Religion and Science Meet for a Beer

Religion and Science meet for a beer.

Science says “Who’d’ve thought you’d meet me here.

Your wild-eyed followers scream ‘demon rum!’

They picket the pub and hatchet the drum.”

Religion just smiles and says “I thought you knew,

We both claim the guys who made the best brew.

My monks used your knowledge to perfect hops and yeast

And this glorious drink holds no ‘mark of the beast.’ ”

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

People are people. They do what they do.

Blackpowder clears pathways for life-giving trains,

They use it for bullets to blow out their brains.

You give them fission and they build their bombs.

I give them Goddess, they bitch-slap their moms.

People are people. They do what they do.

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

Religion and Science meet at the school.

Science says “hey, this is no place for you.

Your people deny what’s in front of their face

Shout down fact and theory, refute time and space.”

Religion concurs, “I know that is so,

But there’s still a bit more of that story to show.

Mohammedans once charted math and the stars.

Newton found Physics; Egyptian priests, Mars."

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

People are people. They do what they do.

I give them new heights, they leap to their death,

You give them cold meds, they make crystal meth.

I lay down the law: ‘love all whom you meet,’

So they kill from a distance and don’t miss a beat.

People are people. They do what they do.

You don’t blame me and I won’t blame you.

Religion and Science meet at the church.

Religion is shocked, “you’re here at my perch?!?”

Science falls to its knees “I’ve had quite enough,

I can’t build a way to solve all this stuff!”

Religion cracks open a Psych 1-0-1 text,

“I was counting on you to save me from this mess!”

And there we must leave them: theory and oath.

Eliminate either: we die without both.

(C)2012 Corey Keyes

Singing Pain

It is, like a rattlesnake rattle, designed to make us recoil. The threat of pain will abruptly, even involuntarily change our behavior. Everything inside of us screams that pain is to be avoided.

Not precisely so.

This morning's reflection was Psalm 137. It is, perhaps, the single nastiest pericope in all of the Bible:

By the rivers of Babylon—
   

there we sat down and there we wept
   

when we remembered Zion. 


On the willows there
   

we hung up our harps. 


For there our captors
   

asked us for songs,


and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
   ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ 


How could we sing the Lord’s song
 in a foreign land? 


If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
   

let my right hand wither! 


Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
   

if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
   

above my highest joy. 


Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
   

the day of Jerusalem’s fall,
how they said, 

‘Tear it down! Tear it down!
   Down to its foundations!’ 


O daughter Babylon, you devastator!
   

Happy shall they be who pay you back
   

what you have done to us! 


Happy shall they be who take your little ones
   

and dash them against the rock!

This song of pain was created by the exiled tribes of Judah, who were invaded, conquered and transported across hundreds of miles of wilderness to Babylon. All that they held dear was unreachable. The temple where they gathered to encounter and worship their God was now forcibly abandoned. All that had been home to them was less than a dot on the far horizon, and they had no reason to believe they'd ever see it again. In fact, the writers and initial singers of this song would never make it back home. It was lost forever to them.

If you are unfortunate enough to be a member of an oppressed group, this poem's despair, anger and violent cry for vengeance no doubt resonate within you. If you are, like me, in the cushy position of being a to-the-manor-born member of the dominant sub-group of the richest, most powerful nation in human history, maybe not so much.

Why would anyone go out of their way to even read this, let alone reflect on it? Because it is healthy to do so. It is good medicine.

Pain is an alarm. When your arm hurts, you look at it, touch it, focus on it. You find the problem and do what you can to fix it. You get help as necessary. You cry out.

The loss of capacity to feel pain is among the most dangerous of afflictions. If your backside is on fire, you should want to know about it before irreversible damage results.

I'm sure you're with me so far. Here's what's going to be on the test:

•               avoiding painful injury = healthy

•               ignoring pain = unhealthy

My mom is slipping quickly away into the darkness of Alzheimer's Disease. Last week I dropped by for a quick visit/errand to my parents on my way to other things. My kids waited in the car, wishing to avoid a painful emotional injury. I went in to lay out their pills for the week, and found myself alone at the table with my mother. She asked innocently enough if I did this sort of thing for other people. I looked up, smiled and said "no, just for the two of you." She smiled and said "that's very nice of you," and, looking into her pretty vacant eyes, I realized she clearly had no idea who I was.  At that moment, all that had once been home to me was less than a dot on the far horizon. 

It hurt.

When I got back to the car, I took a deep breath and told my kids about it. They said they were sorry it happened and reflected how much that must have hurt. I said "eh, I'm okay."

They both just looked at me in disbelieving silence. Dae reached out her hand and touched my arm and said "you know, Dad, it's okay if you're not okay sometimes, too."

Damn. 

My kids are probably the holiest agnostics I know. The injury had already occurred. All I was doing was ignoring the pain.  

We all, each of us, find ourselves exiled at one time or another in life. These days, when I say I love my mother, to be honest, I am mostly confessing a longing for something not quite captured in all those family photographs. I wish I still could be living what we were experiencing when that Instamatic shutter clicked, not the flat, boxed-in replicas that are nothing more than aging paper and decaying chemicals.  Most of what I really feel these days when I look at that hollowing shell of a human being is pity and unanswerable longing. How can I sing her favorite songs? This wicked disease has carried us away. This awful place is a decidedly strange land. 

And where shall I direct my anger? At  the inanimate and inanimating buildup of deadening proteins in the channels of her brain? At a society that wastes billions a day on stupid wars and partisan name-calling while many among us rot from the inside out? Rest assured, if I ever learn that Alzheimer's is a result of exposure to some carcinogen (say non-stick or aluminum cookware) and some shadowy corporate/agency-"they" KNEW about it, I will most definitely be looking for little ones to dash upon rocks!

We all, each of us, find ourselves exiled at one time or another in life. Feel the pain. Follow it to its source. Recognize the timeless wisdom that included the likes of Psalm 137 in our Bibles. Once the pain has arrived, it is best to acknowledge it, explore it and sing it out loud. Once that  nasty rattlesnake has bitten, it's the only way to remove the poison.

Call this my Psalm 137. Will you sing yours?

(Each Wednesday morning from 7:30-7:50, I host a time of quiet reflection at our church sanctuary in West Bloomfield. A psalm is read, the very briefest of words spoken, and then a time of quiet reflection and meditation is opened. It is a new part of my own faith discipline that I want to share with others. All are welcome.  Psalm 137 was this morning's offering.)

Q:Why did the chicken cross the road? A:Because it was free to do so.

 I am a firm believer in marriage.

When I was growing up, I didn’t always agree with my father and his choices, but the sterling central pillar of his character that I have always unfailingly admired, even at the youngest of ages, was and is his fierce, undying love for my mother.

It is, at times, clumsily applied, in my opinion. But underneath the bluster and frustration, NOBODY can honestly question my father’s powerful devotion to my mother.

I hope my children can say the same for me. I love Teresa so widely, narrowly, top to bottom and inside and out that it has consumed me, refined me and defined me. I can’t imagine life without her. Something wild, weird, delightful or terrible happens to me? It is she with whom I first want to share the story as soon as possible. Even better are the adventures we experience together, which we can call up to each other with little more than a glance across a crowded room. I delight in those times when she speaks what was just on the tip of my tongue, or when we don’t have to speak at all. She hurts, I hurt. She feels joy, I soar, too. She advises, I weigh her words carefully (okay, usually I object and stonewall, and then crawl off to my cave to somehow convert her clear thinking to my idea, but you all know what I mean). I am a better, more complete and more fully realized human being for her inexplicable decision to spend her life with mine, side by side and arm in arm, officially, personally, publicly and faithfully united.

I wish everyone who longed for such a relationship could have it. I look for that potential in every couple I counsel for marriage. What is your strength together? What is that go-to default setting between you that no crisis can touch? Identify it. Nurture it. Celebrate it. Guard it with your LIVES!

This is what I find so heart-breaking about the current marriage rights debate. Some would try to turn this whole Chik-fil-A tempest into some battle for free speech. Somehow, Dan Cathy’s right to say as he pleases is threatened by the millions who recoil from his pronouncements and actions, and from the corporation he owns and the product he sells to fund his political efforts?

Wait. Please.

One side in this battle is fighting for the right of individuals to find and strive to fully live in the joy I have described above with the legal recognition of the state, and the full blessing and support of their faith communities. The other side is trying to permanently legislate the state-enforced denial of that pursuit of happiness for an entire sub-group of Americans, including stepping between this pastor and members of his flock. 

Being a citizen of “the land of the free and the home of the brave” comes with certain responsibilities. Chief among them is to trust that others can make their own way in the world without you or me forcing complete personal public and private adherence to the particulars of our own world view. If what you want for your life does not injure others, I have no grounds for preventing you pursuing it, even if I find it repulsive or at odds with my morality. 

If you or I object to gay marriage, we should neither enter into one nor attend a church that performs such ceremonies. I don’t cry foul to any of my friends, colleagues or relatives who disagree with gay marriage as long as they leave it at that. What we should not do is endeavor to influence elected officials to shut down another's equal protection and reasonable rights.

This is America, for God’s sake.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. -- The Establishment and Free Exercise clauses of the Constitution of the United States

Time to Tick You Off, Sports Fans!

Okay. I'm going to speak frankly for many, MANY of my colleagues in ministry who are experiencing many of the same issues I see in my congregation and community. In the process, I am, no doubt, going to offend many people who I love very much.

Sorry, but here goes.

"We all have to remember that we can't let our love of the games get ahead of the core values, and we know that happens often. This is a painful, painful reminder that awful things can happen when that occurs."- MARK EMMERT, president of the N.C.A.A., announcing sanctions against Penn State University after the child sexual abuse scandal.

"Sports do not build character, they reveal it." - JOHN WOODEN, former coach, UCLA men's basketball (and quite possibly the best coach ever in any sport)

There is one morning more than any other when people in this society once gathered to celebrate life, faith, community and love. On this morning, we affirmed our shared values, challenged our assumptions, encouraged each other to stand up for the down-trodden, the afflicted and the weak, and we shared ancient and current examples of humanity at its best and its worst. We instructed our children regarding a loving, plugged-in Supreme Being, and celebrated every child of God. It used to be the one one-hour period when we could bring almost everyone together to re-group, re-frame and re-affirm. Some of us still gather on Sunday mornings.

Saddened by the state of society and sport?

Take a look in the friggin' mirror.

Remember the Sabbath, and keep it holy. - Exodus 20:8

Lust in the Dust... It's The Holy Bible!

Genesis Chapter 38 is an astoundingly trashy story regarding one of the Judeo-Christian Patriarchs – Judah – and his widowed daughter-in-law, Tamar (disguised as a prostitute), and how they came to have sex and spawn the lineage that would one day include kings David and Solomon, and, eventually, Joseph, husband of Mary, mother of Jesus.

You know, typical Biblical family values.

This story is timely, however, for what happens before Judah impregnates his daughter-in-law. 

Judah has three sons. The oldest, efficiently named Er, marries Tamar, but dies before any children are born. Now, as is standard practice in traditional Biblical marriage, Judah’s second son, Onan, must impregnate his sister-in-law, so she can have (hopefully) a son to gain claim to an inheritance and keep Er’s lineage going; also protecting Tamar, who, as a woman, cannot own property or fend for herself in that ancient world. Again, traditional Biblical family values.

 

Onan is powerfully attracted to Tamar, but sees that providing offspring for his dead brother will only weaken his own holdings, so: he spilled his semen on the ground whenever he went in to his brother’s wife, so that he would not give offspring to his brother. What he did was displeasing in the sight of the Lord, and He put him to death…(Genesis 38:9-10, NRSV).

Now the rest of the story is well worth reading, but I’m stopping here, as this is a root of a current kerfuffle in our nation: birth control. I do not wish to argue about whether a corporation owned by a religious institution can be forced to partially underwrite coverage/care that is in direct opposition to the religious teachings of that corporation’s owners. I would tend to tread veeeery carefully with such an issue. Instead, I’d like to tweak a bit the “Biblical basis” some bandy about regarding this particular conflict.

The Sin of Onan

One thing I love about the Bible is the fact that it refuses to sugar-coat human behavior. Onan is a first-class jerk, taking advantage of a woman’s dire predicament to slake his lust without offering her deliverance from her troubles through impregnation – which is the justice principal underlying the whole sordid tale. Onan, through his manipulation of the law for his own gain, gets what he wants but leaves the woman as vulnerable as ever.

In December, 2000, the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission ruled that failure to cover contraceptives for women violated the 1978 Pregnancy Discrimination Act, which was itself an amendment to Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Now the Department of Health and Human Services has ruled that birth control must be covered in most insurance policies without additional cost (pleasepleaseplease note that this is not precisely the same as “free” or “paid for by the church.”)

It can be argued persuasively that the relatively new-found ability of women to plan when they will get pregnant makes them (and their children) less vulnerable in society: empowering them socially, culturally, politically and economically in ways that Tamar, Onan, Judah and the writer of Genesis could never have imagined. Therefore,  the modern “Sin of Onan” in this case may not be denying the 21^st century Tamar the right to a child, but, ironically, insisting she pay extra beyond her already rising health insurance premiums to determine when and with whom she will have that child.

I’m just saying.

Postscript:  Roman Catholic Church law allowed the use of “The Pill” for women with irregular cycles from 1957 until an official stand against oral contraception was declared in 1968. Prominent Catholic physician John Rock argued that The Pill merely regulated the body’s hormonal cycles, and was therefore “natural.” 

Spending Time

The great French Marshall Lyautey once asked his gardener to plant a tree. The gardener objected that the tree was slow growing and would not reach maturity for 100 years. The Marshall replied, 'In that case, there is no time to lose; plant it this afternoon! – John F. Kennedy

Way back in a former life, an electric utility CEO once told me that he had just left a meeting in which his board of directors had instantly approved spending $10,000,000 on a new substation without batting an eye, then debated for an hour before tabling a motion to expend $3,000 on a bit of office carpeting.

“Some things seem too big to question,” he reasoned. “Instead, people object to little things that cost next to nothing, but provide a convenient illusion of control.”

I would say the same flawed thinking holds true for spending time. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average 25-64 year old adult spends his/her life like so:

 

33% Sleep

24% Full-time job

11.3% Watching television

9% Other activities/self-care

8.3% Household/family

5.2% Eating

4.5% Online

4.1% Commuting

0.6% Religious activities

It is appropriate and healthy for us to sleep a third of our life away. It is hard to escape spending a third of our lives pursuing a living.  But surrendering 15.8% to staring at a screen?!? And, if 99.4% of our precious time is spent elsewhere, why are our faith practices often first to suffer when life gets hectic?

In the early days of my ministry, I still worked full-time at a local advertising agency. One day a co-worker approached me. He was in his early 30s. He and his wife had young children. He put in a lot of hours at the office.

“I was raised Christian,” he said to me, “and I do miss my church. But by the time Sunday morning comes around, we’re too exhausted from our week to pack the kids in the car and head off to worship. What can I do?”

This was the first time I was ever asked this question. I’ve answered it a thousand times since, but my reply really hasn’t changed in all these years. It is obvious to me that my friend wasn’t questioning the big things, but strained mightily at that which involved a fraction of a fraction of his resources. I could have suggested my co-worker not stay so late at the office when he was tired and his potential productivity was so low. I could have recommended he turn off the TV and spend more time in physical activity with his family. But he didn’t ask me to critique how he spent his time. He asked me how he could possibly connect to his faith community when he was completely spent at the end of a long week.

“Don’t go to church at the end of your week,” I suggested. “Go at the beginning of your week instead. I bet the support, energy and inspiration you’ll gain will improve the six days that follow.”

Last I knew, he and his family were still attending their church regularly. 

A Kick to the Liturgical Crotch

So I’m a few weeks into my Lenten fast. I have given up all violent media this time. This is harder than you might think, even for a fairly passive guy like me. Actually, I blew it on the first day.

Abbey of the Genesee

On Ash Wednesday, the wife, the son and I rode over to the Abbey of the Genesee, a Benedictine trappist monastery in Piffard, NY famous for their breads. (http://www.geneseeabbey.org)We bought lots of loaves (mmm, raisin bread…) and then slipped into the chapel for vespers.

If you’ve never attended a session of the Liturgy of the Hours, you should seriously consider it. It is peaceful, reflective, beautiful and wonderfully restorative.

Well, usually. On this fine afternoon, the chosen psalms for recitation included 139  (If only you would slay the wicked, O God) and 140 (let the mischief that is on their lips bury them. Let hot burning coals be poured upon them : let them be plunged into that miry pit from which they shall never arise.). This was incredibly violent stuff, even when chanted with placid monks in front of a minimalist stone altar. Check that - especially when chanted with placid monks in front of a minimalist stone altar. The effect was chilling! In a place of high Roman Catholic holiness on the very first day of Lent, I broke my fast before I’d really even started. Oh, the irony.

As it turns out, this experience was fair warning for what has followed. Violence is so deeply woven into American culture that it is nearly impossible to avoid. I lean over a pew before church to joke with a young congregant and he’s deeply engaged in a light saber duel on his hand-held video game. I sit down to watch the Daily Show and have to avert my eyes from a commercial for an automatic bill pay service that features a malevolent, angry bill collector shattering glass and breaking down doors to deliver an invoice.  At a hotel in Binghamton last weekend I had to turn off the cable tv because the commercials inserted into even the mildest of programs featured a ton of violent content.

 

Last night at band practice I began to show the boys and girl a rendition of Let It Be from one of my favorite movies (Across the Universe), only to realize I’d have to shield my eyes through the first 1/3 of the song.

Ridiculous? Yes, it is. The lengths to which we must go to honor a somewhat arbitrary decision is part of the glory of a Lenten commitment. It is maddening, imbalancing and terribly inconvenient --all things a good reflective faith challenge should be. These passing weeks help me realize how indifferent or even accepting I have become toward violence. I didn’t realize how ubiquitous it has been in my supposedly peaceful life. 

So much of what and how I think are built on what I've observed and experienced. It is only in trying to avoid violence that I've come to realize how many rapes, murders, assaults, tortures, kicks, punches, slaps and thumpings I normally pay to see. Violent imagery excites the brain and leaves us hungry for more. How can this be anything but a bad thing?