This brings us back around full circle, to where I started this series of posts. To the idea of death, and my observation that the people I’ve seen who are the least afraid of death are also the ones who are the least religious. They understand it, perhaps in a detached, but no less real way, as the end of a natural cycle. They are fine with life coming to an end.
But I’ve observed that many of us who are religious are very frightened of it – perhaps frightened of a judgmental and angry God we meet again and again in our faith stories. Alternately, we may be afraid of a nothingness that awaits us after we pass on from this life because, in the back of our mind, we really do wonder whether there is life after death.
Even for Christians, death has to mean something. As some, like Bishop Spong, have pointed out, this is not a resuscitation. There is some type of ending that has to take place before there is a new beginning.
And the Scriptures witness to this as we see the risen Christ appearing to the disciples. He was not alive again in the way that we on earth are alive. But their experience of Jesus was such that they said “Jesus Lives” – so it wasn’t a completely dissimilar experience either. There was some type of transformation, but there was still a body and recognizable characteristics. Jesus himself had to face death in the same way that all of us face death.
In a straightforward, religious level, I can say, and believe in my head, that Jesus sacrifice on the cross gives all of us strength to face death. And I believe that’s true for me also – but I have a long way to go before I can say that I am okay with my current life ending.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to say, like Tammy Faye, that I am not afraid of death. Because when I saw her on television, suffering there, I knew that on some level, part of her was perhaps already dead, and she was just entering a place where she was waggling somewhere between life and death.
People who are dying also often have to choose exactly when they are going to leave this earthly life, and I’m not sure that they are more lucky than those who die suddenly, without warning or awareness of what’s coming.
Even turning 30 makes me much more cognizant of the truth that I will not live forever. I could face a deadly medical condition, a terrible automobile crash, an accident – anything – at almost any time. But I am not ready to give up this life. Should I need to go, I will go kicking and screaming and with great fear.
Perhaps a gift my agnostic friends can give me is some of this sense of not being afraid of death – to accept it as something that is as natural, and holy, as anything else any of us do.
I hope that I arrive there in that place of peace, and if you are so inclined, I’d ask your prayers for me on that journey.
7.27.2007
Embracing A Shared Set of Stories
I don’t know how to say that I’m right about my belief in God to those who do not share that perspective, when my “rightness” in my faith isn’t something that can be proven through observation and testing. Instead, faith is more like giving assent to historical details that have been passed on through our cultured religious community – it is identifying with and embracing a shared set of stories.
To me, this is why our own spiritual journey, both collectively and individually, has to be about understanding our stories and sharing them with one another. And the Church, in all of its expressions, can certainly be a good place for that when it is functioning correctly.
But our task has to be wider than that, and I don’t know how many of us are equipped for it. If we are going to be apologists, we have to have our pencils sharpened far more than pretty much all of us do now. But we also have to engage those who don’t agree with us with respect, understanding that they are not “wrong”, even though we believe that we are “right”. And we have to find a nuanced and respectable way of saying this that’s instantly comprehendible. The Center for Progressive Christianity is on the right track, but not quite there: http://www.tcpc.org/about/8points.cfm .
This is why I struggle with people like Bishop Spong, who write so many things questioning or perhaps even denying the supernatural tenets of the faith, in an effort to reach the “non-religious”. And, even though we may not like it or want to admit it, don’t we have a lot more people coming into our Episcopal churches in recent years because of what Spong has been saying? Because I was reading Spong back in my Baptist days, I could certainly say that that was an influence on me.
I’m not sure of the statistics on this, but I wonder how much of the so-called liberal turn of the Episcopal church in the past 50 years can be traced back directly to people like Bishop Pike, Bishop Spong, and John A.T. Robinson? I’m not so sure this was a good thing, because the consequences of this kind of thinking may lead others to question the need or the usefulness of church. As much as I don’t want to say this and wish it weren’t true, I question this a lot, especially as I see secular people who are just as well-adjusted and happy as the Christians I know.
While Spong may not be the only one who’s trying to reach the secular world, I’m not familiar with many other Christians who are as effective in reaching as many people and building bridges, even though we may not know exactly what or where Spong is building a bridge to.
But I think Spong, and others like him, are making a good-faith effort to reach people who’ve given up or ignored Christianity, and that’s why I would have such a hard time kicking him out of the church if it were me that had to make that decision. Of course, I’m not a bishop, so it’s not my job, and will thankfully not ever be my job, to guard and guide the faith.
Quite frankly, I’m not sure that I would be engaging my agnostic friends in such a serious and respectful way if I were not ready to learn from and be shaped by their perspective, even to the point that I would be ready to give up my ideas if I came to believe them to not be true.
And, ultimately, conversion is, of course, like salvation, not our doing. It is God’s doing – and we can only seek to preach and live the Gospel more faithfully each day. And this may really be all we are asked to do as Christians living in “the world”, some will receive the message, and some will not. Some may experience God in another way that we cannot understand or comprehend.
To me, this is why our own spiritual journey, both collectively and individually, has to be about understanding our stories and sharing them with one another. And the Church, in all of its expressions, can certainly be a good place for that when it is functioning correctly.
But our task has to be wider than that, and I don’t know how many of us are equipped for it. If we are going to be apologists, we have to have our pencils sharpened far more than pretty much all of us do now. But we also have to engage those who don’t agree with us with respect, understanding that they are not “wrong”, even though we believe that we are “right”. And we have to find a nuanced and respectable way of saying this that’s instantly comprehendible. The Center for Progressive Christianity is on the right track, but not quite there: http://www.tcpc.org/about/8points.cfm .
This is why I struggle with people like Bishop Spong, who write so many things questioning or perhaps even denying the supernatural tenets of the faith, in an effort to reach the “non-religious”. And, even though we may not like it or want to admit it, don’t we have a lot more people coming into our Episcopal churches in recent years because of what Spong has been saying? Because I was reading Spong back in my Baptist days, I could certainly say that that was an influence on me.
I’m not sure of the statistics on this, but I wonder how much of the so-called liberal turn of the Episcopal church in the past 50 years can be traced back directly to people like Bishop Pike, Bishop Spong, and John A.T. Robinson? I’m not so sure this was a good thing, because the consequences of this kind of thinking may lead others to question the need or the usefulness of church. As much as I don’t want to say this and wish it weren’t true, I question this a lot, especially as I see secular people who are just as well-adjusted and happy as the Christians I know.
While Spong may not be the only one who’s trying to reach the secular world, I’m not familiar with many other Christians who are as effective in reaching as many people and building bridges, even though we may not know exactly what or where Spong is building a bridge to.
But I think Spong, and others like him, are making a good-faith effort to reach people who’ve given up or ignored Christianity, and that’s why I would have such a hard time kicking him out of the church if it were me that had to make that decision. Of course, I’m not a bishop, so it’s not my job, and will thankfully not ever be my job, to guard and guide the faith.
Quite frankly, I’m not sure that I would be engaging my agnostic friends in such a serious and respectful way if I were not ready to learn from and be shaped by their perspective, even to the point that I would be ready to give up my ideas if I came to believe them to not be true.
And, ultimately, conversion is, of course, like salvation, not our doing. It is God’s doing – and we can only seek to preach and live the Gospel more faithfully each day. And this may really be all we are asked to do as Christians living in “the world”, some will receive the message, and some will not. Some may experience God in another way that we cannot understand or comprehend.
How Are Christians Different?
As I have become close friends with a few who are highly intelligent and philosophically inquisitive people, I see less and less of a difference between them and I in terms of access to truth. The difference is about experience and interpretation – I have had events happen in my life that I view as supernatural, even though I can explain them. Other times, I’ve had very frightening experiences that I believe that were supernatural on some level that I can’t really explain – but they were not significant.
So, the only difference between my secular friends and me seems to be my own irrational choice to believe in God and to interpret my experiences and this world as God-infused. I choose to give them some type of significance. But one can be just as correct in interpreting these things as unimportant coincidence.
To me, this is the fundamentally paradoxical nature of our religious experience.
I know I’ve mentioned before on here the results of a survey that George Barna did a long time ago. (While I don’t agree with the evangelical bent of a lot of his conclusions, his studies of current trends in American spirituality and religious thinking are incredibly valuable – do read them at www.barna.org ) When asking non-Christians what the difference was between them and Christians, they said, “Christians go to church more.” and “They are more judgemental.”
If my memory is correct, Barna interprets this (quite correctly) as a black mark against Christianity in contemporary America. And while I agree with him in his conclusions, I’m not sure what to do about it.
The answer is that somehow we have to make the Christian message seem more relevant or compelling to those who don’t believe. And this is really what I think evangelism is – not what many in Episcopal/Anglican circles seem to believe: getting people who are nominal Christians to come back to church, rather than trying to reach people who don’t believe at all. (This is a semantic difference- I think both are important, but I don’t think trying to get disaffected Christians back in church should be called “evangelism”.)
Ironically, most all agnostics or atheists that I’ve met have given tremendous thought to their perspectives – much more so than most Christians I know. (Although perhaps they just talk about it more, which is another big problem.) Seldom have I met somebody who is agnostic or atheist who simply “doesn’t care” whether or not there is a God or what the consequences, if any, of their ambivalence will be.
But here’s the big question: if I’m right in that both the faith perspective and the agnostic perspective can be seen as equally true interpretations of the same data, then why does it become necessary for us as Christians to try to convert agnostics to our way of thinking if they are not seeking out a Christian path?
Or, do we say that we need to try to convert agnostics simply because the Scripture commands us to do so? And is trying to convert people the same as sharing the Gospel with them, or are these two different things entirely? And to what extent do we know that we have fulfilled the Great Commission – if it is even possible to do so?
I think that it is our job to preach the Gospel through our words and actions, being explicit in our belief in Christ and living in the moral and ethical framework we’ve been given by Jesus and the Church, but it is not our job to go out of our way to try to convert people to our own way of thinking, or to say that others are in any way less of anything than we are because they do not believe as we do.
So, the only difference between my secular friends and me seems to be my own irrational choice to believe in God and to interpret my experiences and this world as God-infused. I choose to give them some type of significance. But one can be just as correct in interpreting these things as unimportant coincidence.
To me, this is the fundamentally paradoxical nature of our religious experience.
I know I’ve mentioned before on here the results of a survey that George Barna did a long time ago. (While I don’t agree with the evangelical bent of a lot of his conclusions, his studies of current trends in American spirituality and religious thinking are incredibly valuable – do read them at www.barna.org ) When asking non-Christians what the difference was between them and Christians, they said, “Christians go to church more.” and “They are more judgemental.”
If my memory is correct, Barna interprets this (quite correctly) as a black mark against Christianity in contemporary America. And while I agree with him in his conclusions, I’m not sure what to do about it.
The answer is that somehow we have to make the Christian message seem more relevant or compelling to those who don’t believe. And this is really what I think evangelism is – not what many in Episcopal/Anglican circles seem to believe: getting people who are nominal Christians to come back to church, rather than trying to reach people who don’t believe at all. (This is a semantic difference- I think both are important, but I don’t think trying to get disaffected Christians back in church should be called “evangelism”.)
Ironically, most all agnostics or atheists that I’ve met have given tremendous thought to their perspectives – much more so than most Christians I know. (Although perhaps they just talk about it more, which is another big problem.) Seldom have I met somebody who is agnostic or atheist who simply “doesn’t care” whether or not there is a God or what the consequences, if any, of their ambivalence will be.
But here’s the big question: if I’m right in that both the faith perspective and the agnostic perspective can be seen as equally true interpretations of the same data, then why does it become necessary for us as Christians to try to convert agnostics to our way of thinking if they are not seeking out a Christian path?
Or, do we say that we need to try to convert agnostics simply because the Scripture commands us to do so? And is trying to convert people the same as sharing the Gospel with them, or are these two different things entirely? And to what extent do we know that we have fulfilled the Great Commission – if it is even possible to do so?
I think that it is our job to preach the Gospel through our words and actions, being explicit in our belief in Christ and living in the moral and ethical framework we’ve been given by Jesus and the Church, but it is not our job to go out of our way to try to convert people to our own way of thinking, or to say that others are in any way less of anything than we are because they do not believe as we do.
Death & Faith
As a Christian, I believe in the Resurrection of Jesus, and I “believe in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come”, as the Apostles’ Creed puts it. And I’m not giving lip service to those words when I say that, but, at the same time, I can’t say that I’m totally sure that I am going to be a person that spends eternity with God when I depart this life.
Please don’t think that I don’t believe – but on some level, I don’t know. And knowing, I think, is different than belief. The former is a scientific thing that can be tested with verifiable hypotheses, but our faith is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen,” as the writer to the Hebrews says. And evidence here seems to imply some sort of conviction and proof as could be obtained by any scientific study.
And so, the teaching of Scripture again is very hard, because it seems that we are asked to put our whole trust in God, to trust without arguments or questions. As much as I wish I could do this, I’m just not there yet.
I’m not there because where I am in my thinking is that God is not something that can be proved (or alluded to, as perhaps some intelligent design adherents would like to talk about). Some great Christian thinkers have gone to great philosophical lengths to make arguments about God’s general revelation through creation as being so complex, elegant, and unlikely that it forces us to admit that it must be designed.
Many Christians will say that there is simply too much coincidence for things just to have happened, but scientists would then say that, given enough time and the correct potentialities, even the most unlikely things will happen. And that’s essentially where we are here floating in the cosmos. Further, as others have pointed out, science seems to “edge out” God with each new scientific discovery, so we have less and less of a need for God as a tool to explain things we don’t understand.
This may be very scary, because I think that I’m starting to experience the point that some of these “Death of God”, outdated 1960s theologians were trying to make in their short-lived explorations, even though I don’t see myself going all the way down their road and reaching the same conclusions.
But this is what has happened: I’m beginning to see faith vs. lack of faith as only a difference in perspective – seeing the glass half empty or the glass half full is the (bad) example that jumps to mind. In other words, the perspective of faith is just as valid as the perspective of not having faith, but faith is simply not something rational.
Please don’t think that I don’t believe – but on some level, I don’t know. And knowing, I think, is different than belief. The former is a scientific thing that can be tested with verifiable hypotheses, but our faith is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen,” as the writer to the Hebrews says. And evidence here seems to imply some sort of conviction and proof as could be obtained by any scientific study.
And so, the teaching of Scripture again is very hard, because it seems that we are asked to put our whole trust in God, to trust without arguments or questions. As much as I wish I could do this, I’m just not there yet.
I’m not there because where I am in my thinking is that God is not something that can be proved (or alluded to, as perhaps some intelligent design adherents would like to talk about). Some great Christian thinkers have gone to great philosophical lengths to make arguments about God’s general revelation through creation as being so complex, elegant, and unlikely that it forces us to admit that it must be designed.
Many Christians will say that there is simply too much coincidence for things just to have happened, but scientists would then say that, given enough time and the correct potentialities, even the most unlikely things will happen. And that’s essentially where we are here floating in the cosmos. Further, as others have pointed out, science seems to “edge out” God with each new scientific discovery, so we have less and less of a need for God as a tool to explain things we don’t understand.
This may be very scary, because I think that I’m starting to experience the point that some of these “Death of God”, outdated 1960s theologians were trying to make in their short-lived explorations, even though I don’t see myself going all the way down their road and reaching the same conclusions.
But this is what has happened: I’m beginning to see faith vs. lack of faith as only a difference in perspective – seeing the glass half empty or the glass half full is the (bad) example that jumps to mind. In other words, the perspective of faith is just as valid as the perspective of not having faith, but faith is simply not something rational.
Confronting Death
Earlier this week, a colleague came into my office at work and asked me to watch a video clip of a recent Larry King show, which featured an interview with Tammy Faye Messner. In the video, you could see plainly that this was a person who was actively dying. She had tremendous difficulty breathing and even said she was suffering in constant pain. When looking at her, anyone could tell this was a person who did not have long to live at all.
I heard from my colleague that she passed away very shortly after she completed the interview, and he and I both wondered what her publicist was thinking, allowing her to be seen by the world like that – so that everyone would remember exactly how she looked when she was on death’s door.
But she said she was not afraid.
But in watching the video, I found myself to be reminded again of how frightening death is, and I became almost immediately nearly terrified of my own mortality.
A few nights ago, a friend of mine and I were watching the movie, Bicentennial Man, the screenplay of which seemed to be conflated from two stories by Isaac Asimov. The movie was good, but it wasn’t quite able to pull off a good presentation of the profound subject matter it was trying to address, simply because it was a little too cluttered with creating a movie storyline out of ideas originally presented as a short story.
The movie’s unsubtle central question is “What does it mean to be human?” and the answer it finally arrives at, although without a lot of nuance along the way, has to do with mortality. To be truly human, you have to be someone who will die someday.
My good friend and I talked about this idea of death a little after we’d seen this movie, and he told me that he’d had a conversation with his grandmother a few years ago, and he told her he was not afraid of death. Her response: that’s because it’s a long way off for you. And this was a grandmother who was the wife of an Episcopal priest.
Every story he tells me about his grandmother makes me realize what a wise woman she is.
Sometimes, I will have a strange, long pause in front of a mirror in my house, and I will look for a while and realize what a completely different person I am than I was even just 10 years ago. And that’s when I think about what a long time ago 10 years really was.
Many of my friends know that I turned 30 just a few days ago, and this was certainly one of the biggest occasions of reflection about my own mortality. Many of my cherished older friends will laugh at this, thinking that I’m foolish to be thinking about my own life’s end. But I think when you hit one divisible by 10, you have to take stock, do some review, and some planning.
I’ve talked before on this blog and in other places of a point a former priest of mine made about death, when she said it is our own mortality that is able to give our life so much meaning and value, because we know that we will not be here forever – and this makes every moment something deeply holy.
I heard from my colleague that she passed away very shortly after she completed the interview, and he and I both wondered what her publicist was thinking, allowing her to be seen by the world like that – so that everyone would remember exactly how she looked when she was on death’s door.
But she said she was not afraid.
But in watching the video, I found myself to be reminded again of how frightening death is, and I became almost immediately nearly terrified of my own mortality.
A few nights ago, a friend of mine and I were watching the movie, Bicentennial Man, the screenplay of which seemed to be conflated from two stories by Isaac Asimov. The movie was good, but it wasn’t quite able to pull off a good presentation of the profound subject matter it was trying to address, simply because it was a little too cluttered with creating a movie storyline out of ideas originally presented as a short story.
The movie’s unsubtle central question is “What does it mean to be human?” and the answer it finally arrives at, although without a lot of nuance along the way, has to do with mortality. To be truly human, you have to be someone who will die someday.
My good friend and I talked about this idea of death a little after we’d seen this movie, and he told me that he’d had a conversation with his grandmother a few years ago, and he told her he was not afraid of death. Her response: that’s because it’s a long way off for you. And this was a grandmother who was the wife of an Episcopal priest.
Every story he tells me about his grandmother makes me realize what a wise woman she is.
Sometimes, I will have a strange, long pause in front of a mirror in my house, and I will look for a while and realize what a completely different person I am than I was even just 10 years ago. And that’s when I think about what a long time ago 10 years really was.
Many of my friends know that I turned 30 just a few days ago, and this was certainly one of the biggest occasions of reflection about my own mortality. Many of my cherished older friends will laugh at this, thinking that I’m foolish to be thinking about my own life’s end. But I think when you hit one divisible by 10, you have to take stock, do some review, and some planning.
I’ve talked before on this blog and in other places of a point a former priest of mine made about death, when she said it is our own mortality that is able to give our life so much meaning and value, because we know that we will not be here forever – and this makes every moment something deeply holy.
7.22.2007
Judging Positively
I’ve been having some conversations with some of my friends around the idea of judgment. What does it mean to be judgmental, and is that something that is generally wrong or right?
In a recent correspondence, one friend of mine wrote, “I find it best to take the time to learn about others as it not only benefits them, but [the] one learning. I try to accept many for face value and to not judge beyond that. It is human nature to judge, but I try and judge positively...”
I found myself interested in this phrase – “judge positively”, wondering if he was referring to constructive criticism by another name. But in talking to him more about it in recent days, I realize he was allowing me a peek through the keyhole at an intentionally different system of evaluating life circumstances.
Really, he meant to say that if he can interpret a given situation in a positive light, he tries to do so. While I thought this would lead to what is essentially a Pollyanna approach, I think he’s echoing sentiments expressed by others who say that usually everyone does the best they know how to in whatever moment they find themselves in.
Another friend of mine sent over a video clip from the most rabidly Christian fundamentalist group I know about – Westboro Baptist Church in Kansas. (I’m not going to link to this, because this could be tremendously offensive to many of you. You can find it for yourselves if you really want to see it.)
These are the people who openly proclaim God’s hate – mostly for gays, but also for pretty much anybody else who isn’t disgustingly intolerant. The video featured a conglomeration of people of different ages singing a decently well-rehearsed song on the occasion of Jerry Fallwell’s death (which they celebrated):
God hates the world, and all her people.
You every one face a fiery day for your proud sinning.
It went on in an even more disgusting fashion, becoming progressively more irrational and angry in its hateful verse. In watching the video, I really had to stop and think about whether or not these people could actually be serious. The ideas are so over-the-top, I can’t see how it could be seen as anything but a parody of more sugar-coated, softer, tolerable, and more commonplace bigotry. All I can do is laugh at it – I can’t be shocked and horrified because I can’t even picture anybody who takes joy in the whole world going to hell.
While my first response is to laugh at this – unable to take it seriously – my second response is to give a lot of thought to this, because I know that my laughing at serious hate isn’t an adequate response.
Part of a better response to it may be to take it seriously first, and to ask the question: what if God does hate the world? Is this position really inconsistent with Scripture? We see God destroying the world through a flood in Genesis because sin was so rampant. We see Sodom and Gommorah destroyed because of their sin – however you see it.
We see God telling the armies of Israel to kill whole nations of people, and read psalms that pray to God for the killing of enemies. We even read Psalm verses about little children having their heads dashed against the rocks.
(For one conservative evangelical take on these imprecatory Psalms, click here.
Regarding the New Testament, sometimes I also struggle with traditional explanations of the atonement as maybe only useful insofar as they give a metaphorical framework for Christ’s death on the cross as understood in a Jewish context. But “blood atonement”, while traditional/orthodox, is a difficult interpretation for those who can’t latch onto traditional religious practices that demand a sacrifice of animals (or people) to a deity to appease them.
So, the question that is important here is this: is our traditional Christian understanding of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross one that invokes images of a judgmental God and thus encourages to become judgmental ourselves on many levels? This picture of a judgmental God isn’t appealing to the masses, but is it really inaccurate, and if so, by how much is it inaccurate? Overall, is it better in the end for us and for our society to talk about and visualize a more comforting (and comfortable) God?
This brings up another difficulty - for all of the nuanced writings about grace and subtle chastisements against dangerous moralists and libertines, I still am unconvinced that we Christians really do a good job of making our message something that is relevant to most Americans. Even George Barna has said that most people see Christians just like anybody else - except we “go to church more” and “are more judgmental”. We’re not more moral, more faithful, more prayerful, more holy, or anything else we’re supposed to be.
Do we do the best we can at any given moment? Or is this simply an excuse for our lukewarm and ineffective faith? Is it our enshrined practice as Christians to beat up others and ourselves? Are people who are spiritual, but members of the “church alumni association”, simply those who have found the negativity, irrelevance, and judgmental attitudes of the church more unhelpful?
It seems as though one could come up with reasonable interpretations in either direction. And this may be why I’m not inclined to think less of people I’ve met recently who identify as agnostics. If the church hadn’t been more of a family to me than my real family growing up (in other words, a life experience I interpret as influenced directly by the numinous), I’m not sure that I would be any different.
The message that I have to take away from all of this tonight is that it may be our goal to strive for less judgmental attitudes - simply because the truth is something that is unclear and elusive, if faith really is the “substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen”.
7.01.2007
Observations from Edmonton
For those friends who may not be aware, I’m writing this blog entry from Edmonton, Alberta. Several months ago, a friend of mine asked me to accompany him on a trip up here to attend a wedding of a hometown friend of his, and I agreed to go along.
He is one of those people that has a lot of issues with the United States and the way it works, and I agree with many of his beefs, although he is firmly socialist and I am nearly the opposite of that, as anyone who knows me well could guess.
But this being Canada Day up here, and since I’ve been up here for three days, it’s probably a good time to offer a few reflections on how life is different.
1) Canadians definitely do have a distinct accent, and it is very discernable after you’ve been up here for a few days. To me it sounds vaguely Irish. Strangely, many people here seem to be from somewhere else. Already I’ve met a number of people who were born in Scotland, Ireland, England, New Zealand, Australia, and any number of other similar formerly-British places.
2) People are much friendlier than they are in Phoenix. It’s been my observation, though, that Phoenix is largely an unfriendly city. I think it is much less culturally acceptable in Phoenix to start up conversations with strangers. I’m not sure it’s the same way everywhere in America, but I certainly think we thrive on fear of strangers and a general sense of paranoia there. In fact, I think the xenophobia is what feeds the paranoia – and you can see evidence of it through the multiple locks on doors and the gated communities we hide ourselves in. You also see evidence of it in the block walls facing major streets and the tendency of people to avoid walking. Yes, the heat has a lot to do with it since we have to be in our air-conditioned cars, but this leads to such a disconnection with other people.
3) People are much more civically-engaged here. It is not uncommon at all for people to talk about the latest happenings in local politics and how that affects them. This is certainly a good by-product of socialism, which I must say I find far less offensive the more local it is. People seem to not have problems with the fact that there are laws against throwing cigarette butts on the ground, putting caffeine in clear soda, or selling liquor out of drugstores or supermarkets. I don’t think everything that’s bad for people or for society should be illegal. That said, because these laws are part of the community, everyone is much more aware of the needs of the community as a whole and seems to feel more connected to it.
4) People are much more demonstrative of their patriotism here. Yes, it is Canada Day today, but I do not see ¼ to 1/3 of car vehicles in Phoenix with American Flags stuck out their windows on July 4 or people having American flags painted on their foreheads. These Edmontonians are keen on showing how much they love their country. Perhaps with some of the current government policies in place in the U.S., people aren’t so keen on showing how proud they are to be Americans. I’m certainly not proud that political leadership in America seems to be proud of starting wars that kill hundreds of thousands of innocent people.
5) Folks here in Edmonton are much more liberal than they are in Phoenix. People around here are also much more tolerant of gays than they are in Phoenix. A recent editorial in the local mainstream newspaper spoke out about gay rights and also had a positive mention of sex toys and the benefits of recreational drug use. Other editorials in the less-mainstream press were criticizing the Anglican Church of Canada for not coming through with a positive vote of blessing same-sex marriages. That said, I don’t think people are really pro-gay here – they’re just tolerant (i.e., not bothered by gay people).
6) People who do go to church are not open about their faith – in fact, I recently heard somebody say, in all seriousness, “I’m a private Christian.” Of course, I think this is totally and completely antithetical to the Gospel. Yes, for those who will quote St. Francis to me, I understand your point, but let me say clearly: words are necessary – now more than ever, because people need to understand the vision behind why we do things like supporting the Millennium Development Goals and other important social projects. It’s not good enough to just be a place that does good in the world. If that’s all we do, our faith is unfinished and incomplete. This is an important truth we need to hear in the Episcopal Church – and this doesn’t mean that we have to be intolerant of others or think that our way is the only way that’s right. You can have a religion that’s not about moral strictures and adherence to a list of dogmas and still be a place that is not ashamed of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
7) People are struggling with gay issues here in the Anglican Church of Canada also. In fact, I think since gay marriage has been made legal here it complicates a lot of the debate in church. Many people, both straight and gay, say that gay committed relationships shouldn’t be called “marriage” since that’s a word that has historically referred to heterosexual relationships. So, because the government has made laws saying what marriage is or isn’t, this causes a ton of semantic arguments in the church. (This is another example of unintended consequences when the government tries to make people do the right thing.) We in the church are a long way from saying that two gay people should be able to be married – there isn’t likely to be a consensus on that anytime soon, and I absolutely think that the Anglican Church shouldn’t get hung up on the word “marriage”, which it seems to be doing. What needs to happen is that gays and lesbians in the church need to be given a framework for how to live out their lives faithfully – and that can’t happen without some type of official recognition and moral teaching. Right now, all the church offers are nebulously supportive statements. So let me say clearly that I’m not going to tolerate much moral judgementalism from the church when they offer no framework of support that would allow faithful gays and lesbians to live their lives in a recognizably holy way. Do not lecture us on us going about our gay lives in the wrong ways if you can’t point to something rational that’s better.
8) Edmonton most reminds me of Portland in it’s scenery and overall “feel” of the city, although I believe it’s much smaller population-wise with a bigger population density. The city is also very clean and wonderfully park-like, although full of mid-century modern architecture that is uninspiring. The real architectural treats in this city are those that are recent and those that are much older- like the Alberta legislature building and city hall, both lovely examples of civic architecture. Also, the sun stays up here a ridiculously long time, actually setting at 10PM with twilight lasting at least an hour and a half beyond that. Last night, the sky was still a little light at midnight when I heard the first of the Canada Day fireworks.
Okay, enough ranting for now . . . Blessings to all of you who may read this, and happy Fourth of July . . .
He is one of those people that has a lot of issues with the United States and the way it works, and I agree with many of his beefs, although he is firmly socialist and I am nearly the opposite of that, as anyone who knows me well could guess.
But this being Canada Day up here, and since I’ve been up here for three days, it’s probably a good time to offer a few reflections on how life is different.
1) Canadians definitely do have a distinct accent, and it is very discernable after you’ve been up here for a few days. To me it sounds vaguely Irish. Strangely, many people here seem to be from somewhere else. Already I’ve met a number of people who were born in Scotland, Ireland, England, New Zealand, Australia, and any number of other similar formerly-British places.
2) People are much friendlier than they are in Phoenix. It’s been my observation, though, that Phoenix is largely an unfriendly city. I think it is much less culturally acceptable in Phoenix to start up conversations with strangers. I’m not sure it’s the same way everywhere in America, but I certainly think we thrive on fear of strangers and a general sense of paranoia there. In fact, I think the xenophobia is what feeds the paranoia – and you can see evidence of it through the multiple locks on doors and the gated communities we hide ourselves in. You also see evidence of it in the block walls facing major streets and the tendency of people to avoid walking. Yes, the heat has a lot to do with it since we have to be in our air-conditioned cars, but this leads to such a disconnection with other people.
3) People are much more civically-engaged here. It is not uncommon at all for people to talk about the latest happenings in local politics and how that affects them. This is certainly a good by-product of socialism, which I must say I find far less offensive the more local it is. People seem to not have problems with the fact that there are laws against throwing cigarette butts on the ground, putting caffeine in clear soda, or selling liquor out of drugstores or supermarkets. I don’t think everything that’s bad for people or for society should be illegal. That said, because these laws are part of the community, everyone is much more aware of the needs of the community as a whole and seems to feel more connected to it.
4) People are much more demonstrative of their patriotism here. Yes, it is Canada Day today, but I do not see ¼ to 1/3 of car vehicles in Phoenix with American Flags stuck out their windows on July 4 or people having American flags painted on their foreheads. These Edmontonians are keen on showing how much they love their country. Perhaps with some of the current government policies in place in the U.S., people aren’t so keen on showing how proud they are to be Americans. I’m certainly not proud that political leadership in America seems to be proud of starting wars that kill hundreds of thousands of innocent people.
5) Folks here in Edmonton are much more liberal than they are in Phoenix. People around here are also much more tolerant of gays than they are in Phoenix. A recent editorial in the local mainstream newspaper spoke out about gay rights and also had a positive mention of sex toys and the benefits of recreational drug use. Other editorials in the less-mainstream press were criticizing the Anglican Church of Canada for not coming through with a positive vote of blessing same-sex marriages. That said, I don’t think people are really pro-gay here – they’re just tolerant (i.e., not bothered by gay people).
6) People who do go to church are not open about their faith – in fact, I recently heard somebody say, in all seriousness, “I’m a private Christian.” Of course, I think this is totally and completely antithetical to the Gospel. Yes, for those who will quote St. Francis to me, I understand your point, but let me say clearly: words are necessary – now more than ever, because people need to understand the vision behind why we do things like supporting the Millennium Development Goals and other important social projects. It’s not good enough to just be a place that does good in the world. If that’s all we do, our faith is unfinished and incomplete. This is an important truth we need to hear in the Episcopal Church – and this doesn’t mean that we have to be intolerant of others or think that our way is the only way that’s right. You can have a religion that’s not about moral strictures and adherence to a list of dogmas and still be a place that is not ashamed of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
7) People are struggling with gay issues here in the Anglican Church of Canada also. In fact, I think since gay marriage has been made legal here it complicates a lot of the debate in church. Many people, both straight and gay, say that gay committed relationships shouldn’t be called “marriage” since that’s a word that has historically referred to heterosexual relationships. So, because the government has made laws saying what marriage is or isn’t, this causes a ton of semantic arguments in the church. (This is another example of unintended consequences when the government tries to make people do the right thing.) We in the church are a long way from saying that two gay people should be able to be married – there isn’t likely to be a consensus on that anytime soon, and I absolutely think that the Anglican Church shouldn’t get hung up on the word “marriage”, which it seems to be doing. What needs to happen is that gays and lesbians in the church need to be given a framework for how to live out their lives faithfully – and that can’t happen without some type of official recognition and moral teaching. Right now, all the church offers are nebulously supportive statements. So let me say clearly that I’m not going to tolerate much moral judgementalism from the church when they offer no framework of support that would allow faithful gays and lesbians to live their lives in a recognizably holy way. Do not lecture us on us going about our gay lives in the wrong ways if you can’t point to something rational that’s better.
8) Edmonton most reminds me of Portland in it’s scenery and overall “feel” of the city, although I believe it’s much smaller population-wise with a bigger population density. The city is also very clean and wonderfully park-like, although full of mid-century modern architecture that is uninspiring. The real architectural treats in this city are those that are recent and those that are much older- like the Alberta legislature building and city hall, both lovely examples of civic architecture. Also, the sun stays up here a ridiculously long time, actually setting at 10PM with twilight lasting at least an hour and a half beyond that. Last night, the sky was still a little light at midnight when I heard the first of the Canada Day fireworks.
Okay, enough ranting for now . . . Blessings to all of you who may read this, and happy Fourth of July . . .
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