But also anti-woman! A true uniter. See here for his creepy-ass discussion of why divorce is worse than your spouse abusing you (hint: because if you divorce, then God gets to abuse you! And whose abuse would you rather?) Ugh. via.

I’m catching up on local news (read: blogs) while my cousin is in town (trying not to be too antisocial by spending all my free time blogging) and enjoyed particularly this most recent post at Daylight Atheism: No Holy Ground, a rational look at the conflict in the so-called “Holy Land” and how it is in fact not ironic but completely predictable that the “Holy Land” is the source of so much strife.

In other posts over there, I found this awesome quote:

[B]y divorcing salvation from good deeds or even the intent to do good deeds, evangelical Christians have made getting to Heaven an entirely arbitrary reward. In essence, they believe that there’s a secret password to heaven - one that’s hidden among thousands of indistinguishable alternatives - and the only thing that matters about your time on Earth is whether you can discover it. Raising a family, falling in love, showing compassion to your fellow humans, creating beauty, working to advance the knowledge or the common good of humanity - all these activities […] are meaningless and merit nothing. Finding the hidden password is the only thing that matters, and if you fail to find it, you’re consigned to eternal torment.

which you can read in context here, in a discussion about the irrationality of evangelical belief.

Like most internet-based phenomena, the answer is probably “yes”. But read the article and decide for yourself (and then read the scared-boys comments and see if that changes your mind…).

Two recent news stories impressed upon me the fact that I will always be some kind of Catholic. Even if it’s ex-Catholic. My first step in rejecting religion was exploring my own. This started as what I later knew to be feminist critique of Catholicism. The more I learned, the more it seemed clear to me that women had a larger role in this religion than I was ever allowed to know growing up in it.

I still keep tabs on the Womenpriest movement and hope that someday the Church of my birth becomes something I can be proud of. I still think of Mary Magdalene as an integral part of what the Church should be (and is, even if it’s denied). And recently, these stories made me smile and be hopeful.

Feminists (even if they don’t use that word) are trying to get stories from the Bible that include positive depictions of women read more often during Mass. Proof of their desire for a female representation of the Divine, they gather in their churches while mass is not in session to share in their subversive readings.

Every day, there are more and more books that discuss the historical underpinnings of Christianity from a feminist perspective. Here is an interview with a recent author of one such.

said the friend sitting next to me at Christmas Eve dinner, with a vague look of disgust on her face, like I’d just admitted to enjoying self-flagellation. I was in the company of a number of people who had escaped Western religion (all some form of Christianity) and landed firmly in Eastern religion (all some form of Buddhism). With three beautiful dogs wandering about, Deva, Metta, and Gaia, this was a decidedly religious environment. And yet, there was no prayer before dinner, no implicit religion anywhere. There were buddha heads, mala, and yes, even crosses hung on the walls and displayed on shelves. But this was a place I felt at ease enough to say something atheistic enough to “out” me.

Later, another attendee told a story about a different dinner to which an atheist was inadvertently invited. One who waxed lyrical about the evils of religion and the stupidity of the people engaged in it. He was quieted with a “Yes, fundamentalism of all kinds is horrible,” and a glass of alcohol. This may or may not have been aimed at me, but was accompanied by shock that anyone could presume to know for sure what is or is not.

It is true, however, that my particular brand of atheism is less anti-Divine and more anti-Religion. As far as I am concerned, religion is objectively fucked up. But I believe that there is in all beings something special. Something worthy of awe, respect, love, acknowledgment, and equality. As a feminist, I can believe nothing else. I strive toward treating everyone with a namaste attitude. I feel filled with a sense of wonder when I walk in the forest, talk with good friends, or meditate. There is something out there, which name I give “the Divine”, that I cannot deny. Nor do I wish to.

And so I call myself an atheist to distinguish myself from any religionist who might make you uncomfortable by trying to convert you (or even just by talking too much about it). And while I have a great deal of respect for the hard-core, dyed-in-the-wool, fundamentalist atheists, I also don’t consider myself one of them. DH calls himself a “humanist”, though I’m not certain how he defines this, in order to avoid the atheism label (although he is the only person I’ve ever met who grew up completely outside of any religious influence).

I’m a dualist, a pantheist, a pagan, a feminist (in the religious sense, though not a Dianic), a meditator, a yogini, a post-Christian, an ex-Catholic, a Jino (Jew in name only); a pray-er to Bastet, Au-Set, Gaia, & Luna; a talker-with-animal-spirits and to trees; a student of Fire, a daughter of Earth, a foe of Water, a student of Wind; and an atheist. I meditate, I cook, I swim, I do yoga, I ski. I pray to the deities that strike me at the time, be they Mary or Skadi, Ra or Thor. I pray to the animals whose flesh I consume. I cast spells to help and to harm. And I reject the effect of prayer (whether as meditation, as supplication, or as spell) on anyone or anything other than the one who prays. I’ve seen and touched things that cannot be explained and which I cannot deny. But having no desire to foist them upon you, or to congregate with others in an effort to gain favor with a being who we cannot hope to affect, I reject the labels of religion. I refuse to allow anyone’s religion into my government and hope for a secular society, where all practice whatever they believe in their homes; whether that means meditation or family dinners.

“Yes,” I should have said, “I really am an atheist. But that makes me just like you.”

This is one of my absolute favorite songs of all time. To preserve its sacredness, I have it marked as “Holiday”, so it doesn’t go into the daily mix (of more than 10k songs, not sure what I’m worried about). But I could listen to this over and over and over.

On one level, it really doesn’t speak to me, since I love winter and often don’t want to be reminded that “the summer’s coming soon”. Nor have I been to New York during the winter. But the music and the emotion in his voice do speak to me, and I want to “meet [him] at the Bay State tonight”, to be comforted from “the snow [that’s] been coming down…all day long” and to “feel it deep in [my] gut”. Before Fountains of Wayne made Stacy’s Mom, a song of awesomeness in its own right, their music was much less “popular” and seemed to speak to me more. I like their new stuff because I like pop music (and because I loved them before). But their first album reminds me of the days that they opened, rather than headlined, concerts. The grit and emotion that didn’t care if they made money because they simply had to create. The CD I couldn’t buy on Amazon but found in a store in Mexico. Their subsequent albums, I’m happy to say, have their Mexican Wines but they still have the occasional Red Dragon Tattoo. I’m ecstatic for them that they’re making money but even more happy that they still manage to write from the heart.

The floors of Gates 1-3 at the Long Beach Airport have the hollow feel of classroom portables. When travelers deplane and plod past, you can hear the echo of frozen impermanence. I don’t know what plans the city of Long Beach has for this place, but but the temporary structures at my childhood schools were installed long before my feet echoed in them. I suspect that they are all there still.

As I sit here in this introspective mood, I fret again about the wisdom of embarking on a major family vacation while the world begins a backwards scramble into what the experts promise will be a superlative recession. We’re not completely foolhardy–it’s a funded research trip for Jana, flights are relatively cheap, and our time in DC is possible through the incredible generosity of an internet friend who is opening her home and heart to us. But there’s no shaking that this trip is an economically risky one.

That said, I’m tried of playing it safe. Imagined security has its own risks. MiIllions of American homeowners who made the surest bet on ever-increasing home values are locked into upside-down mortgages now. A man who left for work from his home in a San Diego suburb found out a couple of hours later that a Air Force jet fighter decimated his entire family. Life is fraught with risk.

For most of my adult life, I’ve taken what I’ve imagined to be the low-risk approach to life. I’ve been strategic in my choice of career, choosing security for the moment, thinking that at some point in the future I will pursue something that makes me feel less dead, more alive. But I realize that I’ve become like one of those temporary portables. I’ll just get by for now, I say to myself. I’m just being practical. As the decades pass, I tell myself, the time will come to build a magnificent edifice, an unforgettable solid structure of beauty and elegance.

I’m going to start by embracing this experience with my family. We’re going to fucking Washington DC and New York City! We’re going to build memories that will last a lifetime, come wealth or poverty. I’ll share some with you along the way.

I’ll close with this inspirational message from xkcd:

It had to be documented, for the sake of science.

I have a playlist called “Holiday” that contains 379 songs, including a startling number of “O(h) Holy Night”s. One of the things I miss the most about Christmas with my family (probably the only thing, really), is singing. I remember harmonies and piano accompaniment and Spike Jones. Now, I play holiday songs in my car since I know they drive most other people batty. Although, I don’t have a lot of “Jingle Bells” or “Rudoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”. Most of my collection is pretty religious, with the occasional exception for flat-out comedy. In that spirit, today’s music monday is a few of my favorite religious holiday songs. The kind that make me want to cry, the kind that make me sing, the kind that make me weak. [Read more →]

Years ago, Avery Brooks (who will forever be Cmdr. Sisko to me) did a truly awesome commercial for IBM, one that still prompts me to occasionally exclaim, “I was promised flying cars!” The point was that, when people look into the future, they see today’s technology modified for the future, not the invention of whole new ways of thinking, communicating, and acting. I was promised vidphones, soylent green, and transporters. Instead, I have email/IM/vidChat/cellphones/Skype, LäraBars/gojiberries/tofu, and …well…I used to have Concords…we’ll give transporters a pass for now. Years ago, I thought it was ludicrous that someone would consider not having an email that wasn’t their name, that my brother-in-law (junior high) should be on Facebook, that I could watch Netflix through my 360. But technology happens in unexpected ways. Which is to say, completely anticipated ways. [Read more →]