Recent ponderings

This blog is going to turn into more than just a record of my Halifax adventure. That may become a problem after I return and want to continue using the blog for general musings...but I'll worry about that when the time comes.

For the past week or so, I've had religion on my mind. It started when I sat down and watched "The Passion of the Christ" on digital cable. I never would have paid money to see the movie. I'd heard it's little more than a blood-fest. And it was. I sat through the whole thing - not sure why - and when it was over I had to ask myself what HELL old Mel had in mind when he devised the so-called plot of that movie.

But I'll come back to that later. What I wanted to talk about first was the impact that watching the movie, and the coversations I've had about it with others, have had on me.

I've been fascinated by the topics of Christianity, religion in general, and particularly with the question "Who was Jesus, really?" Christianity is a huge force in the world today - and becoming more so with people like GW Bush in positions of great power. Why is that? Why did a religion that started out as little more than a backwards cult wind up to be among the world's greatest religions? Why do Muslims and Jews and Christians, who really have so very much in common, hate each other so much? What is it about religion that compels, unites and divides people so?

I had a moment of realization (dare I call it an epiphany?) when I was about sixteen. I realized that there was just no way I could believe in "God". No way I could believe in a spirit in the sky, an old man with a flowing white beard on a throne in Heaven, looking down and judging us.

I still feel that way. I don't claim to be proud of it. In fact, I've had many moments where I've wished I *could* believe. Being an atheist is kind of a lonely thing to be in this world. We're very much outnumbered. It's not something you share glibly with strangers. When I do reveal to people, for whatever reason, that I'm an atheist, I always do it with a certain measure of caution. I'm always half-expecting them to look at me like I'm some kind of freak, or to think less of me because I'm not in the club.

And I've tried to believe. Really I have. Not only is being an atheist kinda lonely, but it's a little scary too. It forces you to deal with things like what's going to happen to you after you die. Pretty much nothing, dude. Blink. Lights-out, bye-bye. No comforting visions of becoming an angel and spending eternity in heaven with your family and friends around you, or whatever your particular vision of heaven is.

On the other hand, atheists don't have to struggle with questions like "Why does God allow there to be so much suffering in the world." (My way of phrasing this is "what kind of cruel, vindictive, insane being would *create* cancer and flesh-eating disease and assholes who swindle the life-savings away from old people??" As an atheist, I know it's all just the way things are. There's no philosophical debate, no higher reason...it just is what it is.

And you don't have to believe in a god to be a good person. But lots of people think you do. This is part of why I'm always a little reluctant to share the little secret that I'm an atheist. Some god-fearing folk honestly believe that you can't be a decent moral person without the belief in a god. Well, I'm here to tell them that they're just wrong about that. My mama raised me right. I know very well the difference between good and evil. I'm a highly moral person, and it doesn't take a belief in a higher being to keep me that way.

Now, I wasn't born an atheist. Well, actually, I guess I was. We all were. Religion is nurture, not nature. What I mean is that when I was young, I was raised believing in God. I started out as an Anglican, and converted to Judaism with my mother and brother when I was nine. I believed in the devil. I believed that every time I did something bad, a little black mark would appear on my soul. I believed in the old man sitting on the throne up in Heaven, and in angels and in Santa Claus. So some might say that my early grounding in "Belief" was how I came by my morality. I don't think so. I've been faced with far more temptations and opportunities to sin since I stopped believing than I ever did before, and I turned out pretty good. Much better than a heck of a lot of believers, I'd venture to say.

Something about the whole concept of "sin" actually creates the atmosphere for sin to flourish. It's like telling a kid he can't do something. As soon as you tell him that, you just KNOW he's going to obsess about it and eventually do exactly what you told him not to. What do you think the whole porn industry is all about? "Go forth and multiply...but oh, don't covet, don't commit adultery, don't have sex before you're married, don't touch your wife when she's on the rag, don't spill your seed on the ground, don't commit abominations (though, they never tell you what abominations are, do they, HA)....don't, don't, don't." (Hmmm...I wonder if that analogy would cover the abundance of violent movies and video games we produce?)

So, it's obvious to me, because I AM one, that you can be a very moral person and not believe in a god. My ex sister-in-law was very disgruntled when her priest told her I couldn't be the god-mother to her first baby because I wasn't a Christian. *I* was disgruntled too! I really wanted to be Benjamin's god-mother! As she griped about the priest's decision she said "I don't know why you shouldn't be his god-mother...you're one of the most Christian people I know." I was always very proud of that. I took it as a huge compliment - as it was meant.

I've searched for faith from time to time. I've always felt this lack of something in my life, and sometimes attribute it to lack of faith in a higher being. When I lived on Salt Spring Island in B.C., I started studying Wicca, the religion of goddess and nature-worshippers. I still think that, if I were to really follow any religion at all, that Wicca or some form of nature-based religion would work best for me. But even that didn't work. First of all, I felt silly doing the rituals. But mostly it was because I just couldn't believe in a Goddess or any higher being at all, no matter how I tried.

There have been times when I've felt something faith-like moving within me. Once, in BC, when I was trying to become Wicca, I went out to the back yard on a clear night during the full moon, and I just stared at the moon and meditated. The moon is a strong symbol of the Goddess in Wicca. I meditated on looking at the Goddess. After a while, I started feeling the most curious thing. I was staring at the moon, but I felt like I was looking at myself. I physically felt like I was looking at my own face. Not like looking in a mirror, but actually looking at myself. I was looking at the Goddess, and the Goddess was me. It was a very powerful moment, and I think most Goddess-worshipping women would have related to it. They teach that the Goddess is everywhere, in everything, so of course she is in each of us.

There have been others. Every time I go to synagogue, I spend most of my time there fighting back tears. I'm always so moved by the whole experience. One time, when I was about twelve, I went to shul with Mum and Jack and Casey for the Yom Kippur service. Standing next to my mother during the service, I just started crying uncontrollably. I had no idea why. Nothing had happened. I didn't understand it. I couldn't stop. Eventually Mum told me to go to the ladies room until I calmed down. I couldn't even have a drink of water as we were fasting. My cousin Sorel found me in there, still crying. She asked me why I was crying and when I told her I didn't know, she said something about how it must be because I was really feeling the service. Got the spirit, as a bible-thumper might put it. To this day, I'm always moved to tears in shul. Can't help it, can't stop it.

One time I went to shul with my Uncle Jack, and the sermon the rabbi gave really spoke to me. He talked about how so many people have difficulty with the whole concept of God as a spirit sitting up in Heaven on a throne. He told us how he thinks of god...and it really appealed to me. He said God is like light. You can't see light, but it's everywhere, and its function is to illuminate the world around us, to help us see. That made so much sense for me. Too bad it still wasn't enough to swing me to the bright side.

I've come to the conclusion that my yearning for faith has more to do with a yearning for community than a desire to believe in a higher being. Churches, synagogues, mosques, temples...they seem like nice places to me. Warm and sharing, places that would welcome a newcomer, a seeker. A place you can go if you're lonely.

But...I digress. I was talking about Jesus. That movie really started me wondering...what if Jesus was really just a regular guy like anyone else? After we converted to Judaism, I asked my mother about Jesus. I guess I was confused because we started out believing he was the Son of God, and we finished believing there was no God but the ONE. I asked her if Jesus really existed. She said "Sure, but he's not the messiah. The messiah hasn't come yet." Then what was he? I asked. "He was a great man, a teacher, a very learned teacher." And that was that.

Okay, I'm thinking now. Let's take this a step further. What if Jesus existed? What was the story of his life - not just the story of his Christhood? And what if some of the stuff that they say about him really happened, but it wasn't really miracles, it was just...coincidences, or things that can be explained scientifically, or just tales. A conversation I had with my online writer's group really got me thinking about this. I'd really love to read a book about Jesus as just a regular guy, no special powers, no relation to God, either real or imagined. How would his life story pan out under those parameters?

Someone recommended a book, which I went out and bought, called "Lamb - The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal." It's by Christopher Moore. It's a HILARIOUS book, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. But it still supposes that Jesus was the son of God. Apparently Anne Rice has also written a book about Jesus' early life. But Anne Rice has become "Born Again" apparently, so anything she writes on the subject will assume Messianic origins as well.

Maybe I'll have to write it myself then. I've spent hours in the last few days looking up websites about Jesus. I downloaded the King James Bible from Gutenberg.com. There have been lots of specials on TV about Jesus lately - watched 'em. I'm even taking more than a sneering interest in the evangelical shows on the tube. But they're too ridiculous to take seriously. Maybe this Atheist Jew (I just found out that the term is totally NOT contradictory, as Judaism is as much a culture as it is a faith) will have to write a story about Jesus...the real Jesus. The Jesus who was conceived and born in the usual way, who lusted after Mary Magdalene, who wonders why the hell everyone's making such a fuss over the way he managed to arrange for all that wine and bread that time. It's all about who you know, man. He was Jewish, after all. Catering's in his blood.

Anyway, back to "The Passion of the Christ." Viewed purely as a movie, and compared to the commonly accepted criteria that make a movie good or bad, Passion is a stinker. It's got no plot, no character development, no story arc - nothing but blood and that one glowing green eye that burns out of Jesus' face like a coal through the entire movie. That was just *weird*. I didn't need to see a horrifically realistic depiction of how a steel-tipped cat-o-nine-tails could literally rip the flesh off a man's ribcage. I didn't need to see someone firmly pressing the crown of thorns into Jesus' forehead. Two and a half hours of gore and torture. If it hadn't been about Jesus, the movie would have been banned in every country they tried to play it in. And rightly so.

Another thing bothers me about this movie. And maybe all Passion Play depictions - I don't know enough about the story to comment. Jesus' mother was awfully silent throughout the whole process of her son's torture and death. I figured she must be mad, otherwise she'd have been screaming and clawing her way toward her kid to save him. Any mother worth her salt would have protested loud and long and to her own death if she had to to prevent such brutality being inflicted on her child. Why did she just stand there and watch??? I wanted to slap her!

I was troubled by the strong anti-semitic message of the movie. The way it was framed, I was actually feeling sorry for Pontius Pilate, who was portrayed very sympathetically, as a man who didn't want to send Jesus to the cross, but was forced to by an angry mob. I'd always lived in a comfortable belief that the Jews were not responsible for Jesus' death. But this movie seems to say they are largely responsible...for his death, at least. The Romans are fully responsible for his torture.

Anyway...the movie did one thing. It got me wondering about things and given me a new curiosity. Who knows where it will take me, if anywhere. Goodness knows, keener minds than mine have pondered these questions over the centuries. I just want to know what the REAL Jesus was like...the Jesus who lived in the world *I* believe in - the world without gods.