A Vote Against

These are tough times for western civilization. In many ways, we in the west face choices similar to those faced by people living in Nazi Germany or the communist USSR. While we may not be in a situation to hide the persecuted or to save them from a savage death, we can fight against the dark forces that make it easy for "intelligence" operatives to torture people for information and that treat "warriors" who target innocent civilians with air strikes and missile attacks as heroes and not war criminals.

This evening I got an e-mail from someone who is very dear to me, a woman who goes to church and thinks of herself as a civilized Christian. She did not write the email herself -- she forwarded it having received it from someone else -- but she obviously agreed with the contents, which attempted to explain "why Muslim terrorists are so quick to kill themselves". This is not the first time I have received e-mails like this, but I have never said anything before.

This time I cannot remain silent -- to do so would be the moral equivalent of watching the smoke bellowing from the crematorium at Auschwitz and pretending nothing was happening. I want the world to know that I am fed up with the hate and the racism. I am fed up with the smug superiority that acts as if the west (especially the US) is in the right and everyone else is in the wrong. Lord knows, I support my country's troops in Afghanistan, but I do not and will not condone the sort of hateful, arrogant ignorance that fuels the fires of conflict.

The brilliant Canadian songwriter Bruce Cockburn once wrote, "You've got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight." In that spirit, I am going to give my comments to the content of the e-mail I received. I apologize in advance for quoting the content.

I bet you have been wondering!!!
Everyone seems to be wondering why Muslim terrorists are so quick to commit suicide.
Let's see now ...

• No Jesus (By Jesus, I guess they mean the man who commanded us to love our neighbours as ourselves. The same guy who said it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven.)
• No Christmas (That's right, no commercialized celebrations of consumer excess, because let's face it -- that's what Christmas has largely become.)
• No cheerleaders (Somehow, cheerleaders don't even make it on my list of 100 reasons to love life and to stay alive.)
• No baseball (If only they had professional athletes who regularly inject themselves with dangerous performance-enhancing drugs to admire. Then the terrorists would think twice about blowing themselves up.)
• No football (Just like baseball, except you can add athletes who commit violent crimes.)
• No hockey (As above, but add gratuitous violence during games and drunk driving in the off-season.)
• No Nascar (As above, but add liquor and a prodigal waste of limited resources and voila, another terrorist puts down the bomb.)
• (By the way, I notice basketball and soccer don't make the list. Is it because they aren't "white" enough for the author of the e-mail? Or does the author feel that they are, in fact, a reason to become a suicide bomber? Hmmm.)
• No tailgate parties (There's nothing like gluttony and public drinking to dispel thoughts of suicide.)
• No Costco or Sam's Club (It is hard to motivate yourself to kill yourself for your faith when you still have half a dozen jars of mustard to use up.)
• No Home Depot or Lowe's (Thank heavens for big box stores. Easy access to consumer goods has all but wiped out suicide in western economies. How can you think of leaving this old world when there are so many projects you can work on?)
• No pork BBQ (I am not sure if the emphasis is on the "pork" or the "barbecue" here. Hmmm, Jews can't eat pork. Does that mean they are tempted to become suicide bombers too?)
• No hot dogs (Come on -- if people knew what went into hot dogs, they would be more likely to kill themselves, not less.)
• No burgers (Yeah, lower cholesterol and lower risk of heart attack is enough to make me want to blow myself up, too.)
• No chocolate chip cookies (I get it -- why live if you can't get diabetes?)
• No lobster (No point in living if you can't eat something that you cook while it's alive.)

Hmmmm.....

• Rags for clothes and towels for hats (Perhaps if we (a) didn't bomb the shit out of people and (b) did advocate an economic system that benefited more than just a narrow elite, people would all be able to wear "decent clothes". Anyhow, turbans are a step up from Von Dutch baseball hats in my estimation, and "rags for clothes" is no worse than hip hugger jeans that show somebody's thong.)
• Constant wailing from the guy in the tower (Yeah, why can't those Muslims invest in a decent set of church bells like Christians?_
• More than one wife (At least, "more than one wife at the same time." Civilized people like us have our multiple wives sequentially, the way the good Lord intended us to do it.)
• You can't shave (Hmmm, if all those guys who currently shave their heads when they start to bald were forbidden from doing so, would they become suicide bombers?)
• Your wives can't shave (We all know how hairy them there Mooslim wimmen are, don't we? Apparently bikini waxing and laser hair removal has a moral dimension that has hitherto been hidden from me.)
• You can't shower to wash off the smell of donkey cooked over burning camel dung (Yes, we all know that Muslims eat donkey cooked over camel dung. And they live in the desert and don't know how to read and live in caves and tents instead of houses.)
• The women have to wear baggy dresses and veils at all times (Don't those Muslims understand that tight t-shirts, short skirts, and visible underwear are signs of a truly moral society?)
• Your bride is picked by someone else (As opposed to here, where you pick your bride ... and your second wife ... and your third wife ...)
• She smells just like your donkey (What is this person's obsession with donkeys?)
• But your donkey has a better disposition (Is the author of this piece just racist, or does he/she have a donkey fetish?)
• Then they tell you that when you die it all gets better! (Yeah, they need a religion like Christianity that doesn't offer a vision of a "better place" in the afterlife. Nope, no one has ever tried to buy the average Christian joe off by telling them the pains of this world are insignificant because things will be better in paradise.)

I mean, really, is there a mystery here? Hello!!!

George W. Bush famously said, "If you are not with us, you're against us." If e-mails like this are any indication of what being "with them" in the war on terror means, I guess I am against them. Don't get me wrong -- I opposed fundamentalism in all of its forms and I am a huge advocate of democracy. It's just that I don't believe that justice and democracy are served by spewing hateful racist and sexist garbage like this. And you shouldn't, either.

Great Debate: Flag Flying Flap in Truro

Unlike two neighbouring communities, Truro, Nova Scotia will not be flying the rainbow flag to support gay pride celebrations. Town council voted 6 to 1 against the request, stating it came in too late for debate. The mayor, Bill Mills, has been quoted as saying that he cannot support the request because he is a Christian and the Bible clearly condemns homosexuality. According to one news story, Mills said, "God says I'm not in favour of that and I have to look at it and say, I guess I'm not either." He also allegedly said that he doesn't know what the gay community is fighting for since they already have equal opportunities as well as work and pension benefits, and that raising the rainbow flag might lead to requests from other people such as pedophiles.


There is something to be said for living up to one's beliefs, but when do one person's beliefs trump the rights of someone else? Put it down to those six formative years I spent living in the United States if you must, but I am a big fan of the separation of church and state. While I think the Truro town council has every right to reject a request to fly the rainbow flag, they do not have the right to refuse it on religious grounds.


I know that many Christians in North America feel embattled. For several decades, they have heard populist Christian leaders rail on against the evil axis of hedonistic Hollywood liberals, hate-filled Muslim fundamentalists, radical environmentalist lunatics, and sleazy peddlars of an aggressive "gay agenda". They feel the effects of globalization and robber baron capitalism on job security and standards of living, and they seek to find an answer. They feel as if the world they live in is no longer their world, and some of them are aggressively defending what they think of as their communities' "real culture". I don't agree with this interpretation, but I understand what they are feeling.


The reality, however, is that neither Truro nor Canada are theocracies. Community leaders are entitled to their beliefs, but they are not entitled to dictate choices that are based solely on their religious beliefs. Imagine how the mayor of Truro would feel if a Jewish mayor banned the sale of pork in Truro because it is forbidden in her religion, or if a Muslim mayor declared that no woman is permitted to go out on the streets without adequately covering her face because that is part of his religious beliefs. What is the likelihood that Mr. Mills would meekly accept the ruling and turn the other cheek?


Perhaps the group requesting the flag raising were too late to have their application heard. If that is the case, fine. If the normal policy of Truro town council is to vote against requests that arrive too late, be consistent and refuse this request. However, if special consideration has been given to other groups, there had better be a good reason for denying this request -- a better reason than what St. Paul says in the book of Romans. Until such time as Canada is a theocracy, politicians must realize that if they cannot justify a decision without justifying it by quoting their version of Holy Scriptures, then they had better rethink their decisions.

One more thing:


Next year, the people organizing gay pride activities in Truro should show the Truro town council the consideration that other groups do, and make their request in time. After all, equal treatment means following the same rules as everyone else. In the meantime, the griot will fly the flag for the gays and lesbians of Truro.

Alone With God

Yesterday, Liz and I accompanied the girls to mass and a special post-service event. Imagine, if you will, a dala dala filled with 59 young women and 4 adults (Maristela, the Head Mistress, and Christina, the orphanage's major domo, were also there, although they attended a service at a different church). That's right -- we managed to fit 63 people on a single vehicle. See if you can beat that, Abbotsford berry farm owners!

Mass was entirely in Kiswahili, but it didn't really matter because there was so much else to experience. In fact, the only time I really missed not being able to speak the language was when the monsignor, who was an engaging speaker even if one does not understand Kiswahili, made humourous points to illustrate his homily.

Singing was led -- perhaps "dominated" is the better word -- by a choir of nearly 30 people attired in a plum/burgundy colour combination that looks much better in real life than it sounds when written on the page. One of the really cool things about church music in East Africa is that it is not the staid, "bums in seat" singing that one often gets in North America. Nope, church singing is meant to express joy, and joy can only be expressed by dancing or making wild and high pitched shouts or, in the case of one older gentleman in the choir, blowing into a trumpet made of a cow's horn whenever the spirit moves you, even if it does not strictly fit in within the flow of the song.

I enjoyed the church music, as I always do, but once it was over I settled back -- in my seat and in time -- and concentrated on the sensory experience that is the mass. Sometimes I closed my eyes and concentrated on the smell of incense. Other times, I looked at the paintings of familiar Bible stories and unfamiliar stories of the saints. Often, I looked at the congregation.

Some of the things I saw are played out in any church in any country: little girls in pretty white dresses; little boys swimming in over-sized suits; men and women dressed in their finest to praise the Lord. Other sights were less familiar to me: elders in bright yellow sashes patrolling the aisles and ensuring that communion and the offering went smoothly; a row of nuns singing the liturgy from the pews; men in short-sleeved suit coats.

At times, I could not help but concentrate on individual people, like the young novice nun in the light purple habit who could not have been any older than some of the girls I had accompanied. Or the woman sitting two rows ahead of me, whose simple gold chain highlighted and was highlighted by the rich, dark brown of her skin. Or the grandmother, bent with age, who shepherded her two young grandchildren between pew and washroom several times during the service.

But my favourite person to watch was the elderly woman -- old even by North American standardss -- in kimtambaa chakichwani (a piece of cloth matching that of the skirt that is wrapped around the head). For a moment, I wished I had brought my camera, even if it would have been entirely inappropriate to take her photograph during a church service. Then I realized that no photograph could ever capture the sublime beauty of the way the lines and folds of the cloth on her head mirrored and honoured the lines and folds on the skin of her face.

Humans, however, were not the only creatures attending mass yesterday. Because of the climate, churches in Tanzania are built out of hollow cement blocks, resulting in a strong structure with plenty of holes through which light and air -- and sparrows -- enter. As the sparrows flew about the altar, adding their chirps to the voices of the choir, my mind went back to the Gospel story of Jesus talking of God's eye being on the sparrow.

Now, I don't know what heaven will be like. (If you have followed this blog for any amount of time, you know I don't even know if heaven exists.) I suspect, however, that I glimpsed a preview of heaven: a group of people gathering together and joyfully praising God with singing and dancing and sounding of trumpets, while birds sing and fly all around them. And even though I didn't understand a word of the service beyond Mungu (God), Yesu (Jesus), penda (love), and asante (thanks), I found it a very moving spiritual experience, for it gave me a chance to contemplate God and man and creation and worship in the presence of others. By the time the service ended, I was both happy and tired, for I had been comtemplating God and existence throughout the entire service. It was as if I had been alone with God in a crowded room.

Book Review: The Changing Faces of Jesus

Despite (or because of) my on-going crisis of faith, I find myself drawn to books about Jesus and early Christianity. The Changing Faces of Jesus by Géza Vermes is the most recent one to catch my eye, and in many ways it has been the most interesting of the bunch.

The author has an interesting background. Vermes was born in Hungary to a Jewish family, although he and his parents were baptised as Roman Catholics when he was 7, a fact that did not save his parents from dying in the Holocaust a decade later. Given a Catholic education, Vermes was ordained a priest after the Second World War. In 1957, he left the Catholic church and reverted to Judaism. In addition to teaching at the Universities of Newcastle and Oxford, Vermes has written extensively on the Dead Sea Scrolls and Jesus the Jew.

The Changing Faces of Jesus is an examination of the way Jesus was portrayed in the early Christian church. Vermes begins by discussing the way Jesus is portrayed as a divine Messiah in the Gospel of John. He then makes an extensive study of the Jesus who inhabits the epistles of Paul, which is followed by a look at how the Synoptic Gospels portray Jesus. The book ends by putting Jesus into what Vermes claims is the Jewish context in which Jesus actually lived.

I have to confess that I have a problem with these sorts of books, because so much has to be taken with a great deal of faith. I am not just referring to ideas such as the divinity of Christ, which is a rather obvious leap of faith -- I am also referring to faith that an author's knowledge of ancient languages and past times is, in fact, accurate. I am therefore unable to attest to whether or not Vermes' basic views are correct. I can, however, say that his arguments make sense in a logical way.

And what exactly is Vermes' argument? Put briefly, Vermes believes that Jesus, the man who first attracted followers in Galilee two millenia ago, was a charismatic, devout Jewish healer and teacher who made no explicit claims to being divine. One of the more interesting revelations in the book is the fact that the phrases "Son of Man" and "Son of God" were neither unique to Jesus, nor necessarily used by Jesus himself. Another interesting aspect of book is the degree to which Jesus was part of a larger Jewish religious tradition.

As I said, I cannot vouch for the accuracy of Vermes' arguments, but his ultimate portrait of Jesus as a devout Jewish mystic rather than as one self-proclaimed third of a holy trinity makes a lot of sense. I suppose I will have to seek out the inevitable critique of his arguments to discover the holes in his arguments.

The Changing Faces of Jesus
Géza Vermes
Penguin Books, London, 2001
ISBN: 0-14-026524-4

Poem: Tenebrae

Tenebrae

One by one the candles sputter
And die.
The lessons have been read,
All has been said,
And Christ hangs lifeless on the tree.
The Book has been slammed shut
And the people file out wordlessly;
The joy of Christmas
Replaced by endless sorrow.

Our God is vanquished,
Darkness reigns,
And the devil laughs to himself
In hell
As people cry out in agony,
"All is lost.
The battle is over.
The enemy rules supreme."

The cries rush like the tide
Through my soul,
Mouthing what I've known for years --
Death is victorious,
Christ lies dead and rotting
In the tomb.

He lies in the tomb,
But just for the weekend.
Easter morn shall surely come
And the Son of Man
Shall rise again in splendour.

(c) J S Phillips

Thoughts on Good Friday

Today is Good Friday, the day of Christ's crucifixion and death in the Christian religion.

Back when I used to go to church, Good Friday was perhaps the most moving day in the religious year for me. (I hesitate to call it "my favourite", which would make me a bit ghoulish I suppose.) There was something moving and powerful in the suffering and self-sacrifice that was being commemorated. These days, though, Good Friday does not have the same impact for me.

I must confess that I found Good Friday to be most powerful when the tenebrae service was being held. Tenebrae is a rather "high church" service that includes psalms, hymns, and Bible readings, but never Holy Communion. During the service, the lights are gradually extinguished until the church is left in total darkness, representing the death of Christ.

Throughout the service, altar cloths may be removed and crosses and crucifixes covered with plain cloths. Sometimes, the service begins with a full choir and organ and other instruments, which followed by the departure of the choir and then the musicians. After the Bible is slammed shut, the congregation and clergy leave the church without speaking. The service itself is not considered finished until everyone has left the church.

The minister at the last church I attended would not have felt comfortable officiating at such a service, because he is an evangelical -- even though he is nominally Anglican -- and therefore frequently expresses a bias against "extra-Biblical" practices. I think this is a real shame, though, because a God who ostensibly created the pageantry of northern lights or ocean sunsets surely would not oppose His followers engaging all their senses, including their senses of wonderment and drama, when seeking to connect with Him.

Album Review: War (U2)

Now that I've finished reading U2 and Philosophy, I have decided to dig up all my old U2 CDs and give them another listen. Not that I ever quit listening to U2. Quite the contrary. However, like many people today, I listen to music on my computer as I work or play, which means that I am able to hear my favourite songs rather than an entire album. I beg you, gentle reader, to indulge a nostalgic old man as he takes a stroll down memory lane.

I had first heard of U2 shortly after I graduated. The radio stations in the Fraser Valley of British Columbia played a lot of total garbage. In any event, I didn't exactly come from a rock 'n' roll family, at least not unless rock 'n' roll died in 1961 when my mom's most recent 45 was pressed. By means I can no longer remember, I came to follow an eclectic group of musical acts: Leonard Cohen, Bruce Cockburn, Red Ryder, Johnny Clegg, the Clash, and, of course, U2.

I was not amongst the first cohort of U2 fans, although I had heard about them from friends who were. I knew a few of the songs off of the Boy and October albums, but the first U2 album I ever purchased, at the House of James religious bookstore no less, was War, and I've been a fan ever since.

In my opinion, War is one of the best rock 'n' roll albums of all times. It combines powerful lyrics with wailing guitars and passionate, throbbing drums. It is also so earnest in its appeal to the better angels in us that the boys can be forgiven for their optimism even by the more experienced version of myself that is writing this post. I loved it then and, I'm happy to say, I still love it now.

The album opens with Sunday Bloody Sunday, a song that begins by condemning sectarian violence and ends with the rousing call to faith: "The real battle just begun/To claim the victory Jesus won". When you are young and unsure of your faith, nothing is as reassuring as a powerfully sung anthem, but then again, I still find the song reassuring.

The next highlight for me is New Year's Day. The song began as a love song to lead singer Bono's wife, but along the way it transformed into a statement of support for the Polish Solidarity movement. I love the entire song, but I am particularly inspired by the thought that "we can break through,/And we can be one".

The band then brings us Like a Song, an energetic piece that ends with the rousing plea: "Angry words won't stop a fight/Two wrongs don't make a right/A new heart is what I need/Oh God, make it bleed". Anyone who has ever contemplated the injustice in the world can empathize with the narrator of the song, even if they don't believe there is anyone in heaven listening to the plea.

Drowning Man, which follows New Year's Day, is a total change of pace, an elegy of love and friendship -- and hope. Back in the good old days of vinyl, albums had two sides, and this song closed side 1 if I remember right. I don't exactly know whether the song is intended as a plea from a man to God or whether it is a promise from God to man. Perhaps the most thrilling part of a truly inspirational song is the passage where Bono sings, "Rise up, rise up/With wings like eagles, You'll run, you'll run,/You'll run and not grow weary." What words of comfort. They still put a lump in my throat, even with -- or perhaps, because of -- my doubts.

Side 2 kicks off with the spirited The Refugee. I know U2 sometimes seems critical of US policy, but the anchor line in chorus is "Her mama says one day she's gonna live in America". I think this is proof that U2, like so many of us, truly loves the values and the heritage that is America at its best. America is not just about injustice and illegal wars and prisoners held at Guantanamo Bay. It is also a generous, idealistic nation that has provided a safe haven for refugees from places as far apart as Vienna and Vietnam.

The penultimate song on the album is Surrender. It is hard to pick a favourite song on an album of such rich possibilities, but if I could listen to only one song it would have to be Surrender. While the subject may not be as "big item" as the subjects of other songs, I find there is an intimacy that is comforting and frightening at the same time. "Sadie said she couldn't work out/What it was all about/So she let go/Now Sadie's on the street/And the people she meets you know." Never mind the fact that Sadie winds up on the 48th floor, we've all met Sadie when I walk the streets of downtown Toronto or Vancouver.

The final song on War has become one of the band's favourite ways to end their concerts. 40 is based on Psalm 40, but I doubt that the author of Psalm 40 ever heard it performed by tens of thousands of people the way U2 has. The song ends with the lament "How long to sing this song?/How long? How long? How long?" When you ask God for answers but get no replies, you know exactly what the singer is asking.

Update to Yesterday's Poem

A couple of people have commented to me that they felt Self-Portrait as Saint Bartholomew is a dark and disturbing poem. One person asked me if I was contemplating suicide. My answers are (1) no, I am not considering suicide, and (2) it should be dark and disturbing -- its a poem about existing in a world where there is no God. It reallly does feel the way the narrator in the poem describes it.

I realize that there may be a bit of confusion and contraction in the poem. After all, how can someone feel pain and despair about not believing in God when there is no God in which to believe? I really don't have the answer to that question. All I have is the question -- and the pain and despair.

Poem: Self-Portrait as Saint Bartholomew

Self Portrait as Saint Bartholomew

See how I lie,
Curled in a ball
Beneath this nest of blankets.
See how I bleed,
Heart stripped from body,
Hope stripped from soul,
Very existence raw and exposed
Like the skin stripped from muscle
On Saint Bartholomew.

Where is the man who once was so proud?
Where is the man who once was so strong?
Where is the man who was once so happy?
Where is the man who loved you so well?

Where is the man I once was?

That man is gone.
He lies in a ball
Beneath a pile of blankets,
Slowly,
Surely
Bleeding to death
While you go on your celestial way.

(c) J S Phillips

Faith and Doubt and Rock 'n' Roll

My father is an ordained minister in the Lutheran church, but I don't think you could call me a Christian by any but the broadest cultural definitions. I do not go to services regularly any more. I do not read the Bible at all. Some days I do not even believe that God exists.

And yet I have not totally given up on the idea of God. I know that there is something missing in my life. I know that there is a greater presence than myself alone. I feel the truth of the notion that I am not alone in the universe even if I cannot prove it with objective facts. But then again, I am fond of saying that something can be true without being factually correct.

I often feel like the narrator in that U2 song: "I still haven't found what I'm looking for." I know there is something -- or someone -- to find. I also know that I have not found it yet. I guess that is why I picked up the latest book I am reading from the library shelves earlier this week.

U2 and Philosophy: How to Decipher and Atomic Band is a collection of essays examining the connexion between the boys from Ireland and such philosophical heavyweights as Aristotle, Plato, Heidegger, Kierkegaard, and Nietzsche. I am only on the third essay --"If You Want to Kiss the Sky Better Learn How to Kneel": Existential Christianity in U2 by Mark A. Wrathall -- but I am already certain that it was a book worth checking out.

I thought I'd share a couple of passages that I found particularly relevant:

Despair, as we've seen, grows precisely out of "needing it now" but being unable to have it. The problem is that we long for something that, it seems, can't possibly be realized "in the flesh". For the Christian existentialist, the key is to discover a way to understand our longings so that they can be realized on earth. This will require a changed conception of both our spiritual side and our sensual nature. Faith in God, the Christian existentialist believes, shows us how to do this. In a faithful existence, the world is disclosed in such a way that we can achieve this resolution of the contradiction at the heart of our existence. What with the resolution be like? It will somehow show us both (a) how to pursue something eternal, infinite -- worthy of never ending longing; and (b) allow us to live on earth, in the kind of passionate relationships to others that don't end up driving us to despair by undermining our higher longings.

Page 31

Confidence in the truth of certain propositions grows out of the way that faith in Christ produces a changed experience of the world. "The Christian thesis," Kierkegaard wrote, "is not: intelligere ut credam (I understand in order that I might believe), nor is it credere, ut intelligam (I believe in order that I might understand). No, it is: Act according to the command and orders of Christ; do the will of the Father -- and you will become a believing person." Thus faith is to be understood, in the first instance, as the existential state of those who are able to act and live in a Christian way.

Without an ability to live a Christian life and inhabit a Christian world, mere belief in God or the truth of religious claims is not faith, it is superstition. Superstition is belief in the existence of entities and events which do not manifest themselves in the ordinary course of experience. If someone does believe "that rock 'n' roll can really change the world," it need not be a superstitious belief. This is because, while there might be an objectively low degree of probability that just listening to a song will really change all the greed and hatred and evil actions in the world, people might nevertheless, in the normal course of affairs in the world, change their behavior as a result of listening to a particularly inspiring song. By contrast if I believe that there is a God in spite of the fact that there's no place for God in my way of making sense of the world, then the belief is a superstition. It's not just that there is a low probability that God does exist, it is utterly incomprehensible how there could be a God. I am left merely "speaking of signs and wonders," while a true experience of God demands "something other" -- namely, loving action to relive the suffering of others (consider "Crumbs From Your Table").

Page 34

We would no say, in other words, that someone has Christian faith who is unable to live a Christian life. This is true, even if that person had a rationally grounded knowledge of God. So faith is located in the existential register, meaning the presence or absence of faith is a matter of the kind of stance one takes on life, the practices one engages in, the ways one feels about things. True faith is found in one's disposition (feelings of the heart) and the actions that arise from those dispositions (living a devout life). Bono echoes this view in his description of his own approach to religion: "God is love, and as much as I respond in allowing myself to be transformed by that love and acting in that love, that's my religion" (Bono in Conversation, p. 200). True disbelief, by the same token, is found in a corrupt and licentious life (taking pleasure in what is not pleasing to God, doing actions that God condemns).

Page 35

Faith with then not be amenable to proof in the way one verifies a cognitive state or proposition (demonstrating that it is true). But it will have the kind of confirmation or success conditions that all other skills have. Music skills are confirmed or successful when they allow the musician to cope with the concert hall or the recording studio. Religious faith will be confirmed or successful when it gives me the practices and dispositions I need to cope with the world as a whole. As Father Zosima notes in The Brothers Kariamazov, "one cannot prove anything here, but it is possible to be convinced." He goes on to explain that one is convinced "by the experience of active love .... The more you succeed in loving, the more you'll be convinced of the existence of God and the immortality of your soul. And if you reach complete selflessness in the love of your neighbor, then undoubtedly you will believe, and no doubt will even be able to enter your soul." The confirmation and conviction come, in other words, through one's success in living in the world in the way indicated by faith.

Page 37

U2 and Philosophy: How to Decipher an Atomic Band

Edited by Mark A. Wrathall

Carus Publishing Company, Peru Illinois, 2006

ISBN: 0-8126-9599-2

Book Review: American Fascists

Once in a while you read a book that scares the living daylights out of you. Chris Hedges' American Fascists is that kind of book.

Hedges is the son of a minister and a graduate of Harvard Divinity School. He identifies himself as a practicing Christian, and as a practicing Christian he is dismayed at what he is seeing developing in the United States. While the book covers events in America, some elements are directly transferable to other western nations, including my own Canada.

American Fascists is an in-depth look at right wing Christian organizations and their attempts to change the face of American politics -- and society -- in the past several decades. According to Hedges, the Christian "dominionist" movement goes beyond a call to moral rejuvenation to take on the aspects of the German Nazi movements.

The book is filled with numerous examples to back up Hedges' claims. Both movements, for example, are stridently anti-homosexual. Both movements seek to keep women in subordinate roles, both in society and in the home. Both movements have sought to control the future by influencing the education of the nation's youth. Both movements prefer ideologically acceptable pseudoscience -- "blood and soil" racial science for the Nazis and "intelligent design" for the dominionists -- over established scientific thought.

Both movements see the world in conflict-ridden, apocalyptic terms: the Nazis with their eternal struggle against the forces of communism; the dominionists with their struggle against Satan and his allies, Muslims, homosexuals, and liberals. Both movements also believe that their nations have God-given rights not only to empire, but to world domination.

It is impossible to give Hedges' arguments the detail they deserve in a short posting like this one, so let me just say, "READ THIS BOOK". If you have $30, go to your local bookstore and buy it. If you don't have $30, borrow it from the library. If you have to, surreptitiously read a few pages at a time at the bookstore. You may not agree with everything that Hedges says, but I guarantee you will not see the religious right the same way again.

American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War on America
Chris Hedges
Free Press, New York, 2006
ISBN: 978-0-7432-8443-1

Schlaf leicht, leibe Freunde

Today is the 64th anniversary of the trial and execution of Christoph Probst, Hans Scholl, and Sophie Scholl for crimes against the Nazi regime. The story of their resistance group -- the White Rose -- is, in some ways, better known in the non-German world than it ever has been, thanks in part to a fantastic movie called Sophie Scholl - The Last Days. (Check out my April 22, 2006 review of the film if you would like to learn more about the movie.)

I don't know why the story of the Scholls speaks so powerfully to me, but it does. A handful of university students stole paper and created leaflets denouncing the Nazi regime. They had no realistic chance of changing people's attitudes towards Hitler and his cronies, but the members of the White Rose decided to act anyhow.

Perhaps I admire the group so much because they acted, at great risk, because nobody else was acting. I admire the fact that they understood the need for someone, anyone, to speak up against the crimes of the regime. Perhaps I also stand in awe of the love they had for justice and, it must be admitted, for God.

Much has been written about the White Rose and the character of its members, but perhaps they are best encapsulated in the final words attributed to the Scholls. Hans is reputed to have cried out "Es lebe die Freiheit" ("Long live freedom") before the guillotine's blade severed his head from his body. Sophie's last words are often said to be, "God, you are my refuge to eternity."

Probst, the Scholls, and other members of Die Weiße Rose were willing to give their lives so that the world would be a better place. How many of us are willing to join them?

Searching for a Glimpse of God

If I could have any intellectual gift in the world, I think I would ask to be able to understand mathematics. I am not talking about your ordinary everyday math -- I am talking about the mind-boggling mathematical concepts that only true geniuses understand, the sort of math that is so esoteric it seems like magic to people of limited abilities like me.

Don't get me wrong -- I am not innumerate. I use math daily and, unlike many people, I enjoy math. When it comes down to complex mathematics, however, I am a child compared to the math savants. But even a child can recognize beauty and I recognize the beauty of math.

There is truth in mathematics, a truth that transcends everything else in this universe. There is power and order and logic. There is symmetry in mathematics and beauty, but perhaps these are just two facets of the same diamond. In the end, I do not think I exaggerate the situation to say that mathematics offers us a glimpse of God, perhaps even a full portrait.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to see the universe the way a great mathematician does, to understand complex concepts and to strive to find answers that I, in my current state, do not even suspect could exist. I know this will never happen, but that doesn't matter. It is comfort enough to know that such people exist.

Envy

I am very envious these days.

I am not envious of the rich, or the powerful, or the famous.

I am envious of indigenous Australian (or as they are better known, Aborigines).

I envy their practice of "going walkabout". Going walkabout is a temporary return to indigenous life between periods in the dominant white Australian culture. Some people go walkabout between periods of schooling; others go walkabout between jobs.

Of course, I am not aboriginal; I am a white, (nominally) Protestant, male. In other words, I am representative of the white lifestyle that the indigenous Australians are walking away from. That doesn't mean, however, that I don't feel the same powerful urges to return to my roots when modern post-industrial Western culture threatens to overwhelm my very existence.

The trouble is that I have no roots to return to. I was born in Saskatchewan, but I moved as a child. I have nobody to see there and no places with special memories. I lived in several mid-western American states, but have no concrete ties with anyone there. I attended high school and university in British Columbia, but despite the fact that my entire family lives there, it never feels like home when I return. Nor do I feel at home in Ontario.

Perhaps that is why I envy the indigenous Australians. They do have a place to go back to. They have a culture and a geography to return to. They have a connection to the generations who have been here before them. All I have is Toronto.

A Thousand Words

I don't feel like saying much today.

I didn't feel like saying much yesterday.

I may not feel like saying much tomorrow.

I cannot see beyond tomorrow, but I may not feel like saying much then.

Today, I will let my camera do my talking for me.

This photograph is called "Wishing".

The Eternal Conversation

I came across the following passage in a book about Jesus and how he has been perceived:

We are all part of an unending conversation. It is an image of human life, a parable of our lives, powerfully and insightfully developed by the twentieth century American scholar Kenneth Burke. Being born is like entering a parlor where there's already a conversation going on. The conversation began long before we were born, and it will continue long after we're gone. The conversation is about life itself - about what is real, what's worth paying attention to, how we should live, and what "this" is all about. When we have listened long enough to have some idea of what the conversation is about, we join it ourselves. Then, in Burke's words, "The hour grows late, you must depart. And you do depart, with the discussion still vigorously in progress."

I don't know about you, but I find this image reassuring.

From
Jesus - Understanding the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary
Marcus J. Borg
Harper San Francisco, 2006
ISBN: 10: 0-06-059445-4
13: 978-0-06-056445-9
Page 310

Today's Playlist - Gabriel Faure

I have been listening to the music of Gabriel Faure a lot this past week. Or rather, I have been listening to two of his works a lot this week

Faure was a major figure in the world of French classical music in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He was a composer, an organist and pianist, a teacher, and the director of the Paris Conservatory. Faure was one of the foremost composers of his time, but this week I concentrated on listening to Opus 48 and Opus 50.

Requiem in D Minor (Opus 48) is one of my favourite classical pieces of all time. Most requiems are written to commemorate a specific individual, but Faure stated that he composed his requiem "for the pleasure of it". Although he composed it after the death of his father, Faure explained the piece's significance in slightly different terms:

“Everything I managed to entertain by way of religious illusion I put into my Requiem, which moreover is dominated from beginning to end by a very human feeling of faith in eternal rest.”

The piece runs about 35 minutes long and consists of seven movements, including my two favourite parts -- the Piu Jesu and In paradisum, which is traditionally included in the Order of Burial instead of a Mass for the dead. The libretto is sung entirely in Latin, but the words and music blend so well that the voices become another instrument.

Faure once commented that someone described the Requiem as a "lullaby of death". If you listen to Opus 48 you will agree with this observation, but you will probably join me in feeling that the Requiem is also a lullaby of life. Like many other beautiful works of art, the piece provides reassurance that there is a meaning and a purpose to life that we often only suspect exists.

Opus 50, the Pavane in F Sharp Minor, provides me with a similar glimpse at the "face of God", if you will. A pavane (or pavan) is a slow, stately dance that originated in the Spanish court in the 17th century. Although Faure's Pavane was meant for orchestra and not dancing, it retains the elegance one would expect from a court dance.

Pavane in F Sharp Minor reminds me of nothing so much as the ocean. It begins softly -- almost too quiet to hear -- and builds to a series of musical climaxes that rise and fall like the ebbing and flowing of the tides. As was the case with the Requiem, there is something comforting about Opus 50, something that provides an intimation of the existence of God.

Charlie Brown Sans Linus

Today is December 21st, the first day of winter. There are less than four days left to Christmas and I still am not in the spirit of the season.

I've been to the shopping malls, but I am so uninterested in the vendors and their wares that I have resorted to the loser's standby -- gift cards. I have bypassed the kiosk that Purdys sets up each holiday season. I have not listened to a single Christmas album yet, not even the Bruce Cockburn album that I love. I can't even bring myself to watch The Grinch or A Christmas Carol because the protagonists give up in the end.

I know the reason why, though. I feel like Charlie Brown in the Christmas special. I see other people getting into the swing of things, but I just don't seem to connect. I sense the commercialism, but I don't have an alternative explanation.

There is one big difference, though, between me and Charlie Brown -- I don't have a Linus to put things into context. There is noone to dim the lights and step up to the mike and give me something to hold onto.

Happy Hanukkah

Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, the Jewish festival of lights. The celebration has its roots in the rededication of the temple after Judas Maccabaeus defeated Antiochus IV, the Seleucid emperor who defiled the holiest site in Judaism.

Hanukkah is more than just the commemoration of an historical event -- it is a metaphor for the rededication of one's life to a higher spiritual calling. Christmas, which is a mere ten days away, is a similar call to reflexion and rededication. Perhaps this year, people will heed the call of the season. Perhaps this year, so will I.

A Sunday Morning Kind of Thing

It's the middle of the morning. It's cold outside, but so far there is no snow. I have a cup of the pear-and-ginger herbal tea that my brother-in-law distributes in a large mug in front of me. In the kitchen, the ingredients of today's chicken corn soup are chopped and in bowls in the refrigerator.

I should be in church right now. I'm not saying that because I feel that it is the right thing for people to do; I'm saying it because it is the right thing for me to do. I feel a real need to be part of a community of faith, a community that reaches into the past and extends into the future. In other words, I prefer a church that cherishes its traditions, focuses on the present, and embraces what is to come.

I've tried going to church over the past two years. My wife and I started going to a little Anglican church in the country that was founded back in 1847. I figured it would be nice to be involved with a church that had a sense of community and a sense of the past. Unfortunately, it was just my luck to pick an Anglican parish whose incumbent has nothing but contempt for tradition.

I realize that absenting myself from church is a poor approach to dealing with my spiritual life, but I must admit that I never feel so close to the Devil as I do when I am attending services at this particular church. My wife still attends, though, so I spend my Sunday mornings sipping herbal tea and listening to Mahalia Jackson, Faure's Requiem, and Gregorian chants.