Why go to church?
I often hear people making a separation between being spiritual and being religious, as in: "I'm spiritual, but not religious." This brings up some interesting questions:
1. How are religion and spirituality different?
2. What value is there in going to church?
So, something simple and straightforward.
A stab at the first question: The word religion carries a lot of meanings today, and the negative pieces that get stuck to it include the public scandals--greasy televangelists and abusive priests--and the more private scandals--bitter infighting inside a church, unimaginative teaching, childish theology, or general rigidity. But I think the broader objection is that "religion" connotes something that is repetitive, empty, and boring--a set of rituals left over from the past.
I've sat through enough droning organ solos and vapid sermons to know that there is some truth to this assessment. And on another level it is rare to experience a sense of excitement--God is here, change is afoot, what we are doing has a transcendent meaning.
But I think spirituality is missing something without its cousin religion. In defense of rituals, their emptiness or their purpose depends on a person's state of mind as much as it does on the particular ritual.
Well, that's not entirely true. Let me try again.
The purpose of religion is to facilitate spiritual growth. The rituals are not a guarantee of growth. X number of hours does not equal X amount of spiritual growth. But repetition is one way to put ourselves in the position for growth. The movements of the body prepare the mind. Walking into a church, or breathing deeply in silence--each can be a signal that helps us turn toward deeper things. And, really, it's not just our minds that are spiritual--the body can learn to worship in its own way, too. The rituals of religion are the metaphysical equivalent of putting a plant in sunlight, or watering it on a regular basis. The growth comes from God, but it helps to water the plant.
Spirituality, as I understand it, is this quest for spiritual growth. And I think people do grow, developing their own rituals, independent of other people. So why go to church and deal with all the crap?
Here's where I'm at with this: going to church and bumping up against other people is an important way to water the plant, so to speak. Other people can help us reflect on our own lives, can tell us their stories, can encourage us and pray for us, and can challenge us to do the same for them. They can also help us practice virtues like patience and love, which are hard to do (or easy, depending how you look at it) without a person to be patient with, or a person to love. To quote a New Testament passage, "How can you love God, whom you haven't seen, without loving your neighbor, whom you have seen?"
But I don't think that church (or other gatherings of spiritually-minded people) is just about helping individuals help each other. Church is also about changing the world. There is a corporate dimension to our lives that is greater than the sum of individual lives. I need to think about this more, but it seems to me that as a body, churches have a particular calling that is larger, even, than its service to individuals or communities.
Will have to reflect on that one later.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Friday, February 20, 2004
Feet
I have very sensitive feet and I live in a usually cold climate, so I generally wear socks. Because of this, my feet are very pale and soft. They're like worms with sensitive skin and unseeing eyes.
But my feet are also very strong. They take me everywhere I go, which is a lot of places, really. I think that the hands belong to the mind--they're nimble, you use them to write and to be expressive, but the feet belong to the body. Where the body goes, the feet take it. And yet they look so sensitive.
At the last supper, Jesus washed his disciples' feet, which I imagine was both a very intimate and grimy thing to do, considering that they probably were wearing sandals rather than socks. Here is an important paradox--what is strongest about us is also what is most vulnerable, and that there is strange beauty in this. Like the production team putting on a play, the feet aren't meant for the limelight. But they're essential to the whole process.
I have very sensitive feet and I live in a usually cold climate, so I generally wear socks. Because of this, my feet are very pale and soft. They're like worms with sensitive skin and unseeing eyes.
But my feet are also very strong. They take me everywhere I go, which is a lot of places, really. I think that the hands belong to the mind--they're nimble, you use them to write and to be expressive, but the feet belong to the body. Where the body goes, the feet take it. And yet they look so sensitive.
At the last supper, Jesus washed his disciples' feet, which I imagine was both a very intimate and grimy thing to do, considering that they probably were wearing sandals rather than socks. Here is an important paradox--what is strongest about us is also what is most vulnerable, and that there is strange beauty in this. Like the production team putting on a play, the feet aren't meant for the limelight. But they're essential to the whole process.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Copying Heather....
States I've at least spent one night in. Except: Indiana, South Carolina, Rhode Island, and North Dakota, which I think I've only driven through.
create your own visited states map
or write about it on the open travel guide
States I've at least spent one night in. Except: Indiana, South Carolina, Rhode Island, and North Dakota, which I think I've only driven through.
create your own visited states map
or write about it on the open travel guide
Friday, February 06, 2004
BEGIN CONFESSION
I am a huge packrat. I wear clothes I got in high school (10 years ago).
I have a hotmail e-mail account and it is constantly at 75% capacity because I refuse even to part with old useless e-mails. When the little red warning comes up, I comb through month-old e-mails to erase just enough to switch it back to the "safe" zone.
I am also addicted to books. I'm in the process of moving and estimate that I will fill seven large boxes with my books. I learned to make my own bookshelves because I like books that much. Plus, I haven't even read most of these books, but I go to the library for new ones on a regular basis.
Thank you for hearing my confessions. It may be, though, that to be forgiven I'll need to change my ways.
We'll see how that goes.
END CONFESSION
I am a huge packrat. I wear clothes I got in high school (10 years ago).
I have a hotmail e-mail account and it is constantly at 75% capacity because I refuse even to part with old useless e-mails. When the little red warning comes up, I comb through month-old e-mails to erase just enough to switch it back to the "safe" zone.
I am also addicted to books. I'm in the process of moving and estimate that I will fill seven large boxes with my books. I learned to make my own bookshelves because I like books that much. Plus, I haven't even read most of these books, but I go to the library for new ones on a regular basis.
Thank you for hearing my confessions. It may be, though, that to be forgiven I'll need to change my ways.
We'll see how that goes.
END CONFESSION
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Gay marriage letter
Governor Mitt Romney wrote an interesting opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal today on the topic of gay marriage. He wrote against it, encouraging civility in the discussion, and then giving states hints on how to prevent this kind of thing from happening to them, and warning against "activist judges." I've been drafting a letter to him and trying to understand where people who are against gay marriage are coming from. Because at this point I really don't understand it. Here goes:
"You write:
'Marriage is a fundamental and universal social institution. It encompasses many obligations and benefits affecting husband and wife, father and mother, son and daughter. It is the foundation of a harmonious family life. It is the basic building block of society: The development, productivity and happiness of new generations are bound inextricably to the family unit. As a result, marriage bears a real relation to the well-being, health and enduring strength of society.'
We agree here on the importance of marriage to society. It is a fundamental and universal institution, the basic building block of society, and intrinsic to the happiness of coming generations. But denying gay couples the right to participate in this institution will not protect it. An analogy that comes to mind for me is that of protecting the right to vote by only allowing men to vote. Keeping gay couples from marrying will not save the institution of marriage, but it will deprive us of rights, protections and responsibilities enjoyed by the straight majority.
Secondly, you suggest that the Supreme Court Justices acted as activists, without giving the legislature time to speak. In fact, the people have spoken on two separate occasions. First, when we decided to protect individual liberties through the Massachusetts constitution, and second, when a majority of legislators opted not to discuss the constitutional amendment that had been before them last summer.
Governor Romney, it is clear that these are difficult and often ambiguous issues. However, I ask that you will reconsider your stance and recognize the equal rights of gay couples."
Some things I wanted to say but wasn't sure how to keep from sounding sarcastic:
Being on another side of this debate, I find it hard to understand why opponents of gay marriage continually refer to the "defense of marriage." Marriage has particular benefits and responsibilities, but are the benefits and responsibilities of one couple diminished if a larger number of people enjoy those rights? In that case, it might make sense to limit the overall number of people who can marry within the state, so that those who do get a license won't take it for granted. It seems to me, though, that pure numbers do not weaken marriage.
The other reasoning that seems to come forward is that the "defense of marriage" is an attempt to prevent straight people from deciding that it's all right to be gay, and, presumably, switching over. That leaves us with two questions: 1. Can someone choose to be gay (or straight)? Most people do not have conscious control of their sexual desires, or at least not the kind of control that's like flipping a light switch. And why would someone choose to be gay, just because it's an option? Implicit in this strong "defense" argument is that there is something so attractive about going gay that we have to beat it into submission with an amendment to the US Constitution. Either being gay is chosen or it's not, but it can't be some kind of irresistible force and a rational choice at the same time.
The second question, which is more interesting to me is this: 2. If it's possible to choose to be gay, is that acceptable? I say, yes. Being attracted to people of the same sex and acting on those feelings are both morally neutral. Morality comes from how we treat people in the course of sexual relationships, gay and straight. Consensual sex between adults, based on a loving relationship, at the bare minimum, doesn't hurt anybody. In fact, to draw from Mitt, these relationships eventually become the building blocks of society. While it's not very romantic, it is a morally positive attribute--not only do respectful and loving sexual relationships not hurt anybody, they in fact contribute to society.
A final thought. I know several gay couples who have or are planning to have children, and I myself often consider it. Gay couples are building blocks in society now, already. The question is: will folks like Mitt Romney recognize this, or continue to deprive gay couples of the legal protections of marriage, even as we contribute to the well-being of society?
Keep your fingers crossed.
(Also, if you want to send a note to Governor Romney, his e-mail address is:
GOffice@state.ma.us)
Governor Mitt Romney wrote an interesting opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal today on the topic of gay marriage. He wrote against it, encouraging civility in the discussion, and then giving states hints on how to prevent this kind of thing from happening to them, and warning against "activist judges." I've been drafting a letter to him and trying to understand where people who are against gay marriage are coming from. Because at this point I really don't understand it. Here goes:
"You write:
'Marriage is a fundamental and universal social institution. It encompasses many obligations and benefits affecting husband and wife, father and mother, son and daughter. It is the foundation of a harmonious family life. It is the basic building block of society: The development, productivity and happiness of new generations are bound inextricably to the family unit. As a result, marriage bears a real relation to the well-being, health and enduring strength of society.'
We agree here on the importance of marriage to society. It is a fundamental and universal institution, the basic building block of society, and intrinsic to the happiness of coming generations. But denying gay couples the right to participate in this institution will not protect it. An analogy that comes to mind for me is that of protecting the right to vote by only allowing men to vote. Keeping gay couples from marrying will not save the institution of marriage, but it will deprive us of rights, protections and responsibilities enjoyed by the straight majority.
Secondly, you suggest that the Supreme Court Justices acted as activists, without giving the legislature time to speak. In fact, the people have spoken on two separate occasions. First, when we decided to protect individual liberties through the Massachusetts constitution, and second, when a majority of legislators opted not to discuss the constitutional amendment that had been before them last summer.
Governor Romney, it is clear that these are difficult and often ambiguous issues. However, I ask that you will reconsider your stance and recognize the equal rights of gay couples."
Some things I wanted to say but wasn't sure how to keep from sounding sarcastic:
Being on another side of this debate, I find it hard to understand why opponents of gay marriage continually refer to the "defense of marriage." Marriage has particular benefits and responsibilities, but are the benefits and responsibilities of one couple diminished if a larger number of people enjoy those rights? In that case, it might make sense to limit the overall number of people who can marry within the state, so that those who do get a license won't take it for granted. It seems to me, though, that pure numbers do not weaken marriage.
The other reasoning that seems to come forward is that the "defense of marriage" is an attempt to prevent straight people from deciding that it's all right to be gay, and, presumably, switching over. That leaves us with two questions: 1. Can someone choose to be gay (or straight)? Most people do not have conscious control of their sexual desires, or at least not the kind of control that's like flipping a light switch. And why would someone choose to be gay, just because it's an option? Implicit in this strong "defense" argument is that there is something so attractive about going gay that we have to beat it into submission with an amendment to the US Constitution. Either being gay is chosen or it's not, but it can't be some kind of irresistible force and a rational choice at the same time.
The second question, which is more interesting to me is this: 2. If it's possible to choose to be gay, is that acceptable? I say, yes. Being attracted to people of the same sex and acting on those feelings are both morally neutral. Morality comes from how we treat people in the course of sexual relationships, gay and straight. Consensual sex between adults, based on a loving relationship, at the bare minimum, doesn't hurt anybody. In fact, to draw from Mitt, these relationships eventually become the building blocks of society. While it's not very romantic, it is a morally positive attribute--not only do respectful and loving sexual relationships not hurt anybody, they in fact contribute to society.
A final thought. I know several gay couples who have or are planning to have children, and I myself often consider it. Gay couples are building blocks in society now, already. The question is: will folks like Mitt Romney recognize this, or continue to deprive gay couples of the legal protections of marriage, even as we contribute to the well-being of society?
Keep your fingers crossed.
(Also, if you want to send a note to Governor Romney, his e-mail address is:
GOffice@state.ma.us)
Transition and the subway
If you ride the subway a lot, like I do, you start to notice the way that actually being on the train is like being in an alternate universe. You're not anywhere in particular; the windows usually only reveal dark, blurred tunnel walls, and so there is nothing to compare yourself to, except the walls and floors of the car.
It's not just a physically ambiguous place. It also has its own social rules. Once I saw Tom Green do a bit on a Japanese train--he yelled at the top of his lungs: "Who likes bananas?!?!" but no one even looked at him. It was as if he didn't exist. Granted, the rules for the US aren't quite so strict (I don't think) but the other day on the train we had some drunk sports fans having fun in the middle of an evening commute. The train had a particularly charged atmosphere--danger and adventure. Normally, though, no-one speaks or makes eye contact. The space is different: it is in-between space.
I saw a movie called "Jacob's Ladder" a few years ago. In the beginning of it, a soldier in Vietnam is shot in the belly. He wakes up on a subway train, tormented by strange voices outside. This becomes something of a metaphor for death.
If you want to get fatalistic, in fact, you can think of life as being one long train ride--you just don't know when your last stop is, is all. But transition is the constant, not the aberration. So what this suggests to me is that life is about learning to live with transition. And not only that, but possibly even to exploit or enjoy it. If change is the constant, so to speak, then living well is living well with change. Similarly, the transition--death--to what comes after life can be made well if we are practiced at the art of transition. Dying well, in other words, requires using the lessons of transition in life to face the ultimate change in our reality.
If you ride the subway a lot, like I do, you start to notice the way that actually being on the train is like being in an alternate universe. You're not anywhere in particular; the windows usually only reveal dark, blurred tunnel walls, and so there is nothing to compare yourself to, except the walls and floors of the car.
It's not just a physically ambiguous place. It also has its own social rules. Once I saw Tom Green do a bit on a Japanese train--he yelled at the top of his lungs: "Who likes bananas?!?!" but no one even looked at him. It was as if he didn't exist. Granted, the rules for the US aren't quite so strict (I don't think) but the other day on the train we had some drunk sports fans having fun in the middle of an evening commute. The train had a particularly charged atmosphere--danger and adventure. Normally, though, no-one speaks or makes eye contact. The space is different: it is in-between space.
I saw a movie called "Jacob's Ladder" a few years ago. In the beginning of it, a soldier in Vietnam is shot in the belly. He wakes up on a subway train, tormented by strange voices outside. This becomes something of a metaphor for death.
If you want to get fatalistic, in fact, you can think of life as being one long train ride--you just don't know when your last stop is, is all. But transition is the constant, not the aberration. So what this suggests to me is that life is about learning to live with transition. And not only that, but possibly even to exploit or enjoy it. If change is the constant, so to speak, then living well is living well with change. Similarly, the transition--death--to what comes after life can be made well if we are practiced at the art of transition. Dying well, in other words, requires using the lessons of transition in life to face the ultimate change in our reality.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
The light in the darkness
Next question, somewhat related to previous posts: What is the place of the church in the world?
In the recent past, the church as a body has thought of itself as being part of the governing structures of the whole world. The most striking example of this, of course, is the medieval Catholic Church, where the Pope was the one who crowned the kings, and was capable of bringing a monarch to his knees. (Literally, in at least one case... href="http://http://www.saburchill.com/history/biblio/006.html")
More recently, we've seen modern attempts at controlling/influencing the US government, maybe most stridently by folks like the moral majority, but also among the mainline denominations as well. One time, when I lived in Washington, DC, I was at church with Bill Clinton (still President at the time). The preacher dedicated a good thirty seconds of his sermon to the Test Ban Treaty, if I remember right, and looked right at Clinton.
I'm not saying we made the right decision letting that one go through the door, but the weirdness of that moment has stuck with me much longer than the policy issue--by far. I can understand why the preacher (whom I liked very much on most other Sundays) would go out on a limb like that, but somehow it really just seemed too public, like a wall of trust had been broken.
Is that right? Should people, in particular preachers, refrain from expressing their political values in a religious context? I don't know. But I think the real question is not should or shouldn't, but instead: is it realistic? Can we reasonably expect to control the government? Is that even what churches should be about?
I think the lobbying approach may be one of the steepest faces of the mountain, to coin a phrase. In other words, it may not be that the church is called to change the world the way everyone else changes the world, but instead to lead by example.
I was having an intense conversation about peace on Sunday, and the horrific treatment of women sold into sex slavery in the US came up. It's the kind of thing that makes you wonder--how can we even go on with trying to do good, when there are people out there who are so willfully evil towards fellow human beings? How can I sing when someone else's life is being systematically destroyed for money?
But I think that being part of a faith community is not about pretending evil doesn't exist. Jesus says to his disciples, "You are the light of the world." It may be that the church's calling instead is not to fight for governing control, but to carry that light and that hope for something better. To worship in defiance, not denial, of the abuses of power and the degradation of human beings. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. May people of faith learn to be that light.
Next question, somewhat related to previous posts: What is the place of the church in the world?
In the recent past, the church as a body has thought of itself as being part of the governing structures of the whole world. The most striking example of this, of course, is the medieval Catholic Church, where the Pope was the one who crowned the kings, and was capable of bringing a monarch to his knees. (Literally, in at least one case... href="http://http://www.saburchill.com/history/biblio/006.html")
More recently, we've seen modern attempts at controlling/influencing the US government, maybe most stridently by folks like the moral majority, but also among the mainline denominations as well. One time, when I lived in Washington, DC, I was at church with Bill Clinton (still President at the time). The preacher dedicated a good thirty seconds of his sermon to the Test Ban Treaty, if I remember right, and looked right at Clinton.
I'm not saying we made the right decision letting that one go through the door, but the weirdness of that moment has stuck with me much longer than the policy issue--by far. I can understand why the preacher (whom I liked very much on most other Sundays) would go out on a limb like that, but somehow it really just seemed too public, like a wall of trust had been broken.
Is that right? Should people, in particular preachers, refrain from expressing their political values in a religious context? I don't know. But I think the real question is not should or shouldn't, but instead: is it realistic? Can we reasonably expect to control the government? Is that even what churches should be about?
I think the lobbying approach may be one of the steepest faces of the mountain, to coin a phrase. In other words, it may not be that the church is called to change the world the way everyone else changes the world, but instead to lead by example.
I was having an intense conversation about peace on Sunday, and the horrific treatment of women sold into sex slavery in the US came up. It's the kind of thing that makes you wonder--how can we even go on with trying to do good, when there are people out there who are so willfully evil towards fellow human beings? How can I sing when someone else's life is being systematically destroyed for money?
But I think that being part of a faith community is not about pretending evil doesn't exist. Jesus says to his disciples, "You are the light of the world." It may be that the church's calling instead is not to fight for governing control, but to carry that light and that hope for something better. To worship in defiance, not denial, of the abuses of power and the degradation of human beings. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. May people of faith learn to be that light.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Control, part 2
So apparently what I would like to control is world events. I've got much more access to information than I have to influence. Exhibit 1: my last blog entry.
And then there are people in the opposite situation, with access to influence far exceeding their ability to process information. Exhibit 2: George W. He's a human being, he makes mistakes. His power exceeds his ability to interpret information correctly--i.e. understanding that the CIA intelligence was faulty, etc. (Or maybe he knew it and didn't care, which is another issue.) Taking time to listen to other points of view reduces the chances that we'll make bad decisions, but even then, whole groups and nations can be wrong about something.
I went to see Fog of War on Friday night, which was a documentary about American wars in the 20th century told through the lens of Robert McNamara's life. McNamara is probably best known as the Secretary of Defense during the first half of the Vietnam war.
Something he said that really stuck with me was this: you can't change human nature. And I wonder if it's true--I wonder if it's impossible for people to choose not to use the violent powers that they have. I don't know. A cynical part of me says he's right: you can't. Every generation has to make its own mistakes.
Let me get back to control. Like it or not, I have very little direct personal influence on the decisionmakers who planned the Iraq war. I also have limited influence on the broad scope of human nature. I know, you're shocked. But it's true. :-) I can do my part, write letters, speak up, but I can't re-channel the course of history.
Given the size and the scope of these things, then, there is a balance to be struck. Some of the care for the world belongs to me, and a lot of it does not belong to me, which I need to both define and accept. Some tremendously creative and influential people have refused to see the status quo or accept the limitations put on them. MLK comes to mind.
Where does God come in? I think God moves very subtley, through people. If I answer God's call and succeed in doing God's will, and if others answer that call, then maybe we can get somewhere. It's an achingly slow process, though, and is ultimately too large for any one person. To quote a popular prayer for serenity: "God grant me the courage to change the things I can, the power to accept the things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Easier said than done, of course.
So apparently what I would like to control is world events. I've got much more access to information than I have to influence. Exhibit 1: my last blog entry.
And then there are people in the opposite situation, with access to influence far exceeding their ability to process information. Exhibit 2: George W. He's a human being, he makes mistakes. His power exceeds his ability to interpret information correctly--i.e. understanding that the CIA intelligence was faulty, etc. (Or maybe he knew it and didn't care, which is another issue.) Taking time to listen to other points of view reduces the chances that we'll make bad decisions, but even then, whole groups and nations can be wrong about something.
I went to see Fog of War on Friday night, which was a documentary about American wars in the 20th century told through the lens of Robert McNamara's life. McNamara is probably best known as the Secretary of Defense during the first half of the Vietnam war.
Something he said that really stuck with me was this: you can't change human nature. And I wonder if it's true--I wonder if it's impossible for people to choose not to use the violent powers that they have. I don't know. A cynical part of me says he's right: you can't. Every generation has to make its own mistakes.
Let me get back to control. Like it or not, I have very little direct personal influence on the decisionmakers who planned the Iraq war. I also have limited influence on the broad scope of human nature. I know, you're shocked. But it's true. :-) I can do my part, write letters, speak up, but I can't re-channel the course of history.
Given the size and the scope of these things, then, there is a balance to be struck. Some of the care for the world belongs to me, and a lot of it does not belong to me, which I need to both define and accept. Some tremendously creative and influential people have refused to see the status quo or accept the limitations put on them. MLK comes to mind.
Where does God come in? I think God moves very subtley, through people. If I answer God's call and succeed in doing God's will, and if others answer that call, then maybe we can get somewhere. It's an achingly slow process, though, and is ultimately too large for any one person. To quote a popular prayer for serenity: "God grant me the courage to change the things I can, the power to accept the things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Easier said than done, of course.
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