(If you'd like to see what I did today, you can visit my Foursquare stream, or this list: Church Exploration.)
It seems to me that a week does not go by without someone accusing someone else of waging a War on... something. The War on Religion, the War on Women, the War on Life, the War on Choice... they almost make you forget that we're winding down wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and flirting with war in Iran and Syria.
There are many voices repeating the idea that religion in America is "under attack" - particularly Christianity. Two of the GOP candidates insist that this is true, and every belief-tainted issue seems to draw that remark from believers. The often-voiced meme that "this country is driving God out" bothers me for a number of reasons. For one thing, I've been hearing it my whole life. From my earliest days in Southern Baptist Sunday School, we've been admonished not to let "them" (the "them" implied can vary based on the issue of the day) lure you away from Jesus.
If I didn't know better, I would think from listening to these people that churches have been driven out of the community altogether. Despite the reality being quite the opposite - I can't actually escape religion at all. It follows me everywhere, no matter how I try to ignore it. From the phrase "Under God" in our pledge, to the "In God We Trust" on our money; from the tracts left in our door, to the Gideon bibles in our hotel rooms. And every day, driving down my street - there is religion everywhere.
So, to prove that point, I had an idea. I called up Lydiandude, and asked if he wanted to go on a FourSquare tour of the churches in our neighborhood. He lives about 6 miles from me on Harford Road. I had to pick up my Boy Scout from the church at Putty Hill and Harford Road - almost 7 miles from his house - so we figured we'd just check in from every church we could see along that route, with a slight detour along the street my house is on, so we could catch the 3 churches there.
I kind of figured there would be more than a dozen - I counted 15 on the way down to pick him up, but I wasn't really looking. If you follow the link at the top of this post, you should be able to see how many we caught: 33 of them! And that's not counting the 3 Christian bookstores and the "Christian Soldier Gun Shop" - or the psychics, New Age stores, etc. I tried to stick to just churches - places of worship - and just the ones on the two roads in question. There were several we "missed" because they were off on a side street, though I could have added another half dozen just using my guilty knowledge of the neighborhood.
But really: more than two dozen halls of worship in a 7 mile stretch? Think about how many people are supporting each of them. These are all tax-exempt businesses collecting donations and returning something - supposedly - to the community. How much do you suppose it costs to operate - rent or mortgage on a large, old building; power and HVAC; maintenance; worship materials like hymnals? And what do they return to the community? Community service projects?
The first thing most people will say in defense of churches is that they do charitable works - running soup kitchens, hospices, etc. I didn't see any of these things along our road. We didn't pick the road that St. Joseph's hospital was on, so I didn't have to decide whether it qualified for our project today. I ignored all of the schools - though several of the churches we checked in at today operate private schools. Do those count as a business or a "benefit" to the community? It's not something I've seriously questioned before, but what is the appropriate way to look at a church's impact on the neighborhood around it? Do they make themselves "worth" the tax exemption, or are they essentially just an economically dodgy way to justify propping up neat-looking old buildings?
One thing you may or may not have noticed is the absence of worship centers OTHER than the Christian variety. That's because there weren't any - at least not visible ones. I did find a Hebrew congregation (by moving one mile out of our chosen route), but no mosques, temples, ashrams, or secular centers. There were VFW and American Legion halls - one each, actually - and a few Recreation centers, but there is no atheist church, so I wouldn't have looked for that. Where are all of the encroaching non-Christians who are supposedly waging warfare with the faithful? (Maybe they were at Red Emma's Coffee House?)
It all makes me wonder, if religion is under such a relentless attack, how do all of these places survive? How can you run the two Baptist churches I found next door to each other in a nation that has "lost god"? How do you claim to be an oppressed minority when you are everywhere, and your opposition is no where? Or do I need to do this again, only focusing on the real competition - the strip clubs, the bars, the liquor stores, the golf courses... is even that comparison fair?
At the end of the day, this atheist didn't find anywhere to go comparable to the 33 churches that are here for the faithful, other than my home. And yet I am expected to continue to ignore that, and accept the notion that the poor Christians are "under attack" when I refuse to say "Under God" or insist that they not force my children to pray in the classroom. Judging by the behavior of Christians online, in politics, and in general, it's everyone else who is under attack. But that couldn't be right, because all of these faithful people are supposed to be preaching love and peace, aren't they?
That was my adventure, though. Take whatever lesson you like; it was a lot of work, but worth hanging out with Lydiandude for an afternoon.
Oh, and the other thing I didn't see on this journey? Jesus. I think he was probably home watching basketball.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
The Gay Constitution
To sum up: I have heard lots of very silly things uttered about The Gays. That they have a political agenda is true - and the goal is to guarantee the same protection under the law that they are already supposed to have.
That is all.
I heard a friend go off recently about how "they have more rights" than the rest of us, because of new domestic partner benefits. I have heard friends go off about unfair tax advantages for homosexual couples or the damage that gay couples will do to our society. These are all lies. See this post from one of my favorite Christian bloggers explaining how those lies work, and why they are bad.
I'm not here to reinvent that wheel or to convince those friends that they should stop believing the lies. I'm here to point out that no matter what you may believe about homosexuals or the broader GLBT community, they have the law on their side. When it comes to the question of whether or not they should be "allowed" to marry, adopt, insure each other, claim spousal benefits, etc. they are currently, actively, and illegally being discriminated against by State, local, and federal statutes.
This is wrong.
Whether the law in question is DOMA, DADT, Prop 8, or any other voter or legislative act curbing the rights of U.S. citizens, it violates the Constitution. I also hear a lot of people - whether friends or politicians - who repeatedly criticize the courts for holding the Constitution up against their illegal laws. Mitt Romney just did it when criticizing the Ninth Circuit for striking down Prop 8, saying: "unelected judges cast aside the will of the people of California who voted to protect traditional marriage..."
The problem with that is that the independent judiciary is SUPPOSED to protect minority groups against the majority in precisely these cases. Not understanding that is frightening in an everyday citizen - let alone a U.S. Presidential candidate.
Of course, to this point in the post, I have only asserted that the Constitution already protects gays - I haven't proven anything. The Supreme Court should be hearing this case soon, and their opinions will have the weight of law - unlike my own - but this explains why I take the position that I do:
First, understand that there are two competing theories for WHY people are gay. Most of the research done to date indicates that biology or genetics are the driving factor in a person's orientation. Most actual gay people believe they are born that way. Most of the opponents of the Gay Agenda insist that orientation is a choice. I contend that under the law, it does not matter which is the case.
That is all.
I heard a friend go off recently about how "they have more rights" than the rest of us, because of new domestic partner benefits. I have heard friends go off about unfair tax advantages for homosexual couples or the damage that gay couples will do to our society. These are all lies. See this post from one of my favorite Christian bloggers explaining how those lies work, and why they are bad.
I'm not here to reinvent that wheel or to convince those friends that they should stop believing the lies. I'm here to point out that no matter what you may believe about homosexuals or the broader GLBT community, they have the law on their side. When it comes to the question of whether or not they should be "allowed" to marry, adopt, insure each other, claim spousal benefits, etc. they are currently, actively, and illegally being discriminated against by State, local, and federal statutes.
This is wrong.
Whether the law in question is DOMA, DADT, Prop 8, or any other voter or legislative act curbing the rights of U.S. citizens, it violates the Constitution. I also hear a lot of people - whether friends or politicians - who repeatedly criticize the courts for holding the Constitution up against their illegal laws. Mitt Romney just did it when criticizing the Ninth Circuit for striking down Prop 8, saying: "unelected judges cast aside the will of the people of California who voted to protect traditional marriage..."
The problem with that is that the independent judiciary is SUPPOSED to protect minority groups against the majority in precisely these cases. Not understanding that is frightening in an everyday citizen - let alone a U.S. Presidential candidate.
Of course, to this point in the post, I have only asserted that the Constitution already protects gays - I haven't proven anything. The Supreme Court should be hearing this case soon, and their opinions will have the weight of law - unlike my own - but this explains why I take the position that I do:
First, understand that there are two competing theories for WHY people are gay. Most of the research done to date indicates that biology or genetics are the driving factor in a person's orientation. Most actual gay people believe they are born that way. Most of the opponents of the Gay Agenda insist that orientation is a choice. I contend that under the law, it does not matter which is the case.
The Equal Protection Clause, part of the Fourteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution, provides that "no state shall ... deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws."That is what the courts have upheld. And as far as I can tell, that is all anyone promoting the so-called Gay Agenda is asking for.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Pot and Kettle: Former Facebook Friends
Is it just me, or are the people wailing the loudest about Political Correctness also the ones who are quickest to cry about how offended or oppressed they are?
Tonight it was something a Facebook friend posted - a real God-and-Country painting of school children holding an American flag and pledging allegiance. Underneath was a typical rant about how this picture "isn't allowed" in our schools any more because "someone might be OFFENDED" and a dare: "I wonder how many Real Americans will share this." I usually ignore and move on, but in this case I called out the lie of the pledge not being "allowed." It didn't lead to a productive discussion (mainly because the poster mostly ignored me - good for him).
But it bothers me every time something like this floats by in the stream. There is this persistent lie that "American values" are under attack by some shadowy Other out there who is using "being offended" to control the rest of us. It seems particularly silly when you dig down into specifics. The reality is that the Constitution is being violated constantly by people who insist on having the government maintain the worship of their god as the official religion. Aren't we still in a War in a country where that was happening. (Psst - it was Afghanistan!) We have people sacrificing their lives over there to combat a practice that we can't stamp out here at home! That's the real absurdity that we "aren't allowed" to mention.
Which, of course, means that I have to address the number of veteran friends I have who are involved in spreading the lie. Every time someone cries about how they fought to protect the flag and freedom (usually in that order), and then turns around and tells someone else to shut up - looking at you, Allen West - the rest of us who served should be allowed to line up and kick them square in the junk. Serving in the military not only does not give any of us the right to shove our personal opinions down someone else's throat, it should make us more aware that claiming that right is a disgrace to everyone who has ever worn a uniform. I usually don't say that to people out of respect for their feelings - should I start saying it more often?
Because all of this is really about applying the law of the land to everyone equally. When you have the recent example from Cranston, Rhode Island staring you in the face of just how hard it is to uphold that law, you have to recognize that it's more than a matter of hurt feelings. It takes courage from the minority to stand up and demand it in the face of a cranky, surly majority. It doesn't matter if most the majority "is not like that",* no minority is safe if the law is not respected. When you consider how many people claim to be in the majority the problem becomes one of protecting everyone else from them - not the other way around.
But it's easier to sneer over the word "offended" than to stick to principles. I find that sneering to be a bit telling, as well; how trivial it sounds to say that the only reason you aren't "allowed" to speak your mind is that someone might be offended. It makes you and your "freedom of speech" sound like the real victim. By all means, if offense is the only result of your speech, let it fly. There is a great difference between causing mere offense and, say, making a lie of your claim that you fought to uphold freedom and the Constitution. If you really feel strongly about something, you shouldn't hold back. We might learn something from you!
I have noticed, though, that of those who chafe under the burden of Political Correctness, most of them are simply upset that they aren't allowed to state their deeply seated beliefs and convictions. Shouldn't they make those convictions clear, so that we can all address them? Don't you want to know who believes that women are inferior to men, that darker colored skin means someone is lazy or violent, or that speaking with an accent and/or not yet having the linguistic versatility of a native English speaker means someone is a terrorist/drug dealer/migrant worker. I, for one, have noticed how often one of those delightful old chestnuts is the American value the poor, muzzled victim is being forced to keep bottled up for fear of causing offense.
But point that out to one of them and see how quickly they will complain about your nasty stereotyping. How dare you hurt their feelings!?!
*The majority IS like that. Every majority is.
Tonight it was something a Facebook friend posted - a real God-and-Country painting of school children holding an American flag and pledging allegiance. Underneath was a typical rant about how this picture "isn't allowed" in our schools any more because "someone might be OFFENDED" and a dare: "I wonder how many Real Americans will share this." I usually ignore and move on, but in this case I called out the lie of the pledge not being "allowed." It didn't lead to a productive discussion (mainly because the poster mostly ignored me - good for him).
But it bothers me every time something like this floats by in the stream. There is this persistent lie that "American values" are under attack by some shadowy Other out there who is using "being offended" to control the rest of us. It seems particularly silly when you dig down into specifics. The reality is that the Constitution is being violated constantly by people who insist on having the government maintain the worship of their god as the official religion. Aren't we still in a War in a country where that was happening. (Psst - it was Afghanistan!) We have people sacrificing their lives over there to combat a practice that we can't stamp out here at home! That's the real absurdity that we "aren't allowed" to mention.
Which, of course, means that I have to address the number of veteran friends I have who are involved in spreading the lie. Every time someone cries about how they fought to protect the flag and freedom (usually in that order), and then turns around and tells someone else to shut up - looking at you, Allen West - the rest of us who served should be allowed to line up and kick them square in the junk. Serving in the military not only does not give any of us the right to shove our personal opinions down someone else's throat, it should make us more aware that claiming that right is a disgrace to everyone who has ever worn a uniform. I usually don't say that to people out of respect for their feelings - should I start saying it more often?
Because all of this is really about applying the law of the land to everyone equally. When you have the recent example from Cranston, Rhode Island staring you in the face of just how hard it is to uphold that law, you have to recognize that it's more than a matter of hurt feelings. It takes courage from the minority to stand up and demand it in the face of a cranky, surly majority. It doesn't matter if most the majority "is not like that",* no minority is safe if the law is not respected. When you consider how many people claim to be in the majority the problem becomes one of protecting everyone else from them - not the other way around.
But it's easier to sneer over the word "offended" than to stick to principles. I find that sneering to be a bit telling, as well; how trivial it sounds to say that the only reason you aren't "allowed" to speak your mind is that someone might be offended. It makes you and your "freedom of speech" sound like the real victim. By all means, if offense is the only result of your speech, let it fly. There is a great difference between causing mere offense and, say, making a lie of your claim that you fought to uphold freedom and the Constitution. If you really feel strongly about something, you shouldn't hold back. We might learn something from you!
I have noticed, though, that of those who chafe under the burden of Political Correctness, most of them are simply upset that they aren't allowed to state their deeply seated beliefs and convictions. Shouldn't they make those convictions clear, so that we can all address them? Don't you want to know who believes that women are inferior to men, that darker colored skin means someone is lazy or violent, or that speaking with an accent and/or not yet having the linguistic versatility of a native English speaker means someone is a terrorist/drug dealer/migrant worker. I, for one, have noticed how often one of those delightful old chestnuts is the American value the poor, muzzled victim is being forced to keep bottled up for fear of causing offense.
But point that out to one of them and see how quickly they will complain about your nasty stereotyping. How dare you hurt their feelings!?!
*The majority IS like that. Every majority is.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Why I Am a None
Meta: I've been reading the "Why I Am an Atheist" testimonials on Pharyngula's freethought blog with growing interest over the last few weeks. At first, I felt a twinge of discomfort at the idea of sharing conversion stories - for reasons you'll understand soon - but the more of them I read, the more I recognized bits of my own story. It made me want to share, too. I dislike labels, which is why I prefer "none" to"atheist" and I have noted that PZ disapproves of this, so whether he decides to host this tale on his blog or not is an open question. Either way, here is my story.
---
My conversion was not much of a surprise to anyone. My parents had hosted our church in our home when it started, and I had always been an eager and active participant in our services. I loved to sing in the choir, and I devoured the stories and lessons in Sunday School. It probably didn't hurt that I was one of the few kids in our little Southern Baptist church, and that our neighborhood was out in the sticks, so there was little or no "outside" influence on me besides my family and church. I knew that being Saved at 11 was kind of unusual, but it seemed like a natural enough thing to do.
It would be fair to say that I wanted to belong and be accepted. And I was. Everyone was proud of me, and I felt welcomed more and more into the adult circles around me.
My memories of my childhood are "normal" to me, which isn't surprising I guess. I never felt pressured to "join" the church, because it was always just there. My family was pretty low-key about the philosophical underpinnings of faith and the deep thinking necessary to question things; for us, being Christian was about behaving yourself and treating others kindly. It was straightforward.
Then there was my grandfather.
Grandpa Russ was the classic itinerant preacher, always on the move, going from church to church to bring the word to flocks who needed to hear the tough lessons he had to teach. (Those were the words we used for it in our family; the sad fact is that everywhere he went, he told people what was wrong with them until they drove him out.)
It hurts to criticize him, because I loved him, and I don't want my family to read this and feel hurt. I never thought of him as cruel or crazy, and don't want to sound like I'm tearing him down; but if I describe him honestly, what you will see is the photo-realistic portrait of a Christian conservative. Part Archie Bunker, part Billy Graham, and a little bit of white Al Sharpton for style. (And even though he passed in 2002, I still feel mean, traitorous and guilty describing him that way - he hated Al Sharpton.)
In Grandpa's mind, the reason he had to move a lot was because people couldn't handle the truth. I know now that no one can - not on Grandpa's terms. He had an odd relationship with truth, in the way that anyone who has dealt with this kind of person would recognize. But to me, he was Grandpa. He was an amazing friend to hang out with, he loved me, and he had Stories.
Grandpa's stories were always amusing. He could spin tall tales with the best of them, and my favorite stories had to do with him, as a boy in Depression-era Kentucky. The older I got, though, the more they tended to contain some admonishment about boys with long hair - and you know that means The Gay - or backsliders suffering through drugs until they find Jesus.
When mom, dad, or Grandma caught him pulling me to one side and filling my head with his tales, they would try to intervene. They were rational enough to recognize the ugliness of some of his ideas and they wanted to protect me from them, but I loved hearing him talk. I was a pretty lonely kid, and he kept me rapt as he told tall tales of his adventure in the war - getting lost in the fog at sea and ending up in Murmansk; being hired by Glenn Miller to sing in his orchestra, just before Maj. Miller's plane disappeared. No matter how outlandish or unlikely, I loved Grandpa's stories.
But I've always loved ALL kinds of stories.
I recognized early on how stories tell us hidden things about ourselves. They're puzzles with secret messages and lessons about how we tick. Old stories pick up details and layers like the sedimentary rocks that form fossils. If you know how to decipher them, all stories are true. I like to think I learned this from Grandpa, thanks to the inventive ways he would have to twist facts or events around to fit whatever he was trying to teach me. I recognized the dishonesty in what he was doing, but I was enthralled by his skill for spin, and the psychology behind it. From all of this, I learned at a tender age how to tolerate a great deal of cognitive dissonance - though it would be a dozen years before I would learn that term.
Of course, the Bible stories were literally true, as far as I was concerned. There was no question of that. I knew "real" from "pretend" - there was the Bible, and then there was "Star Wars." I was also an avid listener to Family Life Radio - the local Christian broadcaster that carried Dr. Dobson's "Focus on the Family", among others. Dr. Dobson's program was where I learned a lot of pop psychology - how people fooled themselves into thinking right was wrong. He also warned me about cults (ie, other religions), the occult and Satanism. These programs reinforced what I was learning in church, helping keep me focused on what was True.
Our pastor held an annual seminar on cults and the occult, so the he could explain to us why those false churches were wrong, and we were right. And of course, atheists, communists, and other godless people were mentioned along with backsliders and sinners of all stripes. So it was that I began my teen years a righteous, fiercely faithful soldier of Christ. I was accepted by my church and my family, and I knew what was right and what was wrong. I wasn't perfect, but I was Good. And I thought I was ready for the world.
Then things stopped making sense. It was no single thing.
It wasn't just that when I told Grandpa that I wanted to be a paleontologist he told me that fossils were put in the ground by Satan to test our faith - and meant it. It wasn't that I fell in love with a Catholic girl, and watched her turn on me bitterly after the passive-aggressive treatment she endured from my church family. It wasn't just that I began exploring music, and getting into strange things that my country-and-gospel family didn't understand. It wasn't that I wanted to fuck more than anything in the world, and couldn't figure out a way to do that within the strictures of our moral code.
And it wasn't that I began to recognize that I became a cruel and vicious asshole when "debating" any or all of these issues with my peers.
In the end, it was the stories that made me see it.
Everyone has a conversion story; a point where they go from believing one thing to believing the opposite - or at least something new that pushes out the old belief. One day, while arguing with a Mormon friend, something crucial dawned on me. He had used the same lines and logic to try to convince me he was right that I used on atheists all the time - not that it ever convinced them. He said the voice of God told him to believe, and he did. I told him he was ridiculous. After all, there is documented evidence that Mormonism was fabricated by Joseph Smith in the 1860s, and there is NO evidence that the Golden Tablet of Moroni or the Lost Tribe of Israel ever existed in North America (if at all).
As I blisteringly mocked his faith in a poorly written re-imagining of history published by a con man from New York, I realized that as ridiculous as it was to believe a hoax dreamed up in 1865, it was even more ridiculous to believe a hoax from 2000 years ago. They're all just stories, after all. If millions of people could buy into Mormonism after only 150 years, what did that say about Christianity? How could I trust the old game of Telephone as it played out across two millenia?
After I asked myself that question, I thought about Grandpa. A Man of God - who lied, and exaggerated and sometimes just "got things wrong." Not because he was evil, but because he was dying from plaque forming in the arteries of his brain. If he was wrong about the fossils, the way Joseph Smith was wrong about the Golden Tablets... and the way George Lucas was wrong about that galaxy far, far away... how could I ever really know how to tell which stories were factually true, and which were just poetry and social memory? I suspected it would be a long and difficult road if I decided to take it.
I was 17.
I held on for a long time. I still don't want to appear to simply "convert" - I didn't know where to go from where I had been, and it's hard for me to describe to people where I am now. This is why I dislike labels; as soon as someone hears "atheist" they think they know what you're all about. Even if being atheist was the only justifiable position to take, I have always hated the pat feeling of the conversion story: "I once was blind, but now I see." I did not want to go from being the asshole defender of Christ to being an asshole defender of ... nothing.
The key was to stop being an asshole, and just be honest. I don't know if I'm "there" yet.
But I'm not struggling, any more, and that's something. I did not give up struggling until I was 34. At that point I had spent half my life as a devout believer, and then half as nothing, I decided to stop calling myself agnostic, and just admit that it was that I didn't know: I really didn't care. Since then I've realized that I don't have to "accept" anything to replace my faith. I don't have to have a conversion story, mainly because it's my story I'm telling, and it's okay if this part is all internal monologue.
All anyone else needs to know is that I don't simply accept things as "true" just because it makes a good story for them.
I am still interested in stories. The older I get, the more I appreciate the poetry and art in teasing meaning out of the universe. I'm interested in watching how people think, and seeing how they deal with life according to their different ways of looking at the world. I still feel somewhat sanctimonious about the common mistakes people make in their lives, but I am less interested in judging them and more interested in learning from their mistakes. If they ask, I will tell them what I know.
I write about faith sometimes - about others who have it, and how it impacts me. I want to figure out how to relate to people who are like I was. But mostly, I just want to enjoy the stories, and try to keep straight which are true, and which are just for fun.
Lucky for me, I find truth to be fun.
---
You know my dad was a nun. ... Cause whenever he was up in court and the judge asked "occupation", he'd say "none". - Private Baldrick, Blackadder Goes Forth; "Captain Cook"At age 11 I went up to the front of the congregation at the end of a Sunday Evening sermon and accepted Jesus Christ as my own, true personal savior. Everyone was singing "Just As I Am," and at the end, when everyone files up to greet new members and converts - a surprisingly frequent event in small churches - everyone hugged me, some cheerfully, some tearfully.
My conversion was not much of a surprise to anyone. My parents had hosted our church in our home when it started, and I had always been an eager and active participant in our services. I loved to sing in the choir, and I devoured the stories and lessons in Sunday School. It probably didn't hurt that I was one of the few kids in our little Southern Baptist church, and that our neighborhood was out in the sticks, so there was little or no "outside" influence on me besides my family and church. I knew that being Saved at 11 was kind of unusual, but it seemed like a natural enough thing to do.
It would be fair to say that I wanted to belong and be accepted. And I was. Everyone was proud of me, and I felt welcomed more and more into the adult circles around me.
My memories of my childhood are "normal" to me, which isn't surprising I guess. I never felt pressured to "join" the church, because it was always just there. My family was pretty low-key about the philosophical underpinnings of faith and the deep thinking necessary to question things; for us, being Christian was about behaving yourself and treating others kindly. It was straightforward.
Then there was my grandfather.
Grandpa Russ was the classic itinerant preacher, always on the move, going from church to church to bring the word to flocks who needed to hear the tough lessons he had to teach. (Those were the words we used for it in our family; the sad fact is that everywhere he went, he told people what was wrong with them until they drove him out.)
It hurts to criticize him, because I loved him, and I don't want my family to read this and feel hurt. I never thought of him as cruel or crazy, and don't want to sound like I'm tearing him down; but if I describe him honestly, what you will see is the photo-realistic portrait of a Christian conservative. Part Archie Bunker, part Billy Graham, and a little bit of white Al Sharpton for style. (And even though he passed in 2002, I still feel mean, traitorous and guilty describing him that way - he hated Al Sharpton.)
In Grandpa's mind, the reason he had to move a lot was because people couldn't handle the truth. I know now that no one can - not on Grandpa's terms. He had an odd relationship with truth, in the way that anyone who has dealt with this kind of person would recognize. But to me, he was Grandpa. He was an amazing friend to hang out with, he loved me, and he had Stories.
Grandpa's stories were always amusing. He could spin tall tales with the best of them, and my favorite stories had to do with him, as a boy in Depression-era Kentucky. The older I got, though, the more they tended to contain some admonishment about boys with long hair - and you know that means The Gay - or backsliders suffering through drugs until they find Jesus.
When mom, dad, or Grandma caught him pulling me to one side and filling my head with his tales, they would try to intervene. They were rational enough to recognize the ugliness of some of his ideas and they wanted to protect me from them, but I loved hearing him talk. I was a pretty lonely kid, and he kept me rapt as he told tall tales of his adventure in the war - getting lost in the fog at sea and ending up in Murmansk; being hired by Glenn Miller to sing in his orchestra, just before Maj. Miller's plane disappeared. No matter how outlandish or unlikely, I loved Grandpa's stories.
But I've always loved ALL kinds of stories.
I recognized early on how stories tell us hidden things about ourselves. They're puzzles with secret messages and lessons about how we tick. Old stories pick up details and layers like the sedimentary rocks that form fossils. If you know how to decipher them, all stories are true. I like to think I learned this from Grandpa, thanks to the inventive ways he would have to twist facts or events around to fit whatever he was trying to teach me. I recognized the dishonesty in what he was doing, but I was enthralled by his skill for spin, and the psychology behind it. From all of this, I learned at a tender age how to tolerate a great deal of cognitive dissonance - though it would be a dozen years before I would learn that term.
Of course, the Bible stories were literally true, as far as I was concerned. There was no question of that. I knew "real" from "pretend" - there was the Bible, and then there was "Star Wars." I was also an avid listener to Family Life Radio - the local Christian broadcaster that carried Dr. Dobson's "Focus on the Family", among others. Dr. Dobson's program was where I learned a lot of pop psychology - how people fooled themselves into thinking right was wrong. He also warned me about cults (ie, other religions), the occult and Satanism. These programs reinforced what I was learning in church, helping keep me focused on what was True.
Our pastor held an annual seminar on cults and the occult, so the he could explain to us why those false churches were wrong, and we were right. And of course, atheists, communists, and other godless people were mentioned along with backsliders and sinners of all stripes. So it was that I began my teen years a righteous, fiercely faithful soldier of Christ. I was accepted by my church and my family, and I knew what was right and what was wrong. I wasn't perfect, but I was Good. And I thought I was ready for the world.
Then things stopped making sense. It was no single thing.
It wasn't just that when I told Grandpa that I wanted to be a paleontologist he told me that fossils were put in the ground by Satan to test our faith - and meant it. It wasn't that I fell in love with a Catholic girl, and watched her turn on me bitterly after the passive-aggressive treatment she endured from my church family. It wasn't just that I began exploring music, and getting into strange things that my country-and-gospel family didn't understand. It wasn't that I wanted to fuck more than anything in the world, and couldn't figure out a way to do that within the strictures of our moral code.
And it wasn't that I began to recognize that I became a cruel and vicious asshole when "debating" any or all of these issues with my peers.
In the end, it was the stories that made me see it.
Everyone has a conversion story; a point where they go from believing one thing to believing the opposite - or at least something new that pushes out the old belief. One day, while arguing with a Mormon friend, something crucial dawned on me. He had used the same lines and logic to try to convince me he was right that I used on atheists all the time - not that it ever convinced them. He said the voice of God told him to believe, and he did. I told him he was ridiculous. After all, there is documented evidence that Mormonism was fabricated by Joseph Smith in the 1860s, and there is NO evidence that the Golden Tablet of Moroni or the Lost Tribe of Israel ever existed in North America (if at all).
As I blisteringly mocked his faith in a poorly written re-imagining of history published by a con man from New York, I realized that as ridiculous as it was to believe a hoax dreamed up in 1865, it was even more ridiculous to believe a hoax from 2000 years ago. They're all just stories, after all. If millions of people could buy into Mormonism after only 150 years, what did that say about Christianity? How could I trust the old game of Telephone as it played out across two millenia?
After I asked myself that question, I thought about Grandpa. A Man of God - who lied, and exaggerated and sometimes just "got things wrong." Not because he was evil, but because he was dying from plaque forming in the arteries of his brain. If he was wrong about the fossils, the way Joseph Smith was wrong about the Golden Tablets... and the way George Lucas was wrong about that galaxy far, far away... how could I ever really know how to tell which stories were factually true, and which were just poetry and social memory? I suspected it would be a long and difficult road if I decided to take it.
I was 17.
I held on for a long time. I still don't want to appear to simply "convert" - I didn't know where to go from where I had been, and it's hard for me to describe to people where I am now. This is why I dislike labels; as soon as someone hears "atheist" they think they know what you're all about. Even if being atheist was the only justifiable position to take, I have always hated the pat feeling of the conversion story: "I once was blind, but now I see." I did not want to go from being the asshole defender of Christ to being an asshole defender of ... nothing.
The key was to stop being an asshole, and just be honest. I don't know if I'm "there" yet.
But I'm not struggling, any more, and that's something. I did not give up struggling until I was 34. At that point I had spent half my life as a devout believer, and then half as nothing, I decided to stop calling myself agnostic, and just admit that it was that I didn't know: I really didn't care. Since then I've realized that I don't have to "accept" anything to replace my faith. I don't have to have a conversion story, mainly because it's my story I'm telling, and it's okay if this part is all internal monologue.
All anyone else needs to know is that I don't simply accept things as "true" just because it makes a good story for them.
I am still interested in stories. The older I get, the more I appreciate the poetry and art in teasing meaning out of the universe. I'm interested in watching how people think, and seeing how they deal with life according to their different ways of looking at the world. I still feel somewhat sanctimonious about the common mistakes people make in their lives, but I am less interested in judging them and more interested in learning from their mistakes. If they ask, I will tell them what I know.
I write about faith sometimes - about others who have it, and how it impacts me. I want to figure out how to relate to people who are like I was. But mostly, I just want to enjoy the stories, and try to keep straight which are true, and which are just for fun.
Lucky for me, I find truth to be fun.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Sewer Saga
Since we started the construction of our upstairs addition this past spring, we noticed a few clues that something was wrong. Discoloration and debris on the sides of the toilet and a ring in the unused tub - both in the downstairs (ie, finished basement) bathroom. Occasional "bloop bloop" sounds from the pipes. All cause for concern, but dismissed because the drains were still working. We figured it had some relation to the construction.
But a few weeks ago, we couldn't dismiss it any more. The tub backed up with brown sludge containing not only shreds of toilet paper, but a nasty mixture of ... stuff. So, we called the warranty company.
We had two visits from the company's contractor to clean out the pipes. On his first visit, he wasn't able to clear the problem, and he identified dirt and roots in the muck. This was a potential problem, because our warranty wouldn't cover a break in the sewer line. We also learned that the county wouldn't deal with any break occurring on our property.
In order to get a "diagnosis," the first guy came out the second time with a locator. He ran the transmitter end as far as he could from the access point (the clean-out) in our basement, then walked around with the receiver end on the driveway. He pointed to a spot about 10 feet from where he estimated the pipe to come out of the house. His guess was that the pipe out of the house was cast iron, with it being terracotta the rest of the way to the street. If it was terracotta, a repair job was not likely to solve the problem; it would be better to replace the whole stretch with PVC.
"I can't officially mark this, but that's where I think your break is."
It wasn't.
Turns out that when they built the house in the late 1940s, they ran the sewer line out of the east side of the foundation at a 45 degree angle, turned 45 degrees toward the street, ran about 10 feet to a right-hand 90 degree turn. That's where the "break" was. From there the pipe went about 15 feet, and made a couple more 45 degree turns to get to the west corner of our property - a run of 90 feet from outlet to county sewer.
But we didn't know that, yet. We got estimates for a straight shot - right down the middle of our concrete driveway, 35 feet to the east corner of the street. We discovered that our homeowner's insurance would cover the replacement of the line and the removal/replacement of the concrete... but NOT the excavation. (Apparently, the driveway and the pipe are part of the residence, but the dirt between them is not. Effin' lawyers...)
We needed estimates (the lowest clocked in at $4,200), schedules (next week? NO! Now, please!), and a lot of planning. Since this was happening in November, right around the 3-day weekend of veterans day, we ended up have to get creative. I took clothes in a gym bag and showered at work for a week; the kids and Kate went to shower at our friend's house; and we spent WAY too much at the laundromat. Eventually, the crew made it out and spent 3 days destroying, learning, and replacing.
But rather than terracotta in a straight shot down the driveway (which was, of course, the first thing torn out), they found 90' of ancient cast iron following that path I described above. And worst (or best) of all: they saw no break. Nothing in the pipe being ripped out; no obvious cracks; no wet ground showing weeks' worth of seepage anywhere. All was clear and fine (and now it was all brand new PVC) to the county's pipe.
We had to let the new joints cure overnight, so it was a full 24 hours before we could run the water. When we did, it still backed up. So out the County came, at 11pm, to run a snake down our newly installed external cleanout. They pulled about a foot of tree root clump out, called it good and left.
Really? All of that money, time, inconvenience and effort for a clump of tree root? We're supposed to believe that was all that was causing 90 feet of pipe to fill with water? Was that all that was needed in the first place? I was skeptical, and so was Kate. But perhaps we would be alright.
Turns out, no; Friday night, running a load of laundry, I heard the familiar "bloop bloop" and ran into the bathroom to see the tub filling with murky, cold water. Out came the County. They ran the snake. Nothing. But miraculously, the water was flowing. Until today. Same thing (at noon instead of midnight, this time!); men + snake = still nothing.
Next step: cameras. Maybe they'll find some missing mythical creature nesting in the junction of our sewer: the Phantom, an escaped cold-weather Anaconda, or a competent and attractive alternative to Newt Gingrich. Who knows what watertight abomination could be down there!
Meanwhile, I'm eyeing the drains with suspicion, and waiting for the next Bloop.
To be continued?
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Clown Shoes
The opposition is convinced they will win.
The President is on the ropes, they say, and anyone could walk in and take the office from him. They have a litany of complaints - dismissed by the President's defenders in the ruling party with a range of attitudes from snarky disdain to mock horror - and they have a list of candidates ready to vie for the chance to put their ideas on the national ballot.
But supreme overconfidence seems to be the theme of the primary race. From the acknowledged establishment front-runner no one really likes; to the more appealing-but also less familiar challenger; to the out-of-touch Cold Warrior spouting ancient Soviet-era ideas; to the religion-tainted crackpot; to the exciting governor who implodes when he opens his mouth; to the untrusted dark horse with kooky ideas; and the unexpected denial of candidates who thought it was their turn - the opposition seems bent on selling ideas that have been roundly rejected by the electorate rather than gaining the confidence of the voters and offering any solutions to contemporary problems.
And after the dust settles, the President will walk away with a Mandate from the People to continue doing business as he has been doing business all along. He will double down on ideas and strategies from his first term, and not only disappoint and alienate the independent electorate that chose him as the lesser of two evils, but also erode and embitter his own base. (Of course, most of them only dig in and defend him to avoid the appearance of "giving in" or to entertain themselves by watching their political enemies fume.)
Sound familiar? Yeah - the 2004 race sucked.
You would think that no one would want to repeat that experience. After all of the agony and bitterness, not to mention the political losses on both sides, you would expect that more candidates might try to appeal to the sensible middle of the political spectrum. You would expect them to duplicate the "no drama" approach to campaigning; after all, that was what some 40% of us found appealing about the last winner.
Instead, the GOP has denied reality at every opportunity, has ramped up the viciousness of their rhetoric, and seems to have bought into their own alternate-history view in a way that even the 2004 Democrats - the "anyone but Bush" crowd - did not do. The Democrats at least had legitimate complaints against Bush - I've documented my reasoning behind that opinion in this blog before.
I'm not convinced that the Republicans have such legitimate complaints about President Obama.
He has largely accomplished things that the GOP insisted they would do; from taking down bin Laden and Ghaddafi, to pulling out of Iraq in an "honorable" way (to use the word the administration uses). His domestic agenda has pushed through a lot of Republican ideas - to the chagrin of his Democratic supporters - only to have those ideas roundly rejected by the GOP and declared by their PR arm to be part of his alleged Socialist Plot to Take Over the World. The GOP seems universally convinced that the rest of us believe what they believe about President Obama - and what they believe is on 24/7 display on FOX news networks.
Watching the current crop of candidates deny science, deny economic reality (really, guys? Trickle down - still?), and insist that God is leading them to save us from the Gays, Foreigners, Communists, and Atheists has been occasionally entertaining, but it's still depressing to think that this is the best an established political entity can produce.
Then again, they may have a point.
After all is said and done, God may really WANT some of these morons in charge of our government. Remember - this is the same God that allegedly designed the camel and the platypus.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Lb4Lb#9: Yours, Mine, and the Truth
There's three sides to every story:
Yours
Mine
the Truth.
- Cupid's DeadSometimes we're just too clever for our own good.
Extreme is a band that has suffered from straddling a line between down-to-earth and over-the-top. They clearly had the chops and the musicianship needed to rule the earth, but they wanted something else. And what they wanted was something that you can't come right out and ask for: your fans have to figure it out on their own.
I'm a hapless romantic
St-t-tuttering p-poet
Just call me a Tragic Comic
'Cause I'm in love with you
- Tragic ComicI'm one of the many fans and critics who consider their best effort to have been the album entitled (somewhat ambiguously) III Sides To Every Story. It was their third, following up their breakout hits More Than Words and Hole Hearted. If the world was a fair place, then III Sides would have been the homerun the band needed to hit. It showcases one of the world's best guitarists without being a "guitar" album, and it blends thoughtfulness, spirituality, and humor in a wickedly funky metal confection.
The band tried to pull off something really difficult with their concept. After all these years, even a fan like me isn't entirely sure what the message was, or what it all really means. I know that there are parts that I really get, and others I don't. I'm never entirely sure I'm comfortable with what it says.
Mr. Goody Two
Do you really thing the world
Can be Black, White, and Jew?
...Mr. Music Man
Don't turn your back on me?
Cause I'm the one with the gun
- Peacemaker DieAt first glance, this bold and disturbing stance seems obvious. Clearly, since this is a concept album about politics and belief, and since the first "side" of the three - Yours - was not meant to reflect the band's own opinions and beliefs, you can't take this bravado and swagger at face value. For these songs, they ought to be painting a picture of the Other Guy - the one we're supposed to be against.
This world ain't big enough for two
And I've got my sights on you
- WarheadsOh, yeah - that guy is an aggressive jerk. That's YOUR side, alright. Not mine. I know people like him, so "Your" side is about him, right?
That works to a point. But then you see something of yourself in that Other guy:
"Make love/not war" sounds so absurd to me
We can't afford to take these words lightly
or else our world will truly Rest in Peace
- Rest In PeaceWait a minute - I hold to that sentiment myself. Even though the threat of Soviet-inflicted Armaggedon is even less likely now that it was in 1992, I know that we can't afford to neglect our own defense. Maybe these guys consider me to be that Other guy? And yet, I'm also far from the Warhead described in the opening track.
This second-guessing goes on throughout the whole album; what are these songs trying to tell me about the band? Or about myself?
Picture a world without any color
You couldn't tell one face from another
I can't understand why we fight with our brother
- Color Me BlindJust when you think you've got it figured out - which side is which - they throw in something that doesn't fit. Are they hippies? No, because why would hippies put Color Me Blind on "Your" side? Maybe they're trying to show that both "sides" have some balance? Maybe they're trying to show that there's common ground between the "sides"?
But then there are the chilling moments, where you see something horrific and alien in the Other side. I still get goosebumps from the sick feeling of being inside the mind of a violent extremist as the band plays a sample of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech over the repeated leit-motif of "Peacemaker Die." I know exactly where the gunshot is, and I still jump when I hear it. If I identified with "Your" side up to this point, I would be suddenly forced to realize something horrible about the person that "Your" side describes.
All the world's
a masquerade
made up of fools
and philosophers
Were it to rain
on our charade,
all washes away,
except for our true colors
- Stop The WorldHow many listeners were put off by this inherent confusion, I wonder? And how many missed the larger point because they either took the lyric at face value as something the band really believes, or pushed away from what they took to be criticism of their own beliefs? Judging by the sales figures, a lot of people didn't get it.
Yours
Mine
the Truth.
- Cupid's DeadSometimes we're just too clever for our own good.
Extreme is a band that has suffered from straddling a line between down-to-earth and over-the-top. They clearly had the chops and the musicianship needed to rule the earth, but they wanted something else. And what they wanted was something that you can't come right out and ask for: your fans have to figure it out on their own.
I'm a hapless romantic
St-t-tuttering p-poet
Just call me a Tragic Comic
'Cause I'm in love with you
- Tragic ComicI'm one of the many fans and critics who consider their best effort to have been the album entitled (somewhat ambiguously) III Sides To Every Story. It was their third, following up their breakout hits More Than Words and Hole Hearted. If the world was a fair place, then III Sides would have been the homerun the band needed to hit. It showcases one of the world's best guitarists without being a "guitar" album, and it blends thoughtfulness, spirituality, and humor in a wickedly funky metal confection.
The band tried to pull off something really difficult with their concept. After all these years, even a fan like me isn't entirely sure what the message was, or what it all really means. I know that there are parts that I really get, and others I don't. I'm never entirely sure I'm comfortable with what it says.
Mr. Goody Two
Do you really thing the world
Can be Black, White, and Jew?
...Mr. Music Man
Don't turn your back on me?
Cause I'm the one with the gun
- Peacemaker DieAt first glance, this bold and disturbing stance seems obvious. Clearly, since this is a concept album about politics and belief, and since the first "side" of the three - Yours - was not meant to reflect the band's own opinions and beliefs, you can't take this bravado and swagger at face value. For these songs, they ought to be painting a picture of the Other Guy - the one we're supposed to be against.
This world ain't big enough for two
And I've got my sights on you
- WarheadsOh, yeah - that guy is an aggressive jerk. That's YOUR side, alright. Not mine. I know people like him, so "Your" side is about him, right?
That works to a point. But then you see something of yourself in that Other guy:
"Make love/not war" sounds so absurd to me
We can't afford to take these words lightly
or else our world will truly Rest in Peace
- Rest In PeaceWait a minute - I hold to that sentiment myself. Even though the threat of Soviet-inflicted Armaggedon is even less likely now that it was in 1992, I know that we can't afford to neglect our own defense. Maybe these guys consider me to be that Other guy? And yet, I'm also far from the Warhead described in the opening track.
This second-guessing goes on throughout the whole album; what are these songs trying to tell me about the band? Or about myself?
Picture a world without any color
You couldn't tell one face from another
I can't understand why we fight with our brother
- Color Me BlindJust when you think you've got it figured out - which side is which - they throw in something that doesn't fit. Are they hippies? No, because why would hippies put Color Me Blind on "Your" side? Maybe they're trying to show that both "sides" have some balance? Maybe they're trying to show that there's common ground between the "sides"?
But then there are the chilling moments, where you see something horrific and alien in the Other side. I still get goosebumps from the sick feeling of being inside the mind of a violent extremist as the band plays a sample of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech over the repeated leit-motif of "Peacemaker Die." I know exactly where the gunshot is, and I still jump when I hear it. If I identified with "Your" side up to this point, I would be suddenly forced to realize something horrible about the person that "Your" side describes.
All the world's
a masquerade
made up of fools
and philosophers
Were it to rain
on our charade,
all washes away,
except for our true colors
- Stop The WorldHow many listeners were put off by this inherent confusion, I wonder? And how many missed the larger point because they either took the lyric at face value as something the band really believes, or pushed away from what they took to be criticism of their own beliefs? Judging by the sales figures, a lot of people didn't get it.
Which is sad, because there is a lot of goodness here. I suspect the disappointment from the way this album was received led to the frustrating compromises the band made on their next release; a so-called "grunge" album that their more loyal fans saw as a "sell out" move. I'm just glad they had the courage to take this risk, and give us this album first. It must have been a real conflict to decide to do so.
And conflict is really what this whole thing is about. While the conflict on Your side is harsher and more threatening, Mine is more open and accessible. This side is the questioning, sentimental side.
If I had one wish
It wouldn't be hard to choose
Seven Sundays in a row
'cause that's the day that I spend with you
- Seven SundaysI think we can all recognize the hopefulness and futility that comes from trying to sort out our place in a world that seems downright crazy. We all think we're just good, average folks trying to make our way through; we all want to rely on someone stronger and smarter than us to pull us through; and we all want to escape from the glad-handing charlatans trying to take advantage of us.
But even here on what should be common ground we have a problem to sort out, because of all of this religious imagery and language. Seven Sundays could be a sweet song for your steady girl - or it could be about a relationship with God. And that duality gets more overt when you compare it to the aggressive R. Lee Ermey father that opened the album. Just what exactly are they trying to say about God?
Oh Daddy please
Take me with you, where you going
Oh Daddy please
Come find the time, come watch us growing
- Our FatherI used to only listen to the halfway point of this album - something which has changed, or I wouldn't rightly be able to call this a "pound for pound" album. I used to get mad or bored with the more religious and heavily orchestrated songs from Our Father on - but now I don't.
I would get mad because it sounded (in my younger days) as if the band were urging me toward some kind of religious answer. I would get bored (later on), just dismissing this section as an attempt to deal with Daddy issues. Now I see that, like the other sections, we have the same mix of conflicted points of view that we saw in the first half.
So I start off every day
Down on my knees I will pray
(for a change in any way)
But as the day goes by
I live through another lie
if it's any wonder why!
Am I ever gonna change?
If I say one thing then I do the other
It's the same old song that goes on forever
- Am I Ever Gonna Change?After years of listening, pondering, wondering, supposing, and rethinking, I still don't really have any answers. But I do think these guys were onto something 20 years ago. I think there is an important lesson here and that it still applies. I don't pray, but I recognize that prayer is an externalized form of meditation. We humans keep looking for answers outside of ourselves; we keep hoping to change others - whether their minds or just their behavior - as if that alone would make everything better.
But the world keeps spinning, and I keep getting sucked into the same arguments with the same kinds of people. Anger begets anger, frustration breeds contempt, and no one ever feels like their "side" is fairly represented.
Maybe the real solution to the puzzle is to let someone else have the last word.
Am I ever gonna change?
I'm the only one to blame
When I think I'm right, I wind up wrong
It's a futile fight that's gone on too long.
And conflict is really what this whole thing is about. While the conflict on Your side is harsher and more threatening, Mine is more open and accessible. This side is the questioning, sentimental side.
If I had one wish
It wouldn't be hard to choose
Seven Sundays in a row
'cause that's the day that I spend with you
- Seven SundaysI think we can all recognize the hopefulness and futility that comes from trying to sort out our place in a world that seems downright crazy. We all think we're just good, average folks trying to make our way through; we all want to rely on someone stronger and smarter than us to pull us through; and we all want to escape from the glad-handing charlatans trying to take advantage of us.
But even here on what should be common ground we have a problem to sort out, because of all of this religious imagery and language. Seven Sundays could be a sweet song for your steady girl - or it could be about a relationship with God. And that duality gets more overt when you compare it to the aggressive R. Lee Ermey father that opened the album. Just what exactly are they trying to say about God?
Oh Daddy please
Take me with you, where you going
Oh Daddy please
Come find the time, come watch us growing
- Our FatherI used to only listen to the halfway point of this album - something which has changed, or I wouldn't rightly be able to call this a "pound for pound" album. I used to get mad or bored with the more religious and heavily orchestrated songs from Our Father on - but now I don't.
I would get mad because it sounded (in my younger days) as if the band were urging me toward some kind of religious answer. I would get bored (later on), just dismissing this section as an attempt to deal with Daddy issues. Now I see that, like the other sections, we have the same mix of conflicted points of view that we saw in the first half.
So I start off every day
Down on my knees I will pray
(for a change in any way)
But as the day goes by
I live through another lie
if it's any wonder why!
Am I ever gonna change?
If I say one thing then I do the other
It's the same old song that goes on forever
- Am I Ever Gonna Change?After years of listening, pondering, wondering, supposing, and rethinking, I still don't really have any answers. But I do think these guys were onto something 20 years ago. I think there is an important lesson here and that it still applies. I don't pray, but I recognize that prayer is an externalized form of meditation. We humans keep looking for answers outside of ourselves; we keep hoping to change others - whether their minds or just their behavior - as if that alone would make everything better.
But the world keeps spinning, and I keep getting sucked into the same arguments with the same kinds of people. Anger begets anger, frustration breeds contempt, and no one ever feels like their "side" is fairly represented.
Maybe the real solution to the puzzle is to let someone else have the last word.
Am I ever gonna change?
I'm the only one to blame
When I think I'm right, I wind up wrong
It's a futile fight that's gone on too long.
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