Friday, April 1, 2011

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Thursday Thanks

As one who loves structure, I feel like adding more structure to my blog.  I kept looking at Monday Muse going, “Hmmm…  what else can be done here?”  Matching days to what they represent automatically brought “Thirsty Thursday” to mind.  And that’s an inappropriate subject for this blog.  But Thursday Thanksgiving … now that’s a little more kosher.

So, if you are one who does NOT love structure, please just disregard the titles I will be playing with in the near future.  They may or may not stick.  But experimentation comes before results.  Thank you, sixth grade bio teacher, wherever you are.

What could be more spiritual than a positive outlook?  And what could be more positive than focusing on the good parts of life?  Isn’t that what positivity is?  I remember when I was a tiny freak of a child who couldn’t sleep because of strange anxiety problems such as how to draw the perfect flower in art class and how to avoid sitting next to the smelly kid on the bus, my father used to tell me to lay in bed and think of nothing but all the good things I had.

First on my nightly anti-anxiety positive list: God.  Then family, my friends and my house.  Then I allowed myself to get a little more selfish and creative.  Of course, I ended up staying awake until I couldn’t think of any more good things and then the anxiety came back: am I not grateful enough?  Why can’t I think of any more good things?  Should I put God on the list three times?

I won't bore you with my own personal "good list."  But I'll start posting things that people in the religious community will probably be putting on their "good list" this week.
    
Here's something a parish in Maryland has to be grateful for:
30,000 Lotto Ticket in Church Collection Plate

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Monday Muse

Welcome to to the first Monday Muse!

Every Monday I'll be blog-hosting the thoughts of a religious leader.  I'll ask my guest to answer a question about his or her faith or what it means to be a leader of that faith.  And I'll post the answer here.

So, let me introduce you to Nate Nakao, Pastor/Director of children's ministries at a church called Emergence.


This week I asked Nate:

"Why did God test his loved ones?  If he knows people's hearts, why would he need to test Abraham and put him through that worry if he must have already known that he would obey?"

(If you do not know the Biblical story of Abraham, check it out here.)


And Nate answered:

"One reason I would give for God’s testing of people doesn’t have anything to do with his wanting to know how we’ll act, but rather with his desire to strengthen our own resolve. Think about it this way: sometimes a parent will allow a certain circumstance into a child’s life not to see if the child will respond in an obedient way, but to allow the child to see for himself his own faithfulness to his parent.

Even though God may know how we’re going to respond to something, we often don’t learn the lesson until we’ve seen ourselves in action.

Regarding Abraham—

I’m assuming you’re referring to the story of God calling on Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. If so, let me put it out there that I think there’s a whole lot more to this story than we see upon a cursory reading.

Abram was born and raised in Ur Kaśdim, a city in ancient Mesopotamia. He was taught to revere the Mesopotamian gods, goddesses, and demons, all of which were fickle beings that often needed to be placated through sacrifices and rituals. Abram’s understanding of the God who was calling him was shaped by this upbringing.

But Yahweh is unlike any other god that Abram had come across before, and much of the early part of the story of Abraham is God showing Abram that he is different from the other gods. He doesn’t need to be placated for he finds joy in himself. At this point in the meta-narrative of the Bible, God hasn’t revealed anything about himself to anyone other than Abraham.

Twice Abraham lied about his wife Sarah and told the pharaoh of Egypt on one occasion and the king of Gerar on another occasion that she was his sister. On both occasions God had to step in and protect Sarah.

On another occasion, Abraham and Sarah doubted God’s power and laughed when he told them that they would have a son.

So when God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, he had a different kind of lesson in store for him. See, in making these various covenants with Abraham, God was slowly revealing to him that he’s a different kind of God. That he’s a God who sticks to his promises and doesn’t need to be placated in order to be pleased with Abraham.

The story of God telling Abraham to sacrifice Isaac doesn’t make much sense without the context of the promises God was making to Abraham. He told Abraham over and over that he would make a great nation out of his descendents, that his offspring would be as numerous as the stars in the sky or the grains of sand on the shore.

But if you’d done something to offend God not once, not twice, but three times, wouldn’t there be some doubt in your mind that God would pull through on his promise? As if he’d punish you for your mistakes?

I’m betting Abraham probably thought that.

“Dammit! I screwed up three times! I’ve made him angry with me, and now he’s asking me to sacrifice my son as a way to placate him.”

If I were Abraham, that’s exactly what would be going through my mind.

But God steps in to teach Abraham this truth about himself: that he is a God that is not fickle, that does not need to be placated, and who uses sacrifices and offerings not as a way to appease his wrath, but as a way to teach his children truths about himself.

In this moment he teaches Abraham that he will stand by his promise to make his descendents a great nation.

Think about it this way: you believe that gods are angry, vengeful beings who bend humans to their whim. Now, along comes this other God who tells you to leave your homeland. To you, this God isn’t really all that different from other gods; you’d better do as he asks or else he’ll do something to you. Then he starts making promises. He tells you over and over again that he’s different, that he’s got your best interests at heart. But these are just words; does this God really care? Is he really going to stand by his word?

How is God going to get through to you? Maybe he’ll test you? Maybe he’ll tell you to sacrifice the very thing he’s been promising you? It’s a bit extreme from the outside, but if you’ve been taught to believe something your whole life, what would it take for you to be shaken of that belief?

Is it possible that’s what God was doing with Abraham?"

Nate's Blog: Restored to Grace
Nate's Twitter: Nate_Nakao

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

First Parish in Framingham Unitarian Universalist – Framingham, MA

With the idea of continuing my exploration of religions that have no definite definition of “god,” I visited a Unitarian Universalist church this past Sunday morning.  Luckily, I had a general idea of what this religion is like before I entered the church.  If I had been a completely uninformed newcomer, I may have come away extremely confused.  Let me explain:

The Universalists:
- had a church in a traditional church-like building
- had a reverend who dressed in traditional robes
- sang traditional-sounding hymns (albeit with word changes)

But there were no Bibles, no crosses, and no mention of God (not in the prayers, not in the hymns.)  Essentially, they had all the trappings of a Christian denomination but stripped away anything having to do with Christ.

I’m not sure how this sect of faith is categorized.  According to Wikipedia (and yes, now that I am free of professors who don’t consider this a valuable source, I rabidly use Wikipedia), UU has Christian roots.  And you can see it in, like I said, the building, dress, and overall organization of the service.  But nowhere else was Christianity evident.

Michael F. Hall, Intern Minister, started the service by reading a poem from a popular children’s book.  Forgive me, but I cannot remember the name of it now.  It involved a frog.  He informed the congregation that there were more poems to follow, but as the children only stay in the pews for so long before heading off to Sunday School, he started with something that appealed to them.

When the children did go off to their class, the congregation sang them away with a peace song.

The rest of the service consisted of songs, a moment of silent meditation (which lasted a very decent amount of time, I would say at least five whole minutes), a time for anyone to stand up to share joys and/or sorrows of the week and more poetry readings.

First things first, this is the first church I’ve been to that had a time of sharing and I absolutely loved this part of the service.  A congregation is a community.  And while I understand that the community part comes in multiple ways (service projects, prayer meetings, Sunday school classes) that I am not present to witness, I wish I could witness it more just through visiting for one service.  People shared upcoming birthdays, thoughts on the tragic situation of Japan, recent deaths, and gratitude that a foreign exchange student was being welcomed into the community with open arms.

I could see the benefit of a sharing session.

However, I could not see the benefit of what came shortly after: the sermon entitled “The Poet’s Corner.”

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the benefit of poetry in general.  Just not in a church setting.  Like I’ve said before, I’d like to learn something from a church service.  If I don’t learn anything concrete I’d at least like to come away saying, “huh, well, hmm.” The brain buzz feeling.  And while some poetry can bring on the brain buzz by itself, the connection of it to church killed the buzz.

I can read poetry on my own.  Why would I go to church to have it read to me?

Granted, I think poetry was just the sermon of this particular week.  But I honestly can’t imagine what other sermons must be like.  Taoists follow the Tao.  That could be considered poetry.  But it doesn’t pretend to conform to anything else but that.  This Unitarian church was appearing to be a church in every way except it seemed to have no direction.  I could go to a Baptist church and expect to hear messages about the Bible.  I could go to a Buddhist temple and expect to meditate.

But what could I expect from a second visit to a Unitarian church?  I have absolutely no idea.

And while sometimes mystery can be exciting … this isn’t the exciting kind of mystery.  It’s the plain confusing kind.  And I don’t think the Unitarian church would even deny this.  One of the hymns they sang was basically a repetition of this lyric: “Where do we come from? Who are we?  Life is a mystery, a mystery.”

This isn’t what I, personally, would go to church for.  I know life is a mystery.  Right now, I agree.  I have questions about it and I’m seeking the answers. 

I like philosophies on my questions (like what the Tao offers) and churches that offer real solutions (whether or not I agree with them.)  But I have no need for a church that answers my questions with the same exact questions.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

A Confession and an Announcement

Confession:

I didn't attend church this past Sunday.  I planned to go to a Wednesday evening prayer service instead, but as someone dear to me so kindly put it, I chickened out.  In my defense, I was feeling slightly unwell.  But, yes, I basically chickened out.  I didn't feel like driving and then ... praying (something I'm not very accustomed to doing) ... with strangers.  This whole project involves my stepping outside of the comfort box, so chickening out because something is unfamiliar and uncomfortable is not excusable.  But there it is, I did.  Please accept this as my blunt, honest apology.

Announcement:

I plan to add a weekly feature to the blog.

The tentative title is "Ask and You Shall Receive."  Basically, if I can get some pastors/heads of churches/religious experts to be willing to participate, I would like to publish their answers to hot-button religious questions.

I've had tons of questions bouncing around in my head concerning religion in general.  And given my background, questions about the Bible in particular.  I'm sure as I become more familiar with other religions, I'll have even more questions.  Questions upon questions.  Exponential questions.  Endless possibilities!  Why don't I ask these questions?  I never really have asked them because I consider a lot of them unanswerable.  Or, I assume that any answer I am given could not possibly be satisfactory to me.

For example, one of my most pressing questions has always been: why does the god of the Old Testament kill off cities?  How can I believe this god is good when he orchestrates the slaughter of entire cities, children even?

I never really asked this question of anyone because I basically don't believe that there IS an answer that is good enough to make me say "oh, ok."  But whether or not I am going to be able to accept an answer, I would certainly like to finally hear a few.

Now, before I scare off any potential participating pastors (that's a mouthful of alliteration right there), let me promise that not every question will be so difficult.  Yet difficult questions are going to be the ones I will want answered the most.

And I know I'm not the only one with questions.  Any reader who wants to have their question addressed on this blog feature, please forward me your question via email (listed on my profile) and I will include it.

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Is Taoism a Religion?

A couple years ago I found myself in the Religion section of Borders staring at all the various Bibles, Korans, Torahs and Books of the Dead.  I felt that I should really get to know other religions.  (Clearly that is a feeling that hasn't subsided.)  So I figured I would start reading their texts.  But as I stood there, puzzling as to where I should start, I began dreading the thought of actually reading one of them.

I went to a private school for elementary and middle school.  I took Bible classes and went to weekly chapel.  Then there was Sunday school and Sunday sermons.  You would think I would know the Bible inside and out.  But it only continued to confuse me.

And I still haven't read every word.  (I tried to read the entire Bible, front to back, several times.  All it amounted to was reading the first few chapters of Genesis A LOT.)

You might think part of this failure to fully dive into the Bible was due to my age at the time.  But that's not it.  I was a good student almost to a fault (like full-blown geek status, like thought the opposite sex had cooties and didn't know that platform sneakers weren't cool.)  If something was to be understood and applied, I understood it and applied it.  End of story.  I think where the Bible kept catching me was this: it didn't make sense to me that this one book could be constantly, tirelessly studied while my school teachers and pastor admitted to never fully understanding it.  And where did the application come in?

I wanted to read the Bible because I felt I should.  But I never really wanted to.  It seemed to be a discouraging, fruitless task.

And all those feelings came rushing back as I stood in front of all those other daunting texts.

So I pulled out a small one from the bottom shelf.  I'd heard of the "Tao" before but never really knew exactly what was in it.  And its size shocked me.  Its size also invited me.  It screamed simplicity and maybe that's what I really needed after all.

I read a few chapters of it and bought it immediately.  I whisked it home and poured over it, drank it in, read it again.  Read it again.  Gave it to a professor of mine.  Bought another.  Read it again.  Gave it to a friend of mine.  Bought another.  Read it again.  And again.  I loved it.  It WAS simple but there was so much in it.  It was understandable and technically applicable.

And while it was the very definition of ideal and vague, what do we really have to live for if not for the vaguely ideal?

I thought I'd share some snippets here:

Chapter 9:

"Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people's approval
and you will be their prisoner.

Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity."

Chapter 43:

"The gentlest thing in the world
overcomes the hardest thing in the world.
That which has no substance
enters where there is no space.
This shows the value of non-action.

Teaching without words,
performing without actions:
that is the Master's way."

Chapter 75:

"When taxes are too high,
people go hungry.
When the government is too intrusive,
people lose their spirit.

Act for the people's benefit.
Trust them; leave them alone."


Read more here.

As I understand it, the "Tao" refers to the way things are meant to be in the world.  It is an all-encompassing representation of the center of things.  And the "Master" is someone who is centered and grounded in the "Tao."  So the Tao is an ideal state of the world.  And a Master is an ideal being in that world.

There is no god.

Which brings me to my question: what exactly IS the definition of religion, if there is one?  Taoism is considered a religion but nowhere in its text is there any mention of a god.  There are only philosophies on the proper way of living, created and written down by one man.  So in this case, the religion of Taoism is simply a recognition of and yearning toward the ideal.

What do you think of this?

Is the Tao a true religion?  In what ways is it comparable to other popular religions?  Are there Christian/Jewish/Muslim ideals present within the Tao?  Did other religions' gods have a Tao-like world in mind?

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Liquid - Morristown, NJ (Part II)

After a busy weekend, I was in no mood for an early morning church service.  Liquid was welcoming the first time, it was right on the way home, and I was in the market for another evening service (I can’t think of a better way for a church to draw a young crowd.)

I don’t remember the name of the pastor who preached this past Sunday evening, and unfortunately, in my rush, I didn’t pick up a bulletin either.  So I can’t remember the name of the sermon.  I do know that I was under the impression that it was going to be about fasting.  But instead, it was about Jesus.  About who Jesus is.

This might at first seem to be a rather elementary topic.

And the pastor admitted this to be so.  He offered up what might be going through his congregation’s head, something along the lines of: “We’re Christians.  We think we might know who Jesus is.”

But there is a specific verse in one of the gospels in which Jesus asks one of his disciples, “Who do you think I am?” And it's not always an easy question to consider, once you forget about your standard, immediate answer.  C.S. Lewis, author of Mere Christianity and the Chronicles of Narnia series, penned the idea that Jesus left us with only three possible answers to this question:

Liar
           Lunatic
                          or
                                 LORD

For those who are new to the concept of this “trilemma,” let me briefly explain:

Jesus claimed to be the Son of God.  He boldly offered forgiveness of sins and accepted worship as if he were Holy.  So he was either lying about being God OR he believed he was but was actually absolutely crazy OR he was and is God.

But he couldn’t have been what many non-believers like to call him: a benevolent and wise teacher.

The message at Liquid this past Sunday evening was a lengthened description of the above.  If I had one critique of the presentation it would be that the point could have been driven home much more succinctly.  But still, the pastor’s delivery was entertaining and certainly passionate.

Now I can’t quite accept the trilemma.  I know there is substantial evidence for Jesus’ existence.  But I doubt there is any concrete evidence that he actually did heal the sick and raise the dead.  I am ready to believe he existed.  I am not ready to believe that everything that the Bible claims he did and said is necessarily true.  So while if every word of the Bible were pure and accurate, this trilemma would certainly make a lot of sense, it completely falls apart when one considers the possibility that the author(s) of the Bible were, at the very least, prone to exaggeration.

What if Jesus really were a benevolent and wise teacher and really did have disciples and crowds following him everywhere he went?  Usually such grand figures stir up a lot of oral storytelling.  And more often than not, storytelling gets blown way out of proportion.

ie:

-Did you see Jesus the other day? 
-Yeah, he was saying some really groundbreaking things about forgiving your neighbor.
-Yeah, I really identified with that.  My neighbor is a jerk.  He stole some of my goats.  But I forgave him anyway after hearing that. Jesus is certainly inspirational.
-Yeah? ... I heard that he healed a blind person. (says this to up the forgiving neighbor story, since this person didn't forgive their neighbor, and feels like a schmuck)
-Yeah?  I heard he cured a paralytic! (says this to up the blind person story)
-Yeah?  I heard he also forgave sins!! (says this to up the paralytic story)
-I heard he said he’s the Son of God!!! (says this to up sins story)
-Maybe he is!!!! (gives up and just agrees.  Jesus is, after all, undeniably impressive.)

Ok, so it’s a rather poor example of how talk gets out of hand.  But you get the idea.  The only missing step from there was getting it all on paper and letting the Legend of Jesus live on indefinitely.  There are those who add this fourth "L" to the dilemma ... making it a tetralemma.  And I'd choose this option.

An evil liar is usually easy to spot (especially after hundreds of years of study) because he always has a clear agenda hidden behind the lies.  Jesus didn't seem to have one.

A mad man would not likely be capable of holding a captive audience and building a vast fan base for so long.  His sermons would really be ravings, and sooner or later the shock-value entertainment of that would wear off.  He must have been saying some clear, intelligent things to remain so consistently popular.

And Lord?  I'm not ready to say that's possible.  And if it were, I don't know how anyone could know for sure unless the Bible were 100% true.  And I've never heard one good argument that convinced me that this is the case.

But Legend?  That makes complete sense.  It happens ALL the time.                                                                                 

Which one do you choose?

Friday, March 4, 2011

Vanity

I've been doing some research on the Amish.  And besides the fact that a lot of their town names are bizarre and strangely sexual, the one thing that stuck out to me the most was their refusal to do anything that might be considered vain.

Individualism is highly discouraged.  Everything is done in the interest of the community to avoid selfish motives.

They don't take photographs or allow themselves to be photographed.

They wear traditional, plain-colored clothing.

Narcissus
The women do not style their hair.  No makeup.  No nail polish.  No tanning, obviously, etc.

Their distaste for vanity goes so far that they do not believe in any assurance of their personal salvation.  Believing in their definite salvation would be, in their opinion, arrogant and vain.

I was thinking about this even more as I am going to a formal event this weekend for which I have to present myself in such a way that I "look good."  While I'm much more comfortable in casual clothes, I do feel nice dressing up every now and then.  And the Amish got me wondering, does that make me vain?


At what point does vanity happen?  Is dressing up vain?  Or is simply looking in a mirror vain?

What is your definition?  And in what ways can vanity cross over into the spiritual realm?  

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Liquid - Morristown, NJ

This past Sunday evening, my first worry was that my car would roll away while I attended church.  I parked on the steepest road in all of Morristown and even with my wheels tucked properly and my emergency brake standing guard, I kept glancing behind me as I walked away and down, half-expecting my car to come hurtling after me as if it missed me already.

Turns out Liquid validates parking at the Hyatt.

Because of my parking confusion and then mistakenly going to the Liquid office, located in a storefront across the street from the Hyatt, I was a bit late.  But it didn’t seem to be a problem.  As soon as I scaled the stairs to the second floor I saw a sign for newcomers.  Two, actually.  I believe they said something like, “First time to Liquid?  Get your free gift here.” 

So I went up to one of these tables, had an usher fill out a nametag for me (I’m sensing a fad), wondered why I wasn’t handed one of the mysterious little gift bags, but continued anyway on my way into the ballroom that houses this self-proclaimed “creative” church.

And creative it was.  And loved it I did.  (Yoda fans?)

I was actually on shaky ground when I first walked in, feeling a little uncertain of what to do.  The lights were turned pretty much all the way down.  There were 3 guitarists, a keyboardist, a drummer and 2 singers blasting out worship songs on stage.  I felt as disoriented as if I were entering a concert.  I couldn’t see well and I grabbed the closest seat I could find, standing in front of it, trying to see the stage.

It was a large, packed room of mostly younger people.  I thought of Liquid because as I wrote last week’s post I decided I wanted to go to a church that I knew was “vibrant and growing.”  And Liquid is pretty much the definition of that.

After the songs were finished one of the guitarists led a heart-felt prayer and then identified himself as one of the pastors at Liquid.  He then asked that everyone in the room get into small groups of 3-4 people and discuss their favorite hotdog toppings for about a minute.  This was my second worry.  At this, I forgot about my car.  I am not a small groups fan.  And I am not a hotdog fan either.

This was Liquid’s version of “The Exchanging of Peace.”

So instead of awkwardly saying “peace be with you” to a stranger next to me, I awkwardly said “I like ketchup” to a stranger next to me.

But it did feel more natural.  Because since it really isn’t necessary to talk about hotdogs for an entire minute, regular conversation took place instead.  And one person having just a few real words with me was many times more welcoming than 100 people telling me “peace be with you.”

Tim Lucas, founder and pastor of Liquid church, conducts his sermons in “series.”  I caught the last sermon in the series called “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”  When I saw that this sermon’s title was “The Power of Purple,” I’ll admit, I was afraid that I was going to hear another sermon about homosexuality.  Ironically, purple in this context turned out to be God.  The color is the result of a mix of pink (femininity) and blue (masculinity.)  And God is neither man nor woman.

The sermon was about marriage.

Before Tim started his message, the lights went down again and the infamous “You Complete Me, You Had Me at Hello” scene from Jerry Maguire was projected onto the two large screens at either side of the stage.

I was completely thrown off.  I was afraid that this was going to be the model for a Christian marriage.

Thankfully, Tim immediately poked fun at the scene and I settled back into my seat, feeling much more at home.  I don’t need a church that loves Hollywood.  One that pokes fun at it?  Ok!  Not a requirement, but certainly a welcome bonus addition.

In Christian marriages, the only thing that completes either the husband or the wife is God.  This was the message.  It isn’t a marriage between two.  It’s a marriage between three.  A civil union is a contract on a piece of paper.  A holy marriage is a covenant with God.  Tim used three ropes hangin from the ceiling to demonstrate that two (the pink and the blue) unravel easily but if a third (purple) is introduced, the braid is secure.

Using personal anecdotes and many humorous references and props (he also used a “Easy” button, complete with sound effects, from Staples to demonstrate that this is pretty much NEVER the case with marriage), Tim was endlessly entertaining to listen to.  He was a regular guy, speaking to his congregation instead of at them.  And I absolutely loved the frank, fun honesty of it all.

But then my third worry came.

Tim wanted couples in the congregation to remind each other that they cannot complete each other.  That they are both sinners.  That they both mess up all the time.  That they cannot count on each other, only God.  And that they’re just along for the ride, together.  To represent the acknowledgement of this, all couples were invited to the front of the ballroom to tie purple strings onto one another’s wrists.  Single people were invited to the back (not because they were second-class citizens, Tim joked, but because the front would get crowded), to tie purple strings to their own wrists in representation of their single relationship with God.  Non-Christians, who had no purple relationship at all, were invited to speak to any church member to make that commitment immediately.

It sounded like there was no option to just sit and remain.  But I did anyway.  Even if I were a Christian, I doubt I would have gone with my boyfriend to the front or by myself to the back simply because it seemed a little hokey to me.  My newly found small groups/hotdog friend stayed also and told me he was a Christian but had never felt the need to remind himself of his Christianity with any kind of representative symbol (a cross necklace, statues, purple strings, etc.)  I was glad I wasn’t the only one.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with such representations.  I’m sure it brings people a lot of strength to have a constant physical reminder of their faith.  It’s just not for me.  And I was glad that it was perfectly acceptable to just sit and choose not to participate in that part of the service.

Liquid is not about pressure.  Even communion was offered, to those who wanted it, to the sides of the ballroom at the end of the service.  I was invited to either stay for more worship songs or go as I pleased.  And I did skip the last few worship songs.  My first worry came back to me like waking out of the haziness of the dream of Liquid and images of my car smashed into a house came to me in full force.

I did get that newcomer’s gift on the way out, the man who name-tagged me apologizing for neglecting it earlier.  Now I have a CD to listen to more of the “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” series, some pamphlets, a pen, and Hershey’s chocolate!  Bribing the newcomers!  I’m cool with that.


 I wasn’t spoon-fed.  I wasn’t pressured.  I wasn’t judged.  And I’m not ready to say that I won’t go back to this one.  But I’m also not ready to settle down!  So let the church search continue.
                                                                         

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Holy Cross Lutheran Church - Toms River, NJ

Not so long ago I was accused of being an ageist. I was asked to guess an elderly lady’s age. I believe I was off by only a couple years but the point is that I guessed too high! Thus, an ageist.

It was all in good fun.

But sitting in Holy Cross Lutheran Church, I thought of that accusation again. Besides two kids and a teenager, my boyfriend and I were the only young people sitting in the congregation. And I started wondering if feeling weird about this fact really did pin me as an ageist. Political-correctness paranoia crept up behind me, tapped me on the back and said, “You’re the only young one! And that shouldn’t bother you, because everyone is equal! But it does bother you just a little bit, doesn’t it?!!” … followed by an evil, triumphant laugh.

Honestly, I’m trying very hard to find a polite way to say that the 10:45AM service was pretty much exclusively elderly people. Maybe personifying paranoia isn’t polite. But it’s all I got.

I originally felt that I needed to tiptoe around this fact, the age of the group, because the world has taught me that it’s not kosher to point out groups of people and their defining characteristic. But that characteristic was so blatantly obvious in such a small space, that it would have taken more than I had in my possession to ignore it.

All I could think about was how young I felt sitting there and how out of place that made me feel. We stuck out like sore thumbs. I’m not saying anyone in the church made us feel that way. On the contrary, we both felt very welcome. More on that later.

“Oh my goodness, is traditional religion becoming a thing of the past, completely? Where are the new faces?” I said as we drove away. Or, I mean, I don’t remember my words verbatim. But, you get the idea. Where is our generation? Are we all too hung over for church? Are we going to more modern churches only? Are we simply uninterested?

I noticed age gaps at Plymouth in MA too. I didn’t mention this in my post because it didn’t stick out noticeably enough to take a large role in the general story of the church... Children ran in at the end of the service and there was a sprinkling of young faces. But for the most part, the congregation there was aging too.

Of course, at Holy Cross, there was an earlier service for 9:00AM with a Sunday School service scheduled for the same time. So to be fair, I could assume that the younger population (the ones with young kids) goes to the earlier service so they can listen to the message in peace while their little ones are tucked away in a classroom.

But I can only report on what I saw last Sunday.

As far as I can tell, the Lutheran branch of Christianity is fairly close to Catholicism. The service followed a predetermined pattern and every step along the way was outlined in the bulletin. (I was desperately figuring out how to discreetly find one of these bulletins after we arrived a little late when a lady came to us in our pews and delivered some, apologizing for having missed us come in.) Traditional hymns were sung and the congregation participated directly in the service through answering back certain lines such as “Thanks be to God” and verses of a Psalm read aloud. The congregation also made the sign of the Holy Cross and gathered (by pew) to the front of the church to receive communion toward the close of the service.

What stuck out to me to be the most different about the service as compared to places I have previously visited was the “Exchange of Peace.” Almost every church I have gone to has had their variation of this. It is a time to turn to your neighbors beside, in front of, and behind you to say a simple “hello.” At the evangelical, less traditional, churches I have visited so far (Millington, Stonecrest) this time is open to interpretation. At St. Vincent’s and Plymouth, people said “Peace be with you” or some variation.
But at all places, this time was limited to no more than I would say about a minute or two and people greeted only those directly in their vicinity.

Holy Cross was very robust about their greeting time. “Peace be with you” was still the popular greeting of choice. But the people of the congregation travelled around the sanctuary during the greeting time, making the rounds. Choir members came down all the way to the last pew. People in the last pew went down to the middle. One of the little girls from the first pew ran to the back to give a friend a hug.
At one point I wondered if we ought to travel too. And my boyfriend asked if we ought to and I said no. We had no one to travel to and I honestly felt a little awkward about the idea of traveling to people at random.

No, but really, I thought it would be better to stay put. And some of the friendliest and most welcoming members of the congregation came to us. We were greeted many times and the whole thing felt warm and heartfelt. I believe that if I were to become a member of this church, actively involved and part of the community, this portion of the service would quickly become my favorite.

The sermon was good too. The delivery was a little dry, but the message to “turn the other cheek,” was delivered with just enough of a challenge to avoid being too in-your-face without sacrificing the you-need-to-act punch.

Bottom line though, I would feel most comfortable worshipping in a place that I saw as vibrant and growing, with which I could vibrantly grow myself. And I didn’t see enough to believe that Holy Cross was doing that.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Positivity

I have been told that my honesty might get me in trouble at some point... that I might cause anger (whether or not that anger is directed back to me.) And that's probably true. Perhaps I've already angered or annoyed or offended some readers.

If so, I sincerely wish this wasn't the case.

Inevitably, I am going to disagree with a lot of things I see when I visit different churches. And I'm going to write about those things. I don't mean to imply that I'm necessarily right (although, of course, like anyone, I will probably think that I am.) There are a million and one views on every hot button topic. And religion is a scalding hot button. So I understand that when I express my opinion about worship, messages, warmth of greeting, etc ... it could be misconstrued as haughty or condescending or judgmental or any number of negative adjectives you can slap on my intentions. After all, I'm making a snap, yes, judgment, of these churches.

I'm going once. And I'm saying: here's how I saw it.

And perhaps that's unfair in some ways. Because really, what do I know? I'm not some worship guru who has all the answers and wants to dole out those answers in huge sweeping gestures of false good will while secretly poo-pooing. (Although that does give me a funny visual of myself.)

I just want to be honest about my perspective, whether or not it gets me in trouble.

And when it comes right down to it, I want to find the truth.

So while I'll certainly be remarking on things I dislike about my various experiences, the point is to find the things I LOVE. I'm in this for a positive outcome. I want to settle down into something I can be fully passionate about. I want all the things I enjoy so far (the intensity of emotion during worship time at some churches, the devotion to tradition at others, the genuine care and concern for members of the congregation at still others) to come together in a way and in a place that makes me say, "Yeah, this is not only what I want to be a part of ... it's something I suddenly realize I need to be a part of."

And in the meantime I want to stir up positive conversations among my readers.

So...

Are you passionate about your religion/spirituality/relationship with god?

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Anonymity

I didn't go to church this past Sunday! :0

I was away from home again this weekend and the timing and planning just didn't work out. I toyed with the idea of going to a Wednesday evening service or watching a taped service online. But it just wouldn't be the same.

So I'm confessing my sin of having dropped the ball this time ... and moving on.

I'll do a couple general posts in the meantime. I have some thoughts on some topics that I need to address anyway.

First, anonymity.

I know I have a few loyal readers who read my blog because they know me and have some measure of sincere interest in me. My friends, my family, friends of my family, my nemesis, the cast of Glee, the Pope, etc.

But I really don't want my identity to be open book to anyone else who learns about my bodily existence through this site (whether it's someone from a church I've visited or someone who randomly happens upon the site via the internet or someone who finds one of my new mysterious Faith Appeal cards tossed away in a street somewhere and decides to take a gander.)

I'd prefer to remain unknown.

I'm aware that anonymity is not normal in the Great Era of Social Media. In a time when everyone who's ANYone is plastering tweets and facebook wall posts about every hour on the World Wide Web ... wanting to stay invisible is just plain weird.

But I have chosen to call myself the Newcomer and use a separate email account to correspond with the churches I have visited anyway.

Am I paranoid??? NOOOOO!! Why would you ask that? Do I come off as paranoid somehow??

No, I'm also not vain enough to think that anyone would genuinely care what my name is even if I did include it.

It's simply that my anonymity is an integral part of this project. I am the newcomer. I could be sitting right next to you in church next Sunday. I could be that stranger you get to use the Golden Rule on, or not. And you'll probably not see me again. I could be the calculator of that all too unfair and hasty first impression that inevitably has to be made. I'm a phantom guest, as the Massachusetts Council of Churches called me on their facebook page.

And ok, maybe a part of me is hoping that this will take off, which would shed a whole new light on the pros of anonymity. And ok, maybe that makes me a little vain after all. But who isn't?

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The Plymouth Church, United Church of Christ - Framingham, MA

           I was up in New England visiting my brother, his wife and their beautiful baby girl this weekend.  The snow that is crushing their neighborhood makes the snow in New Jersey look like fairy dust. 

            Service this past Sunday served a threefold purpose.  One, I had to continue my search.  Two, my brother is looking for a church to attend in his area.  And three, my sister-in-law needed us to get my brother out of the house so she could prepare a surprise party for him to return home to.  He just landed an important job very much worth celebrating.

            So my mother, father, brother and I navigated our way around heaps of snow and headed to The Plymouth Church, a traditional Congregational church in Framingham, MA. 

            After finding our way to the side entrance (the front steps were closed due to snow) we floundered in a lobby-type area for a couple seconds before a very friendly woman spotted us.  She immediately offered to escort us through the basement hallways leading to the front of the church.  On the way she asked my brother if he had been there before as she recognized his face.  But while he had been there before, it had been months ago and he didn’t recognize her.

            If her friendliness and attentiveness to detail was representative of the entire church, I thought at this point, this was certainly going to be a welcoming place.

            And I wasn’t wrong.

            One of the first things the main priest did was extend a warm welcome to guests in the congregation and invite them to join the members of the church for a coffee hour after the service.  And he encouraged guests to fill out an information card (provided on the back of the pews) and leave it in the offering plate.  The back of the card read:

            No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.


            To the tune of my brother’s slight disapproval, I did not fill out one of these cards.  This was the first time I had to decide whether or not to request further contact with the church I was visiting.  But I decided that I would prefer to keep to my method of being the one to contact the church in my own way ... after posting about them.

            Although I would have genuinely enjoyed receiving a hand written letter (which my brother and his wife received after their first visit.)

            After singing hymns and listening to the sermon I was invited, along with the rest of the congregation, to take part in Communion.  To tell you the truth, I capitalized that for no other reason than that it’s a Big Deal.  This time, unlike at the Catholic church in Stirling, I was encouraged to, not warned against, participation.  I believe the words were:  “All are welcome to this table.”

            Instead of having the people walk up to the priests to receive communion, Plymouth’s method was to have ushers take plates with broken bread and pass them around to the people.  It felt more like a supper that way.  At the Last Supper, Jesus served his disciples.  They didn’t line up to have him place bread in their mouths.  I preferred the idea of inviting everyone to the table and humbly serving them.

            But when my brother passed me the plate, I didn’t take the bread.

            I didn’t want to take part in a sacred religious ceremony when my heart wasn’t in it.  I think there should be some kind of compromise between “you’re not allowed to take this if you aren’t Catholic” and “anyone, anywhere, anytime is welcome to take this.”  Of course, I don’t think anyone should be physically barred from eating ANYthing.  But I think there should be some kind of disclaimer. 

            Communion is important.  If it doesn’t hold meaning for you, don’t participate.  Don’t disrespect its value. 

            I would have felt like an imposter.

            Instead, I sat in the pews and read the sections of the gospels that describe the Last Supper.  Fun fact: the breaking of the bread is recorded in all gospels but John.  I couldn’t get communion out of my mind.  I wondered how it evolved into the inextricable tradition that it is today in most Christian sects.  Was it simply that Jesus said to eat the bread in remembrance of him?  And this was taken to mean: remember forever in exactly this way?  Was it simply a fascination with the bread being Jesus’ body and the wine being Jesus’ blood?  Was it recorded that the disciples repeated this Last Supper among themselves and that it should continue to be done?

            I’m going to have to look into this.  Watch out for a communion post.

            Getting back to Plymouth church and the snow of MA…

            The sermon was about being the Salt and the Light of the Earth.  For anyone not familiar with this popular sermon, here is the passage from the Bible.  Matthew 5:13-16:

    13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.   14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

            The resulting message is to go out and spread the word.  It’s a perfect attitude to have toward … newcomers!  

            The priest explained all the different uses for salt.  Salt as a seasoning.  Salt as a healer (for sore muscles.)  Salt as a breaker-upper of all the horrible ice outside.  Then he briefly mentioned the obvious benefits of light.  He was wonderfully vague about what exactly it means for a PERSON to be salt and light.  Yet I was wrapped up anyway in the little poetic parts of the sermon.  When the priest said that the light streaming through the windows and the salt on the ground is a big metaphor for our need to be a shining example today, I thought, “Oh… how nice.”

            I was so far away from wanting my brain to be buzzing this weekend that I actually didn’t understand why my parents and brother claimed later to have been bored and underwhelmed by the message.

            I get it now.  Blame lack of sleep or the persistent migraine I had been hammered with for days, but I was completely content to listen to the nice man talk about the nice salt and light all morning long.

            Snap back to reality, to quote Eminem, and whoops, there goes gravity.  No, really.  Back to reality.  I would like to have the Bible interpreted, not just restated prettily.  I think this message from Matthew is one of the worthiest messages I've come across so far.  If any church is to be taken seriously, they have to show that they are walking the walk.  When outsiders see a genuine beauty coming out of a church they are more likely to be drawn to it.  And I have no doubt that Plymouth church does great things to be an example and helping hand in their community.  They have a commendable Outreach Program that testifies to this.


         But when a message like this is taught, I would like to have the Bible interpreted, not just restated prettily.  The verses I quoted above are abstract and beautifully poetic.  My idea of what a sermon should be is not an elongation of that poetry but a class on what that poem means.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

First Church of Christ, Scientist - Bernardsville, NJ

            This week I experienced a “first.”  For the first time in my life, I went to church alone.  And, being the relatively introverted, shy girl that I tend to be, I was nervous about it.  On the drive over I had butterflies in my stomach as if I were headed to a job interview.  It’s silly, but true.

            My nerves prompted me to wait until the last minute to leave my house.  And so I was late.

            Walking up to the small white church I could hear the organ music already starting up and I immediately felt a twinge of regret that I’d be interrupting with my late arrival.  But as my foot hit the first step leading to the entrance, one of the doors swung open and an elderly lady smiled and personally ushered me in.  Late was OK.  She handed me a hymnal with a pamphlet marking the page the congregation was currently singing from.



            When I entered the sanctuary my entrance was noted.  Several heads turned as I rushed my butt into the back pew.  The lady in front of me turned and gave me her hymnal, which I stupidly accepted after having placed the one I just received on the pew with my jacket.  I was a little flustered.

            I counted less than 25 heads, including the organist and the two ladies leading the service.  I was clearly new.  And very young.

            After a couple of hymns, the two women standing behind the podium remained in place.  Given my past experience I was waiting for them to step aside for a male preacher.  But then one began to read the “explanatory note,” which I found later was printed in the Christian Science Quarterly tucked inside the hymnal I had received twice.  I’ll reprint it here:

            “This Note, approved by Mary Baker Eddy, is read in Church Services before beginning the Lesson-Sermon.

            Friends:

            The Bible and the Christian Science textbook are our only preachers.  We shall now read Scriptural texts, and their correlative passages from our denominational textbook; these comprise our sermon.

            The canonical writings, together with the word of our textbook, corroborating and explaining the Bible texts in their spiritual import and application to all ages, past, present, and future, constitute a sermon undivorced from truth, uncontaminated and unfettered by human hypotheses, and divinely authorized.”

            The passages the two proceeded to read were printed on p. 22 of the quarterly.  One read from the Bible.  The other read from Mary Baker Eddy’s supplemental textbook.  This was done in six sections.  Offerings and a couple more hymns followed.

            A note on Christian Science as I currently understand it:

Mary Baker Eddy (1821-1910)
            Mary Baker Eddy founded the religion.  On the wall behind the podium was printed “God is Love.”  To the left was a quote from Jesus Christ.  To the right, a quote from Eddy.  A couple of the hymns were written by Eddy.  Christian Science churches nationwide (I’m not sure if it’s worldwide) have the same exact service scheduled.  Each year consists of 26 lessons, which are each repeated twice without variation.  The lesson this past Sunday was on Love.

            Here’s where it gets murky for me.

            Christian Science believes that matter does not really exist.  We are spirits only and every physical problem is an illusion that can be overcome through direct communication with God.  This is why Christian Scientists believe they can be healed without medical help.  Any medical problem is merely in the mind.  And if the mind can be properly trained it will become clear that those problems aren’t really there.

            When it was clear that the service was over I had the mind to grab my jacket and purse and simply speed walk the ten steps to the door with my head down.  But that would have been horrible and rude of me.  And I really did want to learn more.  I was just scared, quite honestly.

            Instead of dashing, I very slowly stood up and casually reached back for my jacket.  The lady in front of me used that time to turn around and introduce herself to me.  I explained that I was new as if it wasn’t obvious and she said she hoped to see me again.  I then moved slowly to the area right behind my back pew where the few people of the church were gathering.  One of the women who had led the service was the next to approach me.  I explained again that I was new.  And she agreed that I was, in fact, new, and that she had noticed the new face from the podium.

            She asked if I’d like something to read to learn more about Christian Science.  I said, “Absolutely,” and was lead to a back room laid out like a small bookstore.

            I am now in possession of Mary Baker Eddy’s “Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures,” an issue of The Christian Science Monitor, The Christian Science Sentinel, a couple quarterlies, a list of websites, the schedule of Christian Science’s AM radio station, an explanatory pamphlet called “Unlock the Power of the Bible” and a CD of Bible lessons.

            One woman nervously said, “Let’s not overwhelm her.”  I assured her that they were not.  This was exactly what I had been afraid of all along.  But now that it was actually happening, I was not at all taken aback.  Of course, I did joke about it later when I got home and dropped my goodies on the kitchen table. 

            But I believe this is what should be done for a newcomer.

            If I were interested in Christian Science I’d be so grateful to have so much to explore and so many welcoming faces to return to.

            As it is, however, I don’t think I’ve found the truth and I don’t think I’ll be returning.  Everything seems to keep breaking down into two for me with these posts.  There are two major problems that prevent me from wanting to explore Christian Science further.

            One:  Mary Baker Eddy is far too revered.  Of course it makes sense that different sects of religion might originate from a human.  But the level she is on is disconcerting.  Her textbook is read along with the supposed word of GOD.  It is called the “Key to the Scriptures” as if God’s word cannot stand alone without her.  Who do the Christian Scientists think she is?  Their explanatory note claims that their sermon is “uncontaminated and unfettered by human hypotheses” and then HALF the sermon consists of ONE human’s … hypotheses.  The contradiction is unbelievable.  If I’m going to find truth enough to devote my life to, I’m absolutely certain that that truth is going to come from a perfect source.  A God I can accept.  Not another confused human.



            Two:  Matter does exist.

Friday, January 28, 2011

A Step Further Outside the Comfort Zone

This coming Sunday I plan to visit a Church of Christ, Scientist.  I really have no idea what to expect as far as a church service goes.  The following link is the only source I have used to educate myself on the religion itself:

Christian Science

Based on the information available on this site this is the basic knowledge I'll have when I walk in on Sunday:

1. Christian Scientists believe in one true God and Jesus Christ as Savior.

2. Christian Scientists believe in physical and mental healing through prayer alone.  They believe that we have the answer to every human problem at our fingertips through communication with God.

I believe the church I'll be visiting is relatively small so hopefully I will get a very personal example of what Christian Scientists do for praise, worship and religious teaching on a weekly basis.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

The Church of St. Vincent de Paul - Stirling, NJ

           After this past Sunday I realized how gingerly I kicked off this project by going to the church I grew up in and then a church that my parents have chosen to go to because of how similar it is in method and belief to the first.  

            I wasn’t stepping out of my comfort zone.

            The best way I can think to put it is that I felt comfortable in the past two churches in the same way someone would feel comfortable revisiting their high school.  You don’t feel at home anymore but at least you can wrap yourself up in the comfort that comes with simple familiarity.

            Comfort of that sort wasn’t mine when I visited The Church of St. Vincent de Paul.


            I can’t say I didn’t know what to expect.  I have been to Catholic mass before.  In fact, the most recent time was for midnight mass just this past Christmas.  I’d never been to midnight mass before but it sounded like just the kind of tradition I ought to be jealous of and start cashing in on, Catholic or not.  But this isn’t about midnight mass.  It’s about this past Sunday when I drove to Stirling and walked into St. Vincent de Paul.

            There was organ music playing and the acoustics were great.  The chapel had high ceilings and impressive stained glass windows with abstract art that looked heavenly without being forward enough to try to directly represent what “heavenly” might actually look like.  People slowly filed into the wooden pews and took their seats silently.  Noise was kept to a very low hum of murmurs and suppressed coughs.  The reverence was palpable

            But for me, something was missing.  And while this next part might get me in trouble I’d have to say that I could sum that something up in one word: warmth.

            And the rest of the hour that I spent in my pew felt like a rehearsal for a play I wasn’t acting in.  Quite literally, I didn’t have any of the lines.  One woman lead praise worship which consisted of traditional hymns.  When she raised her hand, palm up, I didn’t know that it was my cue to join or repeat.  I was always one step behind whenever it was time to stand, sit or kneel on the prayer benches (please excuse me if I use incorrect terminology … I referred to the Eucharist as a “cracker” to my boyfriend, whose family is Catholic, and his head spun as if I’d slapped him across the face.)  That’s not to mention the times when the congregation spoke in unison words I had no access to as well as Communion which a page in the praise book clearly told me I was not to participate in.

            As a newcomer, I actually felt left out.  

            And in my opinion, that’s awful.  Any place I go where I feel so thoroughly left out is not a place I’m likely to want to return to voluntarily.  I understand that as I experience different churches there will be varying degrees of openness toward newcomers.  It just occurred to me the other day that I will at some point be ending up at a Jehovah’s Witnesses Kingdom Hall.  I doubt I’ll be able to make it in and out of there anonymously.

            I guess I have plenty of time to discover exactly what degree of openness I find appropriate and … comfortable.


            The sermon, or homily (there’s one term I do know) was about ten minutes.  I thought that if I couldn’t identify with the ceremonial method of the Catholic church I might at least find some truth in the message I was going to hear.  The message turned out to be one that only the most hardened criminals could disagree with.  The visiting priest spoke on kindness.  The congregation was told to look into a mirror and only then could we discover what it meant to be truly kind.  I believe it was meant to be an abstract spin-off of the golden rule.

            So there was truth in the message.  But there was no substance.  Nothing I could latch onto.  Nothing I could sink my teeth into.  Nothing I could ARGUE about with anyone.  Nothing that could challenge me or make me question.  Nothing I could bring home with me and chew on all day.  You get the point.

            And here’s where I stopped myself and wondered whether or not I am sounding hypocritical.  The past two churches I went to certainly addressed very challenging topics and I wasn’t satisfied with that.

            Maybe I should break it down in TWO again.

            I want truth.  AND I want a challenge.

            Because this can’t just be a search for truth.  It has to be a search for truth in the form of a continuous learning experience.  I disagreed with a lot of what was said at Millington and Stonecrest but they really did get me to think about a few things.  At St. Vincent de Paul this past Sunday I couldn’t possibly disagree with the broad concept that we should be kind.  (It really was that general.  It was a directive, without any specifications, examples or nods to how hard this directive could be in the face of, say, the woman who cut me off the other day and then gave ME the finger.)  I digress.  While I agreed that we ought to be kind, I also didn’t feel as if I had learned a single thing.  I felt just a little numb.

            But I want my brain to be buzzing when I leave church.  And ideally, maybe even my heart too.