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#27 — Sacred Words

April 4, 2011 in General

Catholicism is filled with sacred words to accompany the sacred gestures, time, space, and objects.

The most sacred words, of course, are the words of Scripture, and within that, the Gospel accounts. One of the first things visitors notice is the treating of those words as sacred. When the priest or deacon begins the reading, saying, “A reading from the Gospel of…”, parishioners make three small crosses with their right thumb: one on the forehead (belief), one on the lips (desire to proselytize), and one on the breast above the heart (desire to keep the words in one’s heart). Thus, the sacred words are a catalyst for sacred gestures.

When a Catholic begins a prayer, she intones, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” accompanied by the sign of the cross.

The highlight of the mass

Three

October 7, 2010 in General, Religion

First, the conversation in after school. A young lady — I’ll call her Cynthia — told me about attending a Catholic school last year.

“Are you Catholic?” I asked.

“No, but my mom thought I’d get a better education there.”

We ended up talking about — of all things — the Ave Maria.

“We had to pray that several times a day,” she explained, rattling it off with the fluidity of a cradle Catholic.

I let her hear what it sounded like in Polish. We spoke some more, and then she left.

Second, in RCIA this evening, a guest speaker was talking about his conversion to Catholicism. Toward the end of the talk, he began telling of a friend (a former lawyer) who wanted to, in his words, “put the Bible on trial.” He spoke for some moments about this, and the whole time, from beginning to end, he looked directly at me.

Coincidence, I’m sure. Still, eerie.

Finally, the closing comment from the priest: “If you have any questions, perhaps you want to get a little deeper into things than we do here,” he explained, “Feel free to call any time.” Not a big deal, and certainly not even a coincidence: I’ve mentioned to him previously that I’d like to talk to him.

Still, to have all three happen in one day.

Coincidence.What are the odds? Apparently one hundred percent, and even writing about this makes me feel goofy, like the folks who see God’s hand in every little trivial thing that happens.

Still, that direct eye contact spooked me.

Walking Forward

September 10, 2010 in General, Religion

I’ve attended two RCIA sessions now. I’ve done a lot of thinking about it; I’ve done little to no writing about it. Instead of including this in my journal, I’m writing it here. It will have an unpolished, unfinished feel — as if anyone stumbles onto this silliness.

I find it difficult to make the sign of the cross. I feel like a fake, as if everyone knows that I’m only really doing it because everyone else in the room is doing it. But is that the only reason? The motions are comforting in some sense. Perhaps it goes back to the idea of sacred space to which I keep returning. Growing up in a church that considered it’s small numbers (not even 200k) to be the sole, true Christians in the world that also so lacked a sense of sacred space that it rented movie theaters and union halls for church services, I should be surprised that the idea of sacred space so novel and moving. Obviously the sign of the cross is an extension of the sacred to gestures (such as genuflecting) that also extends to the seemingly ephemeral (incense and holy water).

So why am I doing this at all? I spoke with the priest leading the RCIA sessions after this week’s meeting, and he seemed to be asking me that in a quiet way. Why? Why am I no longer calling myself an atheist but not willing to call myself much else?

The mystery of harmony goes a long way to explain it. Some proclaim, “Music is my god,” and I think that’s not very far from idolatry. There’s something in music that is ecstatic — stands outside of itself. I don’t know what would be the value in a purely material world of music. What is the evolutionary value?

Another conundrum: the problem of good. The problem of evil for Christians is in fact the problem of good for atheists. Why be good? Why is there nearly universal agreement on the basics of morality?

Then the personal, the change: since I’ve begun taking as a possibility the existence of God, since I’ve begun attending Mass regularly and praying semi-regularly, I find a certain joy that was never in my life. I find myself smiling more often than I ever have before. I find my love for my students to be deeper and more unconditional than ever before. I find my patience growing. I find a difference, in short.

I could try to explain it materialistically, but why? It didn’t work in the past. I like who I am now better than who I was then. So why fight it? Why explain it away with smoke, mirrors, and misguided attempts of applying Occam’s Razor?

Luke 1.8-20

August 21, 2010 in General, Religion

The text:

Zechariah the priest, father of John the Bapti...

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Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside.

Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from birth. Many of the people of Israel will he bring back to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”

Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”

The angel answered, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their proper time.”

Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside.

One thing I’ve come to appreciate about non-Protestant worship is the use of incense and the general liturgical continuity with the Old Testament. The “smells and bells” are one of the most calming elements of a Mass.

Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. [...]” Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”

Another example of angels coming down and talking face to face with humanity. The atheist in me has always responded to this, “Why doesn’t something like this — not to mention all the plainly visible miracles — continue to occur?” Of course, who am I to say miracles don’t occur just because I don’t see them. Still, most individuals today would be accused of lunacy were they to assert that Gabriel appeared and give them a personal message.

And then, in the midst of this, Zechariah says, “Are you sure?” Very human response — doubt everything.

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Luke 1.5-7

August 8, 2010 in General, Religion

The text

In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. Both of them were upright in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commandments and regulations blamelessly. But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren; and they were both well along in years.

In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron.

If the Jews kept temple records, here is an opportunity for historical confirmation. I don’t know whether such records were kept, but it’s interesting that Luke includes the detail he does. He assumes that his reader, Theophilus, knows the significance of all this: priestly division of Abijah; descendant of Aaron.

Both of them were upright in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commandments and regulations blamelessly.

Confusing: I thought no one kept the commandments and regulations blamelessly, thus necessitating Jesus’s sacrifice.

But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren; and they were both well along in years.

Echoes of Abraham and Sarah.

Luke 1.1-4

August 7, 2010 in General, Religion

The text:

Many have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eyewitnesses and servants of the word. Therefore, since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught.

Many have undertaken to draw up an account

Studying at a Presbyterian college, I learned about “Q source” as a way of explaining the similarities between the synoptic gospels: Mark’s gospel and others’ accounts served as the research material for Matthew and Luke. Luke’s opening indicates multiple gospels, but I’m curious what specifically he might have been referring to. The Gnostic gospels, as I recall, came much later; it doesn’t seem likely that these were what Luke had in mind.

of the things that have been fulfilled among us

It strikes me that Luke says “among us.” He admits later that he isn’t an eyewitness, but he uses first person plural,which would also include the letter’s recipient, Theophilus. Luke’s book tells the story of Jesus’s life and death, and that would seem to be what he’s referring to when he says “things that have been fulfilled among us.” But he’s not an eyewitness, nor is Theophilus.

Additionally, there’s the use of the present perfect: have been fulfilled. Present perfect is used to describe two things:

  1. The indefinite past: When the action occurred is not important; what is important is that it indeed happened. “I’ve been to German.” It’s not necessarily important when I went. What’s important is the fact that I did go, at some point.
  2. A state or action that begins in the past and continues to the present: “I’ve lived in Boston for two years.” I still live in Boston (not really — just in the example), and that’s the important thing.

To what end is Luke, then, using present perfect? There are two ways to interpret it:

  1. It’s not so important when all these things happened, just that they happened.
  2. These events are still happening.

Both interpretations seem fundamentally sound and complementary. A gospel is the story of the salvific actions of Jesus. Christians believe that this is obviously an on-going process: Jesus continues to save. That the events are still literally happening is a distinctly Catholic view (in light of the Mass).

just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eyewitnesses and servants of the word

Clearly Luke is relying on eyewitness accounts: he says as much. But there’s still that worrying “us.” Another possibility — due to translation choices — would be that Luke is using the royal “we” to refer to himself, a common practice in more formal writing. But that possibility is untenable with the next passage.

Therefore, since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning,

This returns me to the question of Q and other written accounts. Is Luke indicating that he relied on sources other than eyewitnesses? Or are my presumptions reading that into the passage?

I’m curious how he investigated everything. I don’t believe there was the degree of mobility in the first century that we enjoy today. It doesn’t seem likely that Luke simply took a road trip to interview eyewitnesses and check out other accounts. Yet how else would he ave “investigated everything from the beginning.” What would it mean, in a first-century context, to “investigate everything from the beginning”?

it seemed good also to me to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus,

What is the relationship between Luke and Theophilus? Employer and employee? Mentor and student? Friends? Why would he write to Theophilus about this? What interest did Theophilus have in it, and what motivation would Luke have for writing such a long account for a seemingly small audience? Clearly, Luke was not anticipating his work to be widely read. Or was he?

so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught.

Was Theophilus converting to Christianity? Did Theophilus hire Luke to go investigate the claims of the Christians?

First Time

August 6, 2010 in General, Religion

Though I was raised in a Christian home and attended private Christian college, I don’t know that I’ve ever just sat down and read the Bible.

I read along in church: Our sermons tended to be absolutely filled with references to the Bible, and we were all to follow along with our own.

In college, I took several courses on theology and the Bible, including Old Testament Survey and New Testament Survey. I was supposed to read the Bible for that class; I skimmed.

And so now, I’ve decided to sit down and read — in fact, examine — one book of the Bible. I’ve chosen the Gospel of Luke.

In My Own Shadow

July 30, 2010 in General, Religion

I’ve always had certain associations with the name “Jesus.” “The name “Jesus” makes me cringe,” I began, explaining my religious upbringing’s effect on my personal associations with the name.

The name makes me shudder for other reasons, though. There are current, cultural associations that disturb me. I think of wildly dancing Pentecostals; of prosperity-gospel-preaching mega-church pastors who use the name to get rich by assuring their pastorate that they too can get rich in Jesus; of individuals that have such a poor understanding of Christianity that they become easy targets for people like Bill Maher. If I were to say, “I’m a Christian” (something I’m still not willing to say at this point), I would be associated with such people.

That’s a nice example of  the evasive nature of passive voice. “I would be associated with such people.” Who would do such associating? Friends. Neighbors. Coworkers. Family. Strangers.

Yet isn’t that me getting in my own way, tripping over my own ego? Of course it is.

In making an intellectual and emotional change from non-belief to, well, to non-non-belief at this moment, I’m making enormous changes in my worldview and whole life, and that stings the ego.

The whole process is pretty much thumb presses and Chinese water torture for the ego, admitting I might have been wrong in all my vitriolic attacks on belief and faith and wondering where I might end up when the whole process is over — if it ever is.

The Visible

July 28, 2010 in General, Religion

John Haught, in God and the New Atheism: A Critical Response to Dawkins, Harris, and Hitchens, points out that the Christianity the new atheist attack is really a fundamentalist, creationist theology. He writes,

Our self-taught experts in religion, in contrast to the thousands of academic scholars and literate ministers they ignore, are saying to their readers that the only features of faith worth talking about are those to which fundamentalists and fanatics have turned our attention. (36)

I’ve read all four of the three authors’ primary tomes (The God Delusion, The End of Faith, Letters to a Christian Nation, and God Is Not Great), and I find this characterization to be true. It is also applicable to Maher’s Religulous. Not only is this approach disingenuous, but it’s also bad science. (After all, they purport to be taking a scientific, balanced view of religion.) It’s as if they’re writing about France after only having read a David Sedaris book.

Yet why are they taking this approach? The easy answer is to say that it’s the easiest approach. However, I believe there’s something more to it.

If we look at the American religious landscape, what is the most prominent aspect? The most visible aspect? Literalist fundamentalism. What’s the largest religious broadcasting company in America? Paul and Jan Crouch’s Trinity Broadcast Network. By and large, what does TBN program? Literalist fundamentalism. What’s the newest phenomenon in American Christianity? The megachurch. And what do many of them have in common? A fundamentalist, literalist approach.

Now, a good scientist would take what is plainly evident and investigate it, and then she would go deeper. Which is to say, there’s no excuse for how Dawkins et al. set up religious straw men. At the same time, with such literalism and fundamentalism so prevalent in American culture, it’s little surprise that this is the Christianity the new atheists attack.

Thistles and Thorns

July 27, 2010 in General, Religion

My thinking has gotten so wrapped up in certain modes of thought that I failed to see the faith implicit in those thoughts.

The new atheists emphasize the primacy of evidence, John Haught points out in God and the New Atheists: A Critical Response to Dawkins, Harris, and Hitchens. He traces this back to Jacques Monod’s declaration that “it is morally wrong to accept any claims that cannot be verified in principle by ‘objective’ knowledge” (5). This, of course, means scientifically provable knowledge.

This assumption has become a staple of late 20th-century atheism, and I came to think that way without even realizing when or where. More importantly, I accepted that suggestion without any critical examination.

All things must be proved by science. Such is the rallying cry of the new atheists, and I would have proudly carried that banner myself. However, that statement is not itself provable by science.

Here Monod was much more honest than the new atheists. He admitted that an exception must be made for the postulate of objectivity. The ethic of knowledge is itself an “arbitrary” choice, not a claim for which there could ever be sufficient scientific evidence. Faith, it seems, makes an opening wide enough for atheism too. (5)

The suggestion that atheists live lives of faith was nothing new to me. What was new was how convincingly this form of the argument hangs together.

Previously, I’d heard only bargain-basement arguments: “When an atheists puts on brakes in his car, he has faith that they will work.” A weak argument at best: this “faith” is based on previous experience. We can take the car apart and determine why pressing the brake pedal will result in a stopped car.

Haught’s argument gets at the underlying premise of it all.

One more step forward…