What do you think? Could your faith (or lack thereof) go on without a cross as Jesus’ execution method?

Think about how incredibly stressful that is! Of the likely millions of people in the world who are the correct gender, speak the correct language, and come from a background that you find compatible, there is a single person that you must find in order to be happy.*

But let me put your mind at ease. It is your choice.  There is no cosmic force that has selected a mate for you. You will not discover this fictional person by a serendipitous series of coincidences. Though it may feel that way, and though you may have found your love despite overwhelming odds, in the end YOU have decided whether or not to act. If you had chosen not to, you would have likely ended up with another compatible person.

Okay, now you have the incredible power of reason on your side. But with that comes responsibility, which means that you must also accept that your romantic relationship will change. On your 25th anniversary, you will not feel like you are walking on a cloud every time you hold hands. Unfortunately, perpetual bliss is what we love most about the “One” myth, which allows us one all-encompassing excuse that trumps all other arguments:

He just wasn’t the One.

And so some will jump from relationship to relationship, always ending with that excuse and the feeling that they are continually reaching for something just beyond their grasp.

*There is a Christian variation of this myth that shifts focus to “God’s will.” As though you didn’t have enough to worry about, you must not only decipher your own feelings but also God’s feelings. Oddly enough, there is a general consensus that this is the one time when God will not ask you to do something you don’t want to;  ie., marry someone you find distasteful.

How can I begin to describe my own messy, difficult, ongoing exit from fundamentalism? Better yet, why should I begin to describe it? Perhaps there is someone who needs to hear it, to know they’re not alone; perhaps I am vain and prideful and hope that others will read my story and consider what a strong, courageous woman I am. And perhaps I only pause because I know there are others who remain where I began, who cling to the fears D described, whom I love and hope will always remain a part of my life. My fear is, and has been since the beginning of this journey, that they will reject me if they find out who I truly am.

Truth is sometimes unfortunate, however, and I feel compelled to give the truth.

I knew without a perceptible doubt that Jesus was God, that he had died for my sins, that he was coming again, and that I was His light in the world. There was no shortage of metaphors to describe who I was; a soldier in the army of God, a runner in the race of righteousness, a traveller with a cross strapped to my back, a beam of light in the darkness of an evil world. They were lost, I was found, and I was coming to bring them the truth. I did it all: I spoke in tongues, I witnessed on the street, I prayed for hours, I fasted, I read the Bible through, I studied, I sang in the choir, I even came on Sunday nights. My faith felt glorious, powerful, and strong.

Now, this is not to say that I was the perfect model of fundamental Christianity, but I certainly was a committed acolyte. By this time, I was coming to the end of high school and was strongly encouraged to attend the bible college D so aptly described. The main reason this appealed to me was also the driving force behind my devotion; everything I believed could be utterly and completely explained by studying history, the appropriate philosophy, and above all the inerrant Bible. I wanted to go and create resounding arguments that would leave atheists and various other non-Christians stuttering and speechless. I wanted to bring them to their knees through the unfailing logic and reason I found in the very words of God. Pride had no small part in my ambition, I realize, but I was absolutely convinced that I could be a historymaker, and that through God’s power I could literally save the world. Going to bible college was the first step toward a bright, certain future.

Bible college was not to be, however. That path was barred, and I was forced to find a new one. To me, this was incomprehensible. I knew that God wanted me to go to bible college, I knew that he wanted me to be a missionary, and I also knew that he controlled everything. Why, then, would he prevent me from doing exactly what he wanted me to do? There were no scriptures, no comforts, no words of wisdom that satisfied me. In a world where faith and the Bible spoke logical conclusions to every answer, I found nothing but an overwhelming silence. You must understand what this event meant to me; it was not simply a dramatic shift in life direction, it was the destruction of my innocence. The pillars upon which my truth was built were now cracked and damaged. However, I am not bitter nor angry, because I now believe the problem lay in the foundation itself rather than the incident that rocked it.

Pillars going to pieces around me, I entered the most ideologically diverse place around; university. This was a time of intense reflection, and I did write about it. In this piece, I can still hear remnants of certainty and clarity. But as time went on, my questions became deeper and deeper, up to now when I feel as though my tiny fragment of faith is a fly in the sap. If you are inclined to read them, the links contain entries about my gradual, cyclical struggle with faith.

And so here I stand, light years from where I began. I can barely pray without being wracked with doubts, my Bible has more questions than answers, and I cry through songs that used to make me smile. I want to be a part of God, but so much doubt has risen from the ashes of my fundamentalism that I cannot believe in any way like I used to. The irony is that I don’t know how to believe other than through the absolute rationality that I once had. It occurs to me that perhaps I could learn, and perhaps I will. I still believe in God, but I have come to a point where I can no longer ignore my doubts. They gnaw at me constantly, and unless I choose for or against Christianity they will gnaw me into apathy. Already I can feel hints of blissful numbness in my soul, which is more terrifying than I can describe.

I fear judgement, I fear death, I fear hell. How ironic that through my rejection of fundamentalism, its strongest grip has tightened around me. And now, I want to end on a hopeful note, but I don’t have anything like that to write. My hope has become those who love me. Thanks for doing that.

People – social scientists ans laypersons alike – often speak of culture in the plural (“cultures”) because they believe that there are many different cultures in the world. At one level, this is of course true…[h]owever, all the cultural differences are on the surface; deep down, at the most fundamental level, all human cultures are essentially the same.

They go on to explain that, according to evolutionary psychology, our human culture (singular) is a product of evolution in the same way as our hands, hearts and brains. As I listened, I had the nagging feeling that I had heard that same thing somewhere before. And I had; C. S. Lewis makes a similar point in Mere Christianity (1943):

I know that some people say the idea of a Law of Nature [a universal moral code] or decent behaviour known to all men is unsound, because different civilisations and different ages have had quite different moralities.

But this is not true. There have been differences between their moralities, but these have never amounted to anything like a total difference… Think of a country where people were admired for running away in battle, or where a man felt proud of double-crossing all the people who had been kindest to him. You might just as well imagine a country where two and two made five.

He goes on to explain that, according to Christianity, this is evidence of a universal moral code that transcends the norms of any society.

So which is it? Can it be both? And why does it seem that so many arguments for the existence or dominance of God have an alternate argument which, while not necessarily contradictory, seem to strip the former of its power and mystery?

Next Thursday, Feb. 12, marks the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin, probably the most influential scientist in intellectual history. Darwin’s theory of evolution has been making trouble for a century and a half, and shows no sign of stopping any time soon.

Darwin’s dangerous idea dethroned mankind as the pinnacle of all creation, and knocked God the Creator right out of the sky.

Apart from the folks who cling to Intelligent Design, most of us now accept the fact that the human race evolved through eons of natural selection.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20090207.COWENT07/TPStory/National#

I would like to also point out that throughout his entire life, Darwin struggled with the idea of God. This was not a rational, studied approach to His existence but a troubled, emotional search for meaning in a cruel world.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it all comes down to Jesus. If he did all those things in the Bible, if what is written there truly did happen, then I can’t see how I could follow any other religion. The achingly beautiful idea that God literally became man and conquered death so we can conquer ourselves is too compelling to ignore. But here we come to the crux of the matter, the two main questions that nag at me: Did it really happen like the Bible says? And if it did, why does it matter?

The first question can be solved through investigation, and has been proven and disproven to various degrees by people with various degrees to various degrees of pompous arrogance. Now, clearly if it didn’t happen it doesn’t matter, but pompous arrogance is a strong motivator and will cause some to argue endlessly about matters that decrease in importance with every argument and rebuttal. Therefore, I have no intention of discussing that today; partly out of lack of knowledge about the subject, and partly to avoid endless factual debates.*

And so on to question two: Why does Jesus matter? Why would God need to die for us to conquer death? It seems like a moot point to me. Jesus dies and comes back; an incredible, impossible feat for man, but a speck on the computer screen of an omnipotent God. Did we not know that God had power over life and death? Would a Jewish priest have argued with you if you told him so? Then we come to the idea of God dying at all. Why would God require a sacrifice in order to forgive sin? I understand that he was fulfilling his covenant with the Jewish people, but what I don’t understand is the whole system of laws set up before Jesus came. What purpose did that serve? Why would God wait a good four thousand years before sending the saviour?

But the biggest question for me is why, if Jesus is the only path to God, and God so loves the world, why he would allow five billion people to go screaming to hell. Does everyone truly get a chance to know who Jesus is and what he did? Is there a mystical reality that reveals this to everyone at some point in their life? Because if not, that seems cruel and unjust. One who has never heard of Jesus must suffer, merely because of the mistake of being born in ignorance?

There are so many more questions: the relationship of the old testament to the new, the blatant restrictions on women and gays, the balance between God’s wrath and his grace. It may not seem apparent why I would remain part of a faith of which I have so many questions, even objections. But I don’t buy the idea that I can choose my truth. The Jainists tell a parable of blind men feeling an elephant, believing that the part they feel is the true nature of the elephant. All of them have a part of the truth, but not the whole thing. If those men represent different religions and the elephant spiritual reality, I don’t want to meet the guy who’s swinging of the tusk or clinging to the tail. I want to talk to whoever is sitting there watching all the crazy blind people climb all over an elephant. Because in the end, no matter what the blind guys say, it’s a bloody elephant. If Jesus is God, I have no choice but to accept him because it negates all other claims to divinity.

*Note: I do realize that someone other than my brother would have to read this blog to begin said debate, and that that is not entirely likely.

* Screwage being equal to number of actual seats minus number of proportional seats divided by number of proportional seats. Positive values indicate an advantage, negative indicate screwage.

**Assuming the “Other” vote was undivided, which is not true. Hence the question mark.

While it is not un-Canadian or unconstitutional to form a coalition and be handed Parliament by the Governor General, I would argue that it is undemocratic. Just as Harper should not have been allowed to dodge his own law by asking Michelle Jean to dissolve Parliament, neither should a conveniently formed coalition (who showed no interest in uniting the left vote during or before the election) be allowed to bypass the vital step of actually being elected as the governing power of the country. My problem is that an unelected, appointed official should not have anything to do with forming our Parliament. She should be a figurehead, nothing more. Giving her power allows for these outrageous decisions to be made. These are the remnants of the days before 1982, when we were still the Dominion of Canada.

I find it absolutely ludicrous that the Liberals and NDP feel that this is the best course of action for a country in financial turmoil, AND before the Conservatives have even introduced their budget. It is clearly nothing more than a power grab. What further worries me is that it is being led by a man who is planning to step down in five months. Where does that leave us next year? And this coalition agreement lasts a mere 18 months. Where does that leave us in 2011? The “party” would be forced to stay together in order to stay in power.

One of my main questions is how the Bloc came to be involved in it. I have my doubts that Gilles went for beers with Jack and Stephane, had a heartfelt talk, and left with two new friends and a common enemy. No, this is the only possible way for this monoprovincial party to once again overrepresent itself, and this time in a position of greater power than the seatwarmers of the last several decades. And it is unfortunately the only possible way for the coalition to become a majority. I would not be surprised to find that the Bloc has been promised something in return for their participation; and based on their reasonable demands in the past, it may be something beyond  simply a share in the power.

Scheming to use outdated power structures to gain control of the country is not democratic by any definition. When I first learned about the structure of our constitutional monarchy, I remember wondering at the considerable power the Governor General held. I was told that it was not something he or she would ever execute in a significant way. But now, she has been forced to use it by the underhanded actions of our nation’s leaders. I would rather see another unecessary election than a government appointed by the representative of the figurehead of a country that has no day-to-day power or interest in the governance of our nation.

And so tonight, I brush and floss. But not because it will prevent cavities. Tonight, I brush and floss my teeth because I know that it will prevent cavities. I know it. It is one thing, and perhaps the only thing, that I know.

I look in the mirror at the red aura around my eyes as I pluck plaque from between my teeth. Ben Folds sings Elton John from my computer:

Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad*

I don’t know that I have faith in the truth. Can I ever know? Believing in what we hope for, and trusting in what we cannot see. Oh, but I would never believe if I didn’t believe it was true. How ridiculous would that be?

I can’t handle it. My toothbrush now in my mouth, I lean on the counter for support as I wince out a sob.

But I have no choice. I must believe; I’ve tasted moments without God, and they are desperate and despondent times. I simply cannot let go. To that I cling, while waves of doubt rage around me, loosening my grip and whitening my knuckles.

Others seem to have such an easy time of it. Faith is never a question to them, but an answer that brings hope, joy, and love! Faith is not my hope, but my burden. It rips into my unceasing rationality, refusing all explanation.

But I do not assume rationality to be the highest epistemology. It is one of many, useful only when it is useful and useless when it is not. It is so very easy; if not simple, everything is plain, and doubt is only a step in the process.

But not everything is plain. Some things are shrouded in impenetrable mystery.

And so I shoulder my faith, struggling underneath it. The God in whom I have faith gives me hope, and no matter what I do I cannot leave him. Perhaps Christian principles have been so deeply engrained in my soul that I cannot imagine life without them. Perhaps I cannot live without this hope. Perhaps he loves me too much.

I finish brushing my teeth and brush the tears from my cheeks. What to do now?

What, indeed?

*”Tiny Dancer,” Elton John

]]> http://curiousyam.com/2008/09/08/hold-me-closer/feed/ 0 http://curiousyam.com/2008/07/27/proof-truth-and-faith/ http://curiousyam.com/2008/07/27/proof-truth-and-faith/#comments Sun, 27 Jul 2008 20:36:55 +0000 Em http://curiousyam.com/?p=10 I am a product of Sunday School. Every week, I would bring my Bible and book and memorize my verses (sometimes in the car) with the hope of getting stickers beside my name, inching ever closer to the prize at the end of the year. I was at the top of the verse-memorizing pile, but when it came to crafts, my cutting and pasting fell short of the expertly stretched cotton balls of some of my classmates. What really knocked down my sticker count, though, was forgetting my Bible and book. I was a forgetful kid who could memorize with the best.

At some point in every class, my flannelgraph-wielding teacher would tell the Bible story. Jesus, always in white with a blue or red sash-like-thing, stood with a gentle smile on his face, hand outstretched as if he were teaching something. Peter always looked a little rough, John fairly composed, Judas dark and brooding, and the rest of the disciples came in an undifferentiated crowd of three or four. The story was one of many from the gospels; turning the water into wine, healing a blind man, preaching to the 5000, and, of course, the crucifixion and ressurection. There were Old Testament stories too, most memorably Noah’s ark and Moses and the ten commandments. Sunday School lessons often focus on Bible stories that involve animals; I suppose because they look cute and most kids like them. My favourite image from Noah’s ark, however, was one book that had a picture of people preparing food for the trip. For some reason, the most memorable stories of my childhood involve food; Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Bearenstein Bears book where Brother and Sister get fat, and the Power Rangers episode where there’s a big round pink pig-like thing running around eating pretty much everything it sees.

However, I don’t remember any of those verses I memorized. Some I do; I’ve re-learned them since, but most were forgotten ten minutes after I recited them. I confess: I didn’t really care about the verses. I wanted the stickers. I’m slightly competetive, and there were people in my Sunday School class that I just had to beat. I often did, but the sweet taste of victory is long gone with both the stickers and the verses.

Where, exactly, is the value of my Sunday School years? How does all that reflect on me now? Though some of it may seem superficial, I know a few things stuck with me. It gave me a basic understanding of the Bible and Christian doctrine, one that now almost feels innate. I may not be able to recite the verses, but I do know that I can convey their meaning. In junior high and high school, we got into more serious stuff, but the one theme that resounded throughout the years was the absolute assertion that the Bible is beyond question, and if we could just get a chance to logically explain it to everyone, it would be so easy for them all to see that Jesus is the answer.

This made perfect sense in my bubble of Christianity. But then I went to university. There, I realized two things. First, not everyone is an atheist. From inside the bubble, it looked as if all the “non-Christians” on the outside didn’t believe in God. In fact, in my experience, atheists are a relatively small minority. The second thing I began to realize is that most people have their own ideas about God, based on their own logic. Their reasoning questioned mine, leaving me scrambling to find another bit of information that trumped theirs. I sometimes succeeded, and sometimes failed. I gradually began to realize that logically explaining Jesus just wasn’t going to cut it, and was left in a crisis of faith. Doubts began to creep into my innate, absolute knowledge of God. I had a lot of questions, but I was never quite satisfied with the answers. In my polarized world, there was a distant knowledge of the meaning of grey, and when placed in the middle of it I was at a total loss.

My first conclusion was that there are more than two religions in the world; Christians and non-Christians. This idea implies that only Christians have thought it through and know what they’re talking about, and puts everyone else in a homogenized group. If I wanted to relate to people outside of the bubble in any way, I would have to see them differently. I abandoned the term “non-Christian,” seeing as it had little meaning to anyone who was one, anyway. My second conclusion was that logic alone isn’t a strong enough base for Christianity. This is not to say that there is no reasoning in my faith or that it lacks plausibility, but that it is exactly that: faith. “Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see, (Hebrews 11:1)” it is not a logical deduction based on the presenting evidence. In this, I discovered the difference between truth and proof. Someone can prove something, only to have it subjected to a series of rebuttals until some kind of conclusion is reached. But is that conclusion true? If you believe in relative truth, I suppose it could be argued, but I absolutely believe in absolute truth. Proof can be disproven, disproofs can be wrong, but the truth remains the same.

Standing in the middle of a thousand conflicting arguments, I had to choose. I could choose the uncertainty of ever-changing proof or an illogical faith in absolute truth. Illogical faith: a term that I had never before considered. It was a gradual yet conscious choice as I took that path, one that was hard-won in many situations. On some issues, I’ve had to concede that I don’t know the answer and trust that God knows what he’s doing. In others, like the evolution-creation debate, I’ve started to look deeper, hoping to find truth in a balance of proof and faith. Ultimately, I’ve come to believe the Sunday School message I heard through all those years; the Bible is the word of God, and Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. But logic alone will not suffice in the pursuit of God, and will never be enough to convince someone to become a Christian.

“And without faith it is imposible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.” Hebrews 11:6