Fight

(In light of recent tragedy here in the US, my dear friend Brooke eloquently wrote the following passage on Facebook. She has graciously allowed me the honor of re-posting her words here. Many thanks to her, and to her inspiring presence now and in this time of sorrow and confusion. -- Natalie) 

Krishna and Arjuna Via Inanna Returns

Gandalf the Grey Via LOTR Wiki

A thousand faces. Click image to enlarge.

By Brooke B. 

Last night at midnight, literally as soon as I possibly could, I saw The Hobbit with friends. It's no exaggeration to say we were as giddy as little kids the entire time. And yet Tolkien's great genius, one that Peter Jackson ably captured in the film, is to weave story that simultaneously delights all the giddy children in the room and conveys to us, the adults, we who live ever more complex lives imbued with every possible shade of grey, something I believe children still instinctively know:

There is Bad in this world. It exists. We cannot outrun its reach or outshine its shadow. Dwarves cannot tunnel past it and Golden Eagles cannot fly over it and all the beauty of the Elves will not ease its ugliness, or the anguish that ugliness leaves behind.

So what to do? What do we do?

There was a moment in the film that reminded me so powerfully of recent discussions on the Bhagavad Gita that I caught my breath. Early in the Gita, Arjuna the Warrior, the greatest fighter of his age, lays down his arms in despair. He looks out over the fields of battle, sees all his family and his friends poised to brutalize each other senselessly, and he slumps to the floor of his chariot and cries out in anguish to Krishna that he cannot, he cannot, he cannot do this anymore.

Does anyone here not know how that feels? No. Not a one of us. Particularly not today.

Krishna's reply runs counter to every New Testament tenet to which we, as inheritors of a Judeo-Christian cultural aesthetic, have willingly or unwillingly been primed to respond. Krishna does not advocate peace. He does not tell Arjuna to keep lying there so he can bring some lions and some lambs over to lie down with him. No -- God Incarnate, the Hot of Heat and the Wet of Water and, yes, the Prince of Peace, were it to suit him, roars in absolute rage and commands Arjuna to get up already and FIGHT. It is a hard concept for many of us to wrap our heads around, this moment when the God of All Things advocates for war. Some friends and I discussed that, when we talked about that passage in the Gita -- our various indignant or angry or sad responses to this moment when the divine, the thread of beauty that binds all things, tells his greatest hero to get back up and go kill people.

And then last night, watching the Hobbit, I saw Gandalf come blasting into the Goblin Kingdom in a fury of white light and command Thorin and all his dwarves to GET UP. They have all given up, you see. They are captured, bound deep underground, twelve heroes (familiar number, yes?) far from the light and surrounded by thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of goblins, too many enemies to count and death drooling all around them. Despair is the only reasonable option. But it is the wrong one. They are warriors. They are made, bred, trained to fight. It's in their blood and bones and beards, and if they are to die, they should die with swords in their hands. In their despair they have forgotten who they are: they are warriors. Warriors of the light. So in comes Gandalf, roaring like Krishna, enraged, and he screams one word to them: "FIGHT!"

And just like any other magic spell, their despair melts away when they hear the right word. They wake up. They get up. They FIGHT.

Because The Hobbit is epic fantasy, the dwarves prevail against the goblin hordes, and live to fight another day. And because the Gita is epic religious myth, the ending is not so tidy: Arjuna dies. Everyone dies. It is, perhaps, harder to see in the story of faith than in the story of fantasy why we should fight off our despair. Why we should fight at all.

But, still, friends. Still. We don't know the end to any story, really. We can only know what we're called to do, and do that thing. In the face of overwhelming darkness, in the face of the forces against which it is only reasonable, only human, perhaps even only right, to despair -- pick up your arms. Get up. Fight. In whatever way you are called to do so, fight. I will call it fighting for the light; you may call it whatever you choose. But fight.

Ad Placement Fail: Religious Sensitivity Edition

This week's Charlotte Creative Loafing ran a lovely column on the meaning and importance of respecting and tolerating other religions, a particularly emotional topic in the American South's Bible Belt.

Right next to an ad depicting the Buddha in headphones for a club called Dharma.

Religious leaders are so hot right now.

Whoops!

Here's the close-up:

One can apparently receive a Ph.D in Booty.

Would the Christian equivalent to this club be a space called, "On the Mount," or "Eucharist," and feature images of Jesus as the DJ? Or doing the robot on the dance floor? Because I would go to that club. That club would have the best wine.

Gender Inclusion in Bible Scares Conservatives

Silly wimminz! Religions is for the menz! Now stop looking for enlightenment and make me a sammich.

Via Fannie's Room comes a link to a not-surprising-in-the-least article of a conservative Christian group protesting gender inclusive changes to the New International Version Bible (NIV). The Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood fear that the language changes will alter their interpretations of theological messages. Those interpretations include divine justification on how God totally likes men better and wants them to push the women-folks around. Or as they put it: women should submit to their husbands in the home and only men can hold some leadership roles in the church. (Also mentioned for having a problem with NIV translations is the Southern Baptist Convention. Surprise, surprise.)

This is the most problematic aspect of believing that the Bible is the literal word-for-word voice of God; those words have to change to be understood by multiple readers in multiple languages. The Bible was not written in King James English from Jesus' hand, and translating a work that comprises the vowel-less written Hebrew and colloquial Greek into a text universally understood by all English speaking peoples (not just those in America, where Biblical phrases sneak into our vernacular and pop culture) is a daunting, dedicated task made possible by academic research and study.

The changes aren't even radical; God is still referred to as He and the Father, when there are ample mentions of God as the Mother in the Old Testament, and comparisons of God as a woman in the New. (Some examples here, from a professed skeptic.)  Even some supporters of the Catholic Church recognize the feminine descriptions of God. The NIV translation isn't doing anything more than changing "man" to "person" in accordance to the source word. As the article states, "At issue is how to translate pronouns that apply to both genders in the ancient Greek and Hebrew texts but have traditionally been translated using masculine forms in English."

As Fannie points out, there are some passages in the Bible are inarguable sexist and oppressive towards women. Despite this, millions of women are still a part of the Christian religion. By choice. For an organization to go out of it's way to further oppress those who would seek to have spiritual fulfillment and inclusiveness is one of the least Christian things I can think of.

Friday QuoteDay

“Whatever the Bible says about homoerotic-sexual intimacy is folded within a very large Biblical conversation about sexuality and gender in general. And so to pull out a particular verse and say, ‘This solves our position on gay marriage’ is such a mistake, given that the Bible says a lot of things about sexuality and many of those things we would reject today.”

— Pastor Jennifer Knust, via NPR Fresh Air (full interview at the link)

Facebook Censors Call For Gender Equality In Religion

Lest we forget that being female is a horrible genetic disorder that should be shunned and condemned by God and God's representatives on earth – mighty, mighty men – Facebook has decided to remind us.

One year ago, former US President Jimmy Carter penned an excellent, thought-provoking opinion piece for Australian newspaper The Age. Titled Losing my religion for equality, Carter stated the logical argument that religion has been used as a means to oppress, rape, mutilate and torture women for centuries. All religions are guilty of this. Carter recognized that this backwards thinking and oppression is contrary to the teachings of Christ and that the cherry-picking of scripture to support oppression was indeed anti-Christian. He called for change.

STFU, Conservatives linked to it today. I read it, wept at the content, and linked to it on my Facebook wall.

Facebook flagged it as abusive content and would not allow those seeing it on my wall to follow the link. A pop-up read: "The link you are trying to visit has been reported as abusive by Facebook users."

Here's what Facebook and certain Facebook users deem abusive content:

This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or belief. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths. Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque, synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority, has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women's equal rights across the world for centuries.

At its most repugnant, the belief that women must be subjugated to the wishes of men excuses slavery, violence, forced prostitution, genital mutilation and national laws that omit rape as a crime. But it also costs many millions of girls and women control over their own bodies and lives, and continues to deny them fair access to education, health, employment and influence within their own communities.

The impact of these religious beliefs touches every aspect of our lives. They help explain why in many countries boys are educated before girls; why girls are told when and whom they must marry; and why many face enormous and unacceptable risks in pregnancy and childbirth because their basic health needs are not met.

Since learning it was blocked, I was able to post this as my status update, allowing my friends to still find the article:

"Natalie LAST NAME Facebook objects the notion women are people and blocks this link. Add www.theage.com before the following to read a really excellent opinion piece by former US President Jimmy Carter. .au//opinion/losing-my-religion-for-equality-20090714-dk0v.html?page=-1"

I have also been searching Facebook's Help and Abuse FAQ to contact those in charge and perhaps remove the block. Since it has already been reported, I am not holding onto hope that it will be changed.

But I can encourage what few readers I have to not allow Facebook censorship to hinder the promotion of an intelligent and thoughtful read. Read it. Pass it on. Keep fighting.

Here is the link:
http://www.theage.com.au//opinion/losing-my-religion-for-equality-20090714-dk0v.html?page=-1

A Nun’s Story

 (St. Francis, from K. Beaton's Hark! A Vagrant)

When little Natalie was but a glasses-wearing, frizzy-haired 14-year-old, I had a thing for Franco Zeffirelli. Zeffirelli directed 1968’s Romeo and Juliet, which would play on Turner Classic Movies, and wee me would watch with wide-eyed excitement. Nerdy child that I was, it gave me a mix of intellectual envy, and a strange sense of excitement when the Romeo actor, Leonard Whiting, climbed from Juilet’s bed, bare naked, giving the camera a full shot of his ass in the sunlight. Sheltered me fell a little bit in love, and grabbed the next video on the shelf of Movie Mania that featured Franco Zeffirelli as director.

The only other film was 1972’s Brother Sun, Sister Moon.
 

Do you know it? Zeffirelli’s telling of the life of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals and the first to receive the stigmata.
 

I was raised Baptist. I had never heard of St. Francis. The only saint I knew was jolly old Saint Nicholas. And he had a strange penchant for cookies and coal, which never made its way into the Bible.

But St. Francis? St. Francis was Dr. Doolittle, Native American Shaman, Luke Skywalker, John Lennon and Gandhi combined. No elves, no sled, no stockings. St. Francis was rebel and peacemaker and revolutionary. He turned his back on riches, talked to animals, and created the first nativity scene. He convinced wolves not to eat people, so possibly he was part Werewolf tamer. He was, quite frankly, awesome. I was smitten.
 

Francesco woke up one day in the 13^th century equivalent of the Trump tower penthouse of Assisi and realized that Jesus – you know, the Jesus, the Jesus that the population of 13^th Century Italy spent a lot of time talking about – wouldn’t be too cool with the whole Richie-Rich and booze lifestyle old Frank was living. Francis remembered that Jesus lived a peasant lifestyle, preached about giving to the poor, caring for the sick, loving his neighbors and healing those who suffered. (Take note – this part comes up again later.) So Francis? Opened up his closet and gave all his clothes away. Shaved his head. Started a new church in which the followers took in lepers and preached to peasants and birds.

Francis asked, “What would Jesus Do?” And actually did it.
 

Naturally, since I was an awkward and pissed-off teenager (is there any other kind?), who felt righteous anger over the myriad suffering in the world which none of the adults seemed to take seriously and to which I had only recently been made aware of myself thanks to my budding adolescence and teenage idealism (“Oh my God, you guys, did you know the rainforest is dying? How come no one ever told me this before?!”), I was absolutely certain that St. Francis was the greatest thing since Bring-A-Friend-For-Free night at the Roller Rink.
 

I grabbed any book on Saints I could get my hands on. Young whippersnappers reading this may not remember, but there was a time before the Internet. I had no where to look but books and friends who were Catholic, and therefore one step closer than I was to all the knowledge about my dear St. Francis. I read. I asked questions. I watched Brother Sun, Sister Moon on repeat.

I was a teenager. My parents expected rebellion. Dreams of overthrowing organized religion and eventual sainthood? Not so much.

St. Francis was my hero. And in many, many ways, he still is. Environmental, vegetarian and volunteering Natalie owes a great deal to the teachings of St. Francis. World-traveling Natalie was ecstatic over living in Italy, in part, because of Zeffirelli’s sweeping scenes involving St. Francis running through the Tuscan countryside. I outright wept, when I was able to travel Assisi and visit his tomb. But my weeping? Wasn’t for the fact I stood at his grave, after admiring St. Francis during my young formative years. No, it was where he was laid to rest that sparked my tears.

See, St. Francis never did quite break away from the Catholic Church. Brother Sun, Sister Moon has a moving end scene of Francis going to meet the Pope to explain to him that his band of brothers and followers were not heretics, but simple followers of Jesus. Francis is barefoot and dirty and the Pope is swathed in silk in a gold palace. And it breaks dear Francis’ heart to see him. Zeffirelli does it well; the close-up on Francis’ eyes, the gilded, rusty, ancient cage of the papacy, sympathetic to the men in it who perhaps entered into holy lives with pure hearts and genuine love, but were forever overshadowed and corrupted by the greed and hated and lust of power in men. Francis couldn’t save them. Nothing could save a beast that eats itself from within.

At the end of his life, Francis was peaceful. Dust to dust. Legend or fancy, it was said he wanted to be embraced by the earth. This was a man who declared the Sun his brother, the animals his fellow spirits. His life was one of poverty, his monastery was simple, his love of nature and peace would be his final prayer.

So what happens?

Presumptuous

Caroline, the friendly receptionist, plopped a manila envelope on my desk today. I was thrilled: Actual snail mail! Whee!

I ripped it open to find a copy of Today's Pentecostal Evangel magazine, with a note attached that read: "Read And Family -- Holy Bible -- Buy." Inside, there were circled passages, telling me to "Read" and an image of the Bible, circled and labeled, stating for me to "Buy this Holy Bible."

Say what? Is Alice supposed to eat the mushrooms? I didn't chase any white rabbit, and these commands were a little confusing. Confusing, presumptuous, and a tad insulting.

"K-chan," I called over the cubicle wall, "did you get one of these?"
I held up the magazine.
"Yeah," she replied. "I think they think we're sinners."

I don't know, maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions. After all, our company just filed for bankruptcy. Maybe some kind, grammatically challenged individual wants to lift our spirits. Fear of losing the entire fucking newspaper will do that.
But the post mark is Monday, Sept. 29, from Hewlett, NY. Weekly Planet did declare bankruptcy on Monday, but is that enough time for a kind gesture? Or maybe I'm being too kind in my thinking? It's a stretch, I know.

After all, weekly alternative newspapers are not a bastion of Pentecostal Evangelical ideals. And me, feminist liberal that I am, never personally sought to cover anything that wouldn't draw interest from readers who peruse the rag for the latest news that CNN and American Idol won't cover. Lately, like everyone else with a lick of sense, I've been raging against Sarah Palin and John McCain. If I could, I'd cover more of my own interests -- but my interests aren't usually that of the paper -- feminism, literature, poetry, unique film, and oh, by the way, Religion.

I got a shelf full of Bibles at home, thanks. Because I was a Religion (and Philosophy, whoo! Take that future career ambitions!) major in college. (English was my minor, hence the newspaper/writer gig.) Give me a book on comparative religion and I'm set for the night. A discussion on Buddhist and Christian parallels? Yes please. Mediation trends? Sure. Name that Hindu deity? I'm on it like a mouse on Ganesh. Ontological arguments on the existence of God? I'd bet a Pascal wager on that! The variety of theologies in the Protestant churches? I've got a flow-chart for it. The concept of Christian pacifism lost among the war-mongering right-wingers? Child, please. I wrote my senior thesis on it.

Because Religion is one of my main interests in life, so much so that I would spend 4 plus years studying it. Studying ALL of it. My Buddhist textbooks share space with my Atheism books on my shelves. My Philosophy books are crammed next to Confucius and the Puritan writings. All of them there, loved, studied, cherished.

And come Sunday morning, you may find me sipping a Starbucks on my way to the nondenominational liberal warehouse church. Or you may find me trekking it in heels and hose to spend it next to my parents to share their traditional pew. Or you may find me sleeping, talking to God in my dreams. Or laughing over brunch with my best friends and loving every minute of it.

Because where ever I am, and whatever I do, I'm still me. Church or no, my heart knows where it is. And for anyone to assume otherwise, however good their intentions, because of the work I do, or the beliefs I hold, is just presumptuous.

Just remember, Jesus was a feminist too.