The Hold Steady – Heaven is Whenever

Need any more proof that Craig Finn is a genius? Aside from writing a song essentially about the Catholic concept of heaven coming to earth every time we perform Mass (though his communion is over vinyl rather than bread and wine; no complaints here), check out the research done by some Hold Steady fans to uncover ten or fifteen references in four and a half minutes.

The way Finn weaves countless cultural, religious and personal reflections into a single song that means the world to a lot of people (well, at least two that I know of) is endlessly comforting.

I’m reminded of Scott Adams’s theory of God’s debris: that, as time moves forward, the world at large slowly converges back into a single consciousness that is the consciousness of God himself. Finn might be the patron saint of this idea, if for no other reason than to prove we’re getting better at massive consciousness in compact form. It’s a beautiful thing.

It is sometimes said that a PhD (short for “doctor of philosophy”) is a sign that one has learned to relate his or her subject of study to the world at large on a philosophical level, hence the name. The more of David Dark’s writing I read, the more I realize that he, perhaps more than most, understands the potential impact of his level of education in English and literature. Rather than devoting himself to insular research, he’s focused his energy on addressing a questioning subculture of the American religious and political tradition through thoughtful analysis of that culture, reflected back by its own literature, music, film, television and political icons.

In The Gospel According to America, Dark’s analyzes the intricacies of America’s politics and its “Christ-haunted idea” through the eyes of George Washington, Herman Melville, Bob Dylan, Flannery O’Connor, Elvis, Thomas Pynchon and others who have found inspiration in the freedom, culture, history and possibility of the American Way.

Unsurprisingly, Dark digs even further than just America’s past, by challenging its widely-held theories and practices concerning faith, salvation and the person of Jesus. He puts forward ideas of faith that both emphasize and support the underlying goals of America’s founders and challenge us to question the way those goals are put into practice. He warns us of the dangers of media pundits and believing we are administers of Truth:

When the church is the blind, uncritical endorser or “spiritual” chaplain of whatever the nation decides to do, it has largely renounced its vocation as the body of Christ.

But he also praises the art of being weird, exploring uncharted ideas and the practice of digging deeper than the sound bite culture to which most of us unknowingly subscribe to:

When we’re no longer willing (or able) to exercise the attention span required to hear, read, or listen to any version of history that can’t be contained in a sound bite or a put-down, our capacity for worship and for contribution to a stable democracy is compromised.

Potential readers of any of Dark’s work only need be warned that his explorations are not a quick read. While his ideas are clearly put forth, he doesn’t waste words for the sake of easy skimming. (Perhaps this is his own way of combating sound bite culture.) It’s more of a “take your time and take notes” kind of book than the more commonly enjoyed pop philosophy/sociology examinations that make it into the New York Times bestsellers list.

I’ve had the same wish for the past five years. My wish is that I’ll live forever. A lot of people don’t understand that… It’s a wish! Go big! I don’t wanna fucking die! How simple is that? I have no interest in dying… Out there? I don’t know what’s out there. It’s unknown. This is known. That’s unknown . I’m sticking with the known. “But Lewis, if you had faith,” my Christian friends say, “the angels will come and they will take you to heaven…” “Well,” I tell them, “until there are photographs, the legal system would say that’s hearsay.”

paraphrase of Lewis Black on his new album

A few weeks back, I had the distinct pleasure of getting to see David Bazan live at a house show here in Nashville. As many are well aware by this point, Bazan has made a major transformation from “leader of a Christian band” (Pedro the Lion) to “openly agnostic solo artist.” It would be easy to assume that someone who was that entrenched in the culture of western Christianity would be having quite an awkward adjustment — especially after “coming out” to the world via one of the best albums released in a long time. It was, essentially, his “breakup album with God,” for lack of a better description.

I was expecting to sit in a living room with a guy who was full of “umms” and “ahhs” that played his songs and mentally prepared himself for a barrage of questions about his departure from faith. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Not only did my fellow listeners treat him with the utmost respect, he was confident, bold, outspoken and, dare I say it, happier and more comfortable than I’ve ever heard of him being. It was as though he had finally settled into his right place.

Especially in North America, evangelical culture persists a lot of black-and-white mentality about what is truth and what is lie, what is to be believed and what is to be rejected. In the past few years, I’ve seen a growing population of Christians who debate and argue and divide themselves over nitpicky theology, which I find more than a little bit disconcerting. Over time, I realized that this mentality is rooted in a desire to prove their beliefs in a concrete fashion which, if you think about it, is kind of ridiculous.

An idea that’s been rolling around in my head for my long absence from blogging here — originally seeded in a growing and poorly-worded curiosity about the validity of the other major religions — boils down to this: faith is just that.

Faith, in the religious sense, means believing in something that cannot be proven. If, as Lewis Black wishes, we can prove that God and heaven and angels and an afterlife exist without a shadow of doubt, it wouldn’t be faith. It would be fact. In the same way, we can’t disprove the beliefs of others, especially when they are in agreement with millions of others.

Western Christianity has made a lot of effort in the past 50 years to prove why Christianity is “it” and everything else is not. It shows a supreme lack of confidence in the unknown and in being wrong. To truly have great faith, one must submit to the fact that, at some point, he has to stop proving, accept what he believes and live accordingly. Or stop believing it.

Certainly we need people who can read and interpret the Bible and the Koran and the holy scriptures of Hinduism in order to form a foundation of beliefs, but interpretation is not something for everyone. In fact, the more that get involved in interpretation, the less unity there seems to be, which completely throw the idea of a body of believers out the window. Our culture’s Jeffersonian push on education has somehow caused us to forget that faith and education are near-polar opposites. Christian culture’s desire to have concrete answers to the eternally unanswerable and ridiculously inane questions of life is causing it to crumble in on itself.

Perhaps if most of us dropped the habit of (mis)interpreting, debating and arguing ideas, submit to the philosophy that it’s not only okay but recommended to not know everything, then focused on practicing the undeniable core of our beliefs — to love and respect and ask everything in humility — we’d all be better off.

Perhaps Bazan’s confidence is seeded in knowing that he doesn’t need to know all the answers or ask all the question to live an inspired and beautiful life.

Required reading/listening:

• The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, by David Dark
• The Religion Episode, by the Grapes of Rad
• Curse Your Branches, by David Bazan

Sometimes books are not at all about what they seem to be about. Sometimes a book about animals is actually about politics. Sometimes a book about war is actually about the trouble of bureaucracy. And sometimes a book about a boy shipwrecked on a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger has less to do with surviving at sea than about faith, religion and humanity.

The only setup I had for Life of Pi — thanks to my girlfriend — was that it was a beautiful story about an Indian zookeeper’s boy caught in a “faith triangle” between Hinduism, Islam and Christianity and his exploration of their relationship. I thought that would be it: an analysis of the three in story form, with all the awkward, funny and beautiful moments that are inevitable to the life of any human exploring the practice of faith.

So you can imagine I was caught a bit off guard when I got a quarter of the way through the book and realized that Pi Patel would be stranded on a lifeboat with a tiger for the majority of the story. And, even when I got comfortable with that, the setup of Pi’s growing up as a practitioner of three faiths seemed all but abandoned in favor of a Yet Another Shipwrecked Story.

As captivating as the story was (I highly recommend it for that alone), I was disappointed at the lack of religious exploration, what with it being a recurring topic for me these days. But I could hardly say it was a disappointing read, just not what I had expected.

And then, with a stroke of genius, Yann Martel closes his story with a quick almost-one-liner that ties up Life of Pi in the most beautiful of packages. I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you, of course. But I will say that you won’t be disappointed.

This is one of those rare books that can be enjoyed on many levels. Everyone will appreciate reading about animals and about a boy’s ability to survive at sea. And the bookworm philosopher will enjoy it for that and its subtle subtext.

Huston Smith is best known for this, his book The World’s Religions, and a miniseries he hosted that inspired the book, called The Religions of Man. His 90 years of experience and lifelong pursuit of knowledge about the world’s major paths of faith are what he is known for.

This book is perhaps one of the most all-enveloping and well known explorations of the major religions of the world. For me it was highly educational, filling in many of the gaps about what I knew of Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, Christianity and others.

But perhaps even more impressive than the sheer facts was that Smith, despite his own upbringing as the child of Christian missionaries, treats each religion with the utmost respect and honor. Apparently he’s taken up multiple faith practices throughout his life and, in so doing, understands multiplicity better than most, and that honoring differences of faith is the perhaps one of the healthiest things we can do in a society that seems to be more splintered day by day.

This is not a book for wimps; it took me a solid two months to read, completely throwing off any reading momentum I’d had up until I started. It’s dense but readable and, if nothing else, is challenging to anyone with preconceived notions about any one religion. Having considered myself to be fairly open-minded until reading this, I’d venture to guess it’s going to be a challenging book for most, but worth reading despite that.

Certainly I have my own struggles with relative and absolute truth, and I have yet to decide if this book helped or harmed in my exploration, but I appreciate all that I learned in the process. If nothing else, it opened me up to more of what humanity as a whole believes (and doesn’t believe) about what is true regarding morals, time, life, death, nature and love. And that is valuable, regardless of the journey.

It takes a hell of a lot of energy, courage, thought and faith to take your foundation, drop it off a cliff and start over. It’s the biggest undertaking any of us will ever attempt. And, for some reason, I’ve discovered that continually doing so is what keeps me motivated to keep going. I’ve never felt so satisfied realizing that I know so little.

It’s not so much that I enjoy freeing myself of my beliefs, philosophies and values. It’s more that, when I look at those who don’t go about this process, the cancer of complacency is written all over their graying faces. Challenging my own ideas is what I do best, it seems, and the one habit I can’t seem to free myself of when shedding my ball and chain is judging those who, knowingly or not, do not deny themselves — mind, soul and spirit included — for the sake of their own personal development and enlightenment.

Today, the concept of Universal Truth is on the table.

To those who deny it, it sounds like the product of fundamentalist rubes. Only one Truth is possible. One timeline; one explanation for life, the universe and everything; one way we’ll experience the afterlife, if an afterlife exists at all. It’s impossible that you and I could experience two very different things in the very same circumstance, and even less possible that two contradicting beliefs can both be right. It just makes sense.

But relative truth certainly has its appeal. A world where we can justify our actions by claiming relative truths sounds much fancier and full of options, but it’s hard not to wonder if the motivations still boil down to one enveloping universal truth: we don’t want anyone to challenge what we believe. In other words, selfish individualism (which potentially leads to the death of community and tradition).

On the other hand, universal truth denies the gray area of differing cognitive realities. Part philosophy, part neurology, we can’t prove that what I see is what you see. Somehow (if I’m not just imagining you all exist in my own self-created universe) we all manage to get on the same relational wavelength about whether or not that blue rubber ball just rolled off the table and bounced into a corner. But hallucinations, misinterpretations and crossed wires in the brain can’t be overlooked either, therefore invalidating the mind from being an entirely trustworthy vessel of Truth.

What it comes down to is the fact that it’s hard for me to shed the weight of 25 years of dogma — which I find increasingly full of cracks — when I’m trying to pragmatically explain why I know that, despite the billions of people that disagree, my truth is the Truth.

Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism. If there is one Universal Truth, why are we all so split on what we believe? Why is there no clear front-runner with the vast majority of the votes? What gives me, a WASP if there ever was one, the right to think that what I believe is right? If I were born and raised by Iranians in Iran, I’d be a Muslim. No doubt about it. My core foundation, that I continually push off a cliff — and eventually dive after to retrieve every damn time — seems more a product of my environment than some spark of inspired awareness imbued in me by a greater power.

Maybe I lack faith. Maybe I just got lucky. Or maybe the only Universal Truth is that every venue of faith is true and, despite the overwhelming list of contradictions, they all converge into one path in ways that are beyond our ability to understand. (It should be just as easy to use what faith we have to accept plurality as it is to faithfully believe in only one way; the attempted use of empirical evidence to pick one over the other will continually fail.)

But I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m somehow satisfied with not knowing. It’s surprisingly easy to relate to people when willing to admit to knowing nothing. And I like it that way.

The other day my friend Brett wrote in defense of using violence in a last-resort situation to solve problem. He addressed it in a mature way that I completely understand and, while I am writing to support pure pacifism instead, it’s not meant to be in opposition to him directly (and not the least bit personal), but more of a devil’s advocate response. Well, sort of. I currently haven’t decided exactly where I stand when it comes to violent measures “when necessary.” So I’m partially writing to get an idea out that’s been bouncing around my head, too.

First off, this argument is founded on general Christian ideology, so if that’s not how you swing, read on only for your own entertainment.

In America, Christians glorify the martyrs of the faith in other parts of the world. We stand in awe of those willing to stand up for their faith and die for it, then sit comfortably and question why it is that American Christians rarely die for theirs. It’s because it isn’t threatened here, in the land of free worship. But I argue that it is still threatened, albeit indirectly.

There is a fair amount to support the idea that Jesus taught pure pacifism. Not an idea closed to reasonable debate, but it’s a substantial point made in the New Testament. If that side is taken, then we should, ideally, not cause harm others when our safety and the safety of those around us is threatened. Instead, we should take the “third way” (as Shane Claiborne calls it in Jesus for President [see my review]) and respond unexpectedly, however that may be.

When we talk about peacemaking and the “third way of Jesus,” people inevitably ask bizarre situational questions like, “If someone broke into your house and was raping your grandmother, what would you do?” We can’t exhaustively troubleshoot every situation with nonviolent “strategy,” but what we can do is internalize the character and spirit of Jesus. We can meditate daily on the fruit of the Spirit and pray that they take root in us. Then we can trust that when we encounter a bad situation, we will act like Jesus.

At one festival, I was asked after a talk, “What would you do if you lived in Darfur and had a gang of young men running at you with machetes?” I though such a strange question deserved an equally far-out answer, so I said, “I’d take off my clothes and run around like a chicken, squawking wildly and pecking at the ground with my mouth.” I figure the chicken response is about as likely to disarm a mob of young hooligans as my trying to fight them. Either response would be ugly, but I’d opt for the former. I’ve already decided that the next time I get jumped, I’m going to turn some backflips and act like a ninja. Or I might just get on my knees and start speaking in tongues. Either seems as likely to hold promising results. At any rate, these aren’t solutions for the tragic situations of brothers and sisters in areas like the Sudan. Without a doubt, protecting the innocent is one of the strongest arguments for redemptive violence. A bunch of folks running around like naked chickens is not a solution to the crisis there. But the story of my friend Celestin [who continued to teach forgiveness and reconciliation, to eye-opening results, after militant Rwandans killed many in his church family] is. After all, Jesus didn’t say, “Greater love has no one than this, to kill to protect the innocent.”

The end idea is this: if we truly believe Christ’s teachings, and it is true that he asked for our peace and pacifism, we are martyrs if we stand up for that belief in any situation where our physical safety is threatened by another person.

Is this easy to do? No, not at all. But I’d wager that, if a nonviolent movement of Christians were to rise in this country, someone would take notice and perhaps see something in our faith that hasn’t been seen in quite some time through the inevitably martyrdom that would occur, even if not in great numbers. Something that goes beyond lots of words and cheesy attempts at evangelism and actually gets at the core of our faith and our humanity.

Defensive violence makes sense in a logical world where our own survival is of the highest value. But if our faith is what defines us, then it is for it that we should be willing to die, even when given the opportunity to fight back.

She was forced to have sex with hundreds of men before she turned 10. After such a brutal past, what does her future hold? In a Marie Claire exclusive, Sreypov Chan tells her phenomenal life story.

(via Diary of a Sex Slave: Child Prostitution in Cambodia)

Have I ever told you about my sister? I don’t think I have. Not on my blog, at least.

Jessica works in Pattaya, Thailand: a city renowned for its prostitution problem. For many severely perverted men around the world, this is a great place. For most everyone else, it’s one of the darkest places on earth.

My sister’s job in Pattaya is to play music and hang out in bars on Walking Street (the central location for most of the city’s prostitution) and elsewhere around town, befriending prostitutes and pointing them to resources to help them get out of the endless cycle and into a safe, healthy job. She also runs a church for many of the women who have escaped the sex industry.

Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to visit Jessica and see what she does in Pattaya. We went to her church, strolled Walking Street (during daylight hours) and got a feel for her life. She deals with stories similar to Sreypov Chan’s all the time.

If I hadn’t known it before, those couple days that I got to see Pattaya proved to me that my sister is strong. If you want more stories, not just bad ones, but the happy endings, you should check out her blog. (And, she didn’t ask me for this, but if you would like to make a donation to fund what she’s doing there, you can do so here. It’d make for a damn good Christmas gift.)

Søren Kierkegaard is an irate, spiritual philosopher who had some issues with the way the Christian community was doing their thing in his day. So basically a more prominent, more vocal version of me. And from Denmark.

Provocations is a collection of his spiritual writings put together some time back. I somehow came across the book as a free PDF and, knowing what I did of Kierkegaard’s work, decided it’d be good to at least be aware of what he was saying.

The book covers a lot of territory, so it was helpful to get an idea from the start what he was standing for. His main arguing points are for a very subjective faith. That is, he believes faith to be a very personal thing, that no expansion of knowledge about one’s set of beliefs helps save them, that faith is the foundation and everything else is secondary.

He takes these ideas to extreme ends, but they are ends that should be explored. He does so with a fair amount of attitude and calling-out of bad Christian habits. He also comes to conclude that the “Christianization” of our world creates an environment where “everyone is a Christian, so no one is a Christian.”

Today’s martyrs will not bleed, as formerly, because they are Christians – yes, it is almost insane! They will be put to death because they are not “Christians.” Frightful drama! And how alone the martyr will stand!

I recommend Provocations for anyone who enjoys philosophical discussions on faith and wants to take faith to its necessary ends in order to see what the Christian life might look like without a need for arguments over doctrine and theology or a “Christian elite,” as he might call it were he to see the state of modern church life.

To be clear, though: I do not entirely agree with everything Kierkegaard has to say, but enough of it that this was an encouraging and growth-inducing read. I firmly believe that we should have no fear of any question, and Kierkegaard challenges those ideas of where the ends of the earth lie. I respect his life’s work much for that alone.

Evangelical churches must understand that making the Church relevant through trying to “meet people where they are” is a valid philosophy to attract numbers. But, it is a flawed approach when numbers become the end in and of itself. Relationship should take precedence over the spectacle.

(via RELEVANT Magazine – Church Shopping)

Apparently I saved this quote a while back so I could write about it. And now, here I am, writing about it, I guess.

Numbers don’t make for a good church. You can have a big church that is good, but it gets harder and harder as it grows. I’m a missionary’s kid, so I’ve been to my share of churches. And, let me tell you, the big ones where they buy up a city block to run all their programs and services were almost always the ones that frustrated me. And the small ones with a loyal, long-time congregation were the ones where you felt like a family.

I don’t know what the evangelical fascination with numbers is all about; especially with its lack of hierarchy, it only opens up the possibility for trouble once leadership is too small to manage everyone on a first-name basis.

And that’s all I have to say about that.