I’ve gotten pretty active in my new church,
being a member of the choir, helping with some fundraising ideas, that sort of
thing. I love being a part of that community, and feel like it’s a really
magical place. I approached our pastor a couple months ago about becoming a
member of the church, and he recently began holding membership classes.
I have two personal barriers to becoming a member; first, my
objections to the Methodist Church at large (particularly related to the two
recent anti-gay decisions handed down by the Church Council), and my inability
to say yes to one of the five questions asked of new members. That question
is something like this: “Do you accept the Lord Jesus Christ as your own
personal savior?”
Truth is, no, I don’t. I think
Jesus probably lived, probably said some pretty cool things, and probably did
die on the cross, as did lots of other folks back then. I think that the whole
“virgin birth” thing was a brilliant way for Mary to cover her ass, frankly (plus that angel showing up to Mary to pimp the holy spirit is creepy).
But I don’t think Jesus was any more the “son of God” than I
am a “daughter of God.” Meaning that I believe we are ALL children of God, none
of us of any greater value than the others, and that includes Jesus.
I also think the Bible is full of some lovely and lots of
not-so-lovely stories, but was written by men claiming to speak for God, not
God itself, so it needs to be taken with a grain (or several pounds) of salt.
To me, it has about as much value as Aesop’s fables.
Of course I’m thinking about all of this because I am in
church every week, listening to sermons on these Advent Sundays (the four
Sundays leading up to Christmas). There’s lots of talk of miracles surrounding
the birth of Jesus.
So much is left out of the story, though. For instance,
everyone had to go to Bethlehem—for a census—and that’s why the inns were full,
and many, many people were shacked up in the stables. It is pretty impressive
that Mary managed to give birth in the muck of a stable, especially if there were really
that many people hanging around watching (I mean shepherds, wise men and angels?). But an old boss of mine gave birth to
her first son alone in a farmhouse (the phone was on the first floor, and once
the contractions started, she couldn’t get down the stairs), and that’s
pretty damn impressive too.
Many of you are probably wondering, so, what the FUCK are you
doing going to church?
Well, as I’ve said before, I do believe in worship. Joining
with other folks and opening up my heart to God on a regular basis has
strengthened and deepened my spiritual experience. Most of the passages read in
church from the bible contain basic moral ideals I can get behind, and many can
translate into good recovery messages for me. Plus, there’s the singing. I love
to sing with other people; the choir is a constant source of joy for me. The
other folks in the choir have become incredibly dear to me. I have three
substitute grandmothers now, and that’s lovely (all these fierce old ladies
grab my arm each time they see me, peer up into my face, and anxiously ask me
how it’s going…I just love that). My spiritual life is important to me, and my
church has helped it grow.
But if I relax my standards and open my heart, is there a way I
can accept Jesus as my personal savior? Or at least say that I do?
Friday night I went to see the Chronicles of Narnia: The
Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe with my mom, Charlie, Sarah, Pete and Sarah’s
daughter. As most of you know, I was filled with trepidation that Hollywood was
going to completely FUCK UP the favorite book of my childhood.
Well, they didn’t. When **spoiler alert! If you’ve read the
book, nothing I’m going to say will ruin the movie, but if you haven’t, it
might** Lucy passed through the wardrobe the first time, I actually burst into
tears because it was so right, so close to what I’ve had in my head all these
years (I re-read the book just this summer). When I’d seen the previews, I
thought the actress playing Lucy was a bad choice (she didn’t look like what
was in my head) but actually she was amazingly perfect, and a wonderful
actress. The rest of the kids were fine, too, and the guy playing Tumnus was
awesome (he got to deliver my favorite line from the book: “it’s not like he’s
a tame lion...").
Some things were off—it was difficult to portray on screen
why Edmund was such an ass, and just how addicted to the Witch’s Turkish
Delight he was, and the Witch was just not right (Tilda Swinton is fabulous,
really, but the witch was not scary enough and is supposed to have dark hair).
But, of course, the biggest fear I had was about the
portrayal of Aslan. It’s fairly common knowledge that C. S. Lewis (who, of course, wrote the book) was a devout
Christian (as his other books clearly show), and it’s assumed that Aslan is
supposed to be an allegorical Jesus. Naturally, I had no idea of this as a kid,
but I loved Aslan, and often pictured him when I thought of God. He was tough
but fair, could be cruel if necessary, and kind when it was needed as well--but he never let you off the hook. I
knew that the movie opted to use computer imagery for Aslan, and I was very,
very afraid it would be badly done (the big black dog that was Siruis Black in
the third Harry Potter is a perfect example of crappy CGI; of course, the
Hippogriff in the same movie is an example of really good CGI).
Aslan was perfect. Grand, wise, and beautiful. I was
shocked. The voice was slightly wrong (I won’t say who did his voice because I
didn’t realize who it was, and I’m glad I didn’t know, because it would have
distracted me), but they couldn’t exactly use James Earl Jones (which is the
voice I imagine) since he played the epitome of evil in Star Wars and all.
Patrick Stewart would have been nice. But I digress.
The thing that startled me the most about the movie, I
think, is the realization that my mind protected me all these years from some
of the violence in the book. I mean I of course knew that Aslan would be
killed (and would come back to life), but watching him be bound, shaved, and
killed on screen was just fucking awful. It hurt my heart so, so much. Watching
the light go out of his eyes just wrecked me. Even though I knew he’d come
back.
I imagine it was much like this for devout Christians that
went to see The Passion of The Christ last year (a movie I will not see, mostly
because I think Mel Gibson is suffering from badly untreated alcoholism and has
a S & M fetish, and I don’t want to give him a penny of my money—but I’m
glad people less prejudiced got so much out of it).
So, going back to the church membership thing... Watching
Aslan be killed for another’s sins (he offers himself in place of Edmund), for
a moment there I wanted to believe. I really did. But Aslan offers
himself knowing that he will return, and he wasn’t being sacrificed at
the whim of his “father.” While Aslan was saddened and had fears about being
killed, he never claimed to be forsaken, and he returned stronger and better
than ever. Plus, he went on to kick ass in the war, including ripping off the
witch’s head, instead of vanishing into thin air leaving a bunch of followers
to lay claim to his legacy.
Ahem.
But I do believe in resurrection. How could I not?
I’ve been sober almost ten years, and have seen countless people dragged (or
forced) into recovery, barely able to stand on their own two feet—including
myself. Many of these people have robbed everyone including their grandmothers
for drug money; some sold their asses on the street, or have killed people—while blacked-out or high,
either with cars or their hands. And these people have found hope, found God,
and found themselves in sobriety. I mean, I know a former street hustler that
is in law school, for fuck’s sake. People come back from the dead around
me all the time.
And I do believe that it is God that saved me, even in
my darkest hours when I hated God with a passion. I know I wouldn’t be alive
today if it wasn’t for the direct intervention of my higher power because when
I overdosed I stopped breathing, and then spontaneously started again. How else
can I explain that?
I have more thinking to do. What I have to ask myself is, can
I hear “God” when my pastor says “Jesus” and then answer that question
honestly? Or will I then be betraying my own deeply held beliefs, therefore
violating my spirituality that requires honesty above all else?
I don’t know. But I’ll probably see Narnia again (I tried to
convince Charlie to see it again on Saturday night when Syriana was sold
out—yeah successful left-wing propaganda!—but no), and maybe that will help.
So. How was your weekend? Oh, and I’m 11 weeks, finally.
Yee-ha!
