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The Good News of How Bad We Are

May 14, 2020 By admin Leave a Comment

A couple weeks before the Corona lockdown ensued, I met a friend for breakfast on a Sunday morning at a local diner, a decadent dive of sorts that probably hasn’t been renovated in 30 years, has a menu that stretches to the Idaho border, and serves cinnamon rolls that are as big as your head. 

It’s the kind of place where I’d picture a 57-year-old hardened detective nursing a cup of coffee as he uses empty sugar packets and a smoldering ashtray to intently recreate a crime scene for a rookie cop sitting across the table, all the while allowing a cigarette to dangle precariously from the corner of his mouth, its smoke streaming up and disappearing into a dense haze that blankets the air. Back when smoking in public was a thing, of course. 

That morning, as I slipped into a dark-green vinyl booth and waited for my friend to show up, there was no such excitement going on. Four older women were at the table next to me, their conversation nondescript. A couple people sat at the counter on the other side of the restaurant. 

After a few minutes, two men carrying Bibles came in and sat down at a nearby table. I’d guess the older man was in his fifties, the younger man probably in his thirties. The older man’s Bible was very large. A statement piece, of sorts.

I didn’t pay much attention to their doings, figuring they were going to have a Bible study over breakfast. “Knock yourselves out, guys,” I thought to myself. “Just be careful where you wield that big ole thing.” 

My friend showed up and we started to catch up on the latest goings on in our lives. As we talked, we’d occasionally hear a distinct comment from the Bible Table. It was mostly the older guy, who seemed to be getting louder for emphasis. The table was in my line of sight and I noticed the man growing more and more animated as the conversation continued. His big Bible was flopped open, small pieces of paper with notes on them scattered about.

It was clear they weren’t having a Bible study. The younger guy didn’t have his Bible open at all. He was listening to the older guy, responding mostly with nods and uh-huh’s . 

My friend and I weren’t interested in what was transpiring at that table, but we kept clearly hearing the words “gospel” and “sin” rising to the surface. Then it became clear. He was practicing a sermon, and the more he mentioned sin, the louder and more animated and intense he got. This diatribe was definitely meant for an audience.

He started to throw in the word “cross,” at which point the intensity was mixed with palpable indignation. We could feel it from our table, exchanging almost uncomfortable glances with each other. 

Occasionally, he broke out of “preacher” mode to mentor the younger man, insisting that “people need to understand,” and mentioning “the congregation,” “sin,” and “the cross.”

We did our best to block out the distraction, but then, after the man returned to preacher mode, he said something neither of us could block out.

“No matter how good you feel, you’ll never know how bad you are.”

The words were delivered with bold intensity. With conviction. With a rage that was controlled, yet unmistakable. 

My eyes locked on my friend’s, stunned. His jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Wait. Did he actually just say that?” I asked. Thinking maybe I misheard, I repeated the words. “‘No matter how good you feel, you’ll never know how bad you are.’ Is that what he said?”

My friend nodded. “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

We stared at each other, stupefied. 

My jaw clenched and I felt my blood start to boil. Part of me wanted to storm his table and unleash a string of f-bombs and tell him what he could do with his gigantic Bible. 

But I took a deep breath, looked off to the side and then back into my friend’s eyes, and simply said “Can you believe that’s the world we came from?”

He had a slightly nauseated look on his face. “I know.”

It’s super ironic, because “gospel” means “good news.” And this man’s passionate exhortation was peppered with the term.

Yet, the gospel that’s been crystallized within the greater Christian world has a huge element that, unfortunately, can be summed up with what this man said: No matter how good you feel, you’ll never know how bad you are.

Sure, it may be packaged more attractively, edited for consumability, and delivered with more finesse and grace, but that’s the underlying message. 

At the very core of who we are, we’re messed up. We’re lacking. We’re unworthy. We have no intrinsic value apart from choosing the proper response to being told that we’re messed up, lacking, unworthy, and without intrinsic value. 

And, as this gentleman was so eager to point out, we better not forget it. “You’ll never know how bad you are.”

This message wasn’t only happening at the table in the diner in preparation for a Sunday sermon. It’s a message that’s rampant. 

And damaging.

Words have power. We all know that. Science has proven it. The Bible even speaks to this effect. 

I’ve made some bad choices with my kids over the years and I’ve said some things I wish I hadn’t, but I would never, ever think of saying something like “No matter how good you feel, you’ll never know how bad you are.”

Put in this context, it’s a no-brainer. If I did say something like that to my kids, I’d probably get lambasted from everyone who knew I’d done it. And rightly so. 

And yet so much of the Christian world is marinating in this very message. Absorbing it, whether consciously or subconsciously and being affected accordingly. 

The problem is it isn’t true. It’s just bad theology. Theology that was surprisingly absent for the first thousand plus years of the church’s existence. 

This is why my blood can start to boil and I want to start dropping f-bombs. Because this message can be crippling and people are internalizing it as truth when they don’t need to. When they shouldn’t be.

My friend and I expressed gratitude for extricating ourselves from that form of religion, then quickly carried on with our time together.

I’m not sure who was ultimately on the other end of that man’s message. But it was a Sunday morning, so I’m sure countless people near and far were about to be on the other end of some form of that message. 

And unfortunately, it’s a fiercely protected message. I remember years ago when I started to push against the message in my own church at the time, only to find myself one night at a table surrounded by people in church leadership showing me scripture to “prove” that in and of myself I was, in fact, an object of wrath.

It was a quick reminder that pushing against something only creates more resistance. So I walked away. I need more than social-distancing from a message that says I’m an object of wrath.

Sometimes I see people standing on street corners holding signs that say things like “You are enough,” “You are worthy,” “You are beautiful.” 

And I think that maybe someday these messages will make their way into the greater church. And that they’ll be sufficient on their own, absent of any form of “You’ll never know how bad you are.”

I’m hopeful that the narrative will change. I’m not sure how it’ll happen, but I’m hopeful. I mean, it is changing in some places, I just wish it would happen more quickly for the sake of those in the pews.

But I guess the Titanic doesn’t turn on a dime.


Image credit (all images from Pixabay):
Field landscape by enriquelopezgarre
Bible by StockSnap
Grassy walk by Tabeajaichhalt

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Bible, Christianity, Fundamentalism, Psychology

Corona and the End of Times

March 26, 2020 By admin Leave a Comment

Someone asked me recently if I miss my job. I said I miss my colleagues more than anything. A big part of that, of course, included using giphys via Slack to communicate our emotions and responses to any number of things facing us in a given day. 

One of my favorites was from The Simpsons Movie and it was a shot of the community church next door to Moe’s Bar. A dark shadow covers the sky in what’s thought to be the beginning of the apocalypse. In a panic, all the people flee the church and disappear into the bar, while all the people in the bar flee for the church. Hilarious. 

I don’t know if the end of the world is an innate fear that we have as individuals or societies, or if it’s largely something that’s been propagated by religion. I suspect the latter.

To that point, the other night, my kids and I were finishing dinner and we were discussing some of the new norms of dealing with the current coronavirus pandemic. 

At one point, they started talking about all the claims being spouted on social media about how we’re in the end times. Talk of the rapture. The mark of the beast. Punishment by God. The return of Jesus. 

And all the other visually compelling and irresistable stuff that’s rooted largely in the Bible’s climactic book of Revelation. 

Oh boy. 

In recent years, we’ve had a number of conversations about the Bible. What it is. What it isn’t. How it should and should not be approached. How these perspectives differ vastly from many Christian communities, and why they differ. 

These chats were meant to help them navigate the variety of backgrounds in their own social circles, but also to provide some context as to the rather abrupt departure years ago from the church we attended.

All of that said, I was pretty sure that my kids weren’t likely to be negatively impacted by all this talk of the end times, but I didn’t want to make assumptions or take chances. 

After all, kids are impressionable. 

I was a bit younger than my daughter when some proselytizers left a cartoon evangelism tract at my house that depicted a man being thrown into a lake of fire because his name wasn’t written in the Book of Life.

And my oldest brother was somewhere between my daughter’s and my son’s age when the youth group he attended watched an “end times” movie in which he distinctly recalls people letting out blood-curdling screams as they were hauled off to be beheaded after refusing to accept the mark of the beast.

Two vivid images emblazoned for a lifetime into the psyches of impressionable kids. 

Did they paralyze us for life? Of course not. But the thing is, fear can seep – or be pounded – into our psyches. It can find its way into our cells.

So yeah, my kids and I had a talk. Or perhaps more accurately, I talked and they mostly listened. And in the case of my daughter, it was somewhat begrudgingly. 

“There are some things that are important to understand…” 

Now, the church that I spent many years in wasn’t into End Times theology, but, institutionally and individually, we did hold the rather traditional Christian perspective that the Bible is God’s inerrant word. I don’t think anyone really knew what to do with the book of Revelation, though, so we generally just avoided it altogether. 

Thankfully, quite a few years ago, I ended up rather unexpectedly learning quite a bit about the history of Revelation, including how its apocalyptic style of writing was very common at the time. In fact, there were all kinds of similar writings floating around the Christian communities back in the day. This one simply isn’t as unique as most people might think. 

It was all hugely insightful to me and allowed me to step into this conversation with some confidence. And most notably, with zero fear.

“The book of Revelation was never meant to be taken literally and it does not predict the future.”

Much to my daughter’s dismay, this led to a tangential conversation when my son asked why people think that the Bible does predict the future. We kept that one brief because it’s a complex topic and I knew there wouldn’t be patience for a deep dive. 

Returning to Revelation, I went on to explain that it’s an imagery-laden text full of symbolism that’s reflective of the political turmoil from the time when it was written. Beasts and dragons and whores – all symbolic representations.

“Dragons and what?” my son asked, perplexed, eyebrows raised.

“Whores,” I repeated.

“That’s what I thought you said.” He turned to my daughter and they exchanged curious glances. 

And the Number of the Beast? It’s simply a reference to the Roman Emperor, Nero. Somewhat anticlimactic, for sure, but true.

“There was this thing called ‘Gematria’ and it was a way to assign numbers for letters. 666 was how you spelled ‘Nero.’” 

At this point, my son’s interest was really piqued, but my daughter was beyond ready to be done. 

I tried to wrap up the conversation quickly, telling them that it was a super tumultuous time the people were living in and that all the symbolism was essentially a way to talk discreetly about the government and the things that were going on. Also, it was a way to give the people hope.

The kids started talking over each other. 

“How do you spell that word?” my son asked, as he went for his phone so he could Google “Gematria,” while my daughter asked with exasperation, “Whyyyyy are we having this conversation?”

I spelled the word for him and then answered her.  

“Because there are a lot of things in the world that can cause fear and anxiety. And the last thing any of us needs to be dealing with is fear that’s being caused by religious beliefs.” 

We wrapped up the conversation and moved on for the evening, but not before the kids showed me a few video clips of various people – including a pastor – speaking of these dire times and warning the return of Jesus. 

In the day or two following the dinnertime conversation, I started to think that maybe I was overreacting to the whole thing. Maybe I was being overly sensitive.

Then I happened across an online discussion relating to the flick that my brother had told me about. I perused the comments from people who had seen it as kids. Turns out my brother wasn’t the only one it wreaked havoc on.

Some choice highlights included people who recalled it as an element of an “effed up childhood,” the source of unbelievable childhood trauma, something that scared “the living shit” out of them. 

Good stuff, huh?

One girl credited her most vivid childhood memories to the night she saw that movie (and the others in its series) at an all-nighter at her church.

And yet another person said that the films, coupled with the book of Revelation itself, served as “nightmare fodder” for the remainder of her youth.

Okay, so even though my kids weren’t subject to this movie or any of the subsequent films in this genre over the last several decades, I guess I’m not overreacting. This stuff can have a powerful impact.

The thing that’s ironic – unfortunately ironic, in my opinion – is that the only reason the book of Revelation made it into the Bible to begin with is because there was a theory at the time that it was written by one of the disciples who walked with Jesus (a theory that’s long been discarded by nearly everyone in that field of studies). 

And it was only included somewhat reluctantly, it seems. Some churches – I think maybe Eastern Orthodox? – actually excluded it from their canon of scripture because they knew it didn’t belong there and that it was being misused.

Yet here we are. Sigh. 

It’s unlikely that the book of Revelation is going anywhere. Maybe someday evangelical America will be able to approach it a bit more responsibly. 

In the meantime, I guess we can all rely on Simpsons giphys to make light of something that really doesn’t warrant the fear and power that it’s wielded over the years.

(Side note: At the time of this post, said giphy can be seen here.)

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Bible, Fear, Fundamentalism, Religion

For When You Eat of It

December 6, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

photo credit: Dunleavy Family cc
photo credit: Dunleavy Family cc

One morning several months ago, I was lying in my hammock and I pulled up a guided meditation playlist.  I pressed “shuffle,” closed my eyes, and tuned out the world as a meditation by Deepak Chopra on the subject of judgment began to play.

I listened intently as he mentioned that the need to judge others can be a form of defense, and my interest was piqued when he indicated that judging others comes with consequences.

“When you judge someone, it makes another person wrong.  Someone else is wrong to feel a certain way, to look a certain way, to hold certain opinions… Judgment immediately creates separation… The same walls that keep other people away also shut off the flow of spirit.”

What struck me in particular was his comment about shutting off the flow of spirit.  I realize that the term “the flow of spirit” sounds a little ethereal – perhaps a little too new-agey or “woo woo” to give it serious thought at first.

But what was fascinating is that not long before I heard this meditation, I’d read about how our thoughts and emotions can get stored up inside of us, literally creating energy blockages that keep things from flowing within us as they should.  Blockages that have the ability to wreak havoc on our health and well-being.  In other words, you could say that the flow of spirit gets shut off.

As I pondered this, I considered the words of Jesus as written in the gospel of Matthew.  “Do not judge or you too will be judged.  For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

The notion of energy blockages at the core of our being and shutting off the flow of spirit puts a whole new perspective on these words of Jesus.

When we judge others, we can’t escape being judged.  Maybe it’s not in the ways we traditionally think of, but if being judgmental can create a form of negative energy that’s in some way toxic, who’s it going to affect?  If I’m the one doing the judging, it’s going to affect me.  And the greater the intensity behind my thoughts and emotions, the greater the toxic effect on me and on the flow of my spirit.  “With the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

All of this had taken root in the back of my mind and had given me much to think about.  Then one day, I was hanging out with some friends and we were talking about the challenges that can arise from taking everything in the Bible literally.  One of the women shared how she had recently read about how the Adam and Eve story from Genesis was actually about judgment.

I was perplexed at first.  It was a difficult idea to wrap my mind around, probably because in Christian circles, the focus of the story is on sin and disobedience.

photo credit: artschoolgirl27 cc
photo credit: artschoolgirl27 cc

I’ve often heard that the whole reason the tree was off limits to begin with was because that was God’s way of giving Adam and Eve the choice to love God or not.  And by choosing disobedience, they chose sin, which destroyed the relationship with God.  Then we extrapolate the idea that God can’t be in the presence of sin so he kicked them out of the garden.

But is it possible that judgment is the point of the Adam and Eve story?  The more I meditated on the idea, the more it began to make sense and the clearer it became.  In fact, it soon became an incredibly illuminating interpretation of the story, one that makes far more sense than the traditional one.  Let’s think about this.

God tells Adam, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat of it, you will surely die.”

One can’t help but wonder why God wouldn’t want Adam and Eve to know the difference between good and evil.  It’s hard to see the downside to that, especially when you consider that one of the first things we attempt to teach our kids is what’s good and what’s bad.

But if we view all of this through the lenses of judgment, it makes sense.

We judge others when we start categorizing their actions or beliefs as right or wrong, good or evil.  Interpreting the Adam and Eve story this way says that people weren’t created to judge others.  That’s why God forbade them to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Judgment was something that was meant to be reserved for God and God alone.  Because, as Deepak said in the meditation I referenced earlier, judgment creates separation and can ultimately shut off the flow of spirit.

It’s interesting that God says the consequence of eating from the tree is death.  “When you eat of it, you will surely die.”

Obviously, they didn’t die in a literal sense, so we’re left to ponder what this meant.  The typical explanation is spiritual death: Adam and Eve were separated from God due to their sin.  This separation would be handed down and persist throughout time, only to be finally dealt with by the atoning death of Jesus on the cross – but even then, only for those who respond appropriately.

It’s a reasonable conclusion within the confines of Christianity.

Yet, I’m left to wonder what the story would’ve meant to the original audience.  Because the Adam and Eve story was written at a particular place and time, for specific people.  And although there is certainly a timeless quality to it, I can’t believe that the primary point of the story is something that would make sense only when viewed through the lenses of things that developed hundreds – if not thousands – of years later.  Things like atonement theology and the doctrine of original sin.

Things that simply couldn’t have possibly had meaning to the original hearers.

And so I circle back to the idea of judgment and I ponder the words “When you eat of it, you will surely die.”  And in the framework of judgment, those words make a lot of sense.  Because judgment creates separation.

It builds walls, causes distance, erodes community, and destroys intimacy.  “We” becomes “us” and “them.”  And often times “they” are only truly worthy if they’ll become like “us.”  Judgment can even keep us from extending compassion because of how easy it is for us to think of all the reasons why the situation or person doesn’t deserve our compassion.

And when any of this happens, the very essence of our humanity begins to die.  And if we’re living devoid of our humanity, are we truly living?

These days, we understand science and we have mind-boggling technology and eye-opening research.  We can say “When you think or feel a certain way, it affects you in a massive way.”  And we can go on to talk about energy blockages and cellular makeup and physiology and how at the quantum level all things are connected.  All things.  And we have empirical evidence to prove it all.

So we point to this evidence, imploring people to be very careful about how they live and the thoughts they think and the choices they make because there are ramifications, whether we can see them or not.

It’s as though the author of this ancient story wanted to implore the same things, but since he didn’t have our modern knowledge and terminology, he simply used the medium of the time – story – to convey the point.  “Don’t do this or you will die.”

So I chew on all of this and I circle back to the words of Jesus in the gospel of Matthew.  “Do not judge or you too will be judged.”

Then I flip over to the gospel of Luke, where the author placed this teaching alongside “love your enemies,” expanding it and rendering it as “Do not judge, and you will not be judged.  Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.  Forgive, and you will be forgiven.  Give, and it will be given to you.  A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap.  For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

These words come alive in a completely new way and with a depth that I’ve never known.

And it makes me consider the types of judging that can be very common within Christianity.  Who’s right, who’s wrong.  Who’s in, who’s out.  Who’s a true believer, who’s not.  Who’s saved, who’s lost.

And I reflect on how I’ve been taught at times that God actually expects us to make some of these kinds of judgments.

photo credit: Bluespete cc
photo credit: Bluespete cc

Was judgment the original point of the Adam and Eve story?  Maybe it was.  Maybe it wasn’t.

But as I consider everything – the words of Jesus, the original audience of Genesis 3, shutting off the flow of spirit – the more I realize that I, too, would do well to avoid that fruit tree.

“For when you eat of it, you will surely die.”







Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Bible, Fundamentalism, Symbolism

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