Faith: A choice, a yearning to be more than an evolutionary dead-end

Take an evangelical, fundamentalist preacher's kid and mix him with a liberal arts education. 

Season him with more than a few decades of living, and you either come up with an agnostic, a metaphysical schizophrenic, or a believer, stripped down the basics of his faith.

I confess to, at times, flying like a confused, sometimes angry or at least disheartened moth, too close to the flames of the first two fates. The journey to faith — my own faith, not necessarily that of my parents — has been occasionally exhilarating, often painful, and all too human.

It has been, philosophically, an eclectic odyssey. That likely was inevitable, considering my History and Journalism double major and a minor in Psychology, followed by a career in journalism (a petri dish for cynicism, as professions go).

Ultimately, it is human nature that convinces me my faith — albeit skinned of what I concluded were doctrinal and theological assertions created not by an infinite God, but by finite human minds — makes more sense than pure secular humanism.

I could (but don't worry, I won't) write reams on why I find this so. Let a couple observations suffice:

— The fact that our species has not ceased warring with itself since it began, committing genocide on ever-larger scales, makes me bitterly laugh at the idea we are the pinnacle of sentient evolution on Earth. 

 

We may boast how much more sophisticated and civilized our high-tech, educated society is now compared to our stick-wielding, tree- and cave-dwelling ancient ancestors, but we continue to produce the same rotten fruit.

It's still about territory and resources, and who has the right — or might — to claim them. And since such brutal calculus always makes our "better angels" wince, we still use politics, religion, culture and racism as excuses and justification for dehumanizing and dismissing the Other.

— Yet, we desire to be more. I would argue that we were created for more, but are broken. Despite all the pain and madness humankind inflicts on itself and its planet, goodness persistently bubbles up within individuals, and reform movements. 

Changes for the better, history teaches us, are as finite as our bodies . . . yet we continue to reach down to the fallen with one hand, even as we bludgeon our enemies with the other.

So, faith. Because without it, without the saving grace of our Maker, we will remain stuck, either as an evolutionary dead end, or a creation to be ultimately redeemed, reborn and perfected.

I prefer to believe the latter.

Nick Vujicic's faith, courage and message of hope

(Photo above: Trent Nelson/Salt Lake Tribune)

Courage. Faith.

And, for the knee-jerk skeptics out there, 99 percent ofAustralian Nick Vujicic's presentation Thursday -- simulcast to 200 Utah schools as part of an anti-bullying campaign --was NOT evangelism.

He made a simple, brief opening statement of his faith as a source of personal inspiration. . . then, he offered hope and encouragement to bullied kids that anyone -- believer, non-believer -- could, and should, embrace.

And, by the way, this man who can fetch $10,000 for his secular motivational appearances, did this for free. 

No fees. Because, this fellow, who some would argue has gotten a horrible shake from Life, simply cares.
                
Here's his story in The Salt Lake Tribune. 

Papal permutations: a hard habit to break

So, the Pope Emeritus Benedict is flown off to a papal retreat.

Forgive me, but why did the image of the ex-pontiff in a Olympic pool-sized hot tub with nuns doing synchronized swimming around him, and "pool monks" in flipflops waving billowing censers over his emeritus papal pate flash before my eyes?

Twisted imagination. It's a hard "habit" to break.

OH! Cassocks and conundrums!

Friends, foes and in between: Diamonds in plain sight, or in lumps of mud

Had a nice breakfast with an old friend, former pastor and occasional writing client Saturday, Arni Jacobson.  But friend is how I best describe Arni after a quarter-century of knowing each other.

Good to catch up with someone who just accepts you, flaws and all... and to offer the same back. Over the years, we've explored all facets of those things.

As you get older, you appreciate people more, see them for who they are underneath. Sometimes, the treasure you find is not totally unexpected; you suspected it was there and now, voilà,  there it is, exposed to the bright light of day, in full view. Confirmation.

With others, you have to dig through the mud a bit, pull out that lump of something, wash it off and discover you have had a big old raw, uncut diamond all along.

Each person in your life is a gem to God in some way. If we, as flawed mortals, are able to discover the treasures in our lives by peering under the mundane expectations a lifetime of cynicism brings, we touch the heart and mind of God.

So, as we split a Village Inn breakfast -- I took the scrambled eggs and fruit cup, he the french toast and bacon -- my friend and I talked about what we've learned in our relationships with others -- friends, family, professional acquaintances and colleagues.

It comes down to loving more, forgiving more, and letting resentments go. You come to appreciate, rather than regret the scars. 

I'm a living metaphor for that epiphany.

At least, I do believe I'm getting there.

I'll let you know, from time to time, how that works out.

Put the blame where it belongs: within the human heart

Lots of finger-pointing, and not a little hatred being directed these days at the National Rifle Association in particularly, and pretty much anyone who has decided to take defense of their homes and loved ones into their own hands -- rather than depending on overworked and stretched thin law enforcement . . . i.e., gun owners.
I am a gun owner. I have a concealed weapons permit. I took the safety training, and I am proficient, regularly going to a safe, regulated firing range. But I do not, as I've mentioned before, see why anyone needs to full-on military style assault rifle to "defend" his or her person, loved ones or home.
Honestly, assault weapons seem to be a big leap from self defense to an offensive ability more in line with militia movements, which often have political agendas of their own.
But I digress.
There is a lot of debate, and not a little angry name-calling going on, and by folks who, in my opinion, do not have bona fides to speak to any level I feel the need to respect. But I would argue this man, Darrell Scott, has earned the right to be heard.
Not perhaps to be agreed with on every point; but his loss and grief carry a lot more weight we me than some idiot thinking the solution is to strip all law-abiding gun owners of the means to defend themselves -- while, by definition, leaving criminals the undermanned police departments the only ones with weapons. Neither do I think some Bubba with a collection of AR-15s, AK-47s and a bagful of extended capacity clips has the right to speak with authority on the issue, either.
So, whatever side of this debate you find yourself, or if you are in the middle somewhere, I think Darrell Scott has earned a moment of your time.
To read a transcript of what he had to say to Congress in the aftermath of the Columbine massacre, click on this link.
His points, I believe, at least deserve recognition in the wake of recent incidents where madmen have acted to slay the innocent, and perhaps more to the point, the defenseless.

The HallowThankMas Marathon of Greed

Two-thirds of the way through the corporately homogenized *HalloThankMas season: a veritable blur of consumerism on steroids, appeals to greed and gadgets as the keys to happiness. 

It can be . . . maddening, depressing, frustrating and leave your soul black and blue. And if you watched TV news coverage of "Black Friday" -- and mobs lined up to scrum through the doors for a bargain on electronics, toys and whatever else will not survive the first week of January as a source of visceral joy -- you know this "happiest of seasons" can leave you physically black and blue, too.

Or bleeding, in the hospital, with a bullet in your gullet.

Still, I refuse to surrender Christmas to commercialism in my heart. And, that's where the message, and person of the season should live, thrive and be honored . . . if we do that, it should gush out of us in patience, understanding, love and generosity of spirit, action and thought. 

It should; but that, my friends, is entirely up to us.

 

 *HalloThankMas: OK, I made it up. Musing over how goblins, turkeys, elves and Santa seemed to have merged into one, months-long orgy of spending and partying, I even suggested just coming with with a suitable mascot . . . perhaps a vampire turkey in a red suit.