Strangely, when left with nothing spiritually, unlike what I've heard others experience, I felt no particular loss. No dramatic disconnection. Maybe it's that I've struggled with accepting my own independent thought in terms of how others viewed it for a long time. Maybe it was that in some sense, I finally felt some relief in that I finally felt like I understood why I had felt so uncertain for so long.
The only loss I think I felt was the fact that I no longer shared a certain kinship or fraternity with people over a spiritual matter. Even when I knew I wasn't the only one struggling in a group to grasp and accept the religious tenants, there was still a certain understanding among the group and a camaraderie that I have missed.
In the course of my "disconnection", I did come to see just how much religion plays as a part of people's fabric regardless of what color the threads might be, or what their tensile strength may be.
It's hard to find other things for which people devote such passion and interest. And even when the passion and the devotion is misguided, people are afraid to give it up. Afraid for some to face the reality that they follow not because they believe, but because they know of no other way to maintain all that comes with being one who believes. Yet they miss the boat that faith for the sake of faith is as empty as no faith at all. It's only much more convoluted.
Over the course of my years as a religious "investigator", I've found that I'm often in the middle of the less than favorable examples of what I'm investigating. The pastor I grew up knowing at my church was allegedly found to be shirking his responsibilities to his vow of chastity (fortunately with women his age). I also don't recall our church at the time doing much beyond Mass and Sunday school for the kids. A lot of the day to day interaction and faith building was missing.
As I dipped my toe in the pagan community here locally, I found all sorts of cringe-worthy behavior.
I will say I think my experience with the pagan community here reinforced the ideology for me that god, in whatever form it might exist, has little concern for the day to day minutia of life. Little frustrated me more than watching people pin their hopes and dreams on the supposed will of some ethereal being rather than on their own cognizance and ability to be willful.
My experiences have shaped my long-standing belief that in order to be successful and happy in life, you must make your own efforts. If god sees fit to shine down upon you, all the better, but watching people sit around waiting for it to happen, or worse, blaming failure on the lack of supernatural support just reinforces my understanding that religion can, unfortunately, breed very immature, self-centered, and closed-minded individuals.
I think it's safe to say that nearly all religions and faiths of the world have something to offer the spirit, and those that choose to belittle or otherwise demean others based solely on their faith, or more to the point, their divergence of faith from their own, miss the boat. And not for the fact that their own beliefs are necessary at issue as much as that they haven't come to understand that to truly know deity, you must transcend the dogma.
And going back to that statement of people who have faith to belong, it's not something that a lot of people are willing to even strive to find.
Put them in their little corner, bury them in scripture, and ensure that they never see the light of day, and they'll live their sheltered lives as happy as they think they can, free of truth, light, and perfect understanding.
No different than any other part of life, I suppose. Some want to find a routine and stick with it. Others want more. And ne'er the twain shall meet.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My Fall From Grace: Part 4 - The Promise Moroni Broke
"I've been searchin' every which-a-way yeah yeah" - The Coasters
I say disinterested agnostic for two reasons. First, I hadn't given up on the idea that there was a god of sorts up there, or that there was a true path, I just realized that the Catholicism my family practiced and whom they practiced it with was not a path that seemed right to me. Second, lots of other things were going on in my life at the time, and I honestly didn't devote a lot of time to my faith or any thought towards spirituality. That's not to say it didn't stumble on me from time to time.
Total side note: In a very demented and sadistic way, it is incredibly humorous to bring a Protestant to a Catholic mass, and watch what happens as the Lord's Prayer ends. For those that aren't familiar, the Catholics seem to cut short the "Our Father" where as Episcopals and others continue the prayer with the line, "For thine is the Kingdom, and the power and the glory are yours, now and forever." Bit of debate and a lot of history as to why there exists this difference. But it can be a fun prank, given that the portion of mass following the "Our Father" is silent for a moment or two, so when the unsuspecting Protestant continues on their prayer, they expose themselves rather readily. Personal experience? Me? Naaaaaahhhhh... ;-) Actually less about inflicting that, and more about having it happen before I knew about the little add-on, and me feeling bad and amused at the same time. Gotta love life.
Late high school and early college were pretty much the same ol' same ol'. Can't say I really stumbled on much of anything, but I didn't go out of my way to look either.
Wasn't until I was out of college, living on my own, having already moved to Seattle that I encountered something different. A tale that definitely changed the way I look at a lot of things.
Lets put it this way: beautiful young Mormon woman in a dead-end marriage, poor judgment on both our parts. That pretty well sums it up.
But so many different things came out of that experience including my opportunity to define polyamory in my life, a taste of things to come with regards to disaster preparedness, and a dip into the sea that is being a Latter Day Saint.
Mormons love pre-made converts. As a once-Catholic, I got treated almost like royalty. I already knew most of the theological teachings. I knew how to parrot them as much then as I did when I was younger. And boy could I be convincing.
I think somewhere along the line, I hadn't really planned to go headlong into this. I did it because young Mormon woman in question was in search of a better leader of her little family, and this was the only way she knew how to do it. I fell deeply and madly, and in spite of the poor choices that started it, we pushed forward in hopes of making things work. They didn't, of course, but that didn't stop us from trying.
In the process I learned that the 80% of the theology I knew was no match for the 20% I was going to learn. Tales of natives in a far away land from that of Jesus and his disciples. Prophets and Masonic Rituals and other non-Christian beliefs.
If you've ever gone through the Missionary's teachings, one of the things they ask you to do is to pray on these teachings. The angel Moroni promised that the Holy Spirit will send you a sign. A burning or warming of the breast if you pray upon these, and these teachings are true. Missionaries swear by it as the litmus test of their faith.
I did my best as a convert with good intention. I prayed and read.. and prayed some more. No burning. I stood up and proclaimed my testimony. And I prayed yet some more. No burning, save that one time with the really crappy pizza. :-P
Not a good way to start.
As a side note, looking at various interviews and accounts of both born-in Mormons and converts alike, very few ever experienced this burning or anything resembling a filling of the spirit when praying specifically towards the intention of Moroni's Promise.
Being told, "it will happen some day", I kept plugging away, balancing my new role as a Mormon in my life.
There were various things that happened. Details of prayer meetings, and things I read in the Book of Mormon and other holy documents that made me skeptical.
But the moment that sealed the deal for me, and allowed the entire house of cards to collapse was as a result of an evening I spent with my Ward during a couple's Valentine's Day gathering. In spite of the fact that things had gone south in the not-so-good way with my favorite Mormon, and I was flying alone that year, they invited me out anyway to spend some time with people and enjoy myself. It wasn't too bad all things considered. But as I settled in and enjoyed the food and company, I began to feel the other couples. I've always had a way about sensing people. Hard to describe other than to say that either I'm exceptionally good at picking up on non-verbal queues, or something because I can read people fairly well. And what I read for most of the couples in that room was that there was little passion there. Sure, they loved their spouses and families and would have it no other way, but I could sense that many had given up a part of themselves to do it. And while it was willful, it was not necessarily happily.
That's not to say there weren't couples who were obviously passionate and in love. And age or length of marriage had nothing to do with the distinction. But I understood partly why my "friend" was so willing to turn her back on her marriage and find someone who might bring some light and joy to her life where none existed now. That passion she had was part of why I fell for her, and to think that I might, as a matter of course through my beliefs, choose to give up finding that with someone bothered me greatly.
Things were never the same after that, and there was a final straw involving a doubting investigator whom was of African descent. He was dismayed to learn, during the course of his induction, how the early church treated people of color, and both the missionary's responses and how it all ended up being handled really painted quite a picture for me. The gist of which was that apparently God changed his mind and that it was ok for black folk to be eligible to be among the chosen.
That's been an ongoing issue for me. The idea that a book-based theology is allowed to change. Governmental systems have amendments. The word of God is supposed to be infallible. People argue that the people doing the writing are to blame, but if you were a supreme being with the power to do anything and everything at will, wouldn't you ensure that your supreme and holy word got put down in the way you intended? We have enough religions and theologies based on the visitation of a spirit or other entity to an individual who was moved to dictate what was spoken to him, even if the individual could not comprehend the text. Seems like there shouldn't be too much wiggle room on that. And yet, there is.
Could it be that the words are written fine, but it's the humans that can't understand them? Sure. A big part of any religion is interpretation. I don't have a huge problem with that unless things are so ambiguous that it causes huge reversals of position.
Then again, lets talk about how the interpretation of God changed just from the Old Testament to the New Testament. Can't even find consistency in the same book, much less anything else.
So yeah. These experiences contributed to this web of mystery that continued to thicken and thicken to the point where I was left tangled in pieces of this reality which conflicted with other pieces and left me confused and dismayed. And pardon the expression, but heaven forbid somebody try and explain why this happens or why the inconsistencies aren't really wrong, but are a "test of my faith".
That's about the time where Occam's Razor stepped in, and I took a big step backward and decided that all this convolution passing for dogma was not only not God, but that God wasn't god. And if THAT God wasn't god, then how could I know if ANY gods were god?
It was an inevitable yet still heartbreaking realization.
I say disinterested agnostic for two reasons. First, I hadn't given up on the idea that there was a god of sorts up there, or that there was a true path, I just realized that the Catholicism my family practiced and whom they practiced it with was not a path that seemed right to me. Second, lots of other things were going on in my life at the time, and I honestly didn't devote a lot of time to my faith or any thought towards spirituality. That's not to say it didn't stumble on me from time to time.
Total side note: In a very demented and sadistic way, it is incredibly humorous to bring a Protestant to a Catholic mass, and watch what happens as the Lord's Prayer ends. For those that aren't familiar, the Catholics seem to cut short the "Our Father" where as Episcopals and others continue the prayer with the line, "For thine is the Kingdom, and the power and the glory are yours, now and forever." Bit of debate and a lot of history as to why there exists this difference. But it can be a fun prank, given that the portion of mass following the "Our Father" is silent for a moment or two, so when the unsuspecting Protestant continues on their prayer, they expose themselves rather readily. Personal experience? Me? Naaaaaahhhhh... ;-) Actually less about inflicting that, and more about having it happen before I knew about the little add-on, and me feeling bad and amused at the same time. Gotta love life.
Late high school and early college were pretty much the same ol' same ol'. Can't say I really stumbled on much of anything, but I didn't go out of my way to look either.
Wasn't until I was out of college, living on my own, having already moved to Seattle that I encountered something different. A tale that definitely changed the way I look at a lot of things.
Lets put it this way: beautiful young Mormon woman in a dead-end marriage, poor judgment on both our parts. That pretty well sums it up.
But so many different things came out of that experience including my opportunity to define polyamory in my life, a taste of things to come with regards to disaster preparedness, and a dip into the sea that is being a Latter Day Saint.
Mormons love pre-made converts. As a once-Catholic, I got treated almost like royalty. I already knew most of the theological teachings. I knew how to parrot them as much then as I did when I was younger. And boy could I be convincing.
I think somewhere along the line, I hadn't really planned to go headlong into this. I did it because young Mormon woman in question was in search of a better leader of her little family, and this was the only way she knew how to do it. I fell deeply and madly, and in spite of the poor choices that started it, we pushed forward in hopes of making things work. They didn't, of course, but that didn't stop us from trying.
In the process I learned that the 80% of the theology I knew was no match for the 20% I was going to learn. Tales of natives in a far away land from that of Jesus and his disciples. Prophets and Masonic Rituals and other non-Christian beliefs.
If you've ever gone through the Missionary's teachings, one of the things they ask you to do is to pray on these teachings. The angel Moroni promised that the Holy Spirit will send you a sign. A burning or warming of the breast if you pray upon these, and these teachings are true. Missionaries swear by it as the litmus test of their faith.
I did my best as a convert with good intention. I prayed and read.. and prayed some more. No burning. I stood up and proclaimed my testimony. And I prayed yet some more. No burning, save that one time with the really crappy pizza. :-P
Not a good way to start.
As a side note, looking at various interviews and accounts of both born-in Mormons and converts alike, very few ever experienced this burning or anything resembling a filling of the spirit when praying specifically towards the intention of Moroni's Promise.
Being told, "it will happen some day", I kept plugging away, balancing my new role as a Mormon in my life.
There were various things that happened. Details of prayer meetings, and things I read in the Book of Mormon and other holy documents that made me skeptical.
But the moment that sealed the deal for me, and allowed the entire house of cards to collapse was as a result of an evening I spent with my Ward during a couple's Valentine's Day gathering. In spite of the fact that things had gone south in the not-so-good way with my favorite Mormon, and I was flying alone that year, they invited me out anyway to spend some time with people and enjoy myself. It wasn't too bad all things considered. But as I settled in and enjoyed the food and company, I began to feel the other couples. I've always had a way about sensing people. Hard to describe other than to say that either I'm exceptionally good at picking up on non-verbal queues, or something because I can read people fairly well. And what I read for most of the couples in that room was that there was little passion there. Sure, they loved their spouses and families and would have it no other way, but I could sense that many had given up a part of themselves to do it. And while it was willful, it was not necessarily happily.
That's not to say there weren't couples who were obviously passionate and in love. And age or length of marriage had nothing to do with the distinction. But I understood partly why my "friend" was so willing to turn her back on her marriage and find someone who might bring some light and joy to her life where none existed now. That passion she had was part of why I fell for her, and to think that I might, as a matter of course through my beliefs, choose to give up finding that with someone bothered me greatly.
Things were never the same after that, and there was a final straw involving a doubting investigator whom was of African descent. He was dismayed to learn, during the course of his induction, how the early church treated people of color, and both the missionary's responses and how it all ended up being handled really painted quite a picture for me. The gist of which was that apparently God changed his mind and that it was ok for black folk to be eligible to be among the chosen.
That's been an ongoing issue for me. The idea that a book-based theology is allowed to change. Governmental systems have amendments. The word of God is supposed to be infallible. People argue that the people doing the writing are to blame, but if you were a supreme being with the power to do anything and everything at will, wouldn't you ensure that your supreme and holy word got put down in the way you intended? We have enough religions and theologies based on the visitation of a spirit or other entity to an individual who was moved to dictate what was spoken to him, even if the individual could not comprehend the text. Seems like there shouldn't be too much wiggle room on that. And yet, there is.
Could it be that the words are written fine, but it's the humans that can't understand them? Sure. A big part of any religion is interpretation. I don't have a huge problem with that unless things are so ambiguous that it causes huge reversals of position.
Then again, lets talk about how the interpretation of God changed just from the Old Testament to the New Testament. Can't even find consistency in the same book, much less anything else.
So yeah. These experiences contributed to this web of mystery that continued to thicken and thicken to the point where I was left tangled in pieces of this reality which conflicted with other pieces and left me confused and dismayed. And pardon the expression, but heaven forbid somebody try and explain why this happens or why the inconsistencies aren't really wrong, but are a "test of my faith".
That's about the time where Occam's Razor stepped in, and I took a big step backward and decided that all this convolution passing for dogma was not only not God, but that God wasn't god. And if THAT God wasn't god, then how could I know if ANY gods were god?
It was an inevitable yet still heartbreaking realization.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
My Fall From Grace: Part 3 - A lot about livin' and a little 'bout love
Sokath, his eyes opened. - Star Trek TNG: Darmok
So as I entered my high school years, I struggled with a lot of things as I'm sure most do. Between various social outcast issues, parental problems involving my controlling Father, and trying to figure out what I planned to do with my life, my plate was rather full. Spirituality had never held a high place in my life up to now, and with all that I was attempting to keep in balance, it ironically fell even further to the wayside.
However, as luck and Catholic tradition would have it, Confirmation, or the ceremony whereby a young Catholic or convert professes and confirms their choice of faith is celebrated in the teen years. In my parish this also mandated attending a retreat weekend put on by members of the youth groups. This lead to a set of experiences that would change my life forever.
Firstly, due to space restrictions, I was diverted into the retreat group for young adults versus the high school age group. This turned out to be an unexpected blessing. I had always had a tendency to get along better with older people, and this time was no exception. The retreat, involving lots of soul searching and guided meditation, went surprisingly well. I emerged with a renewed if not altogether new perspective on my spirituality, and felt good about things for a while.
However, my confirmation continued as scheduled. Rather than take some time to re-evaluate things and become one with my experiences and move forward in a more positive way, I opted to keep my parents off my back and just continue with the ceremony. I of course realize now that I should have at least discussed it, but discussions didn't often go well in my family, and I really hadn't come to a point where my beliefs and my values would be something I would feel compelled to defend.
After my confirmation, I was invited by our deacon to join the youth group. Given that my experiences with them were with the young adult group versus the high school group, I petitioned to join the former, and it was agreed that even though I was a few years too young, that my experiences and the relationships I had built while on retreat were worth something, and I was permitted to join.
This opened me to a closer peer group that was attempting to live their faith. Some were more successful than others, but it was nice being part of a community with a common goal.
During this time I was also helping my Father serve Mass in the capacity as an usher. My responsibilities were to help seat people and also to help pass the baskets for the various collections. There were at least 4 of us that sometimes included my Father if he was not up serving for the priest. I was contributing, but again, it was less for me and more for him.
Later, our young adult group put on our own retreats for the next sets of Confirmation candidates and I got to enjoy and appreciate the comradery that happens when you work as a team to bring to fruition a big event.
As all this continued, I still noticed that this group was no different than the Catholic community at large. There was a great deal of the same hypocrisies that existed in the parish as a whole.
I remember one particular incident where we met at a member's home. He presented himself as being rather devout and he had a certain charismatic way about how he carried himself and was generally well liked and respected. He was well versed and studied. But what struck me as amusing was while walking through his home, unbeknownst to him, I discovered his Playboy magazine subscription which he kept in plain view in his magazine rack in the den. I didn't confront him with it. I was still rather shy back then. But I do remember others shaking their heads knowingly and without much shock or surprise when discovering the same stash.
I think the lesson I was supposed to learn that day was that even the best of people have weaknesses and that it should not taint or tarnish the good works they are doing. Instead, the message I took away was that I couldn't trust anybody, and that expecting people to be a better breed of human was a myth. Further, because nobody else felt the need to address it with him (to my knowledge), I was that much more upset that he would be permitted to continue his supposed charade unchallenged. He lost a bit of my respect that day, and I am sure he probably didn't even know why.
That experience coupled with a bad crush experience with one of my teammates where I ended up feeling as though the rug got pulled out from under me, I opted to discontinue attending the youth group after having been a member for several years.
Not long after that, I announced timidly to my parents that I was no longer going to be attending church on Sundays either. I cited that I was not really much of a believer and that I was tired of being a hypocrite. They didn't understand, but at that point I had already been coming out of my shell and standing up for myself in other ways, and this was just one more. I didn't really concern myself with what they thought about it. I would well imagine they thought of themselves as failures, though they never expressed it, nor did they ever really address the issue directly with me ever again.
And so began my venture into disinterested agnosticism.
So as I entered my high school years, I struggled with a lot of things as I'm sure most do. Between various social outcast issues, parental problems involving my controlling Father, and trying to figure out what I planned to do with my life, my plate was rather full. Spirituality had never held a high place in my life up to now, and with all that I was attempting to keep in balance, it ironically fell even further to the wayside.
However, as luck and Catholic tradition would have it, Confirmation, or the ceremony whereby a young Catholic or convert professes and confirms their choice of faith is celebrated in the teen years. In my parish this also mandated attending a retreat weekend put on by members of the youth groups. This lead to a set of experiences that would change my life forever.
Firstly, due to space restrictions, I was diverted into the retreat group for young adults versus the high school age group. This turned out to be an unexpected blessing. I had always had a tendency to get along better with older people, and this time was no exception. The retreat, involving lots of soul searching and guided meditation, went surprisingly well. I emerged with a renewed if not altogether new perspective on my spirituality, and felt good about things for a while.
However, my confirmation continued as scheduled. Rather than take some time to re-evaluate things and become one with my experiences and move forward in a more positive way, I opted to keep my parents off my back and just continue with the ceremony. I of course realize now that I should have at least discussed it, but discussions didn't often go well in my family, and I really hadn't come to a point where my beliefs and my values would be something I would feel compelled to defend.
After my confirmation, I was invited by our deacon to join the youth group. Given that my experiences with them were with the young adult group versus the high school group, I petitioned to join the former, and it was agreed that even though I was a few years too young, that my experiences and the relationships I had built while on retreat were worth something, and I was permitted to join.
This opened me to a closer peer group that was attempting to live their faith. Some were more successful than others, but it was nice being part of a community with a common goal.
During this time I was also helping my Father serve Mass in the capacity as an usher. My responsibilities were to help seat people and also to help pass the baskets for the various collections. There were at least 4 of us that sometimes included my Father if he was not up serving for the priest. I was contributing, but again, it was less for me and more for him.
Later, our young adult group put on our own retreats for the next sets of Confirmation candidates and I got to enjoy and appreciate the comradery that happens when you work as a team to bring to fruition a big event.
As all this continued, I still noticed that this group was no different than the Catholic community at large. There was a great deal of the same hypocrisies that existed in the parish as a whole.
I remember one particular incident where we met at a member's home. He presented himself as being rather devout and he had a certain charismatic way about how he carried himself and was generally well liked and respected. He was well versed and studied. But what struck me as amusing was while walking through his home, unbeknownst to him, I discovered his Playboy magazine subscription which he kept in plain view in his magazine rack in the den. I didn't confront him with it. I was still rather shy back then. But I do remember others shaking their heads knowingly and without much shock or surprise when discovering the same stash.
I think the lesson I was supposed to learn that day was that even the best of people have weaknesses and that it should not taint or tarnish the good works they are doing. Instead, the message I took away was that I couldn't trust anybody, and that expecting people to be a better breed of human was a myth. Further, because nobody else felt the need to address it with him (to my knowledge), I was that much more upset that he would be permitted to continue his supposed charade unchallenged. He lost a bit of my respect that day, and I am sure he probably didn't even know why.
That experience coupled with a bad crush experience with one of my teammates where I ended up feeling as though the rug got pulled out from under me, I opted to discontinue attending the youth group after having been a member for several years.
Not long after that, I announced timidly to my parents that I was no longer going to be attending church on Sundays either. I cited that I was not really much of a believer and that I was tired of being a hypocrite. They didn't understand, but at that point I had already been coming out of my shell and standing up for myself in other ways, and this was just one more. I didn't really concern myself with what they thought about it. I would well imagine they thought of themselves as failures, though they never expressed it, nor did they ever really address the issue directly with me ever again.
And so began my venture into disinterested agnosticism.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
My Fall From Grace: Part 2 - School Daze
"Come! all ye, and learn the secret that hath not yet been revealed." Liber AL-2:2
So growing up in a semi-devout Catholic family means being semi-devout. Which in a Catholic family means Catechism. Most of the rest of you would refer to this as Sunday School.
One of the things that was interesting about our parish, and I think several others do this as well, is that Sunday School is held DURING the Mass which means the kids miss one of the central rituals to the dogma. I never quite understood how they justified that, and even though I'm sure other kids were perfectly oblivious, I couldn't help feeling like I was missing out on something going on at the Church.
The little kids learn about the fluffy good parts of being Catholic and Christian (don't want to scare them too early). The somewhat older kids learn about the fire and brimstone, and parents readily take advantage, as this is about the time that kids start thinking for themselves. Older still, you learn about your obligations as a Catholic and a Christian, and your preordained path including First Communion and Confirmation, as well as the other "degrees".
As a side note, looking back I realize how much Catholicism and even various other Christian groups have taken from old world secret orders. There are paths of progression that very much resemble degrees and rituals in other orders and groups. It's somewhat amusing.
Baptism is the entry ritual of bodily nature into the religion. Catholics don't typically believe in full-body immersion, but prefer a symbolic cleansing and anointing. This typically takes place long before any age of consent, and the expectation is that it confers a certain level of "protection" upon the infant, and it is expected to be done very soon after birth. As such, I don't recall mine, but I've seen pictures.
The next is what is called Holy Communion, or rather the First Communion. During mass, there is a Eucharistic celebration wherein those who are worthy may partake. Part of the process to becoming worthy is to go through your First Communion. This happens around the age of 8. It involves an extra set of Catechism classes to understand the symbology of the ritual. At least in as much as an 8 year old is expected to understand. Typically this is also the time wherein Catholics attend to their first confession as well. Confession as a Catholic concept is where you visit with a priest during a designated time and retell your transgressions and receive absolution for them with the understanding that if you are truly penitent, your sins will be forgiven.
I understand the psychology of confession. There is something very cathartic about releasing the tensions of guilt and frustration over things that we know we've done wrong. While at times it can be intimidating, it also can lift the spirit when you are told you are forgiven, and it can alter your mindset in such a way that you are made aware of the harm you caused, and work some level of penance in effort to fix what you have undone. However, Catholics view the ritual of confession as the sole means to be absolved of sins, and no matter how sorry we are, no matter how much we've prayed, no matter how much reconciliation we've enacted with those we've hurt, and no matter what we do to make things right, it doesn't count without a proper confession.
This brings me to the beginning of what later becomes a recurring point arising time after time after time. That is, if God is so powerful and so omnipotent, why does he need a celibate man in a dress to tell me if he has forgiven me or not? Is God incapable of expressing his own absolutions? Are we to believe that he's too busy to tend to the fallen of his flock? Is he so arrogant as to think that we are not worthy to interact with anyone but his underlings? This idea of needing a go-between seemed silly at best, and political elitest hierarchical bullshit at worst.
Anyways. Back to my First Communion, this I remember a bit. We all get dressed up, we all partake first, and then everybody coos and ahhs over us. That's about it. And thereafter, I'm eligible to follow with my parents in procession to receive Holy Communion assuming I remain worthy by attending confession regularly. And so it begins.
Most of the rest of my school-age experiences were mundane. My family celebrated the usual Catholic holidays and they often included lots of family, and the chaos and resentment that many family gatherings tend to bring. Beyond that, I can't say I had any particular religious experiences, but I did notice a distinct disconnect from what was the religious world of attending Mass on Sundays to the majority and remainder of the week. We would be regularly admonished to live our faith and yet I can't say that we brought it home. I don't remember the experience of noticing anybody that appeared to live their lives differently as a result of their faith. Did that mean they weren't living their faith, or did it mean that living their faith didn't amount to much anyways?
It took me a while, but later in my life, I finally saw a person that was living their faith, and I understood at that moment that people like them are rare.
In the meantime, I got great examples of those that weren't.
So growing up in a semi-devout Catholic family means being semi-devout. Which in a Catholic family means Catechism. Most of the rest of you would refer to this as Sunday School.
One of the things that was interesting about our parish, and I think several others do this as well, is that Sunday School is held DURING the Mass which means the kids miss one of the central rituals to the dogma. I never quite understood how they justified that, and even though I'm sure other kids were perfectly oblivious, I couldn't help feeling like I was missing out on something going on at the Church.
The little kids learn about the fluffy good parts of being Catholic and Christian (don't want to scare them too early). The somewhat older kids learn about the fire and brimstone, and parents readily take advantage, as this is about the time that kids start thinking for themselves. Older still, you learn about your obligations as a Catholic and a Christian, and your preordained path including First Communion and Confirmation, as well as the other "degrees".
As a side note, looking back I realize how much Catholicism and even various other Christian groups have taken from old world secret orders. There are paths of progression that very much resemble degrees and rituals in other orders and groups. It's somewhat amusing.
Baptism is the entry ritual of bodily nature into the religion. Catholics don't typically believe in full-body immersion, but prefer a symbolic cleansing and anointing. This typically takes place long before any age of consent, and the expectation is that it confers a certain level of "protection" upon the infant, and it is expected to be done very soon after birth. As such, I don't recall mine, but I've seen pictures.
The next is what is called Holy Communion, or rather the First Communion. During mass, there is a Eucharistic celebration wherein those who are worthy may partake. Part of the process to becoming worthy is to go through your First Communion. This happens around the age of 8. It involves an extra set of Catechism classes to understand the symbology of the ritual. At least in as much as an 8 year old is expected to understand. Typically this is also the time wherein Catholics attend to their first confession as well. Confession as a Catholic concept is where you visit with a priest during a designated time and retell your transgressions and receive absolution for them with the understanding that if you are truly penitent, your sins will be forgiven.
I understand the psychology of confession. There is something very cathartic about releasing the tensions of guilt and frustration over things that we know we've done wrong. While at times it can be intimidating, it also can lift the spirit when you are told you are forgiven, and it can alter your mindset in such a way that you are made aware of the harm you caused, and work some level of penance in effort to fix what you have undone. However, Catholics view the ritual of confession as the sole means to be absolved of sins, and no matter how sorry we are, no matter how much we've prayed, no matter how much reconciliation we've enacted with those we've hurt, and no matter what we do to make things right, it doesn't count without a proper confession.
This brings me to the beginning of what later becomes a recurring point arising time after time after time. That is, if God is so powerful and so omnipotent, why does he need a celibate man in a dress to tell me if he has forgiven me or not? Is God incapable of expressing his own absolutions? Are we to believe that he's too busy to tend to the fallen of his flock? Is he so arrogant as to think that we are not worthy to interact with anyone but his underlings? This idea of needing a go-between seemed silly at best, and political elitest hierarchical bullshit at worst.
Anyways. Back to my First Communion, this I remember a bit. We all get dressed up, we all partake first, and then everybody coos and ahhs over us. That's about it. And thereafter, I'm eligible to follow with my parents in procession to receive Holy Communion assuming I remain worthy by attending confession regularly. And so it begins.
Most of the rest of my school-age experiences were mundane. My family celebrated the usual Catholic holidays and they often included lots of family, and the chaos and resentment that many family gatherings tend to bring. Beyond that, I can't say I had any particular religious experiences, but I did notice a distinct disconnect from what was the religious world of attending Mass on Sundays to the majority and remainder of the week. We would be regularly admonished to live our faith and yet I can't say that we brought it home. I don't remember the experience of noticing anybody that appeared to live their lives differently as a result of their faith. Did that mean they weren't living their faith, or did it mean that living their faith didn't amount to much anyways?
It took me a while, but later in my life, I finally saw a person that was living their faith, and I understood at that moment that people like them are rare.
In the meantime, I got great examples of those that weren't.
Monday, January 19, 2009
My Fall From Grace: Part 1 - The Beginning
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Gen-1:1
So as a process of my development over the years, one thing that has been notably defined and re-defined is my acceptance and perception of spirituality. Having grown up in a somewhat devout Roman Catholic family, there were elements of spirituality throughout my life, though on some level, they never gelled with me.
I remember learning to say my prayers before bed. As a child, I understood that the idea was that I was supposed to be talking to God to praise him, rejoice in him, and humbly ask for his forgiveness and his assistance in my day-to-day life. However, as the Catholics we were, my prayers consisted of a rigid set of prayers that supposedly served various purposes, but generally took the personalization out of it. I remember Hail Mary's. Our Father's. There were others, but I don't recall them now. But I do remember a sense of solitude in the ritual. I later learned that it was not uncommon in other religious Christian families to say the evening prayers together as a family. We didn't do much of anything together as a family. But thats a whole other post regarding a whole other topic.
I certainly remember going to church. We went every Sunday for as long as I can remember. And I remember my Dad helping out in one capacity or another.
He grew up in the church, and as a young man, once considered life as a priest. He entered the seminary and studied for some time before he realized it was not to be the lifestyle for him. This didn't change his devotion to the church any. He would often "serve mass", which for those of you not familiar with a Catholic mass is the role where you assist the priest up at the altar. This is commonly done by altar boys and girls, but depending on your community, and their interest, there may not be enough kids to provide for the role, so adults who are trained for the roles are welcome to help out. He would also help out with the ushers both in seating as necessary (our church was almost never full enough at the masses we attended to require help seating) or the passing of the collection baskets. This particular role is one I would later learn and help with, but more about that later.
I didn't have much other familial religious influence. My family was not close to most of the rest of our extended family except for our living grandparents.
My father's mother, much like he, was also a rather devout Catholic. She had also grown up in the church, and had very strong feelings about religion and the role of the church in her life. She, more than my parents, was one to ensure I knew what prayers to say and when, and she, unlike my parents, would pray with me and make efforts to nurture that part of my life. She tended to be strict and unyielding in many ways, and I imagine this speaks a lot as to why her influence, as strong as it was, did not have its intended effect on me.
My mother's mother was quite a different sort. Having come from Mexican descent, she believed, as many do, in this cross-breed form of Christianity that has a Catholic influence along with a pagan-ish influence from the native ancient peoples such as the Mayans and the Aztecs. She did not attend church with any regularity unless it was with our family, and she had not grown up or live with a specific religious sense of being. She did, however, live within the influence of various superstitions and things of that nature. And this influence was something that was prevailent in her ancestory. It was once said that her sister, my great aunt, had the "evil eye" and that strange things happened whenever she was unhappy from the time she was a young child. These stories and experiences were my first taste of spirituality outside of my home, and in this case, alternative spirituality.
Oddly, when I was young, religion was not something that kids talked a lot about. I remember knowing that people did different things, although I don't think I encountered much out of the mainstream Catholic and Protestant sects until much later in life. People went to church, they did their thing, and almost nobody ever talked about it, or it seems thought much about it beyond that. I don't recall the school going out of its way to discourage us. I just don't recall it being something of interest.
So with this hodge podge of experience, my toe-dips into religion were, in my mind, tentative at best. There was always the "face" I put on, however. My father was strict and controlling, and of course that meant that things important to him were, by extension, "important to me".
So my beginnings of religion and spirituality were in large part to satisfy my family. I don't recall any particularly interesting personal experiences. I prayed for things, and my prayers didn't seem to have any particular effect one way or another. Things seemed to happen however things were going to happen. I didn't feel as though my spiritual efforts afforded me anything other than a measure of peace in the family. And given how things would go later, I have mixed feelings about what that peace cost me.
I remember learning to say my prayers before bed. As a child, I understood that the idea was that I was supposed to be talking to God to praise him, rejoice in him, and humbly ask for his forgiveness and his assistance in my day-to-day life. However, as the Catholics we were, my prayers consisted of a rigid set of prayers that supposedly served various purposes, but generally took the personalization out of it. I remember Hail Mary's. Our Father's. There were others, but I don't recall them now. But I do remember a sense of solitude in the ritual. I later learned that it was not uncommon in other religious Christian families to say the evening prayers together as a family. We didn't do much of anything together as a family. But thats a whole other post regarding a whole other topic.
I certainly remember going to church. We went every Sunday for as long as I can remember. And I remember my Dad helping out in one capacity or another.
He grew up in the church, and as a young man, once considered life as a priest. He entered the seminary and studied for some time before he realized it was not to be the lifestyle for him. This didn't change his devotion to the church any. He would often "serve mass", which for those of you not familiar with a Catholic mass is the role where you assist the priest up at the altar. This is commonly done by altar boys and girls, but depending on your community, and their interest, there may not be enough kids to provide for the role, so adults who are trained for the roles are welcome to help out. He would also help out with the ushers both in seating as necessary (our church was almost never full enough at the masses we attended to require help seating) or the passing of the collection baskets. This particular role is one I would later learn and help with, but more about that later.
I didn't have much other familial religious influence. My family was not close to most of the rest of our extended family except for our living grandparents.
My father's mother, much like he, was also a rather devout Catholic. She had also grown up in the church, and had very strong feelings about religion and the role of the church in her life. She, more than my parents, was one to ensure I knew what prayers to say and when, and she, unlike my parents, would pray with me and make efforts to nurture that part of my life. She tended to be strict and unyielding in many ways, and I imagine this speaks a lot as to why her influence, as strong as it was, did not have its intended effect on me.
My mother's mother was quite a different sort. Having come from Mexican descent, she believed, as many do, in this cross-breed form of Christianity that has a Catholic influence along with a pagan-ish influence from the native ancient peoples such as the Mayans and the Aztecs. She did not attend church with any regularity unless it was with our family, and she had not grown up or live with a specific religious sense of being. She did, however, live within the influence of various superstitions and things of that nature. And this influence was something that was prevailent in her ancestory. It was once said that her sister, my great aunt, had the "evil eye" and that strange things happened whenever she was unhappy from the time she was a young child. These stories and experiences were my first taste of spirituality outside of my home, and in this case, alternative spirituality.
Oddly, when I was young, religion was not something that kids talked a lot about. I remember knowing that people did different things, although I don't think I encountered much out of the mainstream Catholic and Protestant sects until much later in life. People went to church, they did their thing, and almost nobody ever talked about it, or it seems thought much about it beyond that. I don't recall the school going out of its way to discourage us. I just don't recall it being something of interest.
So with this hodge podge of experience, my toe-dips into religion were, in my mind, tentative at best. There was always the "face" I put on, however. My father was strict and controlling, and of course that meant that things important to him were, by extension, "important to me".
So my beginnings of religion and spirituality were in large part to satisfy my family. I don't recall any particularly interesting personal experiences. I prayed for things, and my prayers didn't seem to have any particular effect one way or another. Things seemed to happen however things were going to happen. I didn't feel as though my spiritual efforts afforded me anything other than a measure of peace in the family. And given how things would go later, I have mixed feelings about what that peace cost me.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Who moved my cheese?
"A change would do you good" - Sheryl Crow
It could be that I am biased because I work in the technical industry that I have a different view on change than some I know. In my line of work, things change constantly. We're always anticipating the next project, and we're always trying to recover from what happened yesterday. Its a tough thing sometimes. There are rarely breaks, and if there are, they are usually not the kind you want.
That said, change seems to be a tough thing for people. Some people seem to crave stability, consistency, and predictability. And when faced with the inevitable changes that occur in life, they are left wondering their purpose and their focus, and they find themselves wrapped up in the loss of their previous niche.
So what does this mean for will?
If we are unclear of our goals and making unsound judgments about what directions we should be taking, we can be left in a lurch when things shift. The time we spend recovering from or mourning these changes is time we take from our true goals.
So how should we deal with change to better facilitate our will?
Facing Reality
I think the first thing we need to do is accept that change is inevitable. We need to understand that everything around us is subject to alteration and that on some level, we can take nothing for granted. This doesn't mean we need to be paranoid, but I think it is wise for us to speculate if ever so slightly about how things may be affected if our dependencies change.
Examples:
Our Jobs - Particularly for those of you not in the tech industry, you might be comfortable that your position and your work are stable and valuable and that as long as you keep your shoulder to the wheel, you'll at least have your current job for as long as you need it. It's a nice fantasy, and I think that maybe with the economy being what it is, people are realizing that companies will fold or reorganize with no warning. So what do you do? How do you plan for that? What can you be doing ahead of time that will facilitate your ability to retain further employment when the current rug gets pulled out from under you?
Our Family (chosen and otherwise) - None of us like to think about the loss of a loved one, but it happens all the time. No rhyme. No reason. Or sometimes we kinda see it coming. Point is, what happens after they are gone? What aspects of day to day life and business change because of their absence? What can you do ahead of time to help yourself in what will be a moment of sorrow and loss?
How about something as simple as our vehicles? Breakdowns happen. Accidents. Thefts. We have a set way of how we go about commuting and traveling. What happens when our set way is no longer? How do we deal with that? How can we plan to cope with the transition to a different way to move about, and what do we need to do to restore our preferred method?
These are but the tip of the iceberg. And most of us spend a lot of time in denial. If we can pretend these things don't happen, and can delude ourselves into believing that nothing will ever change, then we don't have to face these possibilities. We don't have to overcome these uncertainties. We can rest easy in the comfort of our Will du jour.
So if facing the fact that change does happen whether we like it or not, or whether we facilitate it or not, then the next thought is that we can plan ahead for what we know will happen sooner or later. And in planning ahead, we take some of the stress away from what will already be a stressful time when these changes do finally occur.
It could be that I am biased because I work in the technical industry that I have a different view on change than some I know. In my line of work, things change constantly. We're always anticipating the next project, and we're always trying to recover from what happened yesterday. Its a tough thing sometimes. There are rarely breaks, and if there are, they are usually not the kind you want.
That said, change seems to be a tough thing for people. Some people seem to crave stability, consistency, and predictability. And when faced with the inevitable changes that occur in life, they are left wondering their purpose and their focus, and they find themselves wrapped up in the loss of their previous niche.
So what does this mean for will?
If we are unclear of our goals and making unsound judgments about what directions we should be taking, we can be left in a lurch when things shift. The time we spend recovering from or mourning these changes is time we take from our true goals.
So how should we deal with change to better facilitate our will?
Facing Reality
I think the first thing we need to do is accept that change is inevitable. We need to understand that everything around us is subject to alteration and that on some level, we can take nothing for granted. This doesn't mean we need to be paranoid, but I think it is wise for us to speculate if ever so slightly about how things may be affected if our dependencies change.
Examples:
Our Jobs - Particularly for those of you not in the tech industry, you might be comfortable that your position and your work are stable and valuable and that as long as you keep your shoulder to the wheel, you'll at least have your current job for as long as you need it. It's a nice fantasy, and I think that maybe with the economy being what it is, people are realizing that companies will fold or reorganize with no warning. So what do you do? How do you plan for that? What can you be doing ahead of time that will facilitate your ability to retain further employment when the current rug gets pulled out from under you?
Our Family (chosen and otherwise) - None of us like to think about the loss of a loved one, but it happens all the time. No rhyme. No reason. Or sometimes we kinda see it coming. Point is, what happens after they are gone? What aspects of day to day life and business change because of their absence? What can you do ahead of time to help yourself in what will be a moment of sorrow and loss?
How about something as simple as our vehicles? Breakdowns happen. Accidents. Thefts. We have a set way of how we go about commuting and traveling. What happens when our set way is no longer? How do we deal with that? How can we plan to cope with the transition to a different way to move about, and what do we need to do to restore our preferred method?
These are but the tip of the iceberg. And most of us spend a lot of time in denial. If we can pretend these things don't happen, and can delude ourselves into believing that nothing will ever change, then we don't have to face these possibilities. We don't have to overcome these uncertainties. We can rest easy in the comfort of our Will du jour.
So if facing the fact that change does happen whether we like it or not, or whether we facilitate it or not, then the next thought is that we can plan ahead for what we know will happen sooner or later. And in planning ahead, we take some of the stress away from what will already be a stressful time when these changes do finally occur.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Show me
So anyone that has gotten to know me well enough, and has spent any time at length talking to me knows that one of the things I loathe are people that rant and rave about something in their life where they have complete control over the situation, and rather than exert that control, they'd rather envelope themselves in the problem, and offload it emotionally onto someone else.
It never ceases to amaze me the people that give up their choices in life only to sit on their butts and whine and complain.
To these people, the ones I care enough about, I give them my version of tough love.
If you bring to my mental doorstep your dead rat, you damn well better be prepared to clean up all the piece and buff the linoleum when you're done, because I'm gonna give you the third degree.
I ask them what they've done to solve the problem themselves. I point out the obvious solutions that they've glossed over. And in doing so, I often encounter my other pet peeve. The phrase, "I can't". You might as well tattoo the phrase, "I'm Fucked" on your forehead if you utter "I can't" anywhere near me.
And sure. I suppose people go off expecting some sort of sympathy, or empathy, or some such thing. And maybe I'd be a better person if I went around telling these people that "things will get better", and "it will all be better soon". Maybe. Maybe I'd be like the educators who pass their students even when they clearly have no mastery of the most basic skills, because they don't want to offend their delicate self esteem by holding them accountable to the educational system. Maybe I'll be like the mother who tells her child that the abuse his father inflicts on both of them is something he can learn to ignore and grow past. Maybe I'd be like the White Knight victim who spends all their time and energy trying to solve everybody else's problems while ignoring their own. Maybe I'd be the two-faced person who tells these people what they want to hear. Not because its the right thing. But because its the thing that would please them most and make them the most agreeable to me. Maybe...
I'd rather empower people. I want to see people who think about the fact that they have accountability in their own emotions. That they are ultimately responsible for how they feel and how they act, and that they can exert Will to "make it all better", and not expect or hope that some outside force will do it for them.
This is one of the reasons I can't stand what I affectionately refer to as the Astrologically Asinine. They can always come up with a cute excuse as to why their lives suck or why they are justified in behaving badly. Because clearly, it's not their fault. *eyeroll*
You want to rant at me and expect sympathy? Fine. Come prepared. Tell me about what you've done yourself to resolve the problem. Tell me about the struggles you've had facing your own fears and about the triumphs you've had overcoming things you didn't think you could overcome. Tell me about all you've put into it. Then tell me that you know you're blowing steam, and that you already really know the answer to your problems and own up to the reasons you haven't enacted them yet. Show me that inside you lays someone greater than some idiot who expects the world to revolve around him. Show me that you have genuine interest in resolving your troubles, and not that you're a lazy fuck looking for someone to justify you.
And if you want a hand hold? a hug? a kind word? something of that nature? Ask for it. Specifically. Don't try and bind me in the web of your inadequacy, and expect me to realize that this entire charade is just to get a bit of love and affection from me. Otherwise I'll give you the love I give. And if you can't handle that, don't go bringing your shit to my doorstep.
It never ceases to amaze me the people that give up their choices in life only to sit on their butts and whine and complain.
To these people, the ones I care enough about, I give them my version of tough love.
If you bring to my mental doorstep your dead rat, you damn well better be prepared to clean up all the piece and buff the linoleum when you're done, because I'm gonna give you the third degree.
I ask them what they've done to solve the problem themselves. I point out the obvious solutions that they've glossed over. And in doing so, I often encounter my other pet peeve. The phrase, "I can't". You might as well tattoo the phrase, "I'm Fucked" on your forehead if you utter "I can't" anywhere near me.
And sure. I suppose people go off expecting some sort of sympathy, or empathy, or some such thing. And maybe I'd be a better person if I went around telling these people that "things will get better", and "it will all be better soon". Maybe. Maybe I'd be like the educators who pass their students even when they clearly have no mastery of the most basic skills, because they don't want to offend their delicate self esteem by holding them accountable to the educational system. Maybe I'll be like the mother who tells her child that the abuse his father inflicts on both of them is something he can learn to ignore and grow past. Maybe I'd be like the White Knight victim who spends all their time and energy trying to solve everybody else's problems while ignoring their own. Maybe I'd be the two-faced person who tells these people what they want to hear. Not because its the right thing. But because its the thing that would please them most and make them the most agreeable to me. Maybe...
I'd rather empower people. I want to see people who think about the fact that they have accountability in their own emotions. That they are ultimately responsible for how they feel and how they act, and that they can exert Will to "make it all better", and not expect or hope that some outside force will do it for them.
This is one of the reasons I can't stand what I affectionately refer to as the Astrologically Asinine. They can always come up with a cute excuse as to why their lives suck or why they are justified in behaving badly. Because clearly, it's not their fault. *eyeroll*
You want to rant at me and expect sympathy? Fine. Come prepared. Tell me about what you've done yourself to resolve the problem. Tell me about the struggles you've had facing your own fears and about the triumphs you've had overcoming things you didn't think you could overcome. Tell me about all you've put into it. Then tell me that you know you're blowing steam, and that you already really know the answer to your problems and own up to the reasons you haven't enacted them yet. Show me that inside you lays someone greater than some idiot who expects the world to revolve around him. Show me that you have genuine interest in resolving your troubles, and not that you're a lazy fuck looking for someone to justify you.
And if you want a hand hold? a hug? a kind word? something of that nature? Ask for it. Specifically. Don't try and bind me in the web of your inadequacy, and expect me to realize that this entire charade is just to get a bit of love and affection from me. Otherwise I'll give you the love I give. And if you can't handle that, don't go bringing your shit to my doorstep.
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