yoga

I am five months into a year-long yoga teacher training. It's given me the opportunity to read and meditate and contemplate, in a way that I haven't done since I was in the throes of my faith crisis. I like it.

There's a phrase you hear a lot in the yoga world. It goes something like, "let go of that which does not serve you." I find it really lovely and helpful.

Let me explain. When I was a Christian, I was always really conflicted. I found a lot of truth and meaning in some of the scriptures. But the crazy stuff --- the violence/genocide, and the misogyny and the homophobia to name just a few -- always left me cold. And, more importantly, it didn't square at all with my experience of people and the world. It was a big reason that I first started to doubt the whole thing. But in Christianity you can't really pick and choose. I mean, people DO, but you always feel like you're not supposed to. Or you at least have to do some serious logical and theological gymnastics to explain away why it's really okay that you are doing so in this specific instance. All or nothing, right? It's either true or not. The bible is either the word of god or it's not. Anything less is a slippery slope. That used to be where I lived. And struggled.

The idea of "finding your own truth" used to scare me a bit. But now, it doesn't. I embrace it. And while I honestly think that everyone does it to some extent (I don't know many people who are living Leviticusesque laws in their everyday worlds), I'm more honest about my intention now.

As I read yogic texts (like the Gita or the Hatha Yoga Pradapika or even the Sutras), there is a fair amount of crazy. Or maybe not crazy. But a fair amount of stuff that is at the very least, irrelevant for my life in this time and place. But the lovely part is, I don't have to embrace it all blindly. I don't have to feel like I'm not a "true yogi" because I don't live in a windowless hut, near a stream with a dirt floor. Or because I don't see the amazing value of "inner cleansing" (i.e. the ancient yogis were big into enemas, it seems!). Or whatever. Fill in the blank. I can appreciate the meaning and the beauty in some of it. I can use it in my own life. And I can let the rest go.

Check out this quote.

What I've made my peace with is this: finding my truth doesn't mean doing whatever the hell I want. It's not a free for all. Because the truth is, that kind of mind set doesn't lead to health or happiness for anyone.

Here's what I focus on. What brings me peace? What makes me more compassionate? More loving? More content? Less angry. These are questions that can be answered outside of a dogmatic belief system. For me, I would say they are questions answered more easily outside of dogmatic belief system.

Who woulda thought??

here

Sometimes, when I think back over two years and how much has changed, I think, how the hell did I get here? Which is why I was happy to come across this poor, neglected blog. As I skim back over my words, I remember the why and the how of leaving a faith that was once so real and so true to me.

So now, I am in my post-faith-crisis world. I find myself firmly rooted outside the Christian circle that was once home to me. This world felt ill-fitting for a long time. And it still does every once in awhile. But mostly it feels really honest. And in this post-faith-crisis world of mine, the new challenge is no longer so much figuring out what I do and do not believe. But trying to find beauty and truth and meaning and connectedness in new ways.

blue

My husband sees losing his faith as an awakening. Freeing. He likes that Matrix reference of taking the red pill. If you are one of the five people in the world who hasn't seen the movie, sorry ... I'm not enough of a Matrix geek to do justice to an explanation).

I don't know though. On a lot of days, I think I might have opted for the blue pill. Because I think if I could go back ... back to believing all the things I once did, I would.

I posted these lyrics before, but I have been thinking about them again.

i've been painting pictures of egypt
leaving out what it lacked
the future feels so hard, and i want to go back.
but the places that used to fit me
will not hold the things i've learned.
those roads were closed off to me
when my back was turned.

On that day, I wrote that I wouldn't go back If I could. Now, I'm not so sure. I realize being spiritually and intellectually authentic is a good and valuable thing ... but I miss the familiar comforts of faith. I feel quite bereft without them. But I can't seem to find my way back to believing the things I used to.

When I first starting questioning and doubting, I would think about that verse that says "Be still and know that I am g-d." and I would feel some sense of comfort. Like even if I couldn't make sense of it all, there was certainty and truth in those words. But as I go on, those words no longer bring me peace or assurance. And I feel often like I am staring at a gap -- at a huge void. At randomness. It's more than a bit disconcerting.

manifesto

This is from a recent Yahoo News article:

Conservative Christian leaders who believe the word "evangelical" has lost its religious meaning plan to release a starkly self-critical document saying the movement has become too political and has diminished the Gospel through its approach to the culture wars.

"All too often we have attacked the evils and injustices of others," they wrote, "while we have condoned our own sins." They argue, "we must reform our own behavior."

Hmmmmmm ..... Interesting.

Read the full article here.

boyfriend

Losing your faith is so very disruptive to one's social circle . It really is quite inconvenient.

For example, it is hard to have conversations with people (who you like a lot, and who presumably and hopefully still like you) about a trajectory away from the faith you once had. Because it's the faith they still have. So even though you're talking about yourself, and about all the how's and why's that make up the process of losing your faith, it is difficult (and quite understandably so) for that person not to take that personally.

So it is a conversation not only about your faith and why you lost it. Or left it. It's also -- unintentionally -- a conversation about their faith. And why you think it's wrong.

It's kind of like ranting to a friend about how happy you are to finally be free of your jerky ex-boyfriend. The one who was lazy. And cheap. And always forgot your birthday. And had weird hair. And the one she is currently dating. And blissfully happy with.

It just doesn't make for a happy conversation.

So you have this defining issue in your present reality. And no one to talk about it with.

Very weird.

signs

Hmmmm .... now this is a bit disturbing, isn't it? Check out this site for more church signs (some real and some not, I imagine ... but many amusing nonetheless).

lazy

Call me lazy. But here's yet another link to something interesting.

Speaking of Faith (great show!) on NPR included a conversation between Chuck Colson, Greg Boyd and Shane Claiborne.

It's awesome. Check it out.

bummed

I was super excited about Boyd's series of posts on the violence in the Old Testament. I like Boyd a lot and had high hopes. But I have to confess that I'm pretty disappointed.

Now to be fair, he did warn that he didn't anticipate wrapping any easy answer in a pretty little package ... (and I don't think his series is actually done yet) but I did hope for more than what there has been.

Boyd seems to end a lot with this general thought: "Until then, remember that our picture of God is to be rooted in Jesus Christ alone, and our attitude toward enemies is to be derived from Jesus Christ alone."

I like that sentiment. I believed that for a long time. But my question remains .... why. How can we justify that?

Christians use parts of the old testament all the time to define their picture of g-d .... his relationship with David or saving Rack Shack and Benny (I KNOW those weren't their names, okay?) from the fiery furnace, or parts in the psalms. Personally, one of my favorite verses was always the one in Jeremiah (... for I know the plans I have for you ...) though I always just ignored the fact that I took the verse totally out of context to fit my own random scenarios.

But I don't think we get to pick and choose the g-d of our wildest dreams -- conveniently omitting all the parts that don't square with our pretty picture. It's not a cafeteria plan.

And obviously I don't at all think Boyd is suggesting a cafeteria-plan Christianity.

But though Boyd is discussing the questions ... and he seems to look at some possible explanations, I am frustrated that he always seems to conclude, that the answer doesn't really matter. The gross atrocities in the old testament shouldn't affect our faith, because our faith is rooted in Jesus.

It's a nice thought. But our whole image of Jesus that is supposed to define our picture of g-d is rooted in the very same bible that paints g-d in other places as violent, misogynistic and angry. How can we say look at one, not the other? Can we really keep one picture and toss the other one out because it's not helpful or pleasant? To me, it's like wearing blinders ...

And the answer absolutely matters. Or else, why would we even bother asking the questions?

So much for Boyd salvaging my faith in one fell swoop. I was kind of hoping he would do my dirty work for me. Oh well.

PS: This is an interesting article about biblical violence and aggression.

almost

I have been reading this blogger some as of late ... She was a serious Christian for most of her life and now is not. This essay is really interesting. She calls herself "almost an atheist."

Check it out.

lately

I'm not sure I believe in g-d anymore. I'm not sure I don't either. Either way, I still pray. Maybe it's sheer optimism.

I pray differently though.

I pray that someone hears me. That my prayers would fall on the heart and ears of a g-d who is real, and who might actually give a crap about me and the world around me.

I pray that if there is a g-d, it is one with patience for inquiry, uncertainty and cynicism. That if there is a g-d, it is one who might honor an intellectual struggle, and a desire for spiritual integrity. One that does not require blind, unquestioning faith.

I pray that my hopefulness would always outweigh my skepticism.

I pray that I won't screw up my children too spectacularly. Or at least not too permanently while I figure stuff out.

I pray that if there is a g-d, and it is the one I thought I knew before. The one I thought knew me before, that He might meet me where I am. In this moment. In my skepticism, in my disbelief. That He might show Himself in a way I can't mistake or explain away.

That's how I pray these days.

armageddon?

If you know me, you know that I have a weird, irrational phobia of ketchup. Yes. Ketchup. Clearly, I have issues. And imagine my horror when I saw these.

Ketchup-flavored potato snacks. What is wrong with the universe? Have we all gone crazy?

And speaking of the universe going crazy .... have you heard about this detestable fashion craze making a comeback?

Is this Armageddon? Can there really be any other explanation for ketchup-flavored snacks and the return of sports-team-themed, animal-printed sweats?

Perhaps we should all sign up for Rapture Letters? Just to be on the safe side.

words

Here's what I think is interesting. I've been thinking about hot-button words. Ugly words that no one wants to claim.

Fundamentalist means hyper-judgemental. Or overbearing. It has become a word about character or personality or manner. But that's not really what fundamentalist means. Fundamentalism is about the belief itself. Not necessarily the manner in which those beliefs are lived. Wikipedia says:

Fundamentalism, in religion refers to a belief in the infallibility, and literal interpretation, of a doctrine or holy book.

I never thought I was a fundamentalist. I wasn't legalistic in the way I lived out my faith. I never thought Pat Roberston, or John McArthur or John Piper spoke for me. But I would have told you the bible was divine, infallible and (until pretty recently) meant to be taken literally. So I think I kind of was. It doesn't mean I was a judgmental ass or anything (well, perhaps I was/am, but not for that specific reason anyway), it just means I believed certain things.

I think when people say sometimes "I'm not a fundamentalist" they mean to say really "I'm not a judgemental ass" which is all well and good. Probably that is true. But it doesn't mean that their beliefs are not fundamentalist by nature.

Indoctrinate is another loaded word. We tend to associate it with a kind of aggressive, ram-down-your-throat manner of teaching. It's not. We can indoctrinate people with kind, gentle words and in the most loving manner. And I think, more often than not, we do.

But indoctrinate is more about the goal of instruction (Webster says to "imbue with a usually partisan or sectarian opinion, point of view, or principle") not the manner with which we instruct.

No one thinks they are a fundamentalist (okay, maybe a few people do). No one wants to believe they are indoctrinating their children. For me, those are never words I would have claimed. But for a long time, in the sense of what my beliefs were and how I raised my kids, they really were accurate descriptions.

What's my point? I don't know exactly. It's just something that has struck me lately.

Note: To some extent I can't imagine how you can raise your kids without indoctrinating them. I feel strongly about raising my kids to be critical thinkers. However, that doesn't mean (either on purpose or unwittingly) that my kids aren't indoctrinated. Parenting by nature means imposing some of our thoughts and opinions on our kids. I have to laugh when I hear people say that they were not indoctrinated by their parents as children. Yes they were. Of course they were. (Even if the beliefs didn't stick.)

tired

I am the worst blogger ever lately.

Here's the truth. I'm kind by exhausted by the whole faith crisis thing. I'm sick of thinking about it. It makes my brain hurt. It makes my soul tired.

And if I am honest, I'm a little spooked. Because the more I think about it ... the more I look at things critically ... the less I seem to believe anything I once believed. And so I think I'm scared. Because I'm afraid if I think too much about it, the final, fragile shreds of faith I have left will completely dissipate ... until there's nothing more of it. And then what?

So I'm ignoring it all. Trying my very best not to think about any of it. Ahhh. Sweet repression.

reading

My second grader has to do at least ten minutes of reading for school every night. If he averages this amount of time at the end of the month, in return he gets a coupon for free kids' meal at Culver's. Not bad, huh?

Well, I have no promises of fast food to entice you, but here are some suggestions for good reading in case you are interested.

Greg Boyd is starting a series on his blog about violence and genocide in the Old Testament. Looks like good stuff!! Boyd is one of the few apologists that doesn't make me want to bang my head on a brick wall, so I'm super excited to read his thoughts on this subject.

Also, Doug Pagitt rolled out his new web site and has posted excerpts of his new book, A Christianity Worth Believing In. I had the opportunity to read the book ... it is awesome and gives me hope. Some people think Pagitt is amazing. The rest probably think he is a hell-bound heretic. I happen to fall into the former category. But regardless of where you fall, he certainly makes for interesting reading.

miracles

When I was little, I thought Mount Rushmore was a miraculous occurrence. Literally. I truly believed that those four famous faces were divinely carved into the side of the mountain by the hand of God.

No one told me they were. I just somehow got the idea in my head, and it stuck. And since I was raised and schooled Catholic, it didn't seem far off from all the other things I believed. I guess when you're immersed in the stuff of Rea Sea partings, walking on water and resurrections after death, presidents on mountains don't really seem all that amazing.

The funny (and somewhat embarrassing) thing is, I think I was pretty old before I realized that my Mount Rushmore assumptions were slightly off. Seriously, I think I was like ten or twelve years old. I wasn't crushed by the realization or anything. It was just more like, "oh, yeah. I suppose that doesn't really make sense." It never occured to me to rethink my assumptions. Once I did though, it seemed pretty obvious.

In the same vein, it was only recently, in my thirties (ugh, that phrase never fails to bum me out a bit), that it ever occurred to me to look at things like the the bible and its miracles critically.

I had spent my childhood believing in God and my adult life as a pretty serious Christian. But somehow I had never stopped to consider the very basic, fundamental question why do I believe the Bible is true?

Stepping back, that strikes me as so very odd. How could I have never, up until now, asked those questions? They are kind of important questions ... no? How could I have based my life on a faith ... and much of my faith on a book ... and NEVER have bothered to discern whether that book was true, or why I believed it was? It almost borders on ludicrous when I think about it in those terms.

And when I think of it in the specifics, I am even more amazed. I could have told you that the gospel writers wrote years and years after the death of Jesus. But somehow it never struck me as odd (until recently) that they wrote (as history, fact and eyewitness account) about the miraculous events that surrounded even the birth of Jesus. Even the inner most thoughts and feelings of the mother of Jesus. How the heck did they presume to know (as an eyewitness no less) what Mary "pondered in her heart?" Or what she was thinking when an angel descended down to interrupt her day? Why did I never wonder?

And it wasn't until recently that I realized that stories of deities with virgin births, miraculous signs and resurrections from the dead are vast and numerous. And that quite a few of those stories (with many, many parallels to the Jesus story) predated Jesus by quite some time. How could I not know this? Doesn't this seem like kind of an important piece of information?

I'm certainly no genius, but I'm a fairly educated person. I've done my share of bible studies. Taken my share of philosophy and theology courses. Read a few books over the years. But there were these gigantic pieces of information that I never even explored .... and these very basic questions that I never even considered.

I take responsibility for my ignorance. But I also think in so many ways Christianity encourages a kind of blind faith. Not overtly, but in subtle ways. It certainly doesn't encourage questioning and exploring ... at least not in my experience.

I don't know where I'm going with this exactly. It just has been striking me lately how easy it is to isolate yourself. To never really consider the facts at hand. To have a blind faith .... even when you have no intention whatsoever of doing that. I always felt pretty informed. I never would have said that my faith was blind ... but in so many ways it was.

want

Last spring, I was shopping with my daughter, who was maybe three at the time. We walked by the shoe department and she saw some sandals that she really wanted to buy. We looked for a bit, and then I told her we weren't going to buy any shoes today. She had just gotten a new pair of sandals the week before ... she didn't need another pair. She looked at me and said (her volume and excitement increasing as she spoke), "but I want MORE shoes Mommy! MORE and MORE and MORE shoes!"

Kids. Where DO they learn such things?

Here's a bit of advice. If you don't want all your faults confronting you on a daily basis, don't have children. In this case, my consumerism (and wanton shoe lust) was suddenly staring me at the face, mirrored in my very own teeny-tiny Imelda. Not pretty.

Stuff- lust is a huge struggle for me, it always has been.

And beyond that, just trying to are a "good" consumer (trying to shop at the right stores, reducing our footprint, buying fair trade items .....) it is enough to make my head spin! It's so much to think about!

I like this blog a lot. It discusses consumerism, simplifying and being responsible shoppers. The stuff there certainly might not always make you comfortable (i.e. the entire podcast this guy did about not shopping at Gap and BabyGap -- ouch that one hurt!), but it's good stuff to contemplate as you make buying (or not buying) decisions.

heresy

When Trent first started going through his faith "crisis" I found it quite entertaining to call him a heretic. I also like the word apostate (pagan is good too, although I would guess that actual pagans would be somewhat offended, so I should probably phase that one out). It just kind of lightens the mood. And when everything is kind of spinning into chaos, and everyone you know fears you might be bound straight for hell, you really need a bit of levity.

Who knew ... that word (heretic) did not get phased out with Galileo? Some churches still actually denounce people as heretics ... a la Carlton Pearson. I finally listened to this NPR This American Life program on him that I mentioned earlier. It is fascinating. Give it a listen. I'd love to know what you think.

loss

I came upon this super interesting article from Psychology Today. Titled, An Atheist in the Pulpit, it discusses pastors who have lost (or radically changed in) their faith.

One of the people featured is Dan Barker, a former pastor who has some Minnesota connections and heads a group called the Freedom From Religion Foundation. I once saw Barker in a debate on religion and politics at North Heights church. It was about two or three years ago ... I remember being somewhat panicked at the time, because Barker was the lone atheist and of all the people on the panel, I thought he made the most sense. That seemed like a bad sign. Oh that debate! I was out of my element there (I had honest intentions. We had gone to hear Greg Boyd, but he ended up not being able to participate at the last minute). At one point, one audience member made the comment [regarding gay marriage] "God made "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve." The whole room erupted in whoops and applause. I, on the other hand, put my head in my hands and hoped that the floor would open up and swallow me. No such luck.

Here is an excerpt from the article:

Says Barker: "we surveyed our members 10 years ago, asking them: "If you were raised religious, why did you change your mind?" There was no one answer. Some people gave social reasons: the way the church treats women. Some people gave reasons like, 'the fear of hell—I just couldn't live with that.' But the answer people gave more often than any other was that it was intellectual: Religion eventually just did not make sense."

Carlton Pearson (in addition to kind of looking like Prince and being a protege of Oral Roberts) has a totally interesting trajectory. He didn't lose his faith, but his understanding of God fundamentally changed (which subsequently led to the loss of his thriving 5,000-person congregation), basically in a moment. He also shared about his experience on NPR's This American Life. I haven't listened to it yet. but am looking forward to doing so.

This piece (whether you agree with the participants interviewed or not) is worth a read. And though every story is different, I think it offers a lot of insight into the path of people who find themselves suddenly at odds with the faith they have embraced for most of their lives. Check it out.

joking

Trent does this thing. Awhile back he began this perennial practical joke, where he leaves the stereo on this uber-conservative Christian talk radio station, so that when I get in the car, that is what's playing.

I'll admit, it's funny. And usually I can just laugh, roll my eyes, and turn the dial back to MPR or Cities (I SO wish I was musically hip enough to like the Current more, but most days, I'm just not) where it usually is.

But every once in awhile (this happened yesterday), that station is like a train wreck, and I can not tear myself away from. I listen to it. Only to find myself getting annoyed, angry, or terribly sad (I'm big on yelling back at the announcers). But I can't seem to turn it off. Do you ever do that to yourself? Listen to (or watch or read) something just to allow yourself to be critical or self-righteous or depressed? It's a poisonous habit. I wish I was above it, but so far I am not. And in this case, for each minute I listen to that station, I feel any hope or optimisim I might have about the Christian faith bleeding out of me. Not good.

The thing is, it is exceedingly easy for me to be critical of so much within Christianity. But it's often pointless and not at all helpful. That said, I do think there is some place for it. A place for knowing what you don't believe ... what you reject. And knowing why you don't believe it. And why you reject it. But it's tempting to get stuck there and not move on.

I think, in part, because the next step is infinitely harder. Defining what you do believe ... what is meaningful and real.

I'm trying to focus on the second step ... although sometimes I find myself wallowing in the first. It's a work in progress. But first things first. I really must stop listening to that radio station. And (tragically) I guess that means no more 700 Club either.

obamaphilia?

I am so very amused by this article. Check it out. And then I promise, I'll give the obsession a rest for a bit.