Today's sermon at church was on the hope we have in the resurrection of Christ. Our preacher made a comment along the lines of "if you are without hope, then something is wrong with your thought process. The answers you've found to your questions are obviously wrong." Really? Does hope=truth? Hope certainly feels better than hopelessness, but can any conclusions be drawn about its veracity?
I understand that many times we despair when there actually is a way out of some dark place in which we find ourselves. I know it's my job as a therapist to maintain hope for my clients when they can't feel it for themselves and to help them see a way through difficult times. However, I also know what hope in impossible dreams, half-baked plans, and uncontrollable events looks like too. It can be catastrophic to one's faith, sense of self, and trust in others when what is hoped for does not become reality. People quit believing in God when prayers aren't answered. They waste time on relationships that will never work. They put their hopes in a career they just don't have the aptitude for. Hope may be what propels us forward and enables us to persevere, but I don't think it can be used as an indicator for truth. In fact, sometimes, we may be closer at the truth when we are less than hopeful. Therapy isn't always about tears, deep dark secrets, and painful insights. There's also laughter, encouragement, and rejoicing in triumphs. However, it's often easier to help individuals make significant changes in their lives when they come to my office with a sober appraisal of their situation. When they float in on cloud nine, like an engaged couple completely infatuated with each other, they are often so filled with hope (and hormones) that they see no potential problems to address.
My faith doesn't offer a great deal of hope to me right now. I don't know what I think of the resurrection of Christ or of eternal life. I don't have a clear sense of that Christian hope my preacher described. However, I can't say I feel particularly hopeless either. What do you think? Should feelings of hopefulness or hopelessness be an indicator of the truth of our beliefs?
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
What to do with Family?
This time next week, I'll be up in St. Louis celebrating my paternal grandma's 90th birthday. Several family members from both my side and my husband's side of the family live there. Additionally, uncles and cousins will be flying in from Detroit, Seattle, and Atlanta for the occasion. My sister and her family will also drive up from the south. I'm certainly looking forward to the party and to the family reunion. I've never visited my dad's side of the family as much as I've wanted as he grew up in Detroit, meaning that visits during my childhood were generally confined to a 2 week long trip each summer. It was a time to enjoy Vernor's ginger ale, which hadn't made it way to the south back then. I haven't returned to Detroit in several years because my grandma had a stroke and moved to St. Louis to live with 2 of my aunts. All this to say, I'll be catching up with many family members next weekend.
Which brings me to my question for today: How do I handle my changing religious beliefs with family members who are overwhelmingly church of Christ Christians with a fairly literal interpretation of the Bible? In my family, on both sides, as well as my husband's family in fact, you basically either attend a church of Christ or you don't attend at all. And most attend. I'm not saying I'm planning on bringing anything up this weekend, because I don't think I will. But, I do feel uncomfortable with the fact that I haven't shared a very large part of my life with the people I care the most about in this world. It makes me feel a bit disingenuous and disconnected in some of these relationships.
For my part, I no longer feel like this reevaluation/deconstruction of my faith is a dark blot on my soul that must be hidden from others out of embarrassment or fear for what it means about me. I feel much more comfortable in my own skin and my doubts have been normalized by others, including many of you reading this blog. Nonetheless, I have little faith that family members would be so accepting or understanding of what I'm experiencing. I haven't heard anyone else talk about a faith crisis. Here I'm talking of my closest family. I've certainly witnessed aunts, uncles, and cousins stop attending church for a time, so certainly some must have gone through a type of questioning process.
I realize my family might surprise me with their level of understanding and acceptance, as several friends have done, but one of my friends summed it up well in an email he wrote. He said, "And one of the challenges of a deep faith crisis is that it threatens the most dear communities that we have (read: family) with a challenge to their own faith and the dislocation of one of their primary meaning
makers (read: you)." When any of us are threatened, we tend to respond defensively, out of anxiety, and it's not typically pretty. I know that my faith crisis is not so nearly threatening to friends as it is to family.
How have you addressed this issue in your life? What thoughts do you have on addressing the reevaluation of religious beliefs within our communities?
Which brings me to my question for today: How do I handle my changing religious beliefs with family members who are overwhelmingly church of Christ Christians with a fairly literal interpretation of the Bible? In my family, on both sides, as well as my husband's family in fact, you basically either attend a church of Christ or you don't attend at all. And most attend. I'm not saying I'm planning on bringing anything up this weekend, because I don't think I will. But, I do feel uncomfortable with the fact that I haven't shared a very large part of my life with the people I care the most about in this world. It makes me feel a bit disingenuous and disconnected in some of these relationships.
For my part, I no longer feel like this reevaluation/deconstruction of my faith is a dark blot on my soul that must be hidden from others out of embarrassment or fear for what it means about me. I feel much more comfortable in my own skin and my doubts have been normalized by others, including many of you reading this blog. Nonetheless, I have little faith that family members would be so accepting or understanding of what I'm experiencing. I haven't heard anyone else talk about a faith crisis. Here I'm talking of my closest family. I've certainly witnessed aunts, uncles, and cousins stop attending church for a time, so certainly some must have gone through a type of questioning process.
I realize my family might surprise me with their level of understanding and acceptance, as several friends have done, but one of my friends summed it up well in an email he wrote. He said, "And one of the challenges of a deep faith crisis is that it threatens the most dear communities that we have (read: family) with a challenge to their own faith and the dislocation of one of their primary meaning
makers (read: you)." When any of us are threatened, we tend to respond defensively, out of anxiety, and it's not typically pretty. I know that my faith crisis is not so nearly threatening to friends as it is to family.
How have you addressed this issue in your life? What thoughts do you have on addressing the reevaluation of religious beliefs within our communities?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
What Illusions Have You Lost?
In youth we feel richer for every new illusion; in maturer years, for every one we lose.
– Madame Anne Sophie Swetchine, mystic (1782-1857)
– Madame Anne Sophie Swetchine, mystic (1782-1857)
Where I'm At Today
Today I was able to sit through worship without giving myself a headache. I don't know why precisely. However, it may have a bit to do with the fact that I'm trying to put more energy into living my life in a way which is meaningful to me, whether or not I know why or how I'm here on this earth. I can choose to love and share with others who can't give back, be patient with the cashier who discusses each item I purchase, teach my children to look friends in the eye and say thanks, enjoy bike rides with my family, and sit in the backyard at night appreciating the few stars visible in the city. Whether or not there is a God, whether or not Jesus died for me, whether or not the Bible is the inspired word of God, I choose to live this way.
Today at church I still found myself disagreeing with the minister and sang songs I wasn't sure I meant, but I wasn't so irritable and disconnected. Maybe I will be next Sunday. However, today I actually completed a form agreeing to assist in some aspects of the children's ministry. Now, I'd still have difficulty teaching the creation story or Noah's flood to children, but I can help the childrn's ministry with efforts to let kids provide care for those in the inner city. I'm the sort of person who tends to be involved and invested in the communities of which I am a part. but, I've felt increasingly like an outsider at church and someone who doesn't give enough back to warrant being there. That's a role I don't enjoy or want. Until I reach a point where I am no longer attending my congregation, I'd prefer to find a way to stay connected to it. Though my disagreements with the standard doctrines of my denomination are numerous and ever increasing, I still value much that fellow church members tend to value and promote at church: love, generosity, gratitude, benevolence. I like that my congregation spends time, money, and sermons on improving the quality of life in the community, with a special concern for the poor. I'd hate to become so absorbed in wrestling with my beliefs that I neglect opportunities to serve and care for others around me. Eventually I may need to carry out this service in a completely different setting than my current congregation, but for now, this is where I am.
Today at church I still found myself disagreeing with the minister and sang songs I wasn't sure I meant, but I wasn't so irritable and disconnected. Maybe I will be next Sunday. However, today I actually completed a form agreeing to assist in some aspects of the children's ministry. Now, I'd still have difficulty teaching the creation story or Noah's flood to children, but I can help the childrn's ministry with efforts to let kids provide care for those in the inner city. I'm the sort of person who tends to be involved and invested in the communities of which I am a part. but, I've felt increasingly like an outsider at church and someone who doesn't give enough back to warrant being there. That's a role I don't enjoy or want. Until I reach a point where I am no longer attending my congregation, I'd prefer to find a way to stay connected to it. Though my disagreements with the standard doctrines of my denomination are numerous and ever increasing, I still value much that fellow church members tend to value and promote at church: love, generosity, gratitude, benevolence. I like that my congregation spends time, money, and sermons on improving the quality of life in the community, with a special concern for the poor. I'd hate to become so absorbed in wrestling with my beliefs that I neglect opportunities to serve and care for others around me. Eventually I may need to carry out this service in a completely different setting than my current congregation, but for now, this is where I am.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Confession
I have a confession to make. This noble "quest for the truth" of mine is getting a bit out of hand. It is what I think about in my free time, composing blog posts in my mind while driving home from work, or while playing with my kids, or while sitting in the pew at church. I read commentaries when I should be writing progress notes for work, or emailing a friend back, or having a conversation with my husband. I peruse the blogs of skeptics and Christians alike when I should be sleeping, or cleaning the kitchen, or volunteering to have my neighbor's children over.
This quest is highly important to me, and will continue to be. But, I feel myself withdrawing a bit, even from those I care about. I don't feel the desire to call my mom and catch up or check on friends via Facebook like I use to do. My husband called me on this recently and said he feels disconnected from me. I'm not surprised. It hasn't been easy to connect with me lately. I told him that we don't have alot to talk about since he doesn't feel comfortable discussing the subject that continually preoccupies me. Neither of us want it to be this way, this isolating. So, we went on a date Friday night. I was grumpy and irritable, mainly due to work stress and the fact that our oldest sobbed and wailed relentlessly when we dropped him off at Kid's Night Out. However, my husband valiantly maintained a good mood throughout it all. Towards the end of the evening, my crankiness subsided and we were finally able to talk in that easy way we normally have with each other. We discussed some touchy subjects and even managed to laugh with each other a bit.
I realize that this vexing doubt of mine is here for awhile, maybe forever, so there's no need to let it take over, like a new best friend who goes everywhere with you, leaving you no time for anyone else. I'll have to learn when to talk to it like the neighborhood children, "It's time for you to home for now, but you can come back tomorrow."
This quest is highly important to me, and will continue to be. But, I feel myself withdrawing a bit, even from those I care about. I don't feel the desire to call my mom and catch up or check on friends via Facebook like I use to do. My husband called me on this recently and said he feels disconnected from me. I'm not surprised. It hasn't been easy to connect with me lately. I told him that we don't have alot to talk about since he doesn't feel comfortable discussing the subject that continually preoccupies me. Neither of us want it to be this way, this isolating. So, we went on a date Friday night. I was grumpy and irritable, mainly due to work stress and the fact that our oldest sobbed and wailed relentlessly when we dropped him off at Kid's Night Out. However, my husband valiantly maintained a good mood throughout it all. Towards the end of the evening, my crankiness subsided and we were finally able to talk in that easy way we normally have with each other. We discussed some touchy subjects and even managed to laugh with each other a bit.
I realize that this vexing doubt of mine is here for awhile, maybe forever, so there's no need to let it take over, like a new best friend who goes everywhere with you, leaving you no time for anyone else. I'll have to learn when to talk to it like the neighborhood children, "It's time for you to home for now, but you can come back tomorrow."
Friday, September 3, 2010
Religious Experience Linked to Brain's Social Regions
I read a post at Wired Science entitled "Religious Experience Linked to Brain's Social Regions." Researchers studied MRI's of people with differing beliefs in the western view of God. Here's what they found:
People who reported an intimate experience of God, engaged in religious behavior or feared God, tended to have larger-than-average brain regions devoted to empathy, symbolic communication and emotional regulation. The research wasn’t trying to measure some kind of small “God-spot,” but looked instead at broader patterns within the brains of self-reported religious people.
Of course, this study is only correlation, so we can only speculate on what the causal chain may look like. These enlarged brain areas, vital for social interaction, may have given humans the capacity to conceive of another being. Researchers suspect that this capacity may have evolved in brain regions which govern our ability to understand other people and animals.
link
People who reported an intimate experience of God, engaged in religious behavior or feared God, tended to have larger-than-average brain regions devoted to empathy, symbolic communication and emotional regulation. The research wasn’t trying to measure some kind of small “God-spot,” but looked instead at broader patterns within the brains of self-reported religious people.
Of course, this study is only correlation, so we can only speculate on what the causal chain may look like. These enlarged brain areas, vital for social interaction, may have given humans the capacity to conceive of another being. Researchers suspect that this capacity may have evolved in brain regions which govern our ability to understand other people and animals.
link
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Are We Living Inside a Black Hole?
Trying to understand how we and our universe came to be is a fascinating study. One of the latest proposals by a cosmologist is that we may be the product of a black hole and are living inside one right now. Read the summary of his conclusions here.
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