When Bill O'Reilly first started foaming at the mouth a few years ago about the so-called "war on Christmas," my first thought was, "Sweet! Where can I enlist?" I envisioned Jon Stewart and me wearing t-shirts that said "Soldier in the War on Christmas." One of the nice things about my Jewish phase is that I had a ready-made excuse not to go too crazy with the whole Christmas thing.
Christmas has almost always been tied up with disappointment for me. Not because I didn't get the toys I wanted as a kid, but because I could sense that my relatives, other than parents and siblings, were disappointed in me. And I think they still are, even though I served my country in the military for 8 years and will probably be the first person in my family to finish a graduate degree. They'll probably remain disappointed in me for as long as they live, even if I become a professor at a prestigious school or help with some research breakthrough in industry. Why? Because they have this very clear idea of what a woman should be and do, and I don't fit it. If you're wondering who would, Victoria Osteen would probably be a decent reference point (I was going to say Sarah Palin, but she's clearly more accomplished than her husband, and some of my relatives might consider that to be upstaging).
As a kid, it was clear that my behavior wasn't feminine enough for them. I was told I'd never catch a man the way I was, which, truth be told, was just fine with me. The idea of marriage or even long-term commitment seemed to be a kind of slavery (my stance on this has mellowed with age, at least in theory). But to them, my not catching a man was a terrible outcome. In fact, until I got married, some relatives asked my sister if I was a lesbian (I don't know if this idea has resurfaced since my divorce).
Fortunately, as an adult, I don't exactly lose sleep over this disfavor. In fact, I see who does have their favor, and I certainly don't wish to trade places with any of those people! But spending every holiday season in my formative years being confronted with my own perceived inadequacies is enough to make me annually consider booking a vacation over the holidays in a country that doesn't celebrate Christmas. If said country has a relatively clean beach, so much the better. ;-)
Showing posts with label Background. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Background. Show all posts
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
The religion that got away, Part 2
Just as I discovered the Buddha's teachings in Germany, I began to pursue my study of Judaism in an equally unlikely place--Hawaii. My husband at the time was stationed at Pearl Harbor, so I had many occasions to visit the base. I'd noticed that near the main clinic was something called the Aloha Jewish Chapel. On most military installations, the Jewish community has to be content with taking its turn at the regular base chapel for its services like everybody else. But AJC was a dedicated synagogue.
I attended a Friday night service on what happened to be the first night of Chanukah. My initial welcome consisted of this very sweet old lady who insisted I fill up a plate with various goodies from the potluck they were having for the occasion. Despite not knowing a word of Hebrew, the service leader and the congregation made great efforts to make me feel welcome and help me keep up with what was going on in the service.
Within a few weeks I was attending Hebrew lessons before the services and conversion classes during the week. Since there was no rabbi at AJC, my conversion classes were with a nearby Reform congregation. I mentioned in Part 1 how Judaism struck me as practical (in the sense that behavior is emphasized more than theology), and the things I learned in conversion class seemed to confirm this. While Kabbalah has been big in some circles, note that many of these circles tend not to have many Jewish people in them, not entirely unlike Buddhist groups with no Asians. ;) Hashing out the details of regular Jewish living is enough to keep most people occupied! You may have heard that some traditions refer to Jews as "People of the Book." After just a few weeks of study, I began to think "People of the Library" was more accurate! That was something I loved about Judaism--that you could dedicate your life to studying it and still not know all there is to know.
I also liked the emphasis on debate and discussion. For example, if you look at an untranslated page from the Talmud, you'll notice right away that you can't read it like a typical book. The core concept under discussion is in the center of the page, and the various commentaries (which don't always agree with each other!) surround it, often going into the margins of the page.
The support I felt from the military community motivated me in ritual observance, too. I lit Shabbat candles every week, attended a Passover Seder, and even fasted for Yom Kippur. I really felt like I was meant to be Jewish. Unfortunately, the Reform rabbi had to step down due to health problems before I could make my conversion final.
And truth be told, there were other issues. I encountered a lot of resistance at home, and in retrospect, I can't blame my husband for his reaction. I'd shown no signs of this interest before we got married. But that acceptance was so important to me that I stuck with it. Eventually, he learned to sort of tolerate it and even managed to acquire a taste for matzo ball soup. But once we came back to Texas, we never could settle on a congregation. And by the time we divorced, I'd pretty much had it with organized religion.
However, I'll always be grateful to that community in Hawaii for supporting me through some very tough times in my life. If I had to pick a religion for some reason, Judaism would probably be it. Although my actual beliefs may line up more with various Eastern religions, I never felt the sense of community with them that I did in the synagogue.
As you've probably guessed, the community issue is really important to me. But I think that deserves its own post, so the details on that subject will have to wait for another time. I've rambled enough for now.
I attended a Friday night service on what happened to be the first night of Chanukah. My initial welcome consisted of this very sweet old lady who insisted I fill up a plate with various goodies from the potluck they were having for the occasion. Despite not knowing a word of Hebrew, the service leader and the congregation made great efforts to make me feel welcome and help me keep up with what was going on in the service.
Within a few weeks I was attending Hebrew lessons before the services and conversion classes during the week. Since there was no rabbi at AJC, my conversion classes were with a nearby Reform congregation. I mentioned in Part 1 how Judaism struck me as practical (in the sense that behavior is emphasized more than theology), and the things I learned in conversion class seemed to confirm this. While Kabbalah has been big in some circles, note that many of these circles tend not to have many Jewish people in them, not entirely unlike Buddhist groups with no Asians. ;) Hashing out the details of regular Jewish living is enough to keep most people occupied! You may have heard that some traditions refer to Jews as "People of the Book." After just a few weeks of study, I began to think "People of the Library" was more accurate! That was something I loved about Judaism--that you could dedicate your life to studying it and still not know all there is to know.
I also liked the emphasis on debate and discussion. For example, if you look at an untranslated page from the Talmud, you'll notice right away that you can't read it like a typical book. The core concept under discussion is in the center of the page, and the various commentaries (which don't always agree with each other!) surround it, often going into the margins of the page.
The support I felt from the military community motivated me in ritual observance, too. I lit Shabbat candles every week, attended a Passover Seder, and even fasted for Yom Kippur. I really felt like I was meant to be Jewish. Unfortunately, the Reform rabbi had to step down due to health problems before I could make my conversion final.
And truth be told, there were other issues. I encountered a lot of resistance at home, and in retrospect, I can't blame my husband for his reaction. I'd shown no signs of this interest before we got married. But that acceptance was so important to me that I stuck with it. Eventually, he learned to sort of tolerate it and even managed to acquire a taste for matzo ball soup. But once we came back to Texas, we never could settle on a congregation. And by the time we divorced, I'd pretty much had it with organized religion.
However, I'll always be grateful to that community in Hawaii for supporting me through some very tough times in my life. If I had to pick a religion for some reason, Judaism would probably be it. Although my actual beliefs may line up more with various Eastern religions, I never felt the sense of community with them that I did in the synagogue.
As you've probably guessed, the community issue is really important to me. But I think that deserves its own post, so the details on that subject will have to wait for another time. I've rambled enough for now.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Some good things from my Buddhist experience
Despite my issues with institutional Buddhism, I did pick up some very useful tools in my studies. One of the big things I remember from reading What the Buddha Taught is that Buddhism takes a different approach to its teachings than Western religions do, at least in theory. In a recent post, I paraphrased Michael Shermer in saying how if you don't believe in Jesus's literal existence, death, and resurrection, you can't really consider yourself a Christian.
However, if it were possible to scientifically disprove that Siddharta Gautama (the man who became the Buddha) ever existed, most Buddhists probably wouldn't stop practicing their religion. In What the Buddha Taught, Rahula says that Gautama's literal existence is completely beside the point. The point is that the teachings are there for us to follow.
Or not to follow. Buddha actually told his disciples not to believe what he was saying just because he said it. He encouraged his followers to test his teachings against their own experience. Rahula uses the illustration of claiming you have an object hidden in your hand. As long as I can't see for myself, I can choose to believe or doubt you. In other words, it's a matter of faith. But if you open your hand and show me the object, it's not a matter of faith because I can see for myself. For someone raised in an evangelical Christian background, the idea of a religion that allowed for and even encouraged a healthy level of skepticism was huge. Even though my skepticism turned out to extend to a lot of Buddhist teachings, I still admire and use that approach.
The other big idea I took from Buddhism was that of being in the present moment. I know that's not unique to Buddhism, but that's where I first encountered the idea. Like anybody else, I'm prone to get stuck reminiscing about the past or speculating about the future. And I wouldn't say that people should never do those things, but probably that most people do too much. Focusing on the present moment via meditation or other means helps pull me out of the whirlwinds of over-speculation.
For those of you who have left a religion, are there certain principles you still find valuable, despite rejecting the religion as a whole? What are they?
However, if it were possible to scientifically disprove that Siddharta Gautama (the man who became the Buddha) ever existed, most Buddhists probably wouldn't stop practicing their religion. In What the Buddha Taught, Rahula says that Gautama's literal existence is completely beside the point. The point is that the teachings are there for us to follow.
Or not to follow. Buddha actually told his disciples not to believe what he was saying just because he said it. He encouraged his followers to test his teachings against their own experience. Rahula uses the illustration of claiming you have an object hidden in your hand. As long as I can't see for myself, I can choose to believe or doubt you. In other words, it's a matter of faith. But if you open your hand and show me the object, it's not a matter of faith because I can see for myself. For someone raised in an evangelical Christian background, the idea of a religion that allowed for and even encouraged a healthy level of skepticism was huge. Even though my skepticism turned out to extend to a lot of Buddhist teachings, I still admire and use that approach.
The other big idea I took from Buddhism was that of being in the present moment. I know that's not unique to Buddhism, but that's where I first encountered the idea. Like anybody else, I'm prone to get stuck reminiscing about the past or speculating about the future. And I wouldn't say that people should never do those things, but probably that most people do too much. Focusing on the present moment via meditation or other means helps pull me out of the whirlwinds of over-speculation.
For those of you who have left a religion, are there certain principles you still find valuable, despite rejecting the religion as a whole? What are they?
Friday, August 14, 2009
Why I'm Not a Buddhist, Part 2
Part 1 of this story can be found here.
Shortly after I got back from Germany, I landed a job in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and moved up there. Most of the Buddhist literature I'd read talked about the benefits of regularly meditating with a group and studying under a teacher. So I decided that once I was settled in my new environment, I would try to do that.
Like the denominations in Christianity, there are different schools of thought of Buddhism. The big ones are:
The meditation was beneficial enough, but I found the group experience unsatisfying for three reasons:
It seems that any time a group of people tries to get together to practice Buddhism, it tends to get fused with whatever the local folk religion is. This is even somewhat true in the US, where you can find places advertising a sort of Christian/Zen synthesis. Also, if you consider New Age hippie crap a religion, you can definitely find your share of Buddhist groups fused with that in this country.
Or maybe the moral of the story is just, beware the Asian spirituality group with no Asians in it.
Shortly after I got back from Germany, I landed a job in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and moved up there. Most of the Buddhist literature I'd read talked about the benefits of regularly meditating with a group and studying under a teacher. So I decided that once I was settled in my new environment, I would try to do that.
Like the denominations in Christianity, there are different schools of thought of Buddhism. The big ones are:
- Theravada (the oldest current school)
- Mahayana (includes Zen and most of the groups Westerners think of when they hear "Buddhism")
- Vajrayana (includes Tibetan Buddhism)
The meditation was beneficial enough, but I found the group experience unsatisfying for three reasons:
- The actual teacher in charge of the group was very inaccessible. In fact, I never met the guy, even after months of sitting with the group.
- Conversations seemed to revolve around showing off one's "Zen cred" rather than actually working through any meaningful issues, or even just chit-chatting about each other's families and jobs.
- People talked about things like chakras and thousand-armed goddesses, assuming they needed no explanation or evidence. A bit odd when you consider that most of these people had probably come to Buddhism from Christianity or Judaism.
It seems that any time a group of people tries to get together to practice Buddhism, it tends to get fused with whatever the local folk religion is. This is even somewhat true in the US, where you can find places advertising a sort of Christian/Zen synthesis. Also, if you consider New Age hippie crap a religion, you can definitely find your share of Buddhist groups fused with that in this country.
Or maybe the moral of the story is just, beware the Asian spirituality group with no Asians in it.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Why I Chose the Title I Chose
It's the story of my life, and yes, the story of my "spiritual" life in particular. Every time I think I can unreservedly embrace a particular religion or philosophy, something always seems to whisper in my ear, "Well, maybe not."
First, I'll talk about the one that started it all for me: the Southern Baptists. They tend to take a beating from just about everyone who isn't of some kind of evangelical persuasion, and from many who are. In many cases these beatings are justified. For one thing, they tend to dole out a fair number of their own beatings against pretty much anyone who doesn't adhere to the official vision of what a good Southern Baptist should be like. Before you ask, no, it doesn't matter if you're Jewish. That's what Jews for Jesus are for, silly! ;) And don't even get me started on their teachings regarding women. Even Jimmy Carter can't take it anymore.
But I guess like someone who comes from a run-down area, there will always be some comfortable familiarity between myself and the Southern Baptists. When I was Christian, I liked not having to follow a set service structure every time. I liked the lack of bureaucracy between ordinary churchgoers and church leadership. And this will probably sound crazy, but give me the old school gospel hymns over that contemporary Christian pap any day of the freakin' week. I'd much rather hear "Victory in Jesus" played in four parts on a slightly out-of-tune upright piano by a 75-year-old retired kindergarten teacher than contemporary "Jesus is my boyfriend" music (sorry, Dad).
Of course, there's the whole issue of my disagreement with the vast majority of their teachings, which is why I left in the first place. And it always seems like every time I think I've found a religion I can live with, I always reach what I call a "How could you?" moment. Don't get me wrong, I know that there's no group, religious or otherwise, that I can agree with everything they do or say. But it would seem dishonest to identify with a group if you don't agree with at least their core teachings.
To me, this raises an interesting question: what is the threshold of belief or nonbelief with regard to a particular religion? Obviously, the answer depends in part on the religion. Since I've talked mostly about Christianity in this post, that's what I'll stick with. Famous skeptic Michael Shermer said on a Penn & Teller: Bullshit! episode on the Bible that if you don't believe Jesus rose from the dead for people's sins, then there's no way you can honestly call yourself a Christian.
So, what do you think about that? Do you agree with Shermer's assessment? If you disagree, how would you draw the line between belief and nonbelief differently? What about other religions?
First, I'll talk about the one that started it all for me: the Southern Baptists. They tend to take a beating from just about everyone who isn't of some kind of evangelical persuasion, and from many who are. In many cases these beatings are justified. For one thing, they tend to dole out a fair number of their own beatings against pretty much anyone who doesn't adhere to the official vision of what a good Southern Baptist should be like. Before you ask, no, it doesn't matter if you're Jewish. That's what Jews for Jesus are for, silly! ;) And don't even get me started on their teachings regarding women. Even Jimmy Carter can't take it anymore.
But I guess like someone who comes from a run-down area, there will always be some comfortable familiarity between myself and the Southern Baptists. When I was Christian, I liked not having to follow a set service structure every time. I liked the lack of bureaucracy between ordinary churchgoers and church leadership. And this will probably sound crazy, but give me the old school gospel hymns over that contemporary Christian pap any day of the freakin' week. I'd much rather hear "Victory in Jesus" played in four parts on a slightly out-of-tune upright piano by a 75-year-old retired kindergarten teacher than contemporary "Jesus is my boyfriend" music (sorry, Dad).
Of course, there's the whole issue of my disagreement with the vast majority of their teachings, which is why I left in the first place. And it always seems like every time I think I've found a religion I can live with, I always reach what I call a "How could you?" moment. Don't get me wrong, I know that there's no group, religious or otherwise, that I can agree with everything they do or say. But it would seem dishonest to identify with a group if you don't agree with at least their core teachings.
To me, this raises an interesting question: what is the threshold of belief or nonbelief with regard to a particular religion? Obviously, the answer depends in part on the religion. Since I've talked mostly about Christianity in this post, that's what I'll stick with. Famous skeptic Michael Shermer said on a Penn & Teller: Bullshit! episode on the Bible that if you don't believe Jesus rose from the dead for people's sins, then there's no way you can honestly call yourself a Christian.
So, what do you think about that? Do you agree with Shermer's assessment? If you disagree, how would you draw the line between belief and nonbelief differently? What about other religions?
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Why I'm Not a Buddhist, Part 1
I've talked before about how studying theology basically made it impossible for me to keep professing to be Christian. By the time I graduated from Texas Lutheran, I considered myself a rabid atheist. At the same time I came face-to-face with another widely-held belief that turned out to be false: that a college degree guarantees at least some kind of decent employment.
With no spiritual ideas to comfort me and no real job prospects ahead, I spiraled into a depression. I was able to buy a little time, having been accepted to an exchange program that allowed me to spend 4 weeks in Germany. Sadly, because of my personal issues at the time, I didn't enjoy it as much as I probably could have, but the trip was far from a complete waste.
My host family would leave English-language books in my room for me. Usually, they were just standard popular novels, but one of the books was What the Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula, a Sri Lankan Buddhist monk. If you're looking for an explanation of the core tenets of Buddhism, this book is an excellent source. It doesn't talk a whole lot about practice, but it doesn't claim to, either.
The philosophy outlined in the book seemed refreshingly simple. It talked of liberation from suffering and only believing things you could confirm with your own experience. I also liked that the Buddha never claimed any sort of divine ancestry or connection. In fact, Buddhism as explained in this book did not require belief in any gods at all. Could this be what I needed?
Truth be told, I was really unhappy being an atheist. In retrospect this probably had more to do with other circumstances of the time, but there it is. Not only was I bummed out, but those close to me were really freaked out by the idea of my being an atheist, especially my mother. All these combined to make me think that maybe I could find a home in Buddhism.
In part 2, I'll talk about what happened when I tried to put the ideas I'd discovered into practice.
With no spiritual ideas to comfort me and no real job prospects ahead, I spiraled into a depression. I was able to buy a little time, having been accepted to an exchange program that allowed me to spend 4 weeks in Germany. Sadly, because of my personal issues at the time, I didn't enjoy it as much as I probably could have, but the trip was far from a complete waste.
My host family would leave English-language books in my room for me. Usually, they were just standard popular novels, but one of the books was What the Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula, a Sri Lankan Buddhist monk. If you're looking for an explanation of the core tenets of Buddhism, this book is an excellent source. It doesn't talk a whole lot about practice, but it doesn't claim to, either.
The philosophy outlined in the book seemed refreshingly simple. It talked of liberation from suffering and only believing things you could confirm with your own experience. I also liked that the Buddha never claimed any sort of divine ancestry or connection. In fact, Buddhism as explained in this book did not require belief in any gods at all. Could this be what I needed?
Truth be told, I was really unhappy being an atheist. In retrospect this probably had more to do with other circumstances of the time, but there it is. Not only was I bummed out, but those close to me were really freaked out by the idea of my being an atheist, especially my mother. All these combined to make me think that maybe I could find a home in Buddhism.
In part 2, I'll talk about what happened when I tried to put the ideas I'd discovered into practice.
Friday, July 17, 2009
How Theology Killed My Faith
First off, I'd like to apologize for yesterday's somewhat craptastic post. I think it's about as exciting as, well, sitting through a Lutheran service on Setting II. But it does give some background for the information in this post, which I think will be a bit more interesting.
Texas Lutheran requires all its students to take two theology classes. There's an introductory course that everyone has to take, and after that you have your pick of advanced classes. I had put off the intro course because I had this terrible fear of it being a kind of Sunday school for college credit, even though friends assured me that was not the case.
I finally got around to the intro class my junior year. It certainly wasn't Sunday school! We read books like Honest to God by John A.T. Robinson and Dynamics of Faith by Paul Tillich. Robinson said that instead of thinking of God as "up there" or "out there," we should think of God simply as love. Tillich said that faith was whatever our "Ultimate Concern" was and that God is "the ground of our being." Reading books like these illuminated the theological and intellectual canyon between clergy and laity in most denominations. Apparently Robinson's and Tillich's ideas were much less controversial among theologians and pastors than they were among ordinary members.
At first I was furious. I felt like these ideas had been kept from me as if I'd be too dense to understand them. And then I started pondering the implications of these ideas and got really furious. I thought, "Well, if it's all just metaphor and poetry, why bother?" Now I just think the Hindus beat these guys to that approach by a few thousand years.
I actually have more to say on this topic, but the point I want to make deserves its own post, which I'll probably put up sometime tomorrow.
Texas Lutheran requires all its students to take two theology classes. There's an introductory course that everyone has to take, and after that you have your pick of advanced classes. I had put off the intro course because I had this terrible fear of it being a kind of Sunday school for college credit, even though friends assured me that was not the case.
I finally got around to the intro class my junior year. It certainly wasn't Sunday school! We read books like Honest to God by John A.T. Robinson and Dynamics of Faith by Paul Tillich. Robinson said that instead of thinking of God as "up there" or "out there," we should think of God simply as love. Tillich said that faith was whatever our "Ultimate Concern" was and that God is "the ground of our being." Reading books like these illuminated the theological and intellectual canyon between clergy and laity in most denominations. Apparently Robinson's and Tillich's ideas were much less controversial among theologians and pastors than they were among ordinary members.
At first I was furious. I felt like these ideas had been kept from me as if I'd be too dense to understand them. And then I started pondering the implications of these ideas and got really furious. I thought, "Well, if it's all just metaphor and poetry, why bother?" Now I just think the Hindus beat these guys to that approach by a few thousand years.
I actually have more to say on this topic, but the point I want to make deserves its own post, which I'll probably put up sometime tomorrow.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Then Came the Lutherans
After my falling out with the Southern Baptists when I was in high school, I was invited by a friend to try out her church. Going in, my knowledge of Lutheranism was limited to what I'd heard about the Reformation in history classes, which wasn't a whole lot.
The liturgy threw me off completely. It took me months to get the hang of flipping back and forth between the liturgy and the hymns. Sometimes it felt like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books: "For Sundays during Pentecost, skip to page X. For Sundays during Advent, skip to page Y." I didn't even know what Advent (or Lent, for that matter) actually was until I started going to the Lutheran church. I knew they made Advent calendars for Christmas and that some people gave stuff up for Lent, but I'd always figured that was just something people did in other parts of the country, like sledding. I didn't fully get the ideas behind the structure of the Lutheran service until I had to study the structure of the Catholic Mass in a music history class a few years later. But eventually I was able to at least follow along capably.
I never really cared for the service (although Setting I of the Lutheran Book of Worship was at least less dreary than Setting II), but they were nice enough people, and there were punch and cookies after most services, not to mention real wine in Communion! For those who don't know, Southern Baptists use grape juice, and they don't call it Communion--they call it "The Lord's Supper." So I was happy enough there, and I enjoyed the community service stuff I got to do with the Luther League.
While I only attended that church for a little over a year, that happened to overlap with my taking the SAT's, and in the demographic info, I checked "Lutheran" as my religious preference, which turned out to be pivotal. Shortly after the SAT's, I had a falling out with my Lutheran friend and figured it would be best if I stopped going to that church. However, I received a letter just before the start of my senior year from Texas Lutheran College (now Texas Lutheran University). It began something like, "We thought you might be interested in the benefits of a Lutheran education."
"Um, not really," I remember thinking.
However, the letter went on to say that because of my GPA and test scores, they'd give me $2000 off the top, which quickly turned "Not really" into "Keep talking." The short version: they were the highest bidder, so that's where I ended up after high school. That's when things really got interesting.
For next time: details about my time at TLU, and the effects of studying theology.
The liturgy threw me off completely. It took me months to get the hang of flipping back and forth between the liturgy and the hymns. Sometimes it felt like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books: "For Sundays during Pentecost, skip to page X. For Sundays during Advent, skip to page Y." I didn't even know what Advent (or Lent, for that matter) actually was until I started going to the Lutheran church. I knew they made Advent calendars for Christmas and that some people gave stuff up for Lent, but I'd always figured that was just something people did in other parts of the country, like sledding. I didn't fully get the ideas behind the structure of the Lutheran service until I had to study the structure of the Catholic Mass in a music history class a few years later. But eventually I was able to at least follow along capably.
I never really cared for the service (although Setting I of the Lutheran Book of Worship was at least less dreary than Setting II), but they were nice enough people, and there were punch and cookies after most services, not to mention real wine in Communion! For those who don't know, Southern Baptists use grape juice, and they don't call it Communion--they call it "The Lord's Supper." So I was happy enough there, and I enjoyed the community service stuff I got to do with the Luther League.
While I only attended that church for a little over a year, that happened to overlap with my taking the SAT's, and in the demographic info, I checked "Lutheran" as my religious preference, which turned out to be pivotal. Shortly after the SAT's, I had a falling out with my Lutheran friend and figured it would be best if I stopped going to that church. However, I received a letter just before the start of my senior year from Texas Lutheran College (now Texas Lutheran University). It began something like, "We thought you might be interested in the benefits of a Lutheran education."
"Um, not really," I remember thinking.
However, the letter went on to say that because of my GPA and test scores, they'd give me $2000 off the top, which quickly turned "Not really" into "Keep talking." The short version: they were the highest bidder, so that's where I ended up after high school. That's when things really got interesting.
For next time: details about my time at TLU, and the effects of studying theology.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Promised details and underlying assumptions
As mentioned previously, I was raised Southern Baptist. This was mostly due to my paternal grandparents' influence. I didn't have a lot of stability early on, but what little I did have came mostly from my grandparents and other extended family. They also went to church regularly, which my parents did not, and I created a connection in my mind between stability and church attendance. I also considered my grandparents to be the nicest people in the world, which I think is how most little kids feel about their grandparents. So it wasn't a huge stretch to think more church attendance would make me a nicer person.
Kids learn very quickly what behaviors get them positive feedback. For some, it's athletic ability; others have artistic talent or even just a certain natural charm. My shortcut to positive feedback involved a gift for memorization (I think I'd have preferred athletic ability, but such is life). Obviously, this came in handy during church and Sunday school, where I memorized Bible passages like a fiend.
In fact, this ability led to the only time I've ever been really useful in an athletic event. At church camp one summer, we had this relay race that involved the kinds of things you typically find in a summer camp relay. However, this race came with an important Biblical twist: the next-to-last person would tag the last person, who would sit down in a chair, recite the books of the Bible by memory, and then run about 50 yards to complete the race. I've never been a fast runner, but I could say all 66 books of the Bible in 21 seconds. This enabled me to get enough of a head start to where my slow running didn't matter, and our team claimed victory!
So that's enough about my background for now. I promised to list some of the assumptions underlying my search:
It's probably a bit early to ask, but I'll do it anyway: is there any particular topic you'd like me to address? Submit your ideas and any other feedback in the comments.
Kids learn very quickly what behaviors get them positive feedback. For some, it's athletic ability; others have artistic talent or even just a certain natural charm. My shortcut to positive feedback involved a gift for memorization (I think I'd have preferred athletic ability, but such is life). Obviously, this came in handy during church and Sunday school, where I memorized Bible passages like a fiend.
In fact, this ability led to the only time I've ever been really useful in an athletic event. At church camp one summer, we had this relay race that involved the kinds of things you typically find in a summer camp relay. However, this race came with an important Biblical twist: the next-to-last person would tag the last person, who would sit down in a chair, recite the books of the Bible by memory, and then run about 50 yards to complete the race. I've never been a fast runner, but I could say all 66 books of the Bible in 21 seconds. This enabled me to get enough of a head start to where my slow running didn't matter, and our team claimed victory!
So that's enough about my background for now. I promised to list some of the assumptions underlying my search:
- Claims of divine revelation are unreliable at best.
- Reason is an effective tool for finding truth.
- Delusion is dangerous.
It's probably a bit early to ask, but I'll do it anyway: is there any particular topic you'd like me to address? Submit your ideas and any other feedback in the comments.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Here goes.
I had a birthday recently, and I decided that it was time for me to get off the spiritual fence. Sometimes I feel like Susan Sarandon's character in Bull Durham, who's "tried all the major religions and most of the minor ones." But it's been pretty much impossible for me to find something that offers meaning but doesn't also blatantly contradict what we know about how the world works.
So, a little bit about me: I was raised Southern Baptist until I was 15. After that I attended a Lutheran church for a while, which led to my attending a Lutheran college. It's one of the great ironies of my life that taking the required theology courses accelerated my journey away from organized religion, which I'll elaborate on in a future post. By the time I graduated, I considered myself a rabid atheist. That didn't last long, though, probably in part because it freaked out people close to me.
Between then and now, I've checked out my share of religions. But after all these dalliances, I've started to wonder if it's all a bunch of hooey. I think I can safely say that I don't believe in a personal God who intervenes in the world. But that's not the only conception of God out there. And there are several religions that don't require belief in any supernatural beings.
In the interest of full disclosure, I'll tell you that I currently attend meetings of freethought groups in my area. It's fair to say that I am a sort of atheist by default, in that I am unconvinced of claims for God's existence that I've heard so far (Note: I am not asserting, "There is definitely no God."). However, you won't find atheist paraphenalia all over this site, as I don't yet consider the question settled.
This blog is going to consist mostly of my musings as I settle that question. I also reserve the right to comment on whatever else I feel like. ;)
Next time: more about where I am now, and some of my underlying assumptions on my search.
So, a little bit about me: I was raised Southern Baptist until I was 15. After that I attended a Lutheran church for a while, which led to my attending a Lutheran college. It's one of the great ironies of my life that taking the required theology courses accelerated my journey away from organized religion, which I'll elaborate on in a future post. By the time I graduated, I considered myself a rabid atheist. That didn't last long, though, probably in part because it freaked out people close to me.
Between then and now, I've checked out my share of religions. But after all these dalliances, I've started to wonder if it's all a bunch of hooey. I think I can safely say that I don't believe in a personal God who intervenes in the world. But that's not the only conception of God out there. And there are several religions that don't require belief in any supernatural beings.
In the interest of full disclosure, I'll tell you that I currently attend meetings of freethought groups in my area. It's fair to say that I am a sort of atheist by default, in that I am unconvinced of claims for God's existence that I've heard so far (Note: I am not asserting, "There is definitely no God."). However, you won't find atheist paraphenalia all over this site, as I don't yet consider the question settled.
This blog is going to consist mostly of my musings as I settle that question. I also reserve the right to comment on whatever else I feel like. ;)
Next time: more about where I am now, and some of my underlying assumptions on my search.
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