Truth is Seldom Safe
Photo by Jared Tarbell
I remember a few years ago when the Vatican abolished “limbo”. Limbo is supposedly a permanent state for the souls of infants who die without being baptized, but who haven’t been cleansed of original sin.
This was major news in the Philippines which is a predominantly Roman Catholic country. Several people were interviewed by a TV station about what they thought about it and one of the responses amused me. The woman said “I’m so happy the church abolished limbo because now I know my baby is in heaven.”
We need to open their eyes and wake up. Our little beliefs and doctrines do nothing to reality. All these years, this woman has harbored despair in her heart over her dead baby because of a belief perpetuated by a religious authority. Now, when this authority relented on its decision, she suddenly feels relief. What will happen next time if some other doctrine is created? Is my peace of mind to be determined by a group of people who have absolutely no experience of the reality they are espousing?
We like to live in the comfort and stability of their beliefs. That is why when something comes along to shake that belief, the first instinct is to try to explain it away. Failing that, the next move is to look for a cleric (pastor, priest, imam, theologian) and pass the burden of explanation on them. When they explain, we are expected to nod our heads in assent. After all, aren’t these the specialists of the field? Haven’t they spent more years studying and reading books, studying the Bible, the Koran, the Talmud, the Vedas, the Sutras?
Sometimes, some of us still go further and question more. That is the time that others begin to look at us strangely — begin to whisper and say that we are asking strange questions, that we should just accept what is taught and not be such a bother, that we are sounding like heretics and unbelievers.
At this point, most people retreat back into the confines of their belief. After all, most people are not really after the truth. What they want is reassurance. What they want is safety.
But truth is seldom safe. And reality is hardly so reassuring.
Do we then live in fear? Of course not, because fear is an illusion as well — an expectation of things that may or may not happen.
We live with eyes open, in the moment, in the now — realizing the wondrous nature of ourselves and of reality. Life must be savored in all its sweetness and bitterness, in all its highs and lows, in all its tenacity and fragility. The search for truth is a climb up a never-ending staircase. Each step you leave behind falls away into deep nothingness.
Spirituality is Relationship
Photo by Gustavo Verrisimo
The point was that religion (or spirituality) is about relationship and not so much about rules and regulations. But people today have this whole idea backwards. That’s why people look at churches as a place where rules and norms are observed, instead of a place where one can relax and be oneself.
Come to think of it, that is a large part of what turns me off about church. Aside from mostly unenlightening sermons that make me tune out and doodle on the program sheet, it is the artificial nature of relationships. There is a large amount of trying to look good, of trying to live up to the ideals of what a Christian should be, a large amount of covering up one’s preferences and shortcomings instead of just being honest and open about them.
Followers of Jesus should remember that sinners flocked to him. They wanted to be with him. With him, they felt no judgement, no condemnation, only compassion and rest. This so irritated the Pharisees who did not want to have anything to do with “sinners”.
I would like to extend this idea to most religions — because there is indeed a tendency to have this “holier than thou” attitude when one is steeped in the protocols of one’s religion.
The true measure of one’s spirituality is not the amount of friends you have in your own religion, but perhaps, the amount of friends you have outside of it — who are aware of your beliefs and convictions, and yet enjoy and even yearn for your company nonetheless.
Ideology
Photo by Kate Ter Har
“People are not naturally cruel. They become cruel when they are unhappy — or when they succumb to an ideology.
If religious people had always followed the instinct of their heart rather than the logic of their religion, we would have been spared the sight of heretics burning at stakes, widows walking into funeral pyres, and millions of innocent people slaughtered in wars that are waged in the name of God.
Compassion has no ideology.”
– Anthony de Mello
Carlos
Photo by P.J. Onori
Carlos sat on the cold hard pew and inhaled the silence of the hospital chapel.
He stared down at his hands, rough and clean, that only a few hours ago had been stained red with Teresa’s blood. He had asked her out for dinner at a quaint cafe that had just opened on the corner of the street where she worked. He had planned to have a pleasant meal, light conversation, and then he would have told her why he was breaking up with her.
He knew she would be heartbroken. Teresa was head over heels in love with him. She would call him at work just to tell him she missed him, or to take care, or to whisper “I love you”. She never forgot what he liked or disliked whether it was clothes, food or music. She knew exactly what to say to perk him up when he felt down.
It wasn’t as if they were the perfect couple. They had occasional spats now and then but Teresa would usually give in and just acquiesce to his arguments in the end.
It had been two months since Carlos had started seeing Loren, the new accounting clerk at the office where he worked. Loren was nothing like Teresa. She was pig-headed and stubborn. She acted up and pouted her lips when things didn’t go her way. She liked doing things on a whim and would drag Carlos along with her even if he didn’t feel like it.
But there was something about Loren that Carlos couldn’t quite explain — as if there was a dark, mysterious force that drew him to her. Perhaps it was that intoxicating perfume she always wore, or perhaps it was the way her eyes sparkled when she was extremely delighted, or perhaps it was way she looked so utterly lonely in her unguarded moments. Whatever it was, it had trapped Carlos in her web.
That was when he decided it was time to make a clean break before things got really messy. Loren knew about Teresa and had been badgering Carlos to break up with her or else. Carlos pressed for time, saying that he didn’t really know how to break up with her since they didn’t really have any serious falling out. How could he explain that he didn’t love her anymore? What possible reason could he give for such a seemingly callous act of rejection?
But Loren gave him an ultimatum and so he found himself at the corner cafe 30 minutes earlier than the appointed time. He had smoked a couple of cigarettes and had taken two cups of coffee. He had it all sorted out in his head. He would just come clean and be honest about the whole thing — even to tell her that he didn’t understand himself but that was what his heart was telling him.
He was still rehearsing his little script in his mind when from the corner of his eye, he saw Teresa across the street. He was seated at a table by a large window. Teresa saw him, gave a broad smile, waved and proceeded to cross the street.
Perhaps it was her excitement to meet him that caused her to be careless, to ignore the pedestrian traffic light that glowed a bright red. She was probably too eager to see him, that’s why she didn’t see or hear the motorcycle that roared around the corner and crashed into her.
Carlos rushed out of the cafe and ran to where Teresa’s body had landed. He screamed for people to call an ambulance as he held her blood-soaked head in his hands. Teresa looked up at him and smiled weakly, then her eyes closed and her head rolled to his chest.
The doctors had said it was a miracle she was still alive — as if she was still hanging on to something, some lifeline that kept her heart beating and her brain humming despite the extensive damage to her body. They told him that although she was out of immediate danger, she was still in a very fragile condition and needed all the support she could get whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually.
He had just visited her, had taken a long hard look at her unconscious form, her head wrapped up in bandages. She had a serene, otherworldly expression on her face. What would he do now? He thought long and hard as he walked out of the room and into the small deserted chapel.
Carlos sat on the long hard pew and inhaled deeply. How he wished the silence would never end.
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This story is a result of a writing exercise found at 1000wordsmeme.com.
Getting Out of Church
Photo by RC Designer
Spirituality for me has become something very personal. It is not measured in how often I go to church or how involved I am in its activities. I used to think that way though, but no longer. Spirituality is in the moment. It is in the now. If you are not spiritual now, then you cannot be more spiritual in church (although it may feel that way). Spirituality is not a result of actions but comes by just being silent and still inside. It is an inner knowing of who you are — and a constant gratitude and celebration of your being.
When I was in high school (and still very much involved in church activities), I encountered a poem that I didn’t quite agree with at that time. But there was something in it that called to me. I kept that poem and even used it when I was teaching English literature a few years back. Reading it again now, I think I’ve come to understand it better, and I know why it called to me — because that was how I really felt in my soul.
Here’s the poem.
SUNDAY MORNING
by Oscar Peñaranda
Here I am again
sitting alone in my car
nostrils and mouth sucking wafts
of wind rushing through open side windows
on a cliff hanging over the bay there is
music from the radio
that green monster of a gelatin sea
kisses white tongues of foam kneeling
to lick the shore serenading the lone
oak tree
atop the jagged crags of rocks
there is music there also
they drown the chimes of distant chapel bells
come, take my hand
roll up your sleeves
and bare your chest before the naked sun
but
what I want to know is where
they ever got the barbaric gall
to call me
an unbeliever
this is how I pray
