High Profit
So, I reached the conclusion today that all the world's organized religion needs to just take a step back, and breathe a little bit, and say, "Holy crap! When did we get so freaking weird all of a sudden?"
Here's the quick back story: On the drive into work this morning, a lengthy discussion of the continuing Boston Catholic Archdiocese sexual abuse issues was on NPR. Driving home, it was a lengthy spot on the stranger aspects of Mormonism.
Honestly, I knew quite a few Catholics and Mormons growing up, not to mention a handful of Jehovah's Witnesses, a few Buddhists, a few Jews, a Hindu or two, and any number of other religious folks, so my reaction is not sheerly one of unfamiliarity (I'd hate to be confused with those sheltered people who think any religious group which is not their own is weird by default). But how in the world?
Worshipping a god, or several, is not all that difficult to understand, and all the prayers and stuff that go along with it, but what about all that stuff that seems to have gotten added on later: the robes and the colors and the special days of the week and special days of the year, and the foods you can't eat and foods you have to eat, and things you should wear and things you shouldn't wear and what parts of yourself you should cover up and what parts you should show, and people you should love or hate and how many of them and how soon, and whom you should have sex with and how and why and how often and what sexual implements you are and aren't allowed to use, and what parts of you you're supposed to cut off and what parts you're never supposed to cut off, and what you're supposed to dip in water or what you're supposed to dip in wine or pour water on or pour wine on or pour oil or perfume or ashes or dirt on, and what offerings you're supposed to give to other people or what offerings you're supposed to give to God or burn for people or burn for God, and how many times to say God's name or not to say God's name ever under any circumstances, and whether it's right to sing songs or chant or pray or meditate and what kind of instruments you can and can't use to accompany yourself. . . .
There.
I mean, seriously, folks? Where did the God go in all of that?
Perhaps I'm taking a risk here, but as kind of a rational conclusion to the religious reflection I've been doing over the past couple of years (some of which as been here for you to read), I've decided it all boils down to this: I believe in God.
You say that's obvious, right? But I mean, that's all.
God has no favorite color, or favorite song, or part of you God does or doesn't want to see. God has no chosen people, no chosen food, no particularly strong opinions about sexuality or sexual behavior. God has no favorite book no matter how much it may talk about God.
You don't have to do anything for God to prove that you really care, because God already knows that and can do whatever with that information that God chooses.
God doesn't care if my football team beats your football team, regardless of how much either of us prayed about it. God's not going to help my army kill your army, or my grandfather to live longer than yours just because I pleaded more loudly.
God isn't black or white or Asian or blonde haired or dark haired, tall or short, male or female. God doesn't need money, or power, or rituals. God doesn't need special names or secret codes or exclusive memberships, either.
None of that. You know why? Because those are people things. Things created by people to make themselves feel special about God. To prove that they'd joined the Club. To prove to themselves that they've completed all the prerequisites, because they don't have enough faith otherwise to continue believing. Pictures to remind themselves what God looks like, because they can't believe in something that doesn't hang on their wall or sit on their coffee table and doesn't cost money. Things that make some people feel more special, more loved, more important, when we're actually all in this big game together. People things.
I don't know if that makes me a Deist or Humanist or what, but I don't really care about the labels either, because those are human things, too. I mean, can you really conceive of a day when God appears to the world and says, "Okay folks, all the votes are in, and Seventh Day Adventists were the only ones who were correct. That's right, folks — I, God, am a Seventh Day Adventist — here's my plaque to prove it. Sorry about you other folks." Not really.
So that's it.
So you can tell me all you want that if I say the wrong prayer or sing the wrong song or something that God's going to kick me out of the club, but I'll tell you to keep your elementary school games to yourself — that's all.
Here's the quick back story: On the drive into work this morning, a lengthy discussion of the continuing Boston Catholic Archdiocese sexual abuse issues was on NPR. Driving home, it was a lengthy spot on the stranger aspects of Mormonism.
Honestly, I knew quite a few Catholics and Mormons growing up, not to mention a handful of Jehovah's Witnesses, a few Buddhists, a few Jews, a Hindu or two, and any number of other religious folks, so my reaction is not sheerly one of unfamiliarity (I'd hate to be confused with those sheltered people who think any religious group which is not their own is weird by default). But how in the world?
Worshipping a god, or several, is not all that difficult to understand, and all the prayers and stuff that go along with it, but what about all that stuff that seems to have gotten added on later: the robes and the colors and the special days of the week and special days of the year, and the foods you can't eat and foods you have to eat, and things you should wear and things you shouldn't wear and what parts of yourself you should cover up and what parts you should show, and people you should love or hate and how many of them and how soon, and whom you should have sex with and how and why and how often and what sexual implements you are and aren't allowed to use, and what parts of you you're supposed to cut off and what parts you're never supposed to cut off, and what you're supposed to dip in water or what you're supposed to dip in wine or pour water on or pour wine on or pour oil or perfume or ashes or dirt on, and what offerings you're supposed to give to other people or what offerings you're supposed to give to God or burn for people or burn for God, and how many times to say God's name or not to say God's name ever under any circumstances, and whether it's right to sing songs or chant or pray or meditate and what kind of instruments you can and can't use to accompany yourself. . . .
ps -auxw | grep religion | kill -HUPThere.
I mean, seriously, folks? Where did the God go in all of that?
Perhaps I'm taking a risk here, but as kind of a rational conclusion to the religious reflection I've been doing over the past couple of years (some of which as been here for you to read), I've decided it all boils down to this: I believe in God.
You say that's obvious, right? But I mean, that's all.
God has no favorite color, or favorite song, or part of you God does or doesn't want to see. God has no chosen people, no chosen food, no particularly strong opinions about sexuality or sexual behavior. God has no favorite book no matter how much it may talk about God.
You don't have to do anything for God to prove that you really care, because God already knows that and can do whatever with that information that God chooses.
God doesn't care if my football team beats your football team, regardless of how much either of us prayed about it. God's not going to help my army kill your army, or my grandfather to live longer than yours just because I pleaded more loudly.
God isn't black or white or Asian or blonde haired or dark haired, tall or short, male or female. God doesn't need money, or power, or rituals. God doesn't need special names or secret codes or exclusive memberships, either.
None of that. You know why? Because those are people things. Things created by people to make themselves feel special about God. To prove that they'd joined the Club. To prove to themselves that they've completed all the prerequisites, because they don't have enough faith otherwise to continue believing. Pictures to remind themselves what God looks like, because they can't believe in something that doesn't hang on their wall or sit on their coffee table and doesn't cost money. Things that make some people feel more special, more loved, more important, when we're actually all in this big game together. People things.
I don't know if that makes me a Deist or Humanist or what, but I don't really care about the labels either, because those are human things, too. I mean, can you really conceive of a day when God appears to the world and says, "Okay folks, all the votes are in, and Seventh Day Adventists were the only ones who were correct. That's right, folks — I, God, am a Seventh Day Adventist — here's my plaque to prove it. Sorry about you other folks." Not really.
So that's it.
So you can tell me all you want that if I say the wrong prayer or sing the wrong song or something that God's going to kick me out of the club, but I'll tell you to keep your elementary school games to yourself — that's all.