In Praise of Uncertainty

I'm not so much of an egotist as to think anyone actually gives a crap as to my notion of "God," but since this is my blog, here it is: "I dunno."

This position has evolved substantially over the years. As a precocious Catholic school fourth grader who was unable to reconcile the ideas that Pandora's box was a "myth" and the story of Adam and Eve was "the infallible word of God," a spirited atheism seemed the best way to go. All of the best stuff about Catholicism — all that revolutionary Sermon on the Mount talk — sank in deep, but I didn't see any evidence around me that this was the part people much cared about.

Over the years, I found myself looking for alternative systems that offered structure and answers. Embarrassingly enough, I cycled through Rosecrucianism, Scientology, and Nichiren Daishonin buddhism in relatively short order before realizing that systematizing the ineffable was the height of human arrogance.

And so, I find myself drawn to those who lack answers. Who intuit that compassion is the glue that keeps things together and are capable of something I think of as awe, but also get that — outside perhaps of a spiritually gifted few — we simply lack the equipment to know what the fuck is really going on. I think of religious thought as a rich symbolic language that points us beyond the limits of direct experience. Some people are able to translate this into something called faith. Not me. I've tried. My brain gets in the way every time.

I therefor think of myself as a lower-case agnostic who is slightly envious of those more spiritually grounded than I. In that spirit, here's a blog I admire from a local woman that I've come to know slightly from a Quaker meeting I attend maybe once or twice a year. Here's another from a seriously Buddhist friend who is one of the wisest people I know. I just wish she'd write more. If all religion looked a bit more like this, we'd have a different sort of world.

Easter: No Joking Matter

My mother-in-law called today to wish us a happy Easter. I said, "Every time I think of the crucifixion, I commit the sin of envy." Simone Weil, fucked up Catholic that she was, actually says this in her autobiography. I've always found that screamingly funny.

But then, I have a peculiar sense of humor, which this particular mother-in-law lacks. "What?" she said, "is that supposed to be funny?"

Apparently, she's a serious Christian. How was I to know?

So, in her honor, here's my Easter blog post. The three best Jesus jokes on the internet, sez me, in ascending order.

Best Jesus Joke: Third Place
Three departed souls were standing at the gates of heaven. Saint Peter said to them, "In order to enter these gates, you must first tell me the meaning of Easter." The first soul stepped up and said, "Easter is a time when families come together to enjoy a turkey dinner and give thanks for their many blessings." St. Peter pointed downward and with that the soul vanished.
The second soul stepped up and said, "Easter is a holiday where people decorate a pine tree and place presents under it." Again St. Peter pointed downward and the soul vanished.
The third soul stepped up and said, "Easter is all about a man named Jesus who lived about 2,000 years ago. He spoke of the coming of God's kingdom and he performed many miracles. Soon the leaders of the temple became angry at him, so they had him put to death. Three days later, he arose from the dead and stepped out of his tomb...." At this, Saint Peter began to smile, until the soul continued... " Then Jesus saw his shadow and we had 6 more weeks of winter."

Best Jesus Joke: Second Place
So Jesus is hanging on the cross, all of his disciples are gone. Hiding in Jerusalem is Peter, trying to escape the Roman soldiers. All of a sudden Peter hears "Peter, Peter, it's me Jesus, come here." Instantly, Peter tries to run to him but he gets caught by the soldiers, they cut his leg off and take him to the village saying, "If we catch you again you're dead." Hours pass and again he hears, "Peter, Peter, come to me." Peter immediately tries to hop over to the cross but he's caught again. The soldiers cut of his other leg saying, "Is this a joke to you? One more time and you're dead!" They have mercy and throw him back in the village. Hours pass and again he hears, "Peter, you gotta come here, PETER!!" Peter builds up his courage, crawls and sneaks past the soldiers. Finally reaching Jesus he says, "Lord I made it, what is it?" Jesus opens his eyes and says. " I can see your house from here"

Best Jesus Joke Ever: First Place Winner!
Q: Why did Jesus cross the road?
A: He was nailed to a chicken.

Confessions of a Quaker Camp Follower

Slowly, I'm finding that my life is populated by closet bloggers. There's the friend whose blog shall, at her urgent request, remain secret. I'm probably missing something. The magic wand thing didn't really phase me. I mean, we all do that.

It's actually a great metaphor for blogging itself. Or maybe it's a euphemism. I can't decide.

"Generally speaking, I blog at least once a day."

Another friend, Mary, just told me about her Beginners Mind blog. Her last entry inspired me to offer a few spiritual observations of my own.

I was raised Catholic, which means that I went to Catholic schools until they kicked me out and attended church when my mother made me. By the 4th grade, having declared myself an atheist, I scandalized the other kids at Saint Mary's School.

Despite this absence of enthusiasm, some of it stuck. As a grade schooler, I was steeped the social gospel of Vatican II. I remained struck by the Sermon on the Mount and was deeply affected by Jesus' radicalism.

In 1970 came Jesus Christ Superstar, which was blacklisted by the Catholic Daughters of America and, by extension, my mother. By listening to it over and over again in my friend's basement across the street, I committed the thing to memory — beginning to end — for the rest of my life. I was eleven.

My secondary religious influence was a half-assed mysticism that began with mail order lessons from the Rosecrucians at seventeen and culminated in my late-twenties with a mushroom inspired moment of universal insight.

I still regard this as my one authentic religious experience. The fact that I cheated doesn't matter to me in the least.

Buddhism, which is more of a practice than a religion, speaks to me as well. As they say, a watched mind never boils.

Finally, I married into the Quakers. I often accuse my wife of being the worst Quaker in the world, but that's not fair. She's probably about average.

George Fox, the barefoot nutcase, is the real deal, and the Letters of John Woolman are a remarkable document of the spiritually engaged life. The Quaker notion of "speaking to that of God in everyone" just works for me. It's something I try to live up to.

So I've been known to sit quietly through the occasional Quaker meeting, but I'm basically too shallow to be serious about it.

This makes me a Quaker camp follower, which is as close to organized religion as I care to come.

But I do have a theology.

Love, I have concluded, is the thing that keeps life from being a piece of shit. It is those sparks of divinity that we carry, drawn toward each other by a kind of cosmic magnetism, that are the glue of the universe. We can choose to abet this process or not, and this is what gives our lives meaning.

I don't need anyone to tell me this. I just know it, like I know that water, ice, and steam are all the same thing. It's an observable phenomenon.

Love, love, love. Love is all you need.