Thoughts and Prayers and Anger

Another day, another shooting in a public place. Maybe more than one such shooting: the day isn't over yet.

What I am thinking is so obvious that I shouldn't have to say it, but lots of folks don't get it, so here goes: the more the crazies in the gun lobby have gained control over our politicians, the more vulnerable the rest of us have become. In the eyes of gun nuts and political nuts alike we ordinary citizens are expendable–sacrificial lambs upon the altar of erroneous readings of the Second Amendment. It's our very own home-grown form of terrorism, carried out (often) by suicide shooters.

Guns, by themselves, don't kill people. People kill people, and Americans with guns kill lots of people. Limiting the number of people is problematical; limiting the number and availability of guns is a matter of political smarts and will. We can do that, and we must.

My thoughts and prayers are with the victims of today's violence. My anger is with those who stonewall against doing anything to reduce the likelihood such violence will continue to plague us.

Religious, But Not Confidently Spiritual

           Unlike many Americans, I consider myself to be religious but not confidently spiritual. This, in a time when many like to claim they are "spiritual, but not religious." My position, as is often the case, is not "trending."

         Any pastor who has ever talked with idealistic couples seeking to get married in church for aesthetic or cultural or family reasons alone knows what I mean. When asked, they often claim to be "spiritual, not religious,” even though they are wanting something done for them by the epitome of religious authority (a clergy person) in a place reeking of religious materiality (a sanctuary).

For some reason the clergy person is supposed to be impressed by such an expression of faith. He or she has every right to feel insulted. I submit the “spiritual but not religious” claim is often meaningless, pandering to what the claimants think they need to say to get what they want out of someone for whom they have little or no real regard.

Best I can tell, the "spiritual but not religious" person entertains vague notions that there is someone or something immaterial out there or in here someplace who or which is accessible by means other than our usual senses…and that, somehow, this whole package of vagueness matters. Makes you feel better, more in touch with the universe, more universal yourself, capable of loving all humankind, and (here's the kicker) not needing anyone or anything physical or material to sustain all those self-generated convictions and yearnings. It's the fantasy that you don't need to devote real time or energy to finding a reality beyond that we know through ordinary perception.

The important part of the above description of the "spiritual but not religious” person is the part about access. In order to be "spiritual," such a person, unlike most "spiritual" people, does not need messy material and physical relationships and practices and symbols. He or she is above all that turmoil, blithely able to know and have a relationship with the "spiritual" based upon...upon...upon...what? Simply hoping it is so?

God knows (seriously), I've tried to enter into the realm of the spiritual, or to allow it to enter into me, with as little physicality involved as possible. Trouble is, I have–I am–a body, and despite my particular body's failures and foibles, I get all the information I get about myself and my world via my physical senses. That includes, I firmly believe, any insights into myself I discover, any emotions or feelings I have, and any understanding of the physical and/or "quantum" nature of the universe. Everything I know about any of that comes via my sense organs and my brain. I don't know how I could access anything "in here" or "out there" apart from my physical apparatus.

I've tried to sit quietly and breathe deeply and recite mantras in an attempt to get in touch with the non-material through as pure a non-material connection as I can create, but it just doesn't work for me. My senses always interfere.

(This failure of mine doesn't have to be my fault, because as a Calvinist I credit the absence of the grace of spirituality in me to predestination. Apparently God has graced many Americans with a gift he or she has chosen to withhold from me. To which I can only say, Praise God!)

It's not that I don't have feelings, emotions, etc., though sometimes I think people wonder if I do. I love classical music, for example; I get tingling and perhaps even "spiritual" from my pointy head to my pained toes when the chorus starts singing in the final movement of Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony. It's even better when I am part of that chorus. "I do think I see the heavens open before me,” as I believe Handel is reported to have said about writing the Hallelujah Chorus.

But the music that makes me feel that way comes from vibrating strings setting sound waves in motion through the air until they vibrate my ear drums and somehow become an electrical impulse I can "hear." Just because I don't fully understand all the steps involved is no sign there's anything "spiritual" about the music or the process by which I hear it. It's actually a marvel of "things" working together. And I love how it feels.

I humbly claim to be a "religious, but not confidently spiritual" because any perception of God that I have and try to hold to and respond to is founded in things affecting things in ways that can be understood mechanically, physically, even metaphysically. It's why I go to worship even when I am not sure who or what I am supposed to be worshipping during them. The art and architecture, the words, the prayers, the music, the leadership of someone from whom I can learn something, the sense of community with others who can support and correct me as needed...all those physical, material, mechanical things impact my senses and are processed in my brain and gut. Hopefully, taken together, it makes me a more authentic and just and loving human being. That is, after all, the only valid justification for religious practice. And it's the only reason I can think of for anyone wanting to be "spiritual." Why does anyone think they can become spiritual without being somehow religious?

I am not against "the spiritual," or "spiritual direction," or "spirituality." There is something to it all, though I am not always entirely clear exactly what it is. Whatever the nature of what or who is “out there”, nothing worthy of the word "spiritual" can be known or accessed apart from real life connections and commitments and practices. And religion is all about real life connections, commitments, and practices.

Jesus, after all, sweat his body's blood when he prayed. He asked that he be spared really hard things, and then turned his fate over to God. There's no evidence he sat in the lotus position, breathed, felt good about himself, and then went back to managing his portfolio. "Follow me," he commanded. Stand up. On your two feet. Make a move. Do something. Following him is something you do with the body you've got. If something "spiritual" comes from it, fine; just don't forget how you learned to walk.

If I Posted the Title, You'd Read This One for Sure

A F**kin’ Plea

Here’s a real accomplishment: the fantastic English word “f**k” is to be heard no less than 506 times in the 180-minute-long film, “The Wolf of Wall Street.” That, beloved readers and followers, is apparently some kind of a record.

It averages out to 168.6666 times per hour, which is 2.81111 times per minute, which is a f**k every 21.428571 seconds. When a record is to be broken, Hollywood sure knows how to meet the challenge. I am duly impressed.

Want to know what accomplishing that feels like? Set aside three hours, get a watch with a second hand and then, every 20 seconds or less shout, whisper, or breathe (ah, yes, breathe) “f**k.” Now you’ve broken the record, all by yourself. How does that feel?

In case it is not obvious to you, I am joking. But joking about a very serious matter; namely, that I would like to ask people, starting with my friends, to use the word “f**k” with the respect it deserves, or not to use it at all.

I make this modest request because f**k is a really fine word, one of the most explicit and colorful in the English language. Its two spat consonants and what I’d call guttural vowel make it direct, violent,and seductive. It cuts through all lesser words and kills them. In certain situations, it is the only word that will do the job, whatever the job happens to be. So why waste it with lesser responsibilities?

For example, sometimes people share a Facebook page called, "I F**kin’ Love Science." Why is it called that? What does that mean? Do you have to squeeze in a little f**k get people to read the page, perhaps making science sound cool and hip (are those today’s words for what I mean?) to the young and to those who wish they were young? Would it be so bad simply to “really love science,” or if it’s how you feel, to “adore” science? I don’t get it.

A couple of days ago I got a link to a series of habits and attitudes to which the author intends to say “f**k it" in 2014. There are good ideas in the list, behaviors and practices that probably, in most cases, should be resisted. But why not "just say no" to them, or even shout them down if you must? Do they deserve f**king? Is that the only way to deal with them? Educate me, please.

Okay, so I'm old and have lead a protected life of piety in the church and am easily embarrassed. I’ve never worked on Wall Street or as a stevedore or in the White House. I am not in the mafia, do not live on the western frontier, and don’t do rap or hip hop. I shamefully confess to all those cultural and experiential lacks and more, so dismiss me by calling me old-fashioned, narrow-minded, squeamish, Victorian.

Well, here’s what I think of you…but I’m not offended or threatened by you. You’ve got me wrong, but that’s it. At least for the next 20 seconds.