Faith and High Beams

The church event was a lovely one, a celebration of World Food Day organized by our music director.   Folks from my little church, their friends, and representatives of local environmental organizations sat down and shared a potluck meal made of locally grown harvest.  It was both fun and heartening and yummy.

And when everything was cleaned up and put away, it was time to roll home.  I'd been worried about rain, just a little bit, as my little Suzuki's decided to get a little finicky about ingesting water.  But though rains had come through, and the ground was wet, the skies weren't dropping moisture.

I suited up, threw a leg over the bike, fired it up, and began the ride home through the rising mist.

Those late evening rides back from church are lovely, and the cooling October night was no exception.  Sitting smack in the middle of 93,000 acres of agricultural reserve, the little town where my church resides can be accessed only over miles of little country two-lanes.   The lights of houses are speckled here and there, down long gravel drives.  You do not pass, as you ride, the endless rows of tickytackytownhomes and flat-straight four-lane strip malls of 'Murika sprawl, but the fields and forests that were our landscape up until a generation ago.

At night, those deliciously ridable American roads are deep and very dark and lightly traveled.

It's high beam country.

And my bike has great high beams, two huge twin reflectors, mounted way up on its tall, lanky frame.  I snick that little thumbswitch by the left handgrip, and the little blue light comes on in the instrument pod, and the road lights up far ahead.  I cast, ahead of me, two tightly nested cones of light, enough to make for comfortable riding at a gentleman's express pace.

I love riding alone through the darkness.  Being that solitary speck of bright in a cool dark night gives a powerful sense of place, of being yourself in the world.  It feels wild and free.

But though it's a place of freedom, there are rules for riding in high beam country.

There are others who ride the same roads, but who aren't traveling the same way.  They've got other places to go, other homes that call them homeward.   You encounter their light first, as the forest or roadside around a distant bend lights up to announce their arrival.

And just before their light rises over the hill, or flares around the bend, you dip your own.  Snick, goes the switch, and the lowbeams are on, like a nod of acknowledgment or...in another era...the tipping of a hat.  You pass one another, respecting the integrity of the other traveler, until that moment you pass.  Snick, and the darkness ahead is banished again.

As I rode through the cool of the night, that blue light illumined, I found myself wishing Americans could grasp this sort of respect in our exchanges with one another.  We're not all the same, in our faith, in our politics. We do not have to be.  It's what makes the United States a wonderful place to live.

But as we live and move through our increasingly loud and crowded lives, it feels like we're all high beams, all the time.  We see that stranger, traveling in another direction to a different home, and we leave our beams on full.

Why should we dim our light, just because they're coming?  That's their problem, not ours, if our full blare brightness bothers them.  What right do they have, to make us do something?  No way will we tone ourselves down.   No way will we compromise.  Heck, if we had brighter beams, we'd use 'em.

So we rush blindingly at one another, lost in the retina-dazzle of our own stubborn selfishness.  And blinded, we lose our ability to see the road ahead.

Holy Books, Fire, and Tolerance

Just about a month has passed since I reverently burned my old Bible.  Today, that simple action feels a bit different, particularly in the light of the rioting and killings under way yet again in Afghanistan over the inadvertent burning of some Korans.

The official response of the United States military and the U.S. government has been one of apology, repeatedly affirming the need for us to be culturally sensitive and formally stating a respect for the faith and culture of the Afghan people.   I understand this, and I understand the strategic dynamics that make such statements necessary.

But though I'm progressive, perhaps because I'm progressive, I have a great deal of difficulty finding respect for Afghan culture, and particularly for the form of faith that is manifested in the rioting and killing we've seen.  Yes, I know, some would say it's all our fault that things in Afghanistan are the way they are today.  No one likes an occupier.  There's some truth in that.  I also know that people who struggle in hopeless poverty and under societal oppression often are a tick more...volatile.

And I have no difficulty respecting Islam, with its virtues of charity, mercy and hospitality.  There are plenty of gracious, kind, and peaceful Muslims in this world who find foundation for their graciousness in their faith.

Still and all, I struggle with the idea that the sociocultural and theocratic dynamics of Afghanistan merit acceptance.  There are Afghans who are perfectly decent people, but the culture itself just isn't a positive thing.    It is a train wreck, a mess, oppressive, corrupt, violent, and willfully ignorant.   So I have sensitivity, sure, but in the way you are "sensitive" to that volatile neighbor who likes to get drunk and sit in his front yard with a shotgun, or the way you're "sensitive" to the presence of a nearby piece of unexploded ordnance.

But how can I bring myself to respect a culture that would...if I were Muslim and had burned an old Koran as a respectful way of disposing of it...drag me into the streets and beat me to death?  Or threaten me with violence for associating with someone who had accidentally burned a Koran?  When I burned that Bible and put the video up on YouTube as background for a blog post, I got a tiny speck of fundamentalist trollery on the video...but that's what you'd expect.   It is a far cry from feeling like your life is in danger.  But ours is, for the time being, still a free and open society.

Within the boundaries of my own faith, I have tremendous difficulty with those who take our sacred narratives and turn them into idols.  I see the rigidity of literalism and the idolatrous worship of texts as antithetical to faith, and particularly antithetical to the faith taught by Jesus and spread by Paul.   "..For the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life," as the Apostle might say.

If tolerance and acceptance of the other are central values, it is hard to see where to connect with a culture in which those values are essentially rejected.

The Creche Wars: A Pax on Both Your Houses

In my neck of the woods, there's a bit of disagreement about seasonal displays going on.  Deep in the Virginia exurbs, the mighty metropolis of Leesburg sits in all its strip-mall, big box glory.   But before Leesburg was an exurb, it was a modestly-sized town, one that had a long-standing tradition of having a Christmas tree and displaying Nativity scenes on the courthouse lawn celebrating the Christmas season.

Back in 2009, following concerns that this might violate the separation of church and state, the tradition was shut down.   Both the Christian Nativity and the...um...pagan solstice display...were removed.   There was outcry, of course, and much concern in the community that a beloved symbol had disappeared.

So the tradition was reinstated last year, with a caveat: anyone could display whatever they wanted, on a first come, first served basis.

And so there were displays put up.  Some were creches and nativities.  Others, though?   The Pastafarians came out with a repurposed creche image, in which the Infant Flying Spaghetti Monster was featured prominently, along with garden gnomes and other absurdist miscellany.   There was a Luke Skywalker display, put up by those who celebrate Life Day, I guess.  Atheists put up their own tree, upon which affirmations of vigorous godlessness and condemnations of the general stupidity of the faithful were placed.

This year, the conflict continued.  There was a display by a local artist, of a crucified skeleton Santa--a symbol of the way in which consumerism has consumed the season, or so the artist declared.  Many locals were troubled by these things, to the point that the skeleton Santa was pulled down a few times by Angry People.

Hearing about this squabbling, I find myself wishing that the Christians were being more Christian, and the atheists were being more rational.
 
For the Jesus folk, Brothers and Sisters, take a deep breath.   Particularly with the Skywalker stuff and the Pastafarians.  I mean, c'mon.  Some folks are just silly, and struggle with the hyper-seriousness that can pervade this season.  Christianity is a powerful, robust, and millennia-old faith, and is not going to be undone by some goofballs being random.  The most gracious response to this is...grace.  Smile.  Show that you aren't spiritually shallow and easily aggrieved.  Those are not the marks of one who is governed by the Spirit of the Living God.  Show that we can handle it.

And the artist guy with the Skeleton Santa?  Ask him what he means.  Be open to listening.  If his beef is with the consumerism that has sunk its undead fangs into the joy of this season, then maybe he's not a bad guy.  And he might be under the impression that Christians are angry, bitter people.  

Disabuse him of that notion.  We best teach Christ by living Christ, after all.

For the atheists?  I know, I'm not on the Team, but consider the season.   This is the time to open up the critical thinking skills, and show that you understand context and perception.  It's the time to show that you grasp the spirit of the season.  You don't have to sing Silent Night if you don't want to, and you have every right to present your opinion in the public square.

But if you want that opinion to be heard, consider presenting the following slogans:   "Just Love People.  How Hard is That?"   "Be Kind, Because It is the Way To Be."  "Care for Everyone."  "Every Human Being Has Value."   Slap your atheist logo under those, and maybe folks will be a little bit more willing to listen to the rest of what you have to say.  They may not be persuaded, but they'll be more willing to listen.

As stressed as we all can be this season, and as easily as tempers can fray, that's not the point of this time of year.  So...give it a go, y'all.  Get along, eh?

It's both the Christian and reasonable thing to do.