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perpetual-help · 3 years

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If I might ask, how did you return to Holy Mother Church?

Well, the short answer would be by the graces won for me by The Blessed Mother. I owe everything to her intercession.

I was a cradle Catholic who fell away from the Church during my later teenage years. I abandoned God out of anger and also out of a growing curiosity in the occult. I studied and practiced (and eventually mentored in) witchcraft for about six years. Towards the end of the six years, my pursuits into witchcraft grew darker and more sinister. To give you an example of the mindset I was spiraling towards - back then, I was becoming more acquainted with groups who condoned human sacrifice / cannibalistic rituals / cursing for the pleasure of causing chaos and misery / knowingly working with demons. I thank God that I was spared from going any further in these groups than simply learning what they do or what they encourage to be done through text, and nothing more.

I met someone I will call “H” through a mutual friend (in person.) My first impression of H wasn’t a very good one, given that I could tell from our first interaction that H was a Christian. Back then, I could differentiate between Christians and non-Christians by the feeling of the air that would surround them, and if I found them to be Christian, there would be an immediate swelling of hatred towards them. I had a tarot reading done for H and I to see whether it would be worthwhile to humor a friendship with a Christian, and the person who gave the reading claimed that H and I were actually soulmates. I took this seriously and decided that, since H and I were apparently connected in such a way, I had to make an effort towards H’s wellbeing, even if it never led to anything romantic. H attended a small Pentecostal church that would post its service online, and I would occasionally watch some of the sermons in order to mock and laugh at the ridiculousness of it. They would “speak in tongues,” give “words” to people, run around in “the spirit,” and do other things that I found stupid but thoroughly amusing. My interest was especially piqued by the idea of “speaking in tongues” - because, when some of them would “speak in tongues,” I could understand what they were saying. (More on my present thoughts about this later)

H suffered from depression, which I considered a blight to the both of us, given that we were allegedly soulmates. One Sunday, H said they did not want to go to church because of the depression, and so I offered to go with them, knowing that they would leap at the opportunity to drag a heathen to church. On my way to the church, the voices I recognized as my “spirit guides” at the time were leaving me with strong internal impressions such as: “He is going to say that your chains are breaking, ignore him.” And “he is going to single you out, don’t fall for it.” My answer to these impressions was “fine.”

When I entered the Church, I felt an immediate repulsion. People were dancing and singing pop worship songs, and I internally questioned why I had chosen to do this. Sure enough, the pastor did single me out. Most of what he said to me could be attributed to cold reading, but it was entertaining. I was told “Your chains are breaking. You wear your past bad relationship like a scarlet letter on your forehead.” and “You’re going to meet a Godly man and your relationship will be like out of movie. When you do, cling to him.” I’m not sure how to describe some of the sensations I felt during parts of the service. At times, I felt like my skin was crawling, or like my skin was burning, and other times as though my throat were closing and I was being choked. I initially brushed these feelings off and tried to convince myself that it was social anxiety, but that experience lingered with me even after the service. H and I talked a lot after church, mostly about the Bible and different parts in the scripture. I had a lot of questions and H was kind enough to offer loving and well-thought-out answers. I went home and cried, and it was the first time I had properly cried in several years. I wasn’t sure why I cried at first, but the day’s events recurred in my mind’s eye and I recalled how horrible I’d felt while people worshipped around me. At that moment, I genuinely wanted to know the truth - I wanted to know whether God was real. And, if He was real, I wanted to know whether He would help me. So, I prayed. I asked God this: “If you are real, please touch my heart so that I know.” Immediately, I enveloped by this warmth and peace, and something I can only think to describe as perfect love and tranquility. My heart felt this so intensely that it seemed to be overflowing in and through me, and I wept. I only then was able to realize how absolutely miserable and exhausted and anxious and depressed and wrathful I had been for so long. I wept, and I promised to give myself entirely to God. In return, I asked Him to help me to become a servant pleasing to Him - to love Him more, always. The demons I once considered my “spiritual guides” and “deities” showed their true colors after this experience. I would say, for the first year of my conversion, I was tormented a lot in different ways - but especially in my dreams, and by feelings of intense anxiety and despair that would be thrown upon me out of nowhere and that coupled with the sensation that the walls were closing in. The voices and impressions I once recognized as “friends” started to say things like “you can’t be saved, you’ve already given yourself to us.” among other lies. These torments continue today, and in other ways, but they aren’t as constant as they were towards the beginning.

I threw away six years worth of junk I had acquired which left my room essentially empty, but it was a liberating feeling. I started to attend the Pentecostal church, but my time there didn’t last. They hosted a woman who called herself a prophetess who spoke in tongues, but what she would say would be blasphemies. People would shout “amen” and “alleluia” to these utterances, and I began to understand that this group didn’t know how to discern the spirit. The breaking point for me was when the pastor claimed that Jesus had to learn how to perform miracles - that, and, the glaringly obvious inconsistencies between his sermons and scripture. There was an unhealthy focus on titles of ministries and “what God can do for your health and wealth.”

I lasted three months at that church before it clicked in my head that the Catholics were right. This, was also in part due to my rediscovery of the Bible verses that referred to Jesus’ command to eat His flesh and drink His blood, and a dream that followed. So, I went to confession for the first time in probably 8 or more years. It was a frightening experience and I cried during the entire confession like the wimp I am, but the liberation I felt afterwards far outweighed it all. A couple of days after my confession, I attended Mass with my mother. During the Transubstantiation, while the Priest held up The Body and Blood of Our Lord, I smelled a strong incense. I only noticed the smell because I normally disliked Church incense for how strong it is, but this one, while it was strong and impossible to ignore, it was the most beautiful smell I’ve ever encountered. (There was more crying) After Mass, I asked my mom whether she knew what kind of incense they used, and she deadpanned “They didn’t burn incense.”

Now that I have had more time to process the beginnings of my conversion and especially my encounters at the Pentecostal church, I am of the impression that I was able to understand their “tongues” because it was demons speaking through them. I’m aware that there’s a Charismatic Movement of Catholics who also claim to speak “in the tongues” but I am always wary of such claims, and I avoid such practices like the plague.

God is so merciful and so loving, and my entire life is a testament to this. I did nothing but offend Our Lord and hate all things good and Holy, but still, He called out to me and saved me from the miserable state of death I hadn’t realized I was in. All Glory to God.

As St. Germanus of Constantinople said: ”There is no one, O Most Holy Mary, who can know God except through thee; no one who can be saved or redeemed but through thee, O Mother of God; no one who can be delivered from dangers but through thee, O Virgin Mother; no one who obtains mercy but through thee, O Filled-With-All-Grace!”

For this reason, I also attribute these great graces given to me by the intercession of Our Blessed Mother, and I owe her nothing less than my life in return for this favor she has shown me.

I hope my answer has satisfied the question without being too tedious.

God bless you, and keep you.

#catholic #roman catholic #catholic witch #christian witch #christian #witchcraft #conversion #ask

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greenfinches · 6 years

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I saw in ur tags that you have a lot of thoughts about macs childhood. Care to elaborate???

- mac’s dad was 59 in s10, which means he was 20 or 21 when mac was born (which was in 1977, according to the sunny wiki). mrs mac seems to be roughly the same age as him, so i’d guess she was anywhere between 19-22 when she had mac.

- they were rly young parents. that’s not a bad thing in itself - plenty of ppl have kids young and raise them super well!! but judging from mac’s attachment issues and emotional insecurities in adulthood, as well as how much they’re shown to resent him, i don’t think they were ready for a child or planning for one

- the fact that mac’s catholicism is so strong when neither of his parents seem to be remotely religious makes me wonder if he grew up in church programs??

- according to google the catholic church has a relatively big presence in philly, so it’s entirely plausible that mac ended up getting most of his clothes from church charity drives, most of his meals from the church daycare, he learnt to read at sunday school

- it would explain why he’s so defensive re: catholicism even tho ultimately it’s done him so much harm. bc despite everything… this has been the one (1) stable thing in his life. this is what ended up filling the void his parents left.

- when ur a kid who gets at best ignored and at worst neglected at home, the idea of an all-knowing father looking down on u absolutely has the potential to become smth comforting that u’d cling to

- also idk if this makes sense but mac’s idea of god?? someone distant and controlling and harsh who doesn’t rly show affection at all?? that sounds a lot like luther

- god is a father figure but luther is the only father mac had experience with - so it’s no wonder that mac’s interpretation of the bible is so violent and warped. luther was mac’s frame of reference

- most of his childhood memories seem to take place outside, and most of them involve charlie. mac remembers the two of them throwing rocks at trains, riding their bikes around philly, hanging out at the community pool during the summer, but we never hear mac talk abt what it was like at home which implies that he either doesn’t like remembering it, or he’s blocked the memories out entirely

- tbh i think it was the kind of situation that gradually got worse. his parents never gave much of a shit to begin with but as mac got older and more independent, they just……..let him go. and then luther went to prison and mrs mac shut down emotionally, and mac was left completely on his own

- so as an adult mac clings onto the vague memories he has of his early childhood, back when his parents didn’t 100% resent him and his dad wasn’t in jail, and idolises those memories and romanticises them, and insists that despite all the evidence to the contrary there’s a chance those days could come back

- the strongest example of this i can think of rn is mac’s rant at charlie in s3 - “this is about people meeting back up after many years, and sparks flying, and families getting back together and raising little boys so they can be happy again! okay? happy boys! this is about happy boys!”

- and this is arguably mac’s best quality and one of his worst flaws. he is so adamantly stubborn that none of the people he loves are lost causes and all of them have potential and all of them love him back - but at the same time he can’t tell when he crosses the line from hopefulness into full-on delusion, and that ends up hurting him and hurting them

- to conclude:

#f: iasip #sorry this is so late sweetpea!! and sorry for the wall of text if anyone's reading this on mobile #anyways im Sad Abt Mac On Main #anonymous #ask tag

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viampythonissam · 5 years

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Intro, continued...

It was then I became obsessed with death and the occult, desperately trying to make contact with my grandfather through anything possible. Being clairaudient, I was expecting to hear a message from my grandfather all throughtout the whole funeral and mourning period, but to no avail. So in my desparation, I went into research, and stumbled upon things such as the ouija, seances, and many more. I even considered dabbling into necromancy, just in order to hear from him again. His death broke me so much that I was for the most time wishing I were dead too. I had suicidal thoughts but somehow something has prevented me from attempting. It could be I'm too chicken to hurt myself (getting hurt by other things besides self-infliction doesn't scare me though) or the thought of my mother crying over my dead body is another thing that would crush my heart.

I started questioning my religious beliefs then. We were Roman Catholics, and we go to church, but not too often. I am very religious though when I was a child, having been schooled in a private Catholic school, and I know all the prayers by heart; but it all changed. I felt resentment for praying so hard but never getting answered. That everything happens for a reason. A reason still so vague to me to this day, which I continue to believe was the same reason of the breaking apart of this family and eventual downfall. The family is in ruins, and the family home is crumbling apart. My father's only brother, my uncle Aldrin, died a little over two years after my grandfather; and his widow and only child, my cousin, was estranged ever since then, because of inheritance issues. My father decided to sell the house, my childhood home because of this; splitting the family fortune already so that we can all go off our separate ways and stop the bickering. The only thing that's keeping him from doing so is my grandmother who is still so attached to the house built by my grandfather.

At 16, I eventually traversed my way into the craft, dabbling on it. There was a kind of pull into these mystics that appealed to someone like me. Was it power? Was it danger? Mystery, perhaps? Or maybe I just got all too familiar with the unknown for me to be comfortable chasing after it? This craft, shunned by my faith since the dawn of time and even killed tons of people because of it, felt like home to me; learning it felt like retracing my steps back from where I came from. There was a sense of calm, relief, and freedom learning the ways of the earth, elements, and spirits and those who came before. Its unrestrictive nature was a stark contrast to the repressive and dominating teachings of the Catholic scriptures. Wherein Christianity demands a million things to do and not to do to save your soul, the craft only ever wanted you to do anything you want, just as long you harm none, even yourself. I have a lot of arguments to make against my old faith, that's why I consider myself an agnostic in all fairness. That's a topic for another day.

When I got to college at 17, I applied for nursing school under my father's wishes. It was in my misfortune to be enrolled in a school with a toxic environment of sorts: unhealthy clinic hours, unreasonable school workload, toxic Christian classmates who bombarded me everyday with bible verses and inviting me to join Sunday worship thingies. I am very respectful of other's beliefs and opinions but I really have a bone to pick with the Born Agains because upon knowing I am interested in dark movies and occult, they've started telling me that the Devil has a grip on my soul and that I should stop it so that my soul can be saved. They're even worse than the Mormons and Witnesses who knock on your door at certain days. I'd just ignore it and they'll go but BAs will stop at nothing to guiltify me of being possessed and that I need deliverance. It was also the time my parents went to Australia for work because of the failing finances due to to my late grandfather's hospital expenses, my uncle meeting his untimely demise, and my uncle's greedy widow who already demanded their inheritance even though my grandmother was still alive. My best friends of highschool also attended different schools and pursued different career pathways which left me feeling more isolated and unsure of myself. These issues fed my undiagnosed depression and relapse of suicidal thoughts all throughout my 4 years in nursing school. It was a mix of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of disappointments, achievements, first-time experiences, full independence. All without a proper support system. Nevertheless, I grew wiser while treading the craft, and for the first time since I lost my grandfather, I felt safe and sound and complete.

Then I met my elementary school sweetheart again in my final year and we became a couple. He was a sweet guy, smart and responsible. We had our similarities, our quirks, but we also had differences. I was already quite a learned witch, studying tarot and palmistry as my supposed-to-be expertise, when he told me how he wanted to be baptised as a Born Again (he and his family are Roman Catholics as well). He told me how he was deeply affected by the one time he went to a worship service of his friend's church. This struck a chord in me, a subtle reference to my beliefs. At the time, I have fully believed he is the man I'm gonna settle for, the one I'm gonna marry. He's everything I have hoped for then: he's finished school, on his way to a very decent career on a ship as a marine engineer. He's from a good family as well. Well-mannered, and not to mention that we've got a pretty long history way back when we we're 10 or so. He even made a subtle proposal of a civil marriage before he hops on board the ship. I know it was betrayal of myself, but I love this man so much so, I am ready to submit myself to him.

Worst decision of my life. I started to try and mingle with Christians so I may understand just why I needed to be saved. I joined worship services and sang with them against my own beliefs. I taught myself to be like them just so I could fit in, so that I may have friends. In return, they've burned all my books and tarot decks. Even my Slipknot t-shirt that my grandmother bought me was not spared from the Christian pyre. Said that it's to release me from the grip of the Devil. They even did deliverance to me. For a while I thought I was given a new lease on life and that this is the only right thing to do. I was easily convinced since it was the most trying time of my life so far: I was killing myself reviewing for the nursing licensure exams, my parents are already coming to get us and live away in Australia for good, my bf and I hit rock bottom and broke up (the girl who is the 3rd party confessed to me that they're having an affair, and that she was so guilty she can't sleep at night knowing we are good friends and they're doing this behind my back, also I've noticed red flags about him that made me doubt him a bit. I factored everything and the dots connected like a damn constellation so I've called it quits), and I was caught in an identity crisis because of inner turmoil. Maybe it was a time of personal upheaval and the mix of situations was too much for me to handle. Maybe it was a good thing though that I never got baptised because my life just got much more complicated after that.

So I did pass the licensures, ex and I never got together again, I went to live to Australia, but I never recovered from the inner turmoil thing; which made me spiral down again the depression lane, this time in its dangerous, ugliest and darkest recesses. I was fighting with my parents which I never did before, I was angry all the time. I started drinking then and I was exhausted all the time I just want to sleep. All the activities I've enjoyed before like sketching, playing the piano, afternoon strolls, and cooking for the family, I've totally lost interest in. My health deteriorated and I cut off and isolated myself from my friends overseas, ignoring their messages and emails. I tried to cope up by immersing myself in Christian songs and scriptures but it was not enough. I was still empty and numb. I was like a zombie, waking up just enough not to get late for work, then go home after, eat unhealthily, play video games, chug a bottle or two of beer, surf the net for worthless and trivial things, and sleep very late, like around 3 to 5 am, only to wake up again a few hours later for work. This was a vicious daily cycle that went on for 4 years. The only reprieve I had was my video games, and my sombre playlist, just enough to block the deafening screams of suicidal thoughts and ideations before I go to sleep. There was also a time I was going home from my internship waiting for the train home, that I thought of just jumping on the train tracks to end the struggle and pain. I was more than ready to attempt as I felt braver now. That was the time I lost all fear for death. Hell, I was ready to buy a rope at Bunnings too as well. But at the back of my head, the same sad picture of my mother crying over my dead body stops me from doing such thing. They said the deliverance was supposed to stop these things, but guess what? It was it that brought it back. It was supposed to keep the demons away, but it did the opposite, and felt so trapped in a cage of deceit and lies. I was supposed to be saved, but why did it felt like I was dying?

It was then I pondered over everything that's happened in my life so far. Where did I fall, where did I stand tall, where did I pick myself up? I thought long and hard enough and decided to start off where it began to crumble: back home. Retracing my steps back to Manila, now 25, I found my old stuff in my old room, before things happened. It reminded me of my simple life and my freedom and innocence. Back when I had complete control of my life. Back when I was the master of my fate. I let the people around me convince me that the man from the sky take the wheel, and it damn well crashed. A head-on collision with a destructive force. I decided to go back to my roots, the one where I felt best. And embracing it tighter than ever and promising to never betray it anymore for any reason.

My ex is now preparing to marry his girlfriend of 3 years. We met accidentally and forgave him already. I'm happy for him and that hopefully his happiness continue on. My old friends are still my friends, but there's already a notable gap between which I do not intend to close at all anymore. I do have new friends now and I keep a healthy distance from them whilst making a worthwhile connection. I am now preparing to enter med school in August and become a surgeon someday. The old house is in shambles, and I realized that a house is not a home, but the family that lives in it. I miss my parents and that my family will always come first, but I am happy to be more independent now and live by myself while studying medicine. Things are well between me and my cousin (my late uncle's child) and that I have forgiven his mother already for the hurt and trouble that they caused us. We see each other as he visits me and grandmother here at the old house every 2 months. When BAs, Mormons, and other religions try to do bible study to me, I am now assertive to tell them that I am agnostic and that I am firm in my beliefs. I am now recovering from my self-destructive ways and more optimistic and living healthier. Love is around, but it felt to me that I have lots to undertake first before I commit myself to someone again. I have backlogged so much that my time has to be devoted to the craft, my family and myself first before anything else. I am trying hard to pick up all the pieces and it seems things are finally going back in its right place. And the craft, after all these years, welcomed me back with open arms without any questions, like a mother does to her child. The sun, moon and the stars never shone brighter before, the day I returned home and answered its longing call.

Now. I have to let this off my chest now once and for all. Pleasure. Why is it a sin to pursue whatever makes you happy? Why must you endure pain just so you can be saved? Isn't that a crooked logic? Why must you be averse to your own will just so you get into a good place in the afterlife? I am only human, I am flawed, but it isn't my fault because I was born and created this way. Why must I be punished for something that is natural for me? If being free and happy costs me a one-way ticket to Hell, then I'd best be off. If my witchcraft, which teaches the opposite of your tyrannic religion, is a surefire way to deliver me there, then I'll make sure I will be a remarkable witch and enjoy my lifetime, and be very ecstatic to march down the fiery highway to Hell after I am gone. But I will never again submit myself to a narcissistic, psychopathic religion who has to kill millions of innocent people, and shun and humiliate people who think in contrast, just to justify and preach the existence of their god and its scriptures. My argument does not end with this and I will not back down anymore in defending my faith.

The craft is my world, and nature is my home. I am a daughter of those who came before, of those who are truly enlightened, of those you can never ever kill. I am a witch, and you can never take that away from me again.

*** Sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading, if you did. I hope you had something to take from my story and may it help you with whatever is botheringvor troubling you right now.

May the journey of life be kind to us all. Blessed be! ❤

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jorrmungandr · 5 years

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Chapter 8: The Pulpit

Let us continue the Theology lessons, here in this, the most churchy run of chapters in Moby-Dick; or, the Whale.

This chapter contains some real meat in that particular vein, as well as appealing to a particular style of Christian aesthetic that I enjoy a great deal. After the doubts raised in The Chapel, it’s time to get a little more sincere, as the chaplain finally makes his appearance.

SUMMARY: Father Mapple, the chaplain, arrives. Having walked through the icy storm, his heartiness and humbleness cannot be doubted. He takes off his hat, coat, and overshoes, and ascends the pulpit to conduct the service.

It’s funny, sometimes, when I condense down what actually happens in a given chapter into a mere three sentences, and then have to go on for a thousand or two words about all the rest of it. Such is the way with novels! Especially the more twisty, philosophical ones like Moby Dick.

It seems to me that there is something of a tonal shift when Father Mapple arrives on the scene. Ishmael has a certain affection for the man, noting his humbleness, his robustness, his true, solemn devotion to his faith, all throughout this chapter and the next. We are assured that Mapple is himself a former seaman, and that he comes by his eccentricities honestly. Even the ropes of the pulpit are the genuine article, donated from a real ship.

Indeed, Ishmael is convinced that all of this is a part of some sort of clever Metaphor or Allegory being subtly employed by Father Mapple. When the chaplain pulls the rope ladder up into the pulpit, rung by rung, Ishmael waxes philosophic again:

I pondered some time without fully comprehending the reason for this. Father Mapple enjoyed such a wide reputation for sincerity and sanctity, that I could not suspect him of courting notoriety by any mere tricks of the stage. No, thought I, there must be some sober reason for this thing; furthermore, it must symbolize something unseen.

Around this time, he also makes a couple of stray references I thought I should chase down. First, the pulpit is Mapple’s own impregnable “little Quebec”. Quebec City is famously a walled town, and indeed is the only north american town that still retains its walls to this very day!

The other is that the pulpit is “ a lofty Ehrenbreitstein, with a perennial well of water within the walls”. Turns out, that’s just a enormous fortress in Germany, near what would at the time have been the border with France, right on the banks of the Rhine river. It was destroyed by the French during the Napoleonic wars, but then rebuilt even stronger afterwards. At the time of this writing, it would be a massive, impressive symbol of military might and safety. It, too, has survived to this very day, and you can go tour it in much the same form as it was in Melville’s day. As far as I can find, there are no legends about it having a replenishing well within its walls.

This is all in service of the Metaphor that Ishmael mentioned, that this heavenly retreat of Father Mapple signifies his withdrawal from petty physical concerns and turning his attention to the spiritual.

Yes, for replenished with the meat and wine of the word, to the faithful man of God, this pulpit, I see, is a self-containing stronghold

I love this kinda shit. I’m gonna be honest, this sort of... I’m not sure exactly how to describe it, early American naive Christianity. The kind of thing you get from puritans and other wild strands of the faith that were exiled first to Holland and then across the ocean to the New World.

It’s like... people discovering Christianity for the first time and trying to make sense of it on their own. Protestantism flows from the invention of the printing press, and the new availability of the actual text of the Bible to people other than Catholic priests and monks. What must they think of these strange stories, now thrown open for interpretation? Trying to discover the inerrant truths hidden within them, seeking a way of life in a book written thousands of years earlier, for a completely different audience.

It leads to things like Pilgrim’s Progress, a book massively popular in very early New England. Just directly telling people to be good, that greed is bad, and you just have to believe in Jesus. The burden of discovering the truth through the scripture is a heavy one, why not make a cheat sheet? Here’s all the important stuff, laid out in the most bald, easy-to-understand allegory that even the youngest of children or the busiest of farmers could understand it. When you tear down an old idol that was telling you how to run your life, you have to fill that void with something!

This kind of Christianity, with it’s very simple, direct messages trying to convince people not to be so horrible all the time, appeals to me on a deep level. It feels so damn honest compared to its modern American successors, I suppose. Just be good, and not bad, and believe in The Lord and it’ll all be okay.

Of course, the truth is that even back then this kind of ministry was rife with hypocrites and scandal. But that’s more Nathaniel Hawthorne’s territory, we’re reading a Melville book, and though they were close friends, they didn’t exactly speak about the same things all the time.

Speaking of the book that I’m supposed to be talking about, the metaphor is completed by Ishmael saying that the pulpit is like the prow of a ship, but for the whole of the Earth. It is the foremost part, sticking out bravely, leading the way for all the rest of us.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one other thing: another enormous, portentous oil painting! This time hanging on the wall directly behind the pulpit, above the tragic tablets on the back wall. It depicts a ship in the midst of a storm, but with a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds above. And in that, an angelic figure beckoning the ship onwards, to safety.

And so the structure of these chapters has gone. First, we were plunged into grief and theological doubt by the tablets, then we climb out of that mire with Father Mapple, to the top of the high pulpit. And finally, next chapter, we shall ascend into hope and light when he finally begins his sermon.

You’ll never guess what book of the bible he’s talking about.

Whew, that one really went some places. I think part of my appreciation for that vein of Christianity comes from the church I grew up in, UCC, which a descendant of Congregationalists, which have their origins among the dissidents of England and the settlers of New England. Also the exceedingly lengthy, yet very good, series of books from Neal Stephenson called The Baroque Cycle, which I highly recommend.

As always, you can follow along for free with the full text of the book from Gutenberg dot org. Next chapter is gonna be realllllll long and even more Theological than this one, as we get into an actual got damb sermon, probably based on one that Melville actually heard at the real church that this scene is set in. We’ll see how it fits in, thematically, with the rest of the book.

Image Credits, in order:

A Sermon From The High Pulpit: The Chancel Behind (1827), Joesph Mallord William Turner.

Photo of Porte St. Louis, Parks Canada.

Festung Ehrenbreitstein viewed from Koblenz (2011), Holger Weinandt.

Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, With Over One Hundred Illustrations Designed by Frederick Barnard and Others, Engraved by Dalziel Borthers (The John C. Winston Company, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Toronto, 1894).

Ships in Distress in a Storm (1720-30), Peter Monamy.

#moby-dick; or the whale #moby dick #19th century literature #herman melvil #ishmael #father mapple #pilgrim's progress #protestantism #new england #philosophy #theology

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whitegirlrevert · 3 years

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Conversion from Catholicism to Islam – a response

How have you found the conversion from Catholic to Islam. Lots of things in common but I’m sure there are also some pretty big differences.

*note this is just my experience*

At the end of the day religion is just a way to connect with the divine nature. I don’t see it as black or white. The more you get into any religion the more it starts to bother you because you recognize the inconsistencies between faith and practice.

I believe that you can be a believer in something higher or not. It’s something that’s personal. If at the end of the day, religion doesn’t make you a better person and help you benefit humankind then what is the point? That being said, there are many religious people who do benefit immensely from practicing their faith.

…

Use of reasoning.

What I appreciated with Islam is this notion of logic and rationality being used as an explanation for every single tiny thing. My understanding of this has now developed further and I know that even the ways that we construct religious rules and practice can shift depending on the social underpinnings of the initial “law-makers”. Growing up catholic, (and that may just be my specific upbringing) there were no explanations for anything. Everyone just took their faith as something certain without questioning it. This also still happens among muslims. I think it comes from a fear of questioning, based on a slippery slope concept. Perhaps questioning may lead you to leave the faith, and thus, it must be inspired by the “evil spirit”.

I am almost certain that if I was to continue searching with Catholicism, that I would have found a more intellectual basis for it. But there were just too many aspects of belief that were integral to the faith, and yet I fundamentally disagreed with, that it just didn’t make sense to identify as catholic anymore. It takes a lot of courage to reject something that you were brought up with. Multiple layers of disidentification occur before you can ultimately distance yourself.

Similar to use of reasoning, is having explanations for traditions.

Mass, or the specific traditions involved, was never explained to me. Even if I asked, no one seemed to know. In Islam, however potentially flawed, there is a specific reason for everything, and it’s not merely “well this is how people have been doing it for awhile”. I was never a fan of confession and I appreciate the Islamic principle that humans cannot intercede on your behalf. A similarity among reverts to Islam is their rejection of the concept of a trinity due to their inability to conceptualize it. We were always taught that this is the “truth”, but truth is always a construct. If you don’t have a trinity, then a lot of things about Christianity don’t come together for you anymore. I am not saying that it’s incorrect, just that it’s actually quite a difficult and contested concept, and yet, it has become simplified as if you’re just supposed to take such a theological concept at face value.

Specific rights for women.

If you go back to the New Testament and the Old Testament there aren’t really any explicit rights that women get. So when people question me, why can’t Islam operate how christians treat women. First of all, which christian women? Where do they live? There are christian women in parts of Africa who cohabit in polygynous relationships and have no explicit rights. In these regions, muslim women in polygynous relationships actually report higher marital satisfaction in comparison.

Comparative statements may be true in the sense that muslims should be treating women a different way, but often we mix Islam with muslims. The legal rights that women receive in Islam are very clearly stipulated in the religious text. The same does not occur in the bible. Instead, it’s actually external practice that have shaped the lives of Christian women. Do I think that the notion of Christ’s love and salvation plays a role in this? Absolutely! But we nonetheless have countless examples where women are not treated well in Christian communities. We cannot only look at how much fabric is on a woman’s body and deduce from that what the level of her “oppression” is.

Female religious leaders.

I grew up catholic so that’s a pretty specific ubringing. Many other churches allow women to be much more involved in the church, either as priests/ministers/pastors or other leadership roles. Arguably, the catholic church does not provide these positions. The same can be said of mosques – a woman can’t lead prayer in front of men. They can in front of women, but there are pretty much no opportunities made for women to lead female-led prayer either. It’s just not a priority. There are often religious conferences where they invite a token female scholar or worse, no female scholar to the panel. Sometimes I want to yell, “hey! We exist.”

Also, the struggle to find recitation of God’s word in Arabic by a female is real. It’s ridiculous. If you are a man, and think a woman’s voice will distract you then pick a male reciter! It is very simple. I think the concept of a woman’s voice being sexualized is absolute bullshit personally, and unsupported by both the qur’an and sunnah. This view is something that I’ve always found absolutely shocking, particularly because this is not a christian practice.

Judgement.

I don’t know many people that are catholic and actually know about their religion. Instead, I was exposed to individuals who went to church on Sunday, walked straight out, and made racist comments. My experience of the muslim community, however flawed, is that even if they judge (under the cover of haram policing; aka. “leading you to the truth”) they know that judging other people, backbiting, and slander is not permissible in Islam. This value is something that is fortunately often discussed at religious gatherings, and to me, it represents perhaps more authentic practice. For example, I was once coming back from a religious conference in a car with a sister who literally stopped the discussion in the back of her vehicle about how the religious speaker’s voice could have been improved. That to me, is living out your faith. I had never experienced something like that with christians. One thing that the two religious groups have in common is judging each other’s faiths without truly knowing much about them. Muslims definitely know more about Christianity than christians know about Islam. What they lack, however, is an ability to try to see Christian belief from a Christian perspective.

Connection to the divine.

1. Prayer.

I used to think, “wow, praying 5 times per day on a set schedule. How tedious!” But I think it’s honestly been my greatest blessings since converting. The prayer itself is actually more of worship mixed in with what we would normally view as “prayer” from a Christian lens. The rhythmicity of it all allows it to be a rather mindful exercise. The “call” to prayer is a reminder to prioritize and of the meaning of the word “Islam” itself (to submit to the will of God). We don’t pray when it’s convenient for us, but rather, because we have devotion to something greater. Obviously, this concept was new for me.

2. Jesus culture.

Jesus culture is what I would define as trying to make religion digestible for youth by making the concept of Jesus into something cool, i.e. “Jesus as pop star”. Growing up Catholic this didn’t really happen, so maybe my commentary is directed to other forms of Christianity. As muslims, we still respect and believe in Jesus as a prophet, but we don’t raise this respect to the level of worship. I find it telling that often when people want to insult muslims and Islam they refer to muslims as Muhmmad worshipers or refer to “our God” as Muhammad (astf). It reveals an identification of a human figure with God. Again, prophets are important to our relationship with God, but ultimately, they are not God. This is a concept called shirk in arabic, and it means equating something with God. This is the ultimate sin in Islam.

That being said, I think Jesus culture assists believers in feeling love toward God. Since their God has become so personified, it’s much easier to feel an emotion like love toward another human being than this higher concept of God. Growing up Christian, you just take Jesus as the son of God/also God as something normal. It’s fine if you want to believe that, but to deny that this concept is not problematic theologically, even from a Jewish perspective, is unfortunate.

3. Arabic.

In Catholocism/Christianity, you don’t need to know a certain language. Learning how to pray (the worship ritual prayers) required me to learn those prayers in arabic. But it really isn’t too different from how one learns to pray Our Father. These words are words that are pre-established for us to get certain meaning across. We can do our own prayers using whatever words or language afterwards, but Our Father is kind of a set prayer. The use of Our Father is very similar to the use of Al Fatihah (the first chapter/first few lines of the quran). Eventually, you pick up on terms and use them without thinking. Part of using arabic is because you can convey concepts that you couldn’t adequately describe by translating them into English. Now I am even learning to read the quran in arabic, which is something that I once assumed was impossible.

4. Ritual

I grew up Catholic so I am used to ritual. Nevertheless, I am not going to lie and say that conversion to another faith that employs ritual is easy. It isn’t. Particularly, if you’re trying to hide this new faith from your family members. All I can say is that youtube is a godsend and focusing on intention rather than correctness is very helpful. I have been thinking about creating how-to guides for new reverts and hosting them here, so hopefully that will be beneficial to followers.

5. Gender division

This has been very upsetting and unsettling for me. I understand the reasoning behind the arguments for it but I still find it hard to accept. Growing up and not being exposed to this culturally has a significant impact on how “normal” you find this. For example, certain synagogues also separate by gender in a similar manner. On the one hand, I appreciate being able to focus without distractions. On the other hand, I have extreme hatred for mosques that have dividers for the women constructed in such a way that does not allow me to see the interior of the building, or perhaps worse, is the equivalent of a tool shed. My ideal space is like a gurdwarah, where the genders are separate but side by side. I know a lot of people argue that more men tend to come to the mosque, therefore, they need more space. But I also wonder whether more women would come to the mosque if there was a comfortable space for them. This absolutely isn’t an issue at every mosque, but it’s enough of a problem that there is even a blog created–Side Entrance–that documents the various women’s mosque entrances and spaces across the world. If I don’t feel comfortable in a religious space, I simply don’t go there again. I don’t need to spend my time feeling angry rather than in peace.

#convert #revert #islam #muslim #catholic #conversion

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aliceviceroy · 6 years

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Part I - The beginning

Five years ago, there would be no way in hell that I could ever conceive of leaving the Christian faith. But here I am today, only mere months after I finally garnered the courage to change my Facebook status (oh, heaven forbid!) and be public about my faith...or lack thereof. Friends have asked me why, and how, someone who was as zealous a Christian as I could so intentionally and deliberately leave the faith, so I decided I am in a good, and secure place... and I'm ready to answer why.

Before I go into the full reason, I feel the need to offer a couple of disclaimers. The first is that I feel in order to fully explain why I left the church, I need to offer some background into the events that led up to this decision... so bear with me, and please respect that this is not an easy article to write. Also, what makes this article especially difficult is that in writing it, inevitably I will be thinking of people who have influenced my decision to leave the Christian faith, and some of those people might find themselves reading this article. I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, and I will do my best to not name anyone outright, but people who know me well enough might be able to identify people I reference, and for that, I apologize. I do not wish to put anybody in a bad light. Do I have friends that are Christian? Yes. Do I care about them very much? Yes.

With that being said... this is what happened:

To start at the beginning, I did not grow up in a Christian home. My parents, who are two loving and supportive people, both grew up in Christian homes (Dad was Lutheran and Mom was Catholic) but both stopped going to church very quickly after they grew up. For reasons I still don't exactly know why (except that it was "the thing to do") my sister and I were baptized as Catholics, and we went to the Catholic school down the street from the house where I grew up, out of convenience. This Catholic school was next to a Catholic church, and that Catholic church had a youth minister who would come next door to the school with his guitar, come into class, and play cheesy Christian songs (like "Shine Jesus Shine") and it was awesome because we didn't have to do math class anymore!

But also, when I was a kid (and this should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me) I was totally that awkward kid, with the bad haircut and glasses and my nose in a book all the time. I saw this individual and this youth group he had as a welcome invitation, to make friends and meet people who were welcoming and would accept me unconditionally for who I was, books and all. And I was exactly right.

I started going out to this church youth group and felt very welcomed, and loved, and developed a very positive friend community that had a great effect on my self-esteem. My teenage years were very happy, and I do want to stress that.

As far as Catholic churches go, this particular church had more of an "evangelical" edge to it, and was pretty strongly influenced by a revival movement, very similar to Pentecostal revival movements, that had hit the Catholic church in North America in the '80s. What I mean by this, is that there was an altar call kind of moment, there was a "movement of the Holy Spirit," so to speak, and a moment where I "accepted Jesus into my heart" -- looking back, I'm not sure if this was a true moment or not, or that I was swept up by the emotions of the event involved: the music, the charismatic speaker, and whatnot.

I also wonder if I "accepted Jesus" because all my friends at that time had already done so and there was a bit of peer pressure involved. Either way, I really did love Jesus. Hardcore. I kept my bible in my backpack, I went to church every week (it was also convenient because I played piano for various church choirs so I had a commitment to go, and playing was so easy and fun for me) I even prayed the rosary. Every single night. There was none more zealous than I, and I'm sure this caused me to be alienated even more from my peers, but at the time, I didn't care, because to me, I had a god who loved me, so who gave a shit about what other people thought?

Part II - Since when do parking lots cost $40,000?

At the end of my high school career, I applied and got accepted into a year-long missions program where you travel across North America going to churches and go to Ghana. This is where my seemingly unshakable faith, started to crumble. I can confirm that there are some pretty corrupt churches in Southern Ontario/the United States. I know, because I've been to them and spent time there. Churches where there were pastors literally screaming at each other behind closed doors, (we were at one church over the Easter weekend, and minutes before the service had started for Easter Sunday, found out that the two pastors had been screaming at each other and threatening to quit... minutes before the service started); churches that were blinded by capitalism (I cannot understand the justification of the money spent in mega-churches) and authority (I had someone tell me to "Please, refer to me as Pastor _______").

We went to a church where they were holding a $40,000 fundraiser... for a parking lot. And yes, they already had a completely functional parking lot, but they wanted a nicer parking lot. I was furious at the thought, especially when we had just gotten back from Ghana and had encountered some of the most blatant and unfair forms of poverty I had ever seen in my life. When you see enough of the nasty underbelly of churches, you're left with a really bad taste for the hypocrisy, politics, and gossip that seemed to be a trend with most churches we went to.

The one thing I seemed to continually come across, was the fact that I was Catholic, and the majority of churches we were visiting were very Protestant. According to a lot of these people, I'm not a Christian, or a REAL Christian, and the Catholic church is a terrible corrupt place and the Pope is the anti-Christ and Catholics are just misguided Mary-worshippers... I have heard it all. And the thing is, Catholics feel the same about Protestants -- they have "some of the truth, but not all of the truth."

So I was suddenly finding myself in a constant year-long debate against what felt like everybody I came into contact with, because the form of Christianity I subscribed to, was different than their form of Christianity. So who was right? They think they are right, and I think I am right. And I grew to learn, that people don't like the idea of being wrong, and I had to become comfortable with the fact that I could be wrong, and that it's OK. I could grow, I could learn, being wrong wasn't bad, it was good because then I could correct what is wrong and learn from it.

But further than that, this thought caused me to realize, how arrogant I was, to think that my form of small-town Southern-Ontario Catholic Christianity was the only way that people could come to know God properly, when there are billions of people all over the world who reach out to all kinds of higher powers and forms of spiritual enlightenment all the time? And those people feel the same kind of assurance, peace, and goodness that I do? I can't have the nerve to say that these people were wrong because how they relate to their god is different than mine, when all I have to justify my belief is a book. Which is exactly what I was doing. And exactly what those people who thought being Catholic was wrong were doing to me.

Part III - What happened out there

After the year was over I went to university, and after my first year of university, I had a very difficult summer. I couldn't find a job, so I tried to make a go of it and started my own business, which is incredibly stressful as it is. I was also very lonely, which made me very vulnerable. A person whom I thought was a friend paid to have me fly out to visit him in Vancouver. I was also incredibly naive at the time and didn't think getting sexually assaulted could possibly happen to me on this trip to Vancouver... but it kind of did. And I was in a terrifying place, having no money, being thousands of miles away from home and friends and familiar faces, and having no means to escape and run away.

I can't explain how horrible it feels to not be able to run away when you're in danger. In the Christian faith, especially conservative Christian faith, there are a couple of very large no-no's, and sex before marriage is one of the biggest ones. I've heard and been to talks where people equate pre-marital sex to losing your value, or being like a piece of tape that gets stuck and re-stuck until it can't stick anymore, or a bank account where you're cashing out money until you have none.

At the time, I very heavily blamed myself for what happened to me and was terrified to let on in even the remotest sense that anything bad (that I didn't consent to) had happened. A large portion of my reasoning was those analogies about what happens when you have sex before marriage kept playing over and over again in my head. I also had this stupid thought, that since I was regarded as a leader, I can't let anything bad happen to me, or show any kind of indiscretion.

It's horrible how deeply I blamed myself for the whole thing, which is so wrong, and so harmful to do. I felt tremendously ashamed, as though I had done something wrong, and this was a tremendous lie that took a long time to get over. Oddly enough, I only ever had one friend who directly cut through my bullshit story and asked me what really happened. Only one, out of all the friends who knew I was going. And I was too afraid to tell him, and when I finally did, he reacted in a way that made me feel even more wretched about myself. (He and I have talked about this and apologies have been made.)

But still, I wished somebody had warned me, or said something, or kindly reminded me to be careful. I had one friend email and caution me against going... two weeks after I had gotten back. Two weeks too late. And when I finally started to tell people what really happened, a lot of people reacted inappropriately, saying that I should forgive the guy, or that God was going to heal me, or that good things will come out of it. Just for future reference -- don't EVER say those things to someone who has been sexually assaulted. It's ignorant, rude, and dismissive, and caused me to feel further alienated.

The question, "where was God?" kept on asking itself to me as I tried to process what had happened. God is supposed to love me, and protect me, and keep me from harm. This is what I had been taught, yet here I was, feeling like my church had failed me by keeping me sheltered and naive, and feeling like I was continually let down by Christians in their dismissive, harmful reactions when I had finally got the courage to stop thinking about those "sex before marriage ruins you" analogies and talk about what happened.

I reasoned two things to answer my question about where was God, when I was in Vancouver: God either was present and there, and did nothing about it, or God was not there, and does not exist. It is easier for me to think that God does not exist, than to think that God was present and did nothing. A God who is present and does nothing is not all-powerful, and is not all-loving, and I simply cannot forgive a god who stands by and watches while people get hurt after he promised to protect people. If I had the power to stop something bad happening to someone I loved, I would do everything I could to stop it. Of all of the times in my life that I needed God, God was not there. This is where I stopped believing in God -- I would rather think that God simply does not exist, then think that God abandoned me.

Further than that, I began to think of how randomly senseless the world could be. I grew up in a safe and loving environment in a stable country with a good economy. The majority of the world cannot say the same. Where is God then? I had people ask me to pray for them in a village we were visiting in Ghana because they have no clean drinking water. Where is God then? I met a homeless person in Toronto who asked me to pray for him so he could overcome his drug addictions and find a safe place to sleep that night. Is God protecting him? Where is God in the face of natural disasters that destroy countries and leave countless numbers of people devastated? How can an all-powerful, completely loving, benevolent God allow that kind of random injustice and suffering?

I started to think of the many times where I have heard other people, and have also found myself, thanking God for being present in the little things -- God helped me ace that test, or God helped me get to work on time, or God led me to my true love. How incredibly selfish is it for me to reason that God is always present and doing little magical things to make my life easier when there are people who live in this world who don't have the basic necessities for living?

And then, maybe those people in that village in Ghana do get clean drinking water one day, and they are thankful that God provided for them. What kind of God denies people basic necessities for living and then demands their thankfulness if he does choose to provide? I would rather that God does not exist, than choose to follow that kind of god.

Living with this secret, this "sin" made me realize that I didn't feel welcome in the churches I went to anymore, and the times when I felt most welcome, were the times before anything bad had happened to me... which feels very backwards to what I understand Christianity to be about. The more I started doubting my faith, the more the bible made perfect sense to me, and the easier it became to read: Jesus loved the poorest of the poor. He spent time with the prostitutes, the tax collectors, and the people with the worst reputations, and loved them unconditionally, contrary to the culture they were a part of. God wasn't a god of the rich and powerful, but a god of the outcast and enslaved, who freed oppressed people and stood for the rights of the downtrodden.

So naturally it would feel like this kind of unconditional love, and this unity and welcomeness should be extended to all people, regardless of gender, race, and class, just as Jesus embodied in his life. Yet I fail to see that in so many churches. I've encountered too many Christians who (for example) would rather argue about the theology of whether a homosexual person is an inherently disordered individual living in sin according to the book of Genesis... rather than recognizing how deeply harmful those kinds of dialogues are and the profound effect that kind of thinking has on the lives of people.

I know I speak broadly, and am at risk of generalizing, but too often I feel like in so many parts of the North American church, there is far too little emphasis on an ongoing option for appropriately caring for the poor, and that such care manifests itself in ways that do not "inconvenience us" or involve colonialism (like short-term missions trips, for instance).

In a Facebook note where I wrote about these thoughts many years ago, I said,

"It has become too easy, too passive, and expectations have fallen too low. Where is the challenge if I begin to feel like the view towards salvation is that it is assured simply because I fill up a space in a church pew? There is too much brokenness in this weary world, and too great a responsibility, and (by the way...) saving souls should never, ever, ever, be thought of in numerical terms... Don't give me a church with good music and good public speaking. Give me Jesus. Give me the courage that Jesus had to love tax collectors, prostitutes, and to approach the lowest caste, the diseased, dirty, and dying, and love them. Don't give me an altar call and have the nerve to tell me that all I have to do is kneel down, say 'yes,' and that is my way into heaven. Give me the weight of the world, and the responsibility of the impoverished, the dying, and the hungry."

I found myself continually dissatisfied, and unable to justify this kind of "feel-good" attitude I found in so many churches I encountered. I was very quickly running out of answers and reasons.

Part IV - Nails in the coffin

And then a couple of things happened, that in my mind, I refer to as the "nails in the coffin." There were of course many things that happened, many negative conversations and traumatizing experiences, but I'll talk about two of them that encompass the spirit of most of what happened, for the sake of length. (We all know this post is long enough already...lol). The first "nail" that happened was that I volunteered at a weekend youth retreat that I volunteer at every year, and for the first time in a tremendously long time, deeply related with what the speaker had to say.

The people who organize the event (who are also good friends of mine and the organizers of the year-long missions program I went on) had invited a speaker they had seen at an earlier event, and his message was very clear, and very simple: It is OK to doubt your faith. In fact, doubting your faith and questioning it helps your faith to grow. Also a person's actions are a reflection of what they believe. If, in my actions or inactions, I am supporting systems or institutions that enable oppression, this is what I believe in.

I loved his message. His message resonated deeply with me, and for the first time in this dark night of the soul I was experiencing, I felt a glimmer of light, and a chance for encouragement. I could doubt my faith, and that was OK. However, I was one of only a few people who resounded with what he had to say. Many, many people at the event thought his ideas were "heretical" "un-biblical" and couldn't believe that this "non-Christian" was speaking at their event. People were walking out on talks, arguments were taking place all over the grounds this event was held at, and the poor speaker was getting harassed everywhere he went.

People were telling him they needed to pray for him to receive Jesus into his life, saying he was a heretic, and looking for opportunities to argue him at every turn. The hardest part for me, in the midst of witnessing this insanity, was that a lot of the people who disagreed so strongly with him were people I knew personally. People whose churches I had visited, or people I had lived with or worked with or spent extended time with. And they were saying that it's not OK to doubt your faith. In fact you are not allowed to doubt your faith, and if you're doing so, you're not a Christian.

This broke my heart, and I realized that these people I had known for years were not safe people, or kind accepting people that I could be open with my struggles about. (I need to offer a disclaimer: not all of my friends, including my friends who organized the event, hated what he had to say. A lot of people related to him the same way I did, and that meant a lot to me.)

After the event, I knew the organizers would receive piles upon piles of angry emails, and I made an attempt to curve the anger away from them by writing a Facebook note, and circulating it on social media. Within three days of writing the note I had over 120 comments on the note, and piles of messages in my inbox. I had angry messages, messages from people who were "concerned" about me, but I also had a couple of messages from people thanking me, for having the courage to openly express what many people were afraid to say.

That also floored me more than anything -- other people out there felt the same, and that they were part of a church where their opinions weren't welcome, and felt oppressed and unable to say how they felt and where they really stood with faith. In this regard, the church was unwelcoming. The next year at this same event, the speaker they invited was conservative, and talked about the usual stuff; how you should accept Jesus into your heart and all that. Then I realized how much a consumer culture permeates so many churches -- that my friends can't even use their authority in planning this event to challenge people in a healthy way, but that they are still held at the mercy of giving people what they want to hear. This really disappointed me.

The second "nail in the coffin" was at a summer camp I volunteered to be a counsellor at. At the camp, I was asked to give a talk. This was a Christian camp, and I asked them what they wanted me to talk about (I was good friends with the organizers) and they said, "Anything. We trust you." So I was faced with the challenge of giving a Christian talk to a bunch of teenagers at a summer camp, and I didn't know what I would say. In fact, I had to give two talks, and this made me very nervous. I didn't want to lie and say something I wasn't sure I believed in, nor did I want to say what I actually thought, and draw a lot of negative attention to myself.

I had a long conversation with one of my close friends at the camp about my dilemma, and he advised me to speak what I believed in. So I wrote a letter to the church, and I spoke very honestly. For the first time in front of a group of strangers, I told them what happened to me in Vancouver, and I talked about the residual effects, and the doubt I was experiencing, and where I was presently. And the result utterly shocked me. People were thanking me for being so open, and kids were confiding in me, and telling me their struggles, and how they were not sure of what they believed in, and why. It opened the floor for a very open and vulnerable dialogue among people who were willing to accept one another.

For the second talk, I decided that, rather than present my "letter to the church" I would invite people to collectively write a letter to the church, and we could continue the conversation about where they stood with the church and how they felt about it. A couple of people who hadn't been at the first talk came to the second talk, and one individual in particular got very upset, and started saying that I was sinning, and "demonizing the church" and how dare I say anything negative about the church. My attempt to explain that we weren't being negative, but rather allowing a critical analysis of an institution we all cared about ended with her running away in tears, and completely derailing the conversation.

I attempted to try and find her afterward and try and patch things up, but she started screaming at me, accusing me of putting her in an unsafe place, and again, being a sinner who demonizes the church and is a horrible, horrible person who is completely wrong, heretical, and evil. I couldn't talk to her, and something about her words cut straight to me, and I ended up leaving and having a full-fledged panic attack. I realized that no matter what I do, no matter how strong my efforts and what I would say, there will always be people who think I'm against the church, or that I'm a horrible heretical person who is trying to destroy their beloved church, and that more than that, I was evil.

And in that moment, I suddenly became very, very tired of the uphill battle I felt like I had been fighting on for years, and I desperately wanted to distance myself from the institution I was once willing to give my life for.

What was difficult about this was at the time, I was actually working for a church, as a youth pastor. But I no longer believed in the work I was doing. It all seemed very silly to me, and like a big masquerade.

Every Sunday I had to perform a "children's focus" where I would sit at the front of the church and all the kids would gather round and I would give a little bible lesson. The children's focus is not about the kids, nor is it about educating kids. Rather, it is for the adults, so they can look on and say, "oh look how wonderful it is that the children are learning," when all the learning and activity was happening in the actual Sunday School. The whole point of this stupid weekly presentation was to appease the adults, and I couldn't stand it.

Once I had an individual in this church complain to the pastors that I didn't look "reverent" enough during the church service, and it really discouraged me. Church shouldn't be about looking reverent, but it felt like everything I was doing was all for looks, and there was no substance to what was actually going on. I began to grow sick to my stomach every time I pulled up to the church and forced myself to walk in the door, and to this day, I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of churches. I eventually had a very honest conversation with my bosses when my work performance began to fail, and I decided to quit the church and ended on good terms.

Part V - Enough

Since then, I have received a lot of mixed reactions from being honest about my faith. For years, I had been terrified to tell anyone that I wasn't a Christian anymore, because I was afraid of all the relationships I would lose, and all the people that would distance themselves from me. To me it feels like there's a tremendous stigma in a lot of Christian circles about people leaving the church, and this assumption that I'm not a good person, or a person Christians can be friends with, because my views are now so different.

A lot of Christians I had met would refer to people who weren't Christians as "nonbelievers" and talk about atheists in this sort of vernacular that reflected an "us vs. them" attitude, as though these "nonbelievers" were a part of the world, and that the world was a corrupt and evil place filled with all sorts of depravity. "We are of the world, but not of the world," is a catch phrase I often heard, and while I appreciate holding onto certain traditional values about one's conduct in life, I didn't want people to think of me as "of the world" -- when they were thinking of the world as such a terrible, evil place.

I was really scared of telling people. What I started to realize though, is that people had been distancing themselves because of my views for years already, and that I didn't want those kind of people in my life. I would rather be friends with people who would love me, regardless of my beliefs. And I am very happy and grateful to say that I do still have friends that are Christians, and our beliefs and views are very different, but that hasn't had an effect on our friendship. That was very huge and important to me, Other people have, yes, chosen to distance themselves from me, or let our friendship "fade away" or have told me they were disappointed in me, or even worse, call me a hypocrite or tell me I'm going to hell, or try and re-convert me. If people are that angry and insecure... there's not much I can do about that.

My decision to leave the Christian faith didn't just happen because of a few negative conversations, or a few isolated events (though from my story, you can see how huge of an influence those events can have) -- my decision was made because I realized (and experienced) that the Christian faith, for many, wasn't a welcome place for the oppressed, and that, in fact, has been, and in many different ways, continues to be, an agent of oppression for many people.

Many church denominations interpret the bible to say God destroyed a city because of homosexuality... so therefore all gay people are bad? Many church denominations also interpret the bible to say that a woman should be silent in church, and they are not meant to be leaders, so consequently, even to this day so many churches can't accept the idea that women are capable of leadership? (I know someone who can't have the title "Pastor" because she is a woman. She is just as qualified as a man, but isn't allowed the same title... because she is a woman...?)

Historically, a lot of Christians had used the bible to justify slavery. And I have no idea how to interpret the stories in the bible where God commands people to commit genocide, or God destroys populations and wipes out cultures, and tears entire cities to the ground, or floods the world sparing only one family and a bunch of animals. But even fast-forwarding to today, it feels like so many Christians I met were content to pick-and-choose the parts of the bible they would follow. To a lot of people, the idea of condemning someone for getting a divorce is unthinkable, but discriminating and denying rights to people based on their sex, gender, or race is acceptable.

There is a clear double standard in many Christian denominations, and because of that, churches are actually not a place for fellowship for everyone. One person told me, in a conversation we were having about abortion and human rights, that if a child gets raped, she has to keep the baby. I know that these attitudes are reflective of the extreme and fundamentalist side of religious belief, but regardless, these were people I personally knew and connected with that said this to me, and I never thought I had come from a place and had relationships with people who could demonstrate such intolerance.

Fundamentally, morally, and ethically, I cannot follow a religion that would advocate such hate, judgment, and ignorance. I know that a lot of Christians do a tremendous deal of good things in the world, and advocate on behalf of many oppressed people, but I still really sorely miss the critical conversations where these double standards exist in the bible, the interpretation, and how that enacts itself in the world, and wish for more Christian leaders to speak about these issues. So maybe it should be up to me to fix the church, but it got to a point where I started to realize this kind of hate is larger than just a problem that needs to be fixed, but that it is ingrained into a really big part of Christian culture in North America.

So many church denominations are content to split up if they disagree; people believe so strongly and fervently in their interpretation of the bible they would sooner split up their church denomination than actively dialogue and try to understand one another. And for all of the things I can do, I cannot go up against that kind of strength of belief -- to many, it is church doctrine, and not something that simply changes. One person messaged me and told me she was disappointed that I left the Christian faith, and I responded by saying,

"I'm disappointed too. I am disappointed in the churches I was in and how they failed to teach me compassion, and failed to be a safe place for the oppressed and marginalized, but rather continued to be institutions that perpetuated colonialism, capitalism, and patriarchy. Certainly there are groups, and individuals working for justice in the name of God, but I was too overwhelmed with seeing years and years of injustice and hypocrisy and so many churches across multiple denominations who were keen to push their own political agendas at the expense of the people they are supposed to be reaching out to. I also realized I could still do good in the world, and fight against injustice and oppression, and not have to do it with a Christian agenda, but simply because it's the right thing to do, and for the sake of building a better world. It took me years to come to terms with not believing anymore, and then even longer than that afterward to be open and honest with myself and others about it, and that's only been a very recent development. And believe it or not, I'm really happy right now. I have a life that I love, and people that I love, and I feel like I'm doing meaningful things."

Were there times when I felt the presence of God? In looking back, most of those times where I "was moved by the holy spirit" were influenced by outside factors, like loud uplifting music, or other people and emotions running high, but there is one moment I can't explain. During a church service in Ghana underneath a straw canopy, somehow everything felt very different, and I felt like I was aware of a "sacredness" to everything and everyone gathered. I've never felt that feeling again, and I'll never forget that feeling, and honestly, I don't want to reason that feeling away with excuses involving heat or dehydration or exhaustion. For some reason that moment was special, and it will remain so for me.

My dissolution of my relationship with God was not because of the negative interactions I experienced with Christians, but that I genuinely feel as though a relationship has been broken. From that moment in the darkness in Vancouver, where I couldn't answer the question to "Where was God?" I continued to feel betrayed, and come up with questions I couldn't answer. I couldn't understand what kind of god would create people, and in one breath, tell them they are perfect, that he "knew them while they were in their mother's womb" but then tell them they are inherently disordered, or can't be leaders because of their gender or race, or creates people who are inherently sinful?

I believe we weren't given a "choice" to follow god based on the eating an apple in the Garden of Eden, because now our "eternal life" is wholly dependent on us loving God. There's no choice. How can that be true love? "Love God, or go to hell"? How cruel is that? It doesn't matter to me whether God exists or not -- it more matters as to why he didn't do anything when I needed him, and remains not present in so many instances of suffering around the world, historically and presently. Honestly, I left God, before I left the church, and I was heartbroken to leave him. Moments like that moment in Ghana, which felt like I was aware of something so profoundly more greater and beautiful than I can reckon, remain to me to be memories from a relationship that has been lost, and one that I miss terribly.

Do I still care about faith? Very much. Am I still interested in discussing and conversing about the implications of faith in this world? Very much so. There seems to be an assumption that because I'm not a Christian, I no longer care about religion, but I do very much, and still wish to be included in the dialogue. There is a very very fine and delicate balance between the relationship of people based on their beliefs, allowing room for dialogue, and the opportunity to learn from one another. Like the lesson I learned so long ago, it is difficult, but so right to exist in the liminal experience that is being able to be wrong, and being willing to learn from one another, and, like that speaker at that event taught me, have the courage to hold your faith and ideas in an open hand, and truly see what it is they are made of.

I realized that I can be a positive force for change and that I don't have to do it with the motivation of "ministry" or "outreach" or "winning souls for Jesus" -- there was one speaker at that Christian event I always went to who loved the tagline "Gettin' sweaty for Jesus!" and I realized I didn't want to get sweaty for Jesus. But for other people? Most definitely.

I no longer want to feel like I'm incapable, or inherently flawed, or unable to do things without God. It feels more empowering, great, and wonderful to believe in myself, and know I can do things because I can. And that I'm not a product of sin, but a human being with wishes, hopes and dreams. I have infinite possibilities, not because a god allows it to be so, but because humanity has been, for thousands of years, in the midst of evil, war, and greed, working to also create goodness, and build a better world, and I can continue on that fight for a better world, not for the motivation of heaven at the end of my life, but the assurance that my children and children's children can continue to build, innovate, and create in a better and more beautiful world than I can imagine.

And that, to me, is enough.

#fuck christianity #secular thinking #atheism

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romancatholicreflections · 7 years

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12th Nov >> Sunday Homilies and Reflections for Roman Catholics on the Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time -Year A

Gospel text

vs.1 Jesus told this parable to his disciples: “The kingdom of heaven will be like this: Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. vs.2 Five of them were foolish and five were sensible; vs.3 the foolish ones did take their lamps, but they brought no oil, vs.4 whereas the sensible ones took flasks of oil as well as their lamps. vs.5 The bridegroom was late, and they all grew drowsy and fell asleep. vs.6 But at midnight there was a cry, ‘The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet him.’ vs.7 At this, all those bridesmaids woke up and trimmed their lamps, vs.8 and the foolish ones said to the sensible ones, ‘Give us some of your oil: our lamps are going out.’ vs.9 But they replied, ‘There may not be enough for us and for you; you had better go to those who sell it and buy some for yourselves.’ vs.10 They had gone off to buy it when the bridegroom arrived. Those who were ready went in with him to the wedding hall and the door was closed. vs.11 The other bridesmaids arrived later. ‘Lord, Lord,’ they said ‘open the door for us.’ vs.12 But he replied, ‘I tell you solemnly, I do not know you.’ vs.13 So stay awake, because you do not know either the day or the hour.”

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We have four commentators available from whom you may wish to choose . Scroll down to the required author.

Michel DeVerteuil: Lectio Divina with the Sunday Gospels – Year A

Thomas O’Loughlin: Liturgical Resources for the year of Matthew

Donal Neary S.J. Editor of the Messenger

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Michel DeVerteuil Lectio Divina with the Sunday Gospels www.columba.ie

General Comments

Today’s passage is a teaching on “what the kingdom of heaven will be like” (verse 1). This biblical expression means the coming of grace into the world. The passage therefore is a teaching on grace, inviting us to recognise and celebrate our experiences of grace, and to prepare ourselves for future comings.

“Will be” is a reminder that the final and definitive coming of grace lies in the future, but the teaching also refers to the many partial but real comings of grace that we and our communities (including the worldwide human family) have experienced.

The teaching is parabolic so it is important to remind ourselves of how we meditate on a parable: – The parable comprises different characters; we choose the one(s) we want to identify with and read the parable from his or her (their) perspective. – A “crunch point” occurs at a certain stage of the story, a turning point which jolts us so that we know instinctively that this is the central moment in the parable. The “crunch point” will be different for different people; indeed it will be different for us at different stages in our lives.

In this parable there are four possible “crunch points”: 1. -The moment of the cry, “the bridegroom is here” (verse 6) – grace always takes us by surprise. 2. -The foolish bridesmaids find out that their lamps are going out and the wise ones will not give them oil (verses 7 to 9) – grace is always “disturbing”. 3. -The wise bridesmaids go with the bridegroom into the wedding hall (verse 10) – grace is pure joy. 4. -The foolish bridesmaids come late and are told “I don’t know you” (vs 11 and 12) – grace brings feelings of remorse, despair even, but as a step to conversion. In each case the bridesmaids represent two possibilities and we have been both at different times of our lives. The “wise” (a better word than the Jerusalem Bible’s “sensible”) are ourselves at our best, the “foolish” ourselves at our worst.

We can also focus on the bridegroom, remembering times when someone waited a long time for us to come to the best of ourselves (I took this approach in one of the prayers below).

Focussing on the person of Jesus can help bring the passage alive for us. At this point in his life, he is in Jerusalem, about to be arrested and crucified. The parable then becomes a testimony to his own attitude – he is a wise bridesmaid, ready for his moment of grace. It is also a heartfelt warning to his beloved disciples that they must not be like the foolish bridesmaids and miss their moment of grace when he is arrested. Who does he remind us of?

Textual comments Verse 6: We can focus on either of two aspects of the moment of grace: – It does not happen instantly, we have to wait a long time for it, so long that we “grow drowsy (get a feel for that) and fall asleep”. – When it comes, it is a surprise, like being wakened from sleep by a peremptory cry (“a rude awakening”).

Verses 7 to 9: Grace always disturbs. It makes us fumble, look for solutions that are both impractical and unreasonable – like expecting the wise bridesmaids to give of their oil supply even though they risk not having enough, neither for themselves nor for others. We must make the effort to identity what Jesus meant by the “extra flask” of oil. It is what makes the difference between “good” and “great”, “courageous” and “heroic”, “run-of-the-mill” and “special”.

Verse 10: The moment of grace is like entering into a great festive hall, accompanied by one we have waited long for. We think of: – our marriage ceremony (or 25th or 50th anniversary); – the first sexual experience; – the return home of an addict; – a moment of national reconciliation.

Verses 11 and 12: These verses are almost unbearably sad. We enter into the feelings of the rejected bridesmaids, the finality of the door being closed while the bridesmaids shout, “open up,” the hopelessness of hearing the words “I don’t know you”. We can imagine the remorse – “why wasn’t I ready when he came?”

We think of similar experiences: – parents wanting their children to open up to them after years of neglecting them; – abusers faced with the break up of their families; – national leaders trying in vain to get warring parties to be reconciled. The teaching reminds us that we must live with the consequences of our choices. There is nothing airy fairy about Jesus – or about teachers like him. Though this particular relationship can never be recovered, there will be other chances of healthy relationships – so the teaching is positive and a call to repentance.

The concluding verse 13 stands on its own. It is not strictly a comment on the parable since none of the bridesmaids actually “stay awake”. The verse is rather a general teaching on “staying awake” to the grace of the present moment – “the day and the hour”. The deepest truth of every “day and hour” is that the bridegroom has arrived. We give the word “know” its full meaning of “perceiving all the possibilities latent in…”.

Scriptural Prayer reflection

Lord, you really like to keep us waiting: – for long years we struggled with an alcohol problem; – we thought that a difficult child would never settle down; – the parish youth group kept going from one crisis to the next. Then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, the moment of grace came. It was as if at midnight, when everybody had gone to sleep, there was a cry, “The bridegroom is here! Go out to meet him!” We thank you that we did not give up hope; somehow or other we had left ourselves open to the possibility of better things: we had kept an extra flask of oil alongside our regular supply, so that we were able to trim our lamps and welcome the bridegroom when he came. Thank you, Lord.

“My mother don’t have time to talk to me. I don’t have her to tell me things. When she comes home from work, she only has time to clean the kitchen, go to sleep and back to work again.” …A young boy in Trinidad Lord, we pray for parents. It is not easy for them. They are frequently so tired at the end of the day that when the children come to share their lives with them they have grown drowsy and fallen asleep. Give them that reserve of energy so that they may never have to come knocking at the door of their children’s hearts and hear the terrible words, “I do not know you.”

Lord, we thank you for the experience of the sacrament of reconciliation celebrated after many years being away. It was like arriving late at night, long after we were due, and yet being welcomed with great joy like a bridegroom being escorted into the wedding hall.

Lord, nowadays we are accustomed to doing things instantly, turning a switch or putting in a plug. So we tend to think that we can know people instantly too. But having someone open up to us always takes a long time. It is like being a bridesmaid and having to wait late into the night for the bridegroom to come, and then continue to wait, and when we have almost given up hope that he will come, to hear that he is there and we must go out to meet him. It is only after that kind of waiting that two persons can enter into deep intimacy.

“I promise by thy grace that I will embrace whatever I last feel certain is the truth, if I ever come to be certain.“ …Cardinal Newman as he wondered whether he should join the Catholic Church Lord, we pray for those who are searching: – those who, like Cardinal Newman, ask themselves if they should leave their Church and join another; – young people not sure what their vocation in life is; – friends who cannot decide on marriage. Give them the grace to continue waiting, not pretending that the bridegroom has come if he hasn’t, confident that when at midnight there is the cry, “He is here!” they will go out to meet him.

Lord, we spend a lot of energy fighting against the present moment – blaming ourselves or others for mistakes of the past; – regretting that things are not as good as they could be; – anxious about how the future will be. And so our eyes are closed to the possibilities that are there in the present. Teach us always to stay awake, because we do not know the day or the hour of your grace.

“Care for the dying is founded upon two unshakeable beliefs: that each minute of life should be lived to the full, and that death is quite simply part of life, to be faced openly and with hands outstretched.” ….Sheila Cassidy

Lord, we thank you that you call some of us to minister to the dying. Some are afraid, others angry or confused. You want us to help them all to welcome you; to teach people, as Jesus did, that it is all right if we fall asleep when you are long in coming, because we know that when the cry goes up, “The bridegroom is here!” we will merely trim our lamps and go into the wedding hall with him.

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Thomas O’Loughlin Liturgical Resources for the Year of Matthew www.columba.ie

Introduction to the Celebration

Sisters and brothers, each week when we assemble for the Eucharist we enter into the presence of the Father, and offer him the sacrifice of praise in union with Christ Jesus. We enter into the presence of Christ, and through him into the presence of the Father. Today we reflect that as the people of the Lord Jesus we are called to be always awake and ready to bring his wisdom to our world and to be his presence among all the people we encounter.

Homily Notes

1. How do we learn to be Christians? This question assumes that we already have a clear sense of who we are when we gather here.

2. Let’s think of some groups that we are all familiar with. The first is a group of people on a plane: they all want to go to the same place at the same time, so they have something distinctive in common; but would you call them a community? They are really a collection of individuals who just happen to have something in common, and it is easier to get a service if the costs are distributed. Imagine someone offered that group a free lottery: ten lucky people could win a chance to travel in a private jet to the same destination at the same time: there would be them (either on her /his own, or if they are travelling as a couple or a family, then just the couple or family on the private jet). How many would want his/her name in the draw? I suspect, virtually everyone. The group travelling together is only a collection with little that matters in common.

Now imagine a long-distance train or bus journey: the train/bus goes along a fixed route each day from A to Z, and there are a few who are on it for the whole journey. Others get on at C and off at K, while others get on at K and go on to X; still more get on somewhere else and get off at yet another stop. It is a friendly train, the conductor reminds people that they are approaching a station and warns them to be ready to get off, if that is their stop and reminds them to check that each has all personal belongings with them. Sometimes those who take a train often, recognise other travellers by sight, sometimes they might even speak, sometimes not a word is uttered. And, while they all go along the same journey together, each has individual interests: some are reading, some chatting to friends, others listening to music on headphones, others texting on their mobiles, and here and there you can see people with a look of deep concentration: they are doing Sudoku.

3. Now shift your imagination to a birthday party. Again, lots of people in the same place at the same time with a common interest. But the dynamics are completely different: they all have a sensed of being there because of something that unites them. There would be no sense in asking if they wanted to eat separately or go off on their own: their whole purpose is to be together. This is what celebration means. People are doing different things, but it is the whole group that makes the party.

4. Now consider this: is gathering today for this Eucharist just people together in the sense of the plane (all want the same thing and cannot get ‘it’ individually) or the bus (people just joining in for the bits they need) or is it a celebration: all invited to be the party at the banquet?

5. Jesus came to form a community. We say that we are called to his supper, and he wants the way we behave here at his table to be a model for how we treat one another and all people.

6. But is this our attitude? We offer a sign of peace, but are we ready to make common cause with those around us? Do we seek to get to know them? This is the great open meal, so if someone has just joined us today, would they feel welcome?

7. We have to learn to be Christians by learning to live and work together; but Jesus realised that a primary first step was to learn how to share with one another at this meal. Here we learn how to be Christians; here we learn how we must communicate the welcoming love of the Father; here we are acclimatised as a group for the banquet prepared for us in heaven.

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Donal Neary SJ Gospel Reflections For Sundays Year A www.messenger.ie

Jesus always new

The lamp is the light of love and hope, and at its centre is the light of Christ. The light is given to us in many ways in our lives – it shines within as an eternal joy, and outwards to many others. Jesus often advises, ‘keep your lamps burning’ and ‘Let you lights shine.

Like when the bulb goes out when the electricity fails, the lamp can go out without oli. The people of the gospel felt foolish that they had not brought oil with them to light their way. The oil is prayer an our relationship with Jesus. This is the essence of the Christian life. Our Christian life is following a real, loving person: it is an invitation to get to know Jesus, and to find ourselves drawn from our hearts to follow him. Without this living relationship with Christ, words sound empty. We sometimes hear someone speaking of their Christian faith and cannot help wondering if it comes from the inside or is just a list of things to be believed and read.

Ignatius of Loyola’s famous prayer is the prayer of the follower of Jesus; ‘Lord, teach me to know you more, love you more and serve you more faithfully in my life.’ (Spiritual Exercises). The more indicates that this is never a finished product: like love and friendship it grows in our lives. It is exciting that Jesus is never gone from us.: risen from the dead he is always alive, always new. Our reading of the gospel, our sharing at Mass and the sacraments and our personal prayer keep this relationship always alive, always new.

Thinking of a bright lamp, or imagining one,ask for an ever-brightening light of Christ in your life.Lord, teach me to know, love and serve you more faithfully every day

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