk) for a much more well-written argument of this vein. If you (and I don't mean you, but you over there) don't think there's discrimination against gay people, what planet are you from? Seriously. Mars?
2) Gay sex is "gross"
Um, sex between most people is gross. Unless you're Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, I don't want to ever imagine sex between anyone. If this argument was valid, then almost everyone would need to stop having sex.
3) Sex is for procreation
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! No really. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
4) Gays are condemned in the bible
I know we've all heard the arguments against this, but I'd like to underline a few. Leviticus 18:22 does, indeed, say: Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination" (KJV). Clear enough. Leviticus, let us remember, also prohibits sex with a menstruating woman (this speaks to #3 - we're on it) and the kosher laws, which also prohibit wearing clothing of two textiles (damn those poly blends!).
But let's just stick with the notion that the bible condemns homosexuality (Romans I, say). Alright. What else you got? This was a stopping point for an evangelical in North Carolina who used to follow me around when I was a waitress. He was the restaurant manager, sweet as could be, and he really wanted to save my soul.
Him: Don't you believe in the bible?
Me: No.
Him: But the bible says that if you don't believe in it, you'll go to hell.
Nice argument. Try and work your way out of that chinese finger trap. Here's what I've gleaned from the bible: Jesus was incredibly loving and accepting. The god of the old testament was a jerk. I guess this aligns me (somewhat) with my superficial reading of the Baha'i faith: prophets come to correct our misinterpretations. So if we take our first lesson, that Jesus was incredibly loving and accepting, then I think we can safely say that he wouldn't have sided with the assholes who currently promulgate his faith. Sorry for the offense. I'm not feeling charitable today.
Finally, I can accept that this is a Christian nation. I believe it is one, in fact. Demographic evidence bears this out. I'm not going to belabor the separation of church and state here, either. But I think it is perfectly acceptable to be a Christian nation, one where most people are Christian, and not interfere with others' right to marry the person (or people!) of their choice. It really won't hurt you. If god hates it that much, then he'll sort it out. I like to think (in my reading of the bible) that god gives gays a special street in Heaven, where the houses are all nicely kept and broadway music streams out from every corner.
5) "I'm not against gays, I'm against gay marriage"
Well, I'm against your marriage then. Marriages have evolved, obviously. And scholars have written eloquently on the topic, so I'll save my breath. Marriages, as a cultural contract, have very little to do with sanctity and everything to do with legal arrangements. A friend in Portland had to go through a million hoops to get all the rights in his relationship (with his partner of 13 years) that a straight couple would get from a two-minute ceremony with Elvis.
If your marriage is undermined by a gay couple's marriage, then your marriage is a fraud.
6) Gays choose to be that way, so ...
Okay, let's just get past all the contradictions this raises, like when I chose to be straight (I believe I was 6). Let's say that gays did choose to be gay. Against all evidence and rationality, gays choose to be gay. So what? That means that they don't deserve the same rights as others? I'm sorry, Mr. Foot Fetish, but I think that your lifestyle, the way you like to carry out your sex life, disqualifies you from equal status in this culture. Or, Mr. Foot Fetish, you can have that foot fetish, but only if it results in babies.
That is all I can muster on this topic. I have wasted enough time. I need to do some actual work now. This actually has very little to do with religion, since I think that most religions can create a space for all people.
But for those unconverted, here are some sinners.
We didn't go to church this week, though we both went hiking in some old growth spruce forest in the Oregon coast range. That's pretty close. We had every intention of going to the Kingdom Hall (Jehovah's Witnesses), but then a long, slow breakfast interfered. F- it.
Lauren and I both got these incredibly nice cards from the Pentecostals, thanking us for going to their service. I think that they have the best service I've been to so far, in terms of how I felt afterward. I'd like to go again. Maybe I will.
I'm currently listening to a This American Life radio program called "Heretics" about a man who stops believing in hell and starts believing that everyone gets to go to Heaven (even gays). It's got me thinking about gays, and now I'm going to expound a bit. This is called procrastination.
Since Measure 9 in Oregon (1993), I have thought of myself as pro-gay. Not ambivalent, or somehow not anti-gay, but pro-gay. I'm convinced it's the civil rights issue of this generation. I guess it takes your first taste of overt hatred to make you angry enough to embrace people you don't even know. I didn't know any gay people then; well, I didn't know I knew any gay people then. Some people in my high school who were (apparently) in a government class, put up a poster in the hallway that said "Burn Fags not Flags" to support Measure 9. It was taken down, but not quickly enough to avoid a small spontaneous pro-Measure 9 cheering squad, consisting of (I can only assume) the most flaming, self-loathing, closeted gays in my high school.
This will be my preaching for the day. Here we go. I'm going to take the stupidest arguments against gays and give you (um, whoever you are) my spin. Why? Because this is my goddamn blog.
1) Gays should "just be quiet."
First, this assumes straights are "quiet" about their sex lives. Everyone gets treated to non-stop hetero exposure. It's leaking out of crappy magazines (Cosmopolitan), crappier TV shows (all of them), and even on Christian websites. Why don't those straights stop walking around, holding hands and kissing and rubbing my face in their straightness?
Another angle on this argument could be that if gays would just shut up about their orientation, there would be no prejudice against it. This is the "I could care less" argument, one that I hear frequently invoked by right-wing radio hosts, who seem to also be the only non-racists in the world - so much so, they don't even see race! This is the closest corollary I see to the civil rights movements of the 1960s, when blacks were told to just be quiet because they were stirring up all kinds of uncomfortable feelings among nice white people who didn't even think of themselves as racists. But the acts of violence against blacks, though carried out by few whites, were symbolic of a much larger system of inequity. Of course the whites couldn't see the inequity; it wasn't part of the fabric of their lives, it didn't shape their interactions. Read Du Bois (Souls of Black Folk) for a much more well-written argument of this vein. If you (and I don't mean you, but you over there) don't think there's discrimination against gay people, what planet are you from? Seriously. Mars?
2) Gay sex is "gross"
Um, sex between most people is gross. Unless you're Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, I don't want to ever imagine sex between anyone. If this argument was valid, then almost everyone would need to stop having sex.
3) Sex is for procreation
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! No really. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
4) Gays are condemned in the bible
I know we've all heard the arguments against this, but I'd like to underline a few. Leviticus 18:22 does, indeed, say: Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination" (KJV). Clear enough. Leviticus, let us remember, also prohibits sex with a menstruating woman (this speaks to #3 - we're on it) and the kosher laws, which also prohibit wearing clothing of two textiles (damn those poly blends!).
But let's just stick with the notion that the bible condemns homosexuality (Romans I, say). Alright. What else you got? This was a stopping point for an evangelical in North Carolina who used to follow me around when I was a waitress. He was the restaurant manager, sweet as could be, and he really wanted to save my soul.
Him: Don't you believe in the bible?
Me: No.
Him: But the bible says that if you don't believe in it, you'll go to hell.
Nice argument. Try and work your way out of that chinese finger trap. Here's what I've gleaned from the bible: Jesus was incredibly loving and accepting. The god of the old testament was a jerk. I guess this aligns me (somewhat) with my superficial reading of the Baha'i faith: prophets come to correct our misinterpretations. So if we take our first lesson, that Jesus was incredibly loving and accepting, then I think we can safely say that he wouldn't have sided with the assholes who currently promulgate his faith. Sorry for the offense. I'm not feeling charitable today.
Finally, I can accept that this is a Christian nation. I believe it is one, in fact. Demographic evidence bears this out. I'm not going to belabor the separation of church and state here, either. But I think it is perfectly acceptable to be a Christian nation, one where most people are Christian, and not interfere with others' right to marry the person (or people!) of their choice. It really won't hurt you. If god hates it that much, then he'll sort it out. I like to think (in my reading of the bible) that god gives gays a special street in Heaven, where the houses are all nicely kept and broadway music streams out from every corner.
5) "I'm not against gays, I'm against gay marriage"
Well, I'm against your marriage then. Marriages have evolved, obviously. And scholars have written eloquently on the topic, so I'll save my breath. Marriages, as a cultural contract, have very little to do with sanctity and everything to do with legal arrangements. A friend in Portland had to go through a million hoops to get all the rights in his relationship (with his partner of 13 years) that a straight couple would get from a two-minute ceremony with Elvis.
If your marriage is undermined by a gay couple's marriage, then your marriage is a fraud.
6) Gays choose to be that way, so ...
Okay, let's just get past all the contradictions this raises, like when I chose to be straight (I believe I was 6). Let's say that gays did choose to be gay. Against all evidence and rationality, gays choose to be gay. So what? That means that they don't deserve the same rights as others? I'm sorry, Mr. Foot Fetish, but I think that your lifestyle, the way you like to carry out your sex life, disqualifies you from equal status in this culture. Or, Mr. Foot Fetish, you can have that foot fetish, but only if it results in babies.
That is all I can muster on this topic. I have wasted enough time. I need to do some actual work now. This actually has very little to do with religion, since I think that most religions can create a space for all people.
But for those unconverted, here are some sinners.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Devotional, Baha'i-style
I've had a few days to marinate on my Baha'i experience. We met with two Baha'i ladies on Monday and on Tuesday we sat in on a Baha'i devotional. Today is Thursday and I realize how difficult it is to not write almost immediately after the experience. But I will try to piece together my thoughts, mainly for my sake.
Monday: Walking to the coffee shop with Erin, we exchanged our excitement about what we would learn. I mostly knew about the Baha'i's emphasis on volunteerism/support for and recognition of humanity and humanity through education. Erin and I also talked briefly about how the Baha'i's recognize that there is a prophet that is right for each moment in time. So, armed with a brief knowledge of the religion, I think I all too quickly became disillusioned once we started learning a bit about Baha'i.
Number one. The idea that we were created in God's image. God is our creator, and just like a table that was crafted by a carpenter can never Truly know the carpenter, we can never know God. I agree that we can never "know" the universe or fully comprehend our existence. But throw the word "God" in there, and my mind just goes into screensaver mode. I don't know what it is about formulating our existence around God, but I can never actually talk about this. This I found especially weird because the Baha'i believe that science and religion are not incompatible. I can look in at the fundamentalist Christians with a more compassionate eye because they are trapped in God mode and science works on a totally different level. But how can we talk about God (and creation) AND science (ie. evolution)? This blows my mind. We can talk spirituality, essence of life, and etc.; let's avoid God-talk, particularly in the realm of science.
B. So you have Baha'u'allah, the prophet. You have his son, who interpreted his writings, and you have his grandson, who also interpreted his writings. Now there is an elected council of 9 (Very significant number throughout the world. Awesome.) that deliberates on various Baha'i issues and etc. How is this somehow more pure or sacred or less likely to dilute the religion? I don't know how this can possibly maintain a unified Baha'i religious following in the future. People will always interpret and re-interpret writings. Is it truly possible for a council to mediate this somehow?
Number three-a bit of a nit-picky point of contention. I might be the rain on your parade (or a Debbie downer) but Israel is located in a desert. This means that it does not rain a whole heck of a lot. This means that there should not be green grass in the desert year-round. Yes, your administrative center and the shrine of the Bab is located in Haifa, in a desert. Much like a green golf course in the middle of the Arizona desert, this is the symbol of man's power OVER the environment, emphasizing our difference from nature. While the gardens are beautiful and a central pilgrimage point for Baha'i, the environmentalist in me (not to mention my spiritual side) cries to see over-watered grasses in the desert.
Now, getting to Tuesday's devotional...
It was beautiful. Baha'u'allah's words are beautiful. It was an intimate, Quaker-style gathering in a small apartment. We read prayers by candlelight ("We" actually being the Baha'i who were of average age 15 years) and sang songs spontaneously. It was organic. It was the most organic service of my life. There were some people with beautiful voices, and Erin and I were even able to sing some of the songs (because of the repetition). The one off-putting thing (that I've blogged about before) is the whole referring to God as "He." How can we even begin to talk about equality and justice when the creator is a man? Erin and I had also discussed taking Baha'i classes because it sounded really interesting to learn more about the faith and Baha'u'allah, but once I saw the workbooks I had flashbacks to years and years of Hebrew school and knew immediately that it is not for me.
A couple of interesting things: My dad lived in India for a while when I was growing up and I remember getting postcards of Delhi's Baha'i lotus temple, but I never connected the two until Monday. Also, I have lately been on a quest of love. Since a major part of my life has fallen apart two years ago, I've been working on this unconditional love thing: unconditional love of friends, family, and even people that I wouldn't normally like. By loving people for who they are (their good heart and spirit) instead of what they do I hope that I can re-build that aspect of my life. So the connection here is that the Baha'i are really into love (unconditional love) for humanity and people. So I really found that aspect of the religion to be attractive and meaningful. I'll probably read more about the Baha'i in the future.
Monday: Walking to the coffee shop with Erin, we exchanged our excitement about what we would learn. I mostly knew about the Baha'i's emphasis on volunteerism/support for and recognition of humanity and humanity through education. Erin and I also talked briefly about how the Baha'i's recognize that there is a prophet that is right for each moment in time. So, armed with a brief knowledge of the religion, I think I all too quickly became disillusioned once we started learning a bit about Baha'i.
Number one. The idea that we were created in God's image. God is our creator, and just like a table that was crafted by a carpenter can never Truly know the carpenter, we can never know God. I agree that we can never "know" the universe or fully comprehend our existence. But throw the word "God" in there, and my mind just goes into screensaver mode. I don't know what it is about formulating our existence around God, but I can never actually talk about this. This I found especially weird because the Baha'i believe that science and religion are not incompatible. I can look in at the fundamentalist Christians with a more compassionate eye because they are trapped in God mode and science works on a totally different level. But how can we talk about God (and creation) AND science (ie. evolution)? This blows my mind. We can talk spirituality, essence of life, and etc.; let's avoid God-talk, particularly in the realm of science.
B. So you have Baha'u'allah, the prophet. You have his son, who interpreted his writings, and you have his grandson, who also interpreted his writings. Now there is an elected council of 9 (Very significant number throughout the world. Awesome.) that deliberates on various Baha'i issues and etc. How is this somehow more pure or sacred or less likely to dilute the religion? I don't know how this can possibly maintain a unified Baha'i religious following in the future. People will always interpret and re-interpret writings. Is it truly possible for a council to mediate this somehow?
Number three-a bit of a nit-picky point of contention. I might be the rain on your parade (or a Debbie downer) but Israel is located in a desert. This means that it does not rain a whole heck of a lot. This means that there should not be green grass in the desert year-round. Yes, your administrative center and the shrine of the Bab is located in Haifa, in a desert. Much like a green golf course in the middle of the Arizona desert, this is the symbol of man's power OVER the environment, emphasizing our difference from nature. While the gardens are beautiful and a central pilgrimage point for Baha'i, the environmentalist in me (not to mention my spiritual side) cries to see over-watered grasses in the desert.
Now, getting to Tuesday's devotional...
It was beautiful. Baha'u'allah's words are beautiful. It was an intimate, Quaker-style gathering in a small apartment. We read prayers by candlelight ("We" actually being the Baha'i who were of average age 15 years) and sang songs spontaneously. It was organic. It was the most organic service of my life. There were some people with beautiful voices, and Erin and I were even able to sing some of the songs (because of the repetition). The one off-putting thing (that I've blogged about before) is the whole referring to God as "He." How can we even begin to talk about equality and justice when the creator is a man? Erin and I had also discussed taking Baha'i classes because it sounded really interesting to learn more about the faith and Baha'u'allah, but once I saw the workbooks I had flashbacks to years and years of Hebrew school and knew immediately that it is not for me.
A couple of interesting things: My dad lived in India for a while when I was growing up and I remember getting postcards of Delhi's Baha'i lotus temple, but I never connected the two until Monday. Also, I have lately been on a quest of love. Since a major part of my life has fallen apart two years ago, I've been working on this unconditional love thing: unconditional love of friends, family, and even people that I wouldn't normally like. By loving people for who they are (their good heart and spirit) instead of what they do I hope that I can re-build that aspect of my life. So the connection here is that the Baha'i are really into love (unconditional love) for humanity and people. So I really found that aspect of the religion to be attractive and meaningful. I'll probably read more about the Baha'i in the future.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Baha'u'llah and his merry band of Peacesters
We met with the Baha'i ladies yesterday and it's been messing with my brain ever since. I like what they say about society: prophets come at a particular time and place to guide people; as humans we don't find absolute truth but its reflection; the purpose of religion (and life) is to find unity in our humanity. This is all verygood, veryverygood. I get hung up on some of the fundamentals: God is absolute and all-knowing (and so on - they derive many of these ideas from Islam); Humans have eternal souls; Baha'u'llah is the "promised one" of this age. I was reading a Baha'i pamphlet last night and some of the words of Baha'u'llah are compelling, but some just sound like the same old BS, and if Baha'is become the dominant world religion, I fear they'll be just like the others. Examples below.
Compelling: Baha'is say people reject prophets because they want the prophets to affirm what they already believe. So people think that when Jesus comes back, he'll reward them (and their fellow believers in truth) and punish everyone else. But prophets do not return to tell people what they already know/think. They come and are persecuted and rejected by the powerful (who, today, all think that Jesus would reward them).
Maybe not so much: Mankind has been progressing through various spiritual stages. Progressivism is repugnant to me; why would a faith that values all previous prophets also claim progression? Baha'is are explicitly monotheistic, and the assumed animistic - polytheistic - monotheistic progression is unconvincing. It raises a question: as we progress materially, do we progress spiritually?
Blah: Mankind is ready for one, unified faith. This is where I could see Baha'is becoming just another religion. I mean, everybody thinks that their faith will "unite" mankind, so long as all mankind adopts their faith. I know that Baha'is have been persecuted horribly in Iran - but incipient faiths always start from the bottom (see "prophets" above) and become more and more rigid and self-righteous as they gain power.
We're going to a devotional tonight, and I'm looking forward to it. I want to keep my mind open to this religion, for whatever reason. I like the ideas behind Baha'ism, I just don't know whether I can accept the tenets. Also, everyone I've met who's a Baha'i is thoughtful and educated. But so were the Rajneeshees. (I do not mean to seriously compare the two. But I do remember lots of people in The Dalles commenting on how "educated" the Rajneeshees were).
Compelling: Baha'is say people reject prophets because they want the prophets to affirm what they already believe. So people think that when Jesus comes back, he'll reward them (and their fellow believers in truth) and punish everyone else. But prophets do not return to tell people what they already know/think. They come and are persecuted and rejected by the powerful (who, today, all think that Jesus would reward them).
Maybe not so much: Mankind has been progressing through various spiritual stages. Progressivism is repugnant to me; why would a faith that values all previous prophets also claim progression? Baha'is are explicitly monotheistic, and the assumed animistic - polytheistic - monotheistic progression is unconvincing. It raises a question: as we progress materially, do we progress spiritually?
Blah: Mankind is ready for one, unified faith. This is where I could see Baha'is becoming just another religion. I mean, everybody thinks that their faith will "unite" mankind, so long as all mankind adopts their faith. I know that Baha'is have been persecuted horribly in Iran - but incipient faiths always start from the bottom (see "prophets" above) and become more and more rigid and self-righteous as they gain power.
We're going to a devotional tonight, and I'm looking forward to it. I want to keep my mind open to this religion, for whatever reason. I like the ideas behind Baha'ism, I just don't know whether I can accept the tenets. Also, everyone I've met who's a Baha'i is thoughtful and educated. But so were the Rajneeshees. (I do not mean to seriously compare the two. But I do remember lots of people in The Dalles commenting on how "educated" the Rajneeshees were).
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Glossolalia.
That's right. Glossolalia. The act of speaking in tongue(s). I knew that this is what Pentecostals do, but I had no idea what we were in for earlier this evening.
After a night of sin (re: moderate to heavy drinking), Erin and I were saddened to realize there was no way we could make it to church in the morning to repent. Praise Jesus that the Pentecostals offer both morning AND evening services. So we went to evening service. The usual church goers (which includes your less-than-usual church goers) were waiting patiently for the service to start. We met some nice folks who explained that there would be a baptism at the end of the service, if we wanted to stick around. I will get to that later. First, the service commenced with a prayer, which, as Erin said below, started like a usual prayer. This lasted for all of half a second and then a lot of people started speaking in tongue. It totally caught me off-guard and it took me a few minutes to recover. This was no Mormon service. But I got used to it, and found myself saying "Amen," and "Allelujah" when the rest of the congregation did. The power of the masses is amazing.
And the singing. I haven't sung like that since I drove cross country by myself. It was wonderful and releasing. No one was judging me. It was beautiful. I loved watching everyone get really into it, especially the bigger woman shaking the tambourine shaped like the fish. After about 20 minutes of singing praise songs, we were encouraged to get up and shake everyone's hand. This was really enjoyable and I got a wonderful huge from said Tambourine lady. I felt loved.
After a beautiful sermon from the pastor about our human sin, we watched two baptisms. There was a woman (maybe in her 30s) and a young man (maybe in his late teens) one the baptismal order for the evening. The woman was definitely "filled with the Holy Ghost" and I was very excited that she found God.
Besides the positively energizing spirit that I felt while at this church, I also noticed that maybe church service would be a problem if there was ever... say... a power outage. It is strange seeing so many modern instruments being used at a worship service. But then again, Jewish Sabbath is like a time-warp into pre-electricity days.
Tomorrow we meet with young Baha'i believers (What do they call themselves?). Our adventures continue.
After a night of sin (re: moderate to heavy drinking), Erin and I were saddened to realize there was no way we could make it to church in the morning to repent. Praise Jesus that the Pentecostals offer both morning AND evening services. So we went to evening service. The usual church goers (which includes your less-than-usual church goers) were waiting patiently for the service to start. We met some nice folks who explained that there would be a baptism at the end of the service, if we wanted to stick around. I will get to that later. First, the service commenced with a prayer, which, as Erin said below, started like a usual prayer. This lasted for all of half a second and then a lot of people started speaking in tongue. It totally caught me off-guard and it took me a few minutes to recover. This was no Mormon service. But I got used to it, and found myself saying "Amen," and "Allelujah" when the rest of the congregation did. The power of the masses is amazing.
And the singing. I haven't sung like that since I drove cross country by myself. It was wonderful and releasing. No one was judging me. It was beautiful. I loved watching everyone get really into it, especially the bigger woman shaking the tambourine shaped like the fish. After about 20 minutes of singing praise songs, we were encouraged to get up and shake everyone's hand. This was really enjoyable and I got a wonderful huge from said Tambourine lady. I felt loved.
After a beautiful sermon from the pastor about our human sin, we watched two baptisms. There was a woman (maybe in her 30s) and a young man (maybe in his late teens) one the baptismal order for the evening. The woman was definitely "filled with the Holy Ghost" and I was very excited that she found God.
Besides the positively energizing spirit that I felt while at this church, I also noticed that maybe church service would be a problem if there was ever... say... a power outage. It is strange seeing so many modern instruments being used at a worship service. But then again, Jewish Sabbath is like a time-warp into pre-electricity days.
Tomorrow we meet with young Baha'i believers (What do they call themselves?). Our adventures continue.
HALLELUJAH! PRAISE JEEZUS!
Pentecostals are awesome. I can say that without any irony. Lauren (or Rolen, as I like to call her) and I went to the evening service at a little brick church, very cozy and warm, with around 25 people. We were recognized as "visitors" and given forms to fill out. I like to think we're sort of like aliens - people just look at us and are like, "you're not of our kind. But you are welcome to join us; we are very tolerant of space people."
The first prayer was the hardest of the evening. The pastor's helper got up and said we're going to pray, and Lauren and I both put our heads down and suddenly everyone else has their hands up and they're saying, or yelling, or muttering "la la la HALLELUJAH! See la la ob la" and Lauren and I looked at each other and that was it for the next 30 seconds or so. I tried so damn hard not to laugh, but I guess the holy spirit was telling me to do it. So I laughed. Then we sang, loudly, along with a pianist, a drummer, and a woman with a great voice and a microphone. Lauren and I clapped, sang, yelled out hallelujah in between the songs ... They are really into repetition (the better to sing to) and I sang as loudly as I have ever sang without the aid of alcohol. It was wonderful, I felt good. I can still hear the songs in my head, over and over. The whole experience was holistic: the songs, the way people were so sincere, the smell of smoke lingering on some of the other participants.
Which brings me to other people in the church. They were diverse. Some looked like headbangers, and then there was the nice Christian family, with the girls in long skirts with long hair, and there were lovely old ladies who gave us hugs. Two people got baptized, one a young woman who would not have looked out of place at the Peacock, who said a prayer "for the father of my children, that he can find God" but she was with some other dude there, with long hair and dressed in all black; his t-shirt read "Don't make me come down there -God." The other baptee was a very young man (20?) who seemed a little out of it and who I initially thought wasn't happy to be there. He was a skinny little hipster in saggy pants. I think he might've been a little touched, as they say.
Here's something I overheard today:
Pastor: Those who do not know Jesus are lost
Lauren: Amen
Me: holy shit (silently, trying so hard not to laugh I thought my head would explode)
I will end this post with the same observation I began it with: Pentecostals are awesome.
The first prayer was the hardest of the evening. The pastor's helper got up and said we're going to pray, and Lauren and I both put our heads down and suddenly everyone else has their hands up and they're saying, or yelling, or muttering "la la la HALLELUJAH! See la la ob la" and Lauren and I looked at each other and that was it for the next 30 seconds or so. I tried so damn hard not to laugh, but I guess the holy spirit was telling me to do it. So I laughed. Then we sang, loudly, along with a pianist, a drummer, and a woman with a great voice and a microphone. Lauren and I clapped, sang, yelled out hallelujah in between the songs ... They are really into repetition (the better to sing to) and I sang as loudly as I have ever sang without the aid of alcohol. It was wonderful, I felt good. I can still hear the songs in my head, over and over. The whole experience was holistic: the songs, the way people were so sincere, the smell of smoke lingering on some of the other participants.
Which brings me to other people in the church. They were diverse. Some looked like headbangers, and then there was the nice Christian family, with the girls in long skirts with long hair, and there were lovely old ladies who gave us hugs. Two people got baptized, one a young woman who would not have looked out of place at the Peacock, who said a prayer "for the father of my children, that he can find God" but she was with some other dude there, with long hair and dressed in all black; his t-shirt read "Don't make me come down there -God." The other baptee was a very young man (20?) who seemed a little out of it and who I initially thought wasn't happy to be there. He was a skinny little hipster in saggy pants. I think he might've been a little touched, as they say.
Here's something I overheard today:
Pastor: Those who do not know Jesus are lost
Lauren: Amen
Me: holy shit (silently, trying so hard not to laugh I thought my head would explode)
I will end this post with the same observation I began it with: Pentecostals are awesome.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Church, Scotch, and the Family: A good weekend
Ah, what a lovely weekend this was. First, I got to stuff my face and hang out with the Kellys, who were preparing for the latest in our 4-wedding year. My uncle Matt got married in Portland at St. Patrick's in Portland, an old church, very draughty and echo-y. I was wearing heels that made my feet feel like they were being slowly turned inside out, but they did look foxy.
The whole family was there, including a lot of second cousins. We all walked up to this stone church in our finery, all hugging and putting arms around each other. We're a touchy family. The ceremony was ... nice. It had a lot of the basic catholic elements: I-say-this, you-say-that; standing-kneeling-sitting; shaking hands. The priest, an old family friend (Father Ron) was aware that most in our family are no longer practicing catholics (in fact, he and my mother are like to tease each other a bit about their respect beliefs/lack of belief) and so he toned down the holiness and focused on Matt and Anne's wedding. I was a little sad when he was giving communion and only a handful of people took it - we've really got very few catholics in the family any more. I got blessed (crossed arms - like Lauren, I do not eat christ anymore) and so did most people.
What I thought was more interesting was talking with my dad's cousin, Hal, at the reception. Hal's a Baha'i, and I have always been told he's a "socialist" and all kinds of mysterious, romantic things. He moved, with his four children and wife, to Norway many years ago. He has returned to the U.S. (and is now living in Grants Pass - not so romantic) but his children have remained in Norway. Hal and I spoke about Baha'i, about Lauren and I trying out churches, and so on. Hal thinks that Baha'i is the next step for mankind - that religions guide society at particular times and places, and that Baha'i is the religion for today. Also, other religions will follow - Baha'i isn't some kind of end-all truth, but that prophets come from God and are like mirrors, reflecting God to the extent that we as a society can handle it. He's going to get us in touch with local Baha'is, but he said they're not really into organized gatherings so much - it's more of a personal journey. I'm intrigued by them people, who seem to be very educated and open-minded and full of goodness. We'll see, I suppose.
The reception was fun, and there was lots of drunkenness but also sadness (poor Beavs). I made it back to (friend) Sarah's house pretty early and had a fitful night on her five-foot couch.
Back to work! Gah!
The whole family was there, including a lot of second cousins. We all walked up to this stone church in our finery, all hugging and putting arms around each other. We're a touchy family. The ceremony was ... nice. It had a lot of the basic catholic elements: I-say-this, you-say-that; standing-kneeling-sitting; shaking hands. The priest, an old family friend (Father Ron) was aware that most in our family are no longer practicing catholics (in fact, he and my mother are like to tease each other a bit about their respect beliefs/lack of belief) and so he toned down the holiness and focused on Matt and Anne's wedding. I was a little sad when he was giving communion and only a handful of people took it - we've really got very few catholics in the family any more. I got blessed (crossed arms - like Lauren, I do not eat christ anymore) and so did most people.
What I thought was more interesting was talking with my dad's cousin, Hal, at the reception. Hal's a Baha'i, and I have always been told he's a "socialist" and all kinds of mysterious, romantic things. He moved, with his four children and wife, to Norway many years ago. He has returned to the U.S. (and is now living in Grants Pass - not so romantic) but his children have remained in Norway. Hal and I spoke about Baha'i, about Lauren and I trying out churches, and so on. Hal thinks that Baha'i is the next step for mankind - that religions guide society at particular times and places, and that Baha'i is the religion for today. Also, other religions will follow - Baha'i isn't some kind of end-all truth, but that prophets come from God and are like mirrors, reflecting God to the extent that we as a society can handle it. He's going to get us in touch with local Baha'is, but he said they're not really into organized gatherings so much - it's more of a personal journey. I'm intrigued by them people, who seem to be very educated and open-minded and full of goodness. We'll see, I suppose.
The reception was fun, and there was lots of drunkenness but also sadness (poor Beavs). I made it back to (friend) Sarah's house pretty early and had a fitful night on her five-foot couch.
Back to work! Gah!
For Heaven's Sake....
Despite our Thanksgiving split (we have, after all, the rest of eternity to celebrate T-Day together), we continued on with our mission. This week: Catholicism in two different cities.
It is clear that I have a love for religions with pretty decor. I have to say that the Catholic church I visited looked a lot like a Jewish temple-they are both set-up with high ceilings (to remind you of how small you are), a large altar/stage area on which the important people sit, a choir, leaders in fancy dress, stained-glass windows, and etc. (Except that Jews aren't into pictures of Mary.) I walked in and upon suggestion by Erin, I "tested" out the holy water. I have to admit that because of my 5 months in Kenya when I volunteered with many Catholics, I am an expert on doing the "cross." "Cross," of course, being the technical term. So I did the cross with the holy water, and I sat down on a bench, only to realize I missed the whole kneeling ritual before you enter the rows. My bad.
The service started, we shook hands with our neighbors, listened to the choir, sang a little, and listened to the priest tell an anecdote about how our bodies frequently move too fast for our souls to keep up with. That story got me thinking about why I like walking. Even biking feels too fast for me, sometimes, and walking really helps me regain mental sanity. I was nearly brought to tears several times throughout the service-the existential state of mind I've experienced lately, combined with beautiful choir music, moments of silent prayer and a community of people accustomed to Sunday's ritual, reminded me of my own humanity. Well, all of that plus lots of talk about sins and repentance...
So that brings me up to my favorite part of the whole service: the holy communion. What is a Jew in church to do? After some coaching from Erin and others, I decided to go up for a blessing. This means you walk through the communion line, and when you get to the priest, you cross your arms over your chest to show that you're not Catholic and you can not eat Christ. So, I was blessed today. I can't recall what the words were exactly, but they included something about me becoming a Saint (or something or other). So that's cool. I dig Sainthood.
I was surprised by how little Latin was used (especially after all the take about how some of the service is in Latin). I was also amazed by how diverse the community is! I saw more racial, ethnic, and age diversity there in that one hour that I can see in a week on the streets of our fair city. Moral of the story: I felt a connection to this experience. It felt real. It felt like how I expect a church experience to feel. I feel like I need to repent for my sins and be a better person.
It is clear that I have a love for religions with pretty decor. I have to say that the Catholic church I visited looked a lot like a Jewish temple-they are both set-up with high ceilings (to remind you of how small you are), a large altar/stage area on which the important people sit, a choir, leaders in fancy dress, stained-glass windows, and etc. (Except that Jews aren't into pictures of Mary.) I walked in and upon suggestion by Erin, I "tested" out the holy water. I have to admit that because of my 5 months in Kenya when I volunteered with many Catholics, I am an expert on doing the "cross." "Cross," of course, being the technical term. So I did the cross with the holy water, and I sat down on a bench, only to realize I missed the whole kneeling ritual before you enter the rows. My bad.
The service started, we shook hands with our neighbors, listened to the choir, sang a little, and listened to the priest tell an anecdote about how our bodies frequently move too fast for our souls to keep up with. That story got me thinking about why I like walking. Even biking feels too fast for me, sometimes, and walking really helps me regain mental sanity. I was nearly brought to tears several times throughout the service-the existential state of mind I've experienced lately, combined with beautiful choir music, moments of silent prayer and a community of people accustomed to Sunday's ritual, reminded me of my own humanity. Well, all of that plus lots of talk about sins and repentance...
So that brings me up to my favorite part of the whole service: the holy communion. What is a Jew in church to do? After some coaching from Erin and others, I decided to go up for a blessing. This means you walk through the communion line, and when you get to the priest, you cross your arms over your chest to show that you're not Catholic and you can not eat Christ. So, I was blessed today. I can't recall what the words were exactly, but they included something about me becoming a Saint (or something or other). So that's cool. I dig Sainthood.
I was surprised by how little Latin was used (especially after all the take about how some of the service is in Latin). I was also amazed by how diverse the community is! I saw more racial, ethnic, and age diversity there in that one hour that I can see in a week on the streets of our fair city. Moral of the story: I felt a connection to this experience. It felt real. It felt like how I expect a church experience to feel. I feel like I need to repent for my sins and be a better person.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Sorry, buddy. I'm just plain awkward
So I'm sitting at this computer at 7:40 pm after our theory club meeting. I'm having a bad day (or at least I'm in a bad mood) and this post may unintentionally reflect some of all of this. I apologize. (Or as Charles Tilly would say, "Sorry, buddy. I'm just plain awkward." Excuses, excuses.)
In reading Erin's post from today's meeting with our revered academe, I contemplate some of the hour spent with those wholesome folks as well as our debriefing on our walk back to school. I spent some of our time with said Prof not actually listening to what he was saying, but staring at the many books in his library. I found myself looking over certain titles, but always coming back to the Jewish section. Jesus's Jewishness, Jewish Thoughts something something, and etc. I kept thinking, Yes. Jew preceded Christian. My people only ever studied Old Testament, God was only "God" (never "he"), we're still waiting, and our culture is, for the most part, very different. I claim very little understanding or knowledge of Jewish religion, but these basic tenents of Judaism are unquestionably a part of my upbringing. I can approach other, much different religions, with a more distant viewpoint because they are so "other": I get Hinduism, I get New-ageyism, I can maybe even get Scientology. But the fact is Jews are so damn close to Christians in so many ways (and so far in others) that I have a really hard time "getting it." So I guess the motto would read as follows: you can take the girl out of Jewish, but you can't take Jewish out of the girl. How many Christian services would I have to attend to get it? I guess that's part of our mission.
Moving right along... Since we were pressed for time (aka I made sure to mention my very unimportant meeting), Said Prof took us into a classroom and showed us the very linear map of the plan of salvation (as shown above). It is pretty eye opening to Mormonism and their basic tenents. We then watched a video about Joseph Smith that they show to investigators. It was an 18 minute video, and the first 3/4 of the film were about Joseph's seeking of truth as a child-his wide-eyed wonder of all things on earth and in heaven just served to reaffirm the importance of child-like qualities in the Mormon faith (which was mentioned in Sunday's service visit). They sort of rushed through the most important part of Joseph's life (having visions of God, finding sacred texts, translating sacred texts, being a teacher, and etc) and may have left me wanting to know more about what these teachings are. I'll leave the home teaching visits up to Erin and I may just rely on Jon Krakauer.
Why in the name of all the gods, am I so into this?
So, I figure that as we visit more churches, and I write and reflect more, I'll see some kind of growth of awareness of why other people believe, what they believe in, and as extension, what I believe in. I have to admit, I was taken by surprise today when Lauren and I went to meet with this Mormon prof about their faith and I found myself agreeing with much of what he said. For one thing, he has a PhD and he approaches faith academically. For another thing, he said things that struck a chord with me. One was that Mormons do not believe in the Nicene Creed (something I've always thought was BS). Another: when you die you don't suddenly become something else, but rather go to another place - as yourself. There were others, but I'll have to think about them.
I'm going to be a bit self-reflexive, so you (throngs of admirers) can skip the rest of this, but I'd like to get it out while I'm thinking about it. I've long been fascinated by these 19th century religions, for one thing because they're so recent and adherents are so enthusiastic about them (Jehovah's Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists, Christian Scientists, Mormons). For another, they seem, generally, to fit well with Weber's theory of rationalization. It's something that both fascinates and repels me, like most aspects of modern culture. It's the cleanliness, maybe; the efficiency, the presumption of progress through effort. Mormons are the ultimate expression of this: if protestantism gave rise to capitalism, then Mormonism is its perfection. I need to think more about it, but I think that Mormonism could represent more than just the "renewal of God's word" on earth; I think it could represent a truly American, and so truly modernist, cultural turn.
On a totally different note, I told Lauren about "my" Jehovah's Witness, Joan. Joan came to my house every week when I was a young ... um ... child. My mind was open to information in general, and I was willing to stand at the door for an hour or so every week and talk to Joan. My mom wouldn't speak with her, though Joan would pass me a Watchtower or two to give to my dad. I don't think that Joan ever thought I was going to convert, but I think she got some kind of comfort from trying, or maybe she just liked the company when so many people probably slammed their doors in her face. Anywho, Lauren said she felt some guilt because she had no intention of converting and (I presume) doesn't want to lead on the missionary girls. I don't have the same hangups; first, I don't have any intention of converting, but I guess I can't rule out the possibility and second, that's what missionaries are there for: to tell you about their gods. I'm happy to learn about the Mormon gods; I hope there's more than one (I've heard you too can become a god, so I'd like to think of the very blond, cute pantheon of Mormons up there) and there are so many questions I have for them. Like, if your spirit and your physical body are reunited at the resurrection, is your race eternal? Your gender? (I think they'd say that one's a yes).
I won't convert, but I'll leave this with one more self-reflexive thought on religion. My friend Sarah's mom used to talk to me about Buddhism and all these things that she believed in, and I wonder why religion and lifestyle are intertwined. Of course my friend's eccentric pseudo-buddhist mom was a hippie, and she wore flowing skirts and talked about auras. And of course, Mormons wear suits and don't drink caffeine. Why? Couldn't a Mormon just be like, you know, I'm all into the stuff you're preaching, but I'm also really into coffee and beer?
I'm going to be a bit self-reflexive, so you (throngs of admirers) can skip the rest of this, but I'd like to get it out while I'm thinking about it. I've long been fascinated by these 19th century religions, for one thing because they're so recent and adherents are so enthusiastic about them (Jehovah's Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists, Christian Scientists, Mormons). For another, they seem, generally, to fit well with Weber's theory of rationalization. It's something that both fascinates and repels me, like most aspects of modern culture. It's the cleanliness, maybe; the efficiency, the presumption of progress through effort. Mormons are the ultimate expression of this: if protestantism gave rise to capitalism, then Mormonism is its perfection. I need to think more about it, but I think that Mormonism could represent more than just the "renewal of God's word" on earth; I think it could represent a truly American, and so truly modernist, cultural turn.
On a totally different note, I told Lauren about "my" Jehovah's Witness, Joan. Joan came to my house every week when I was a young ... um ... child. My mind was open to information in general, and I was willing to stand at the door for an hour or so every week and talk to Joan. My mom wouldn't speak with her, though Joan would pass me a Watchtower or two to give to my dad. I don't think that Joan ever thought I was going to convert, but I think she got some kind of comfort from trying, or maybe she just liked the company when so many people probably slammed their doors in her face. Anywho, Lauren said she felt some guilt because she had no intention of converting and (I presume) doesn't want to lead on the missionary girls. I don't have the same hangups; first, I don't have any intention of converting, but I guess I can't rule out the possibility and second, that's what missionaries are there for: to tell you about their gods. I'm happy to learn about the Mormon gods; I hope there's more than one (I've heard you too can become a god, so I'd like to think of the very blond, cute pantheon of Mormons up there) and there are so many questions I have for them. Like, if your spirit and your physical body are reunited at the resurrection, is your race eternal? Your gender? (I think they'd say that one's a yes).
I won't convert, but I'll leave this with one more self-reflexive thought on religion. My friend Sarah's mom used to talk to me about Buddhism and all these things that she believed in, and I wonder why religion and lifestyle are intertwined. Of course my friend's eccentric pseudo-buddhist mom was a hippie, and she wore flowing skirts and talked about auras. And of course, Mormons wear suits and don't drink caffeine. Why? Couldn't a Mormon just be like, you know, I'm all into the stuff you're preaching, but I'm also really into coffee and beer?
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Moroni was a good man.
This might, all together, be the third time I have ever visited a church service. My youth was spent repenting in the Jewish temple on high holidays and I rarely ever saw the inside of an American church. I have also spent a great of time traversing various Indian (the dot, not the feather) hot spots-mostly Hindu temples. So, my knowledge of all things Christian is fairly limited...
All I know is I have never visited with nicer people. Ever. The Mormons were so full of warmth. Everyone was incredibly open and willing to explain everything to us. We even went to Bible study-which up until now has been a real mystery for me. I met several "Elders" and "Sisters" and learned what a good family is made of. They gave us free copies of the Book of Mormon when we asked (to peruse at our leisure). We also sang some very uplifting songs about God and bounties and etc. It was an unusual service, as we were told multiple times, because of the "changing of the Bishops" and we saw several grown men cry. It sounds like they develop really strong relationships with their community over the 3 or 4 years they are stationed there.
Another thing that really stood out to me is the eating of blessed bread/drinking of blessed water. The alter boys (not sure if that's their appropriate title) would walk around and pass out trays with pieces of bread and cups of water. I noticed how your neighbor to your left offers you a piece of bread from the tray before they hand you the tray and you offer your neighbor a piece of bread. It seems like a real sign of community- the most holy act of offering your neighbor sacred food. I think that Erin and I are going to visit another Mormon service to see what family services are like so that we may compare. I can't wait for more testimony!
All in all, I think Erin covered most of what we saw and observed in the above post. It was a fairly uneventful service. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was kind of hoping for more songs, more reading of text, more bling bling on the outfits... Bummer, dude.
All I know is I have never visited with nicer people. Ever. The Mormons were so full of warmth. Everyone was incredibly open and willing to explain everything to us. We even went to Bible study-which up until now has been a real mystery for me. I met several "Elders" and "Sisters" and learned what a good family is made of. They gave us free copies of the Book of Mormon when we asked (to peruse at our leisure). We also sang some very uplifting songs about God and bounties and etc. It was an unusual service, as we were told multiple times, because of the "changing of the Bishops" and we saw several grown men cry. It sounds like they develop really strong relationships with their community over the 3 or 4 years they are stationed there.
Another thing that really stood out to me is the eating of blessed bread/drinking of blessed water. The alter boys (not sure if that's their appropriate title) would walk around and pass out trays with pieces of bread and cups of water. I noticed how your neighbor to your left offers you a piece of bread from the tray before they hand you the tray and you offer your neighbor a piece of bread. It seems like a real sign of community- the most holy act of offering your neighbor sacred food. I think that Erin and I are going to visit another Mormon service to see what family services are like so that we may compare. I can't wait for more testimony!
All in all, I think Erin covered most of what we saw and observed in the above post. It was a fairly uneventful service. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was kind of hoping for more songs, more reading of text, more bling bling on the outfits... Bummer, dude.
Young and Single: Our First LDS Church Day
11/23/2008
Lauren and I, after an intense study of the Mormon church (which has mostly consisted of watching Big Love) decided to make our first church trip to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We readied ourselves with lots of coffee (oops) and bagels at Interzone, and walked over to the College Hill Ward, a special ward for young single people. "Young" was defined as 18-30, which leaves me out of the loop. It occurred to me that people would think we were Prop 8 protestors or something - a couple of old (ish) single women, together, at church. I suppose that if they knew we were mostly interested in them because of an HBO show about polygamy, they would be equally offended.
Here are a few impressions:
1) So, nobody thought we were visiting from another ward. It's like we don't look Mormon. Not enough glow? Lots of people came up and introduced themselves, usually by saying something like "you're a new face around here ..." and extending their hands. Big handshakers. Several people explained things about what to expect, whether we had to eat the bread, and so on, but nobody asked whether we were Mormons.
2) I really dig the weird stuff in the Mormon church. Your babies come from the spirit world, where they've been living with God? Sweet. You receive direct testimony from God? Boogie down. Jesus came and lived in America, and Joseph Smith found out because of an angel? Yessiree. But it's all smothered in a bland sauce. A bland white sauce. I can't take the overbearing blandness of it. I think I could get into this Mormon stuff if they would add some dark eyeliner and a few icons into the mix.
3) They love their families. Yeah, big surprise there. Husbands and wives are "equal" but have "different roles." That is, men have to wear suits and flag pins and tell people what to do, women have to wear dresses and lipstick and tell each other how sweet they are. Also, families are "eternal." This part is kind of cool (see spirit babies, above), but also has uncomfortable implications, as when Mormons get all weird about family history and bringing their ancestors into the fold.
All in all, this was a great first church-going. We have a meeting with Tom on Tuesday next week; he coordinates classes for "investigators" like ourselves. Everyone was so damn nice at the Mormon church, and several had stories of when they were brought into the church. I can't imagine actually wanting to join any church, let alone one where everyone's so clean, but I did feel very righteous after all the praying and singing.
Personal note: my mom's great-grandfather was Mormon, along with all his family, who came to Utah in the early days. But her grandfather left the church, which (so I'm told) meant he left the family. He raised my mom's dad an atheist, and her family are all atheists or next to it. So I feel like I have a little Mormon in my blood. I didn't find out much about it until my mom told me about her second (third?) cousin who'd contacted her because he's gay and has left the church. And she (mom) told me that he was looking for family. I guess that you can't have a fag in your celestial kingdom. I'll have to think on that.
Lauren and I, after an intense study of the Mormon church (which has mostly consisted of watching Big Love) decided to make our first church trip to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We readied ourselves with lots of coffee (oops) and bagels at Interzone, and walked over to the College Hill Ward, a special ward for young single people. "Young" was defined as 18-30, which leaves me out of the loop. It occurred to me that people would think we were Prop 8 protestors or something - a couple of old (ish) single women, together, at church. I suppose that if they knew we were mostly interested in them because of an HBO show about polygamy, they would be equally offended.
Here are a few impressions:
1) So, nobody thought we were visiting from another ward. It's like we don't look Mormon. Not enough glow? Lots of people came up and introduced themselves, usually by saying something like "you're a new face around here ..." and extending their hands. Big handshakers. Several people explained things about what to expect, whether we had to eat the bread, and so on, but nobody asked whether we were Mormons.
2) I really dig the weird stuff in the Mormon church. Your babies come from the spirit world, where they've been living with God? Sweet. You receive direct testimony from God? Boogie down. Jesus came and lived in America, and Joseph Smith found out because of an angel? Yessiree. But it's all smothered in a bland sauce. A bland white sauce. I can't take the overbearing blandness of it. I think I could get into this Mormon stuff if they would add some dark eyeliner and a few icons into the mix.
3) They love their families. Yeah, big surprise there. Husbands and wives are "equal" but have "different roles." That is, men have to wear suits and flag pins and tell people what to do, women have to wear dresses and lipstick and tell each other how sweet they are. Also, families are "eternal." This part is kind of cool (see spirit babies, above), but also has uncomfortable implications, as when Mormons get all weird about family history and bringing their ancestors into the fold.
All in all, this was a great first church-going. We have a meeting with Tom on Tuesday next week; he coordinates classes for "investigators" like ourselves. Everyone was so damn nice at the Mormon church, and several had stories of when they were brought into the church. I can't imagine actually wanting to join any church, let alone one where everyone's so clean, but I did feel very righteous after all the praying and singing.
Personal note: my mom's great-grandfather was Mormon, along with all his family, who came to Utah in the early days. But her grandfather left the church, which (so I'm told) meant he left the family. He raised my mom's dad an atheist, and her family are all atheists or next to it. So I feel like I have a little Mormon in my blood. I didn't find out much about it until my mom told me about her second (third?) cousin who'd contacted her because he's gay and has left the church. And she (mom) told me that he was looking for family. I guess that you can't have a fag in your celestial kingdom. I'll have to think on that.
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