Thoughts on Evolving Faith

For those of you who don’t know, I became an evangelical Christian when I was around 12 years old. I heard about this man Jesus and his message of love and peace for the world. That appealed to me even at that young age, and my faith has been the focus of my life ever since. I spent my high school years involved in various teen ministries then spent two years in Christian college before going on to a state university.

I’ve always been actively involved in churches, made most of my friends through church and even taught some Bible classes (I preached a couple of times but that was definitely NOT my calling).

In the last few years, since Greg died, I’ve taken this precious time of turmoil to ramble through all the rooms in my faith house. It’s much bigger than I thought. I’ve opened doors I didn’t know even existed, and cleaned stuff out and kind of disinfected. There were a lot of toxins growing on some walls and they needed to be scrubbed clean.

There’s actually an attic in this house where things were stashed that I never wanted to see again or deal with. I thought they were thrown away, but it turns out they were just in storage. They are neatly stacked and best left alone. 

Then there’s the basement… where it’s pretty scary. There are dark spaces here and I’m still afraid every time I venture down there. I’m afraid I might not
make it back up the stairs. But I find myself still descending now and then to see if the demons are still alive. They are. But they haven’t gobbled me up yet so I guess we can coexist okay.

I have found incredible peace in Ireland… which is somewhat surprising since I no longer have a church home and most of my friends here are what they call non-practicing Catholics. Nobody talks religion and I’m okay with that. I see people living religion and that’s better (maybe they’re “practicing” after all). I’m thinking if I can’t maintain my own personal faith in my own personal space, it probably wasn’t mine in the first place, but just a brainwashing. 

I might be wrong about that. But so far, my faith house is still standing and hasn’t been condemned.

It so happens that, as I go through this soul searching season of life (you’ll have yours too, if you haven’t already), I’m
paying closer attention to what’s happening in the larger community. I’m seeing and appreciating the diversity of Christianity. I’m less judgmental. I’m comfortable letting people be themselves, find their own way. I’m taking more responsibility for my own thoughts and behaviors and feeling less burdened by yours.

 

I’m feeling more weighed down by the suffering in the world than the beliefs in the world. It feels like I took a big bite from the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. I spent my early adulthood giving the church too much power to define who I was, cozily nestled inside the dogma bubble. When it burst, I went flying frantically through the air. But now that I’ve landed and dusted myself off, my eyes are wide with wonder. Just looking around is both frightening and exhilarating. Spiritually speaking, I’m not in Kansas anymore.

Maybe all this is what has prepared me for the disillusionment I feel with the evangelical church today. As the Irish would say, I’m GOBSMACKED that such a majority of evangelicals are supporting Donald Trump in the election. I really don’t get it. 

I hear, “I know he’s awful, but we’re all the same in God’s eyes." "He has said some horrible things, but so has everyone at one time or another." "God can use ANYBODY for good." "Nobody’s perfect." "The other guys have issues too." "Yes, he can be very hurtful, but God forgives us all for our sins." "Sometimes he’s really nice and does very good things." "We need him.” 

It occurs to me… this is what women say when they allow their abusive husbands to return home after beating them black and blue. I think it’s called Battered Wife Syndrome. It’s rooted in feelings of FEAR (planted by the abuser) that their world will fall apart without the powerful abuser to take care of them. 

I’ve been rereading the Psalms of David lately. The words David uses to describe his enemies are words my evangelical friends ascribe to Trump. Words like immoral, proud, mocking, scheming, lying. But they say it’s okay because he gives them what they want.

 

Sadly, what they want is not what I want. Guess that means I’m post evangelical. Not sure if I have a label now. I’m still digesting that bite out of the apple. Apparently that tree was well fertilized because I know a lot of people from all over the Christian world have also been snacking on it.

This is the last post where I’ll mention the election. When you visit me (after our vaccinations), we won’t talk politics. I’ll be showing you my favorite ruins, we’ll be climbing fences and running from excitable cows, then raising a glass or two to good health (Sláinte)... at the music session in the Monks. 

We probably won’t talk religion either (unless you want to and then we will).

 

 

Keeping Busy (Sort of)

 Our Covid cases/deaths had steadily decreased over the last few weeks, and last week the town crier stood boldly on the town square, unfurled his scroll and proclaimed the pubs reopened… with restrictions of course. We were overjoyed because, much as we loved our small music sessions in our kitchen on Wednesday nights, we missed the larger group and the “craic” from the Monks.       

 

We had a wonderful, socially distanced time of reacquaintance and merry-making last Wednesday. It seemed like life as we knew it was really back, and we could finally exhale (into our masks, of course).

 

Then it was announced over the weekend that our numbers were creeping back up, mainly due to the large parties and celebrations of those audacious young people. So now we’re back in partial lockdown for three weeks. Pubs closed again and even our house gathering is now taboo.

The Kim and Dixie Pub

So what have I been doing? A couple of the musicians in our group had made a list of their most frequently played jigs and reels. The list has just over 400 tunes (and those are just the ones they play most often!) I’m hopeless with the reels (because they are played “reel” fast), but I can hold my own on the fiddle with a jig. I know many of them already, but I decided I’d learn a jig a day beginning in September. And so I should have the entire jig list mastered by Christmas.

So far so good. I have a friend who will play a tune slowly for me and send it through WhatsApp. Then I’ve been recording the group playing on Wednesdays and writing the recording number beside the jig set (they’re played in sets of three) on my list.

 

I may have to slow my pace (a jig a day) because, going through the list this quickly, I’m tending to get my A and B parts mixed up. If you aren’t a musician, this would be comparable to learning to sing too many songs over too short a time and ending up with something like, “Oh Susanna, don’t you cry for me, cause I come from home on the range where the deer and the antelope play.” You get the idea.

Toll House cookies

This keeps me busy a portion of each day and I’m happy to have a project, a goal and something
to show when all this is over.

 

When I’m not fiddling, I’ve been reading. I am somewhat hooked on the exposé/revenge in politics genre. (Why do I torture myself?) I’ve read several books and tried to keep an open mind, knowing the motive of the writers was not just to enlighten me but was often something more self-serving and even sinister. 

I know there’s a danger of being brainwashed, and brainwashing is dirty business. You could make a mess of yourself and your friends will have to mop it up when the storm is over. I think sometimes when we try to “keep on the sunny side” by avoiding controversy, we’re just hunkering down into our comfort zones. You can easily lose sight of the bigger picture, which you can sometimes only make out in the shade of opposing opinions.

 

So, along with books, I’ve tried to read commentaries from both sides of the fence online every day, which may be why I have an appt with a dentist next week to examine my teeth that have suddenly gone sensitive and sore. I’m sure I’m grinding and clenching in the night. I hope trying to stay unbrainwashed doesn’t land me a root canal. I can’t win.

Thomas gave me Alexa for my birthday and I discovered she will read aloud to me from my Kindle. Now I’m hooked on the audio book experience. I walk around the house with my AirPods, and Dixie understands that, although I may look like I’m sweeping the floor or chopping up spuds, I’m really rambling through the White House, sizing things up. 

I may look like I’m glued to that European championship football match on the telly but, with carefully concealed AirPods beneath my hair, I’m actually chillaxing in the oval office resting my feet on the Resolute desk. Good thing you can’t catch the Covid through droplets of imagination.

I’m just finishing Rage by Bob Woodward. It’s very different from the other books I’ve read, because it’s all recorded dialogue between Bob and the Donald. Woodward seems to have been Trump’s personal confidant for at least several months. Go figure. There’s not much commentary at all, just the conversations written in a non-sensational narrative style.

 

It’s a great summary of the main events (and some you may not know about) of the last couple of years in American politics. If you’ve forgotten some of the names of the original cast or details of the story, you’ll love this walk down memory lane. Woodward doesn’t belabor any points or get too involved. He just relates what was actually said to him as the drama of Trump’s presidency has unfolded. I couldn’t put it down (or rather Alexa couldn’t put it down).

I highly recommend it to anyone who feels they may have leaned too far over one edge or the other and dipped their brain into the suds. It’s a true portrayal of President Trump in his own words and there’s no distorted context it could have been taken out of. You haven’t heard him deny any of it. It’s just real conversations, like flagstones we can walk across to connect one event to another without getting our feet all muddy. Too bad all journalism can’t be done that way.

Take me back to Donegal

Otherwise, we are watching lots of movies and we marathoned on a couple of series. Try Bloodline and Succession. We took the wonderful trip to Donegal in August and I'm so glad we did. I'm still feeling the tranquilizing effects of the scenery. When Alexa isn't talking she's showing off the photos.  

 I’ve done some baking but I’m not a natural. We take walks. I video chat with the grands most days and try to be content to be the Grammy App. It goes without saying, I can’t wait to see them again. They are both about to start walking… right into trouble I’m sure. They are lively, funny, happy and very spoiled, as they should be. 

Fan Slán... Y’all stay safe.