Christmas in Photos

If you're interested, you might scroll down a bit - I've downloaded a bunch of Christmas picures and come across several real beauties that I uploaded in seperate posts below this one.

But here's the Cliff's Notes Version: a Fire Direction Christmas Day. Beginning with Himself, in full-on Greed Mode, ready to tear into the Loot.
That's one happy Mommy - able to emerge from her usual position underneath a pile of wriggling offspring.
Daddy...looks pretty happy his own self. Probably a slug of Irish coffee too much.
What a sweet girl!
Even mommies get a break after spending all morning helping their progeny unwrap their prezzies. Miss Lily, as usual, is ALWAYS on break.
Fat Nitty chanced the snow on the hope that a junco or three might be moving slowly - no joy (for The Nitteous One, anyway).

More Loot.Finally, the slaughter was done and all lay quiet in the Vale of Armageddon
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Keep going for more - I promise some of the best Missy Pictures Evah!

Christmas Morning Snow

To add to the Christmas Day excitement - IT SNOWED!! Pretty scene looking across the street - first Christmas Day snow in Portland since some time in the 90's


Unlike us, the wild creatures don't get a holiday from the cold and snow. The juncos sure appreciated the cracked corn we left out for them, and received a probably-unintended present from the cats, who stayed indoors and let them chatter and feed in peace.

The cherry tree in the side yard - still photogenic despite being half-dead - looked elegant with a dusting of snow
Very pretty, neh?

Obligatory Cute-Kids-on-Christmas-Morning Pictures

What can I say?
They're cute, alright. I think it's every parents' conviction that their kid is the cutest, lovingest, sweetest and brightest kid since Abel that keeps us from throttling them twenty times a day...

What fresh hell is THIS..?

Little Missy sees that Mommy got her that totally doofy talking "refrigerator" toy that was SO 6-months-ago. Ohferchrissakes, MoooOOom...

Say...I didn't ask you for...HEY! Is that eggnog on your breath..!?

Die Totenreit des Santa's

Well, Santa's riding the sky, i.e. the munchkins are in bed and I'm down here wrapping the "Santa Presents". The last treat eaten, the last story told, the last moronic cartoon watched. Now it's time for a last chai nog, the Kringle Loot to put under the tree and to bed. Finally.I don't have anything witty or clever, no bon mot or quote from some obscure Rmantic poet. I will quote you no Scripture or give you twee religious reasons for the evening. But I hope that you are home safe, with your family and your loves around you; loving and being loved, caring and being cared for. For at least one day free from worry, care and uncertainty. Sunk deep in the slough of feckless joy, cast away with happiness. Sufficient unto the day is the Evil thereof: may your Christmas bring you only Good, Light, Love and Laughter and the peace of a quiet heart falling upon you like the gentle brush of a snowflake on your cheek.

Turned Away

I know that Fridays are supposed to be for "think pieces"; political and social opinion...but I took these pictures today and found them so intriguing that I wanted to get them posted up quickly.
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To get the context you have to know that I've been working all week on a state project for a fix for a portion of Interstate 5 south of downtown Portland. The area we're working in is on the southeast side of what's called "Marquam Hill", a wooded eminence that forms part of the "West Hills" that give much of suburban southwest Portland its character.

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The site is below Barbur Boulvard, a major arterial that runs south and west from down town parallel to the interstate, along the lower slopes of the hills towards the outlying areas of Capitol Hill, Sylvan and eventually Tigard and Tualatin.
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The work area itself is almost unnoticable, a hidden turnoff on the east side of the road, an abandoned street unmaintained and slowly rubbling back into the forest since the 1960's...
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And down this untravelled street, hidden from sight, almost overgrown by blackberries and English ivy...are these graffitti. Not just simple tags, some one or someones put some real time into these, adding the details and getting the mix of colors and shades right. I was amazed, and pretty impressed.
And of the aspects of this odd, secretive artwork, the oddest is the very secrecy. This is a place where hardly anyone, outside the hardiest of Portland's urban pioneers, briefly visits - far less stops to admire the artists' work.
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What measureless energy drove the creators out to this lonely place, to labor in the woods with only the chittering bushtits and the rush of the traffic for accompanyment? What satisfaction did they feel, looking at their art, knowing that it would glow only to the rain and wind and the changing shadows? Did the last sputter of paint mark a deep, unspoken completion, the perfect conjunction of personal form and functionless function, like the sheeting sunlight on a cartouche on a limestone wall as the door to the tomb closed for the last time, sealing the colors in an endless night?

Bush EPA Lies about Greenhouse Gas Regulation

I wanted to title this something like "Breaking News: Dog Bites Man; also, Sun Rises In East!". It's not like I expect these bastards to EVER tell the truth about "protecting" the environment. But Thursday's EPA decision regarding the state emission standards is vile even by the standards of this administration, which, generally speaking, if asked the time of day would lie out of sheer force of habit.

As if the so-called "Energy Bill" wasn't enough of an insult (Mr. Trend describes that craptastic piece of pork better here) the ultimate "you can tell I'm lying because my lips are moving" quote had to be from Stephan Johnson, the Bushie EPA dogrobber.

According to this human post-it note, the energy bill "achieves the greatest greenhouse reductions in the history of the United States", even though the energy bill never addresses emissions, being all about increased CAFE mileage standards and a whopping piece of gravy for corn/ethanol farmers.

Honestly! It's enough to make you laugh if it wsn't enough to make you weep.

How to Lose a Country in Ten Days

Well, the last Iraq war funding supplemental of 2008 passed, as I expected it would. The pathetic attempt of Congressional Democrats to tie the funding to something, anything, that would eighty-six Mr. Bush's pet war project was, also as expected, stripped out to avoid...oh, I don't know...actually showing some sort of spine, I suppose. We're on track for a war-filled 2008. Also as expected.
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I know I said that I was done with this fucking disaster. I am, really. There's no hope that anything will change, and nothing will change. But before we last leave the House of the Dead, it might do well for us to look at the simple facts as they confront those of us who, unlike the loyal Bushies, don't make our own reality.
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Why is Iraq a failure?
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1. The U.S. government - including both political parties - has no clue what the strategic purpose of our military engagement in Iraq, or the Middle East is.
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2. As Clausewitz points out, without a guiding hand of political strategy to design a plan of campaign, the spiraling violence of war will consume its progenitors, eventually developing an internal dynamo that will lead it places that it's originators may never have intended it to go.
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3. We're clearly at that point now; from "smoking guns/mushroom clouds" through freedom and democracy to stability to whatever warlord of the month will fight for our pay...the original objective of an American ally/Israel-friendly/free-market model for the Middle East is dead as the passenger pigeon.
- Given the political and social history of the "country" of Iraq, no amount of foreign blood and treasure were ever likely to produce the originally stated outcome.
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1. An ethnicly and politically divided former Ottoman province was never a good candidate for "democratization". Once the Baathist lid was removed the Iraqi pot was almost sure to boil. By promoting sectarian, "Divide and conquer", politics we ensured that it would.
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2. Iraq is now effectively a failed state or nearly so. The "central government" does not have a monopoly on violence and is unlikely to have in the immediate future.
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3. In fact, the only institution that our Occupation has succeeded in strengthening is the Iraqi Army. Expect a military coup in Baghdad within a decade.

So...why won't we just declare victory and leave, then?
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The Bushies equate leaving with losing. Absent a U.S.S. Missouri-like surrender, they will not leave, ever.
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The neocon/PNAC/Cheney wing of the GOP still refuses to believe that we cannot subdue and occupy Iraq indefinately as a "central position" in the Middle East to cow their enemies Iran, Syrian and non-state actors like Hezbollah as well.
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The Democrats have no clue but fear being tagged by the Republican C.H.U.D.s as "traitors"...and they have no strategic Middle East plan, either.
What should we do?
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Well...keep in mind there are NO good outcomes here. We lost that hope the day the first scout crossed the LD from Kuwait. There are only bad and worse options.
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We need to stop fighting a land war in Asia. Get the ground forces out ASAP. They are like Cadmus warriors; sewing muj like dragon's teeth just being there.
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We need to accept that we have made Iraq a failed state. Oh, and Afghanistan is, too, but it always was. Now Iraq will be, and we need to make the political and strategic accomodations to deal with that.
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We need to begin seeing the Middle East for what it is: the politically crippled, fading economic engine of the soon-to-be-over Petroleum Era. The Middle East should be a peripheral theatre. Right now it's distracting us from the real potential geopolitical dangers: resurgent Russia, the rise of China, and the hollowing of our own economy and social contract.
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We need to accept that there are no military solutions for religious and moral arguments. The Thirty Year's War should have taught us that. We cannot bomb the jihadis away. Only our good example, and the unwillingness of Middle Eastern kids to listen to Taliban rap and wear Punjabi sneakers, will this.
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We need to accept that we cannot unconditionally bankroll Israel forever. IT's not good for us, or for them.
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We need to assemble what Pat Lang calls a "Concert of the Mddle East" to deal with the issues that make this region such a cockpit, including:
- Israel: the Palestinians must give up the "right of return" in exchange for Israeli retreat to the 1967 "Green Line". Jordan should absorb the West Bank, Eqypt Gaza. The Golan to return to Syria with an American force ensuring neutrality. Shebaa Farms to Lebanon, and major economic support for the Palestinian areas.
- Iran: recognized as the regional Power in return for stability of relations in the Gulf, neutralization of nuclear aspirations and demilitarization of support for Hezbollah.
- Iraq: acceptance of soft partition or such arrangements as are worked out by the internal factions. Replacement of American occupation with Islamic troops to prevent civil war.
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Will It Work?
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Probably not. Too many players conspiring against the common good and for their own advantage. More generally, the West was only spared this kind of confessional and sectarian fighting after the Enlightenment took religion out of politics. I do not see any hope for a similar, near-term Islamic Enlightenment. And without out a similar intellectual revolution the sad Middle East is dependent on the kind of "leaders" it has always had...men with little ideas, little hates and little fears. Men like Muktada al Sadr...and George W. Bush.

Nope. We - and the Iraqis - are just fucked.

Arrgh! Yuh got me, yuh dirty rat..!

Well...I've got it now.
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The Stomach Flu. Dehli Belly, the Galloping Major, Montezuma's Revenge, the Hershey Squirts...ugh. I'll spare you the mental image of me racing around the woods yesterday above I-5 looking for a dry, level spot to...ugh. Let's not go there.
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So, anyway, the blogging hiatus continues. For fun while you wait for the end of the Check Fire, why don't you go visit Chris, Hazel and Ruby? They're totally cool, and those two girls could charm the hiss out of a snake. They're Totally Adorable. And they have a pretty Great Mom, too. Even though she, like me, enjoys these quiet pre-kid waking hours. To sit, think, write and just be one with your gastrointestinal tract.
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Ohhhhhhhsweetmarymotherofgod!

Unwell

I have tried to keep blogging, but it didn't happen last week and it's just not going to happy this week, either.
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Things started to fall apart Wednesday when The Peeper was dropped by The Stomach Flu. For those of you fortunate enough to have missed this marked-down breed of cholera, or those who don't have children, you missed a reeeeeal treat. Deb caught the full, um, "blast" of a four-year-old who has no memory of the LAST time he had Delhi Belly and had no clue what to do when the inside of his tummy struggled to get out. So he spewed endlessly anywhere and everywhere in between shrieking "What's wrong?!" "What's going on?!" "What's happening?!". Poor tad - he was ill and terrified and Wednesday was Hell with the Lid Off for Peep and Mojo both.
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Thursday was better for him; we stayed home together, watched TV, played and had a gently fun time (Mojo was sick with jealousy about it, sadly). But he was vilely ill that night, and again at daycare on Friday. So we've been having to keep a specially close eye on our little guy. Missy has been her usual sweet, incredibly energetic but often clingy-and-whiny self...hopefully once she gets used to daycare the "clingy-and-whiny" will diminish...but for now it means extra Missy-carrying and Missy-entertaining for us.
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My work has been crazy, and it gets crazier tomorrow when I start in on the ODOT work for the Iowa St. viaduct drilling, on the hillside above what we call the "Terwilliger Curves" of I-5. I've been scrambling to finish all the OTHER work I have in order to clear my desk for four weeks or more of field work. Meaning that after the kids are in bed, the house cleaned, the lunches made and the laundry done I sit up working. Gets old fast, just sayin'.
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Plus the holidays...we made the major mistake of following our son's beloved nanny's cunning plan to do Zoolghts Saturday night and, despite the lights being just as lovely as always, got home after ten having had to fight the mob the whole evening. NOT a good idea to do the ZL on the weekend, I knew it and let myself be persuaded. Stupid, Chief, what the fuck were you thinking? Both kids woke up too early this morning and were tired and a bit crank as a result.
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AND today Mojo caught the bullet she'd been dodging since Wednesday and went down ass over tip with the stomach flu. She's been like a Deadite all day and will probably miss work tomorrow - hopefully she'll have enough energy to get the sprouts to daycare 'cause it's Just Another Four A.M. Morning for the guy with the Fire Direction hat.
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Funny thing - Peep , Missy and I actually had a pretty nice day: we rode the "Holiday Express". a.k.a. the "Christmas Train", a major Peeper Christmas punchlist item. Peep and I went on a site visit to a construction site I needed to look in on, which he loves, and we sneaked a Burgerville chocolate milkshake on the way home (shhhh...don't tell the Sick Mommy). We three all played happily this evening and everyone is in bed or soon will be. Pretty good, considering the alternatives.
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But blogging..mmmm...not so much. I'll try to get in a post this week - lots goig on; personally, politically and otherwise. But it's late and I've got to get some sleep.
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G'nght...

Happy Feet

Sometimes I embarass myself. Okay, a LOT of times I embarass myself. But every once in a while I shame myself. And the preceding post is kinda shameing.
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Because, honestly, we have it pretty good. We have a couple of great kids, a cozy little home, two cats who hardly ever claw anyone and have only yakked in my t-shirt drawer once (but that was truly vile, Lily, sweetbabyjesus, girl...) and a pretty comfortable life.
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It's not like we're living in some go-down in Darfur with a handful of mealies to eat once a day and the Janjaweed militia thundering through the hamlet once a month to rape and pillage for fun. On an absolute scale of human misery, we've got it flat damn-all sweet.
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And no sooner had I written the previous poor-poor-pitiful-me post I managed to get home in time to take Mister Pea to his "Penguins" swim class, where he swam outstandingly for his beloved teacher "Spring", splashed heroically, snatched my camera and took lots of pictures (umm...sorry about those ones of your crotch, "Spring", but, uh, that's just how high his head is), greedily ate an ice cream bar and pronounced himself a Happy Peeper. We had a totally good time.
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After that we even went for a drive around the U-Park and Overlook neighborhoods and oohed and aahed over the pretty Christmas lights. Peeper suggested that maybe the lighted Rudolph reindeers we saw were real only one magical reindeer flying from lawn to lawn just head of us - pretty cunning, I thought. That whacky Rudolph.We debated the positives of tutti-frutti lights versus white, and whether iceicles were cooler than blinky lights. We even drove past Kelli's house so the Peeper could wave hi (she wasn't home).
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Little Missy was babbling happly when we got home, Mojo was relaxing, so we pulled up a couch, watched a truly appalling movie and then to bed. A lovely evening altogether.
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So in the GFT tradition, we leave you with "Spring's" bare feet by Peep the auteur (nice, Peep, you dawg) and a reminder that it's always darkest just before it goes totally black. No, no, seriously; that the great thing about kids is that just when you're done, toast, ready to send them to a desert island bound in heavy chains...they do something surprisingly loving and terrific that reminds you why you - or in this case, your wife - spent those agonizing hours in labor, or you both endured hours in terrifying Guangzhou traffic, whatever, so that you could all be a family.Family? Now that's sweeeeet.

Saving Private Missy

Y’know, I had no idea that 1 + 1 = so much extra stress. Honestly. No shit. Really. No clue.
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Mojo and I talked about how we thought that raising two kids would be different from one, about potential adoption issues ranging from emotional distance through food hoarding to medical problems. There’s an old Army saying: everything you do in war is simple, but in war the simplest things are fiendishly hard. We thought we had this child-rearing thing pretty well dealt with. We had a great little boy, a little high-maintenance but overall a super little guy; we’d done the baby-toddler-preschool route, balanced work and childcare, developed a logistical support plan, figured out how to move under direct kid-assault by using the traditional parent techniques of mutual support and covering fire. We saw ourselves as real old sweats, hardened veterans of the Kinderkrieg, in great shape to hit the beach and begin Operation Orphan Freedom.
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Christ on a pogo stick: were we wrong! The simple addition of one little person has us scrambling for cover, feeling like we’re caught in the open by counterparent fire heavier and more accurate than we feared in our worst pre-adoption moments. As advertised, even the simplest task – mealtime, grocery shopping, playtime, bedtime - is fiendishly hard.
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And hardest of all, we don’t get much time to just stop and feel simple, undemanding love for our little peeps. We’re so busy feeding, clothing, playing with and caring for them that they are often just, well, just another job to be done. A job that undoes itself every night and has to be re-done all over the next day. It’s the soldiers’ nightmare: the hill that has to be retaken time after time, the river you assault across only to find another identical river just beyond…and another…and another.
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You tell yourself that you’re the best parent you can be, that you may not be perfect but that you’re struggling ahead under fire towards your goal: a solid family with happy, confident kids. That the exhaustion you feel at the end of the day, the lack of real personal time to do the things you vaguely remember enjoying before kid arrival, is the casualty of the fight you’re waging to be good parents and to raise good kids. You tell yourself that a family isn’t a contest, that nobody “wins” or “does better” than anyone else.But it’s hard not to compare yourself to other parents. Our friends Millicent and Floyd came back from China with their little girl Nola about the same time we did. Here’s Millie’s conclusion to their blogoventurous account of the journey. Writes well, doesn’t she? It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Aren’t they a terrific little family? I stopped by the other day to say hi and was knocked sideways by Nola’s fabulous “windmill-Bud-carton-slam”. The girl is a marvel. Her dad is just great, cold and all, and her mom is just as outstanding as we all knew she’d be. And Millie puts it so well; “Life is just so very sweet.”
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I am so filled with happiness for them I could bite myself. But as I write this in the back of my mind the bitter cold little voice asks “So why isn’t your life so very sweet, giacomo? How come you come back home every night praying that you won’t open the door to screaming children and an overwhelmed wife? How come your weekends seem like an 18 hour day for straight wages at the KinderMart? How come for every sweet loving moment there seems like two moments where you are not the loving daddy but combined cop/chef/referee/janitor/rodeo child-roping cowboy?I don’t have a good answer for my little cold voice except that parenting, like war, has tough times as well as easy ones. That while when you're in luck parenting is a joy and a delight; but that it is also duty, a duty to your kids who can't go forward without you. And that sometimes duty is heavier than a mountain.
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But who knew that such a little girl could weigh so much?

Hair Loss: Dread Crippler of Young Adults

Just in cause you thought I was getting a little goofy on the subject of Passover and God as casual murderer...I thought I'd add this snipbit, one of the more apalling things you turn up if you look through the Old Testament enough.
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This is from the Second Book of Kings. The propher Elisha is on the road to Bethel and runs into a little disrespect issue with some of the local kiddies. The results aren't...pretty:
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2 Kings 2:23-24: And he went up from thence unto Bethel: and as he was going up by the way, there came forth little children out of the city, and mocked him, and said unto him, Go up, thou bald head; go up, thou bald head. And he turned back, and looked on them, and cursed them in the name of the LORD. And there came forth two she bears out of the wood, and tare forty and two children of them.
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Harsh? A bit. Kiddies flip God's prophet some shit about his comb-over so 42 get torn to little kiddie bitlets by bears? WTF? And you don't hear God turn up a bit later in Second Kings to check in with Elisha:

God: "Ummm, hey, dude. Wassup?"
Elisha: "I am hastening to Bethel, Lord, to deliver thy Word."
God: "Oh, that, yes, good, good. No trouble on the way, I hope?"
Elisha: "Oh, no, Lord."
God: "No blisters? Bunions not acting up? No, say, rascally kids mocking that little...mmm...bald spot of yours?"
Elisha (grimly gleeful): "Not any more."
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A long pause; Elisha trudges on.
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God: "Don't you think the she-bears were...ummm...a little...?"
Elisha: "The Prophet of the Lord is not to be mocked!"
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God: "Right. Right. But wasn't that..."
Elisha: "The Prophet of the Lord is not to be mocked!!"
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God: "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. (Sigh) Guess I'll see you in Bethel, then. (To himself) Dude...gotta find some prophets with a freakin' sense of humor somewhere...shit..."

Last Call

And after all is said and done...we're all just people. Born to die, struggling with fears, nursing our hopes, trying to find some meaning to this span of days we are alloted.
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Here's a nice take on faith from Real Live Preacher (h/t to slacktivist for the link).
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May you all, and all of yours, find what you seek, as well as the Hot Wheels "Spin City" of your dreams...

Still thinking about religion...

...in the same way that my son is still thinking about getting a Matchbox "Spin City" for Christmas.
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That is, not incessantly, but the darn thing keeps popping up at odd moments...
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I keep returning to my irritation with the commonly-heard apology for Biblical accounts that don't square with the "God is Good" message - and latter day disasters such as tsunamis, floods or wars - that "we can't understand God, we just have to accept that it's part of His plan." Why does this tick me so much?
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I was thinking about it last night sitting up with little Maxine, who had a very bad, restless night, waking almost every fifteen minutes between 1:30 and 3:00 a.m. And realized what irks me about this.
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In Christian theology, God is the Father and we're the kids. Now I have kids myself, and I want my kids to be the best the can be at whatever they want to try. So when my son confesses himself stumped by something, my first response is "Here, let me help you." followed by "Now let's see if you can figure it out."
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The thing is, I want my children to grow up, to be able to make wise choices, to be good people and think for themselves. For me to hear them say; "Oh, geez, this is just too hard, I can't understand it." would be very disappointing. I would want them to try as hard as they can to figure out whatever-it-is.
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The physical progress of Humanity has always been characterized by people who refused to accept the notion that they "just couldn't understand" something. Did Semmelweis just give up, concluding that those little germs were just too small and too hard to see to figure out? Did Watt abandon his engine because the mechanics of steam was too confusing and hard to decypher? Did Einstein turn from the physics of relativity because non-Newtonian physics was just too big, as far above him as the stars are above the Earth?
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Our search for emotional and spiritual meaning is surely as important as physical comfort, health and economic gain, no? So why do we accept the lame explanation that the hard questions of faith and theology - why do bad things happen to good people? Why does evil prosper and good lack? Why do people do evil in the name of their God of love and peace? Why does even God kill without apparent scruple (as in the Passover story we discussed yesterday) and how to reconcile that with a God of Love? - are just a mystery, too hard for us little beings to understand, or even to ask about? After all, if we're supposed to be God's children, His creation, didn't he create us with a brain to ponder these very difficulties? And if God is our Father, wouldn't this God want us to ask why He wantonly kills innocent kiddies in parts of what's supposed to be his very own autobiography, just as I'd expect my own children to ask hard questions of me if I did bad things like hit them or their mother, or cast them out into the wilderness to wander, lost and in privation?
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I don't know the answer to why we hear this excuse so much. But I know I'd rather hear from a Christian who is open about admitting that the are large parts of the Christian texts that are troubling, and many that raise more questions than they answer, and that a huge part of faith is struggling with these contradictions on the way to finding something that connects their own human life to this awful - in the sense of inspiring awe - Being they feel drawn to know.
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So ISTM that there are two ways to look at the Passover story.
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One way is the "Johnnie Cochrane" way; starting with the conviction that God is Good and so anything that sniffs of God's wrongdoing can't possibly be really wrong, and beaver frantically to find a way to turn it all around and conclude that the evil, bad Egyptian firstborn babies, toddlers and kiddies brought it on themselves. I can understand that way of thinking, but I can also despise it and fear it. That path - the path that starts with blaming others for your cruelty or the cruelty of someone you love - is the one that ends at the gates with "Arbeit Macht Frei" written over them.
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The other one is that way that starts with the recognition that all human life is precious, a unique gift. That every human mind holds a universe in itself, and that while that doesn't make people sacred, it requires a very, very good reason and a lot of serious thinking before you can casually toss away people like a used kleenex. Even if you are a God.
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And that if you DO toss those innocent lives away - then that's a real problem, a pain and a heartache and a wrong, that you should look deeply into your soul to understand the reasons why. Whether you're a God...or just another human being.
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Maybe if we all did that...there'd be a lot fewer dead babies to mourn.

Why I am not a Christian

Could it be that all that musing about Death now has me thinking about God?
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Hmmmm.
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To begin, I cannot and won't try to be as eloquent at Mr. Bertrand Russell, whose disquisition with the same title can be read here. His arguments are tightly reasoned and delivered in the best Edwardian style. His conclusions are hard to evade - Pascal has LOST the wager: religion is becoming ever more of an impediment, not an advancement, to human progress and happiness.
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It's taken me a long trip to get here; I've always wanted to believe in something. My parents tried to raise me a nice, conventional suburban Presbyterian boy - I never got why the biggest moment in the Sunday service was when everybody gave the money.
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In the service I was a Catholic because Father Jack was a great guy, and unlike the Prod chaplains, who just wanted you to accept Jesus as your personal Savior, he made sure you got your mail, and helped you call the Red Cross if your wife or girlfriend got in trouble.
Since getting out of the service I fooled around with trying to continue to be Catholic, but the current Pope cut me off at the knees by closing the cafeteria. Sorry, Holy Pop, but I just can't buy the whole "no birth control" thing, no matter how cool it would be to have to either stop shagging the wife or have a cottage overrun with Catholic grunions. And no women as priests..? Don't get me started...
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The past seven years have been a real crisis for me, too, because of the increasingly visible presence of Christian politics. Religious figures - and religious justifications - have been employed by public figures for everything from fighting wars to fighting poverty to fighting for the "right" to say "Happy Hanukkah" to your postman...These aggressively Christian politics and the people who seem to want them have made me realize how increasingly I dislike public piety.
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So I'm unhappy with religion in general. And my little boy's greed-fueled enthusiasm for all things Xmassy has made me grouchy about Christmas. This year is the first year that the Peeper has reeeeally taken to the true spirit of the American version of the holiday - that is to say, he lusts long and loud after every overpriced collation of cheap plastic hawked on every single kids' TV show, movie, juice box and yogurt strip. He wants a tree, and decorations, and all the trimmings, and here I am feeling increasingly Grinchy, finding that I honestly, seriously, don't care. If it wasn't for the Peep, I'd skip the whole thing and go skiing.
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I'm in the middle of slamming this irreligiousity around over on this Balls and Walnuts thread here - (let me pause to put in a good word for a fellow blogger: this guy is fascinating, a delightful writer and can be a total nut, all worthwhile reasons for stopping off over at the B&W bar for a shot and a...umm...walnut).
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The thing that really crystallized my problems with religion was a discussion about Passover.
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Passover, you say, WTF? Why do you give a shit?
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Okay, the thing is, the whole Christmas deal is wrapped up in Passover. Christ is the Lamb, the sacrifice, that save us like the lamb's blood saves the Israelite firstborn, right? But the Passover story is a horrorshow. God kills every single firstborn kid in Egypt. Not just Pharoah's kid. Not just Pharoah. Every single one - infants in the cradle, people living in peasant huts who have no more ability to let the Hebrews go than they could cross the Nile by flapping their arms.
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Every. Single. Fucking. Firstborn. Kid.
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The problem I see here is the problem all monotheistic religions have got to deal with. You have only one God, you’ve got to load the guy down with ALL the attributes of life and nature. Which, as we all know, is often cruel, unfair, capricious and wrong.The polytheistic religions can whistle up subgods and godlets to take the blame for this stuff. The even more sophisticated preChristian religions - the Greek pantheon or the Norse - even admitted that their gods were vicious, cruel, random and sometimes insane, just like the world around us. Tidal wave wiped out your village? Clearly Poseidon was pissed off. Sacrifice to the angry God to placate him and also to somebody - I dunno, maybe "Kapok", the God of bouyancy, for saving those who got away. For a Christian, though, you have to try and explain how God gets credit for saving the handful while not the blame for drowning everyone else.
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So as a Christian, you have to try and shoehorn the "God is Great, God is Good" P.R. sheet in with the horrific evil like this wretched slaughter of every swinging firstborn dick in Egypt - including people hundred of miles away from the scene and tiny day-old infants - and somehow manage to blame the victims so it wasn’t “God’s fault”. The contortions are interesting but hardly enlightening. The Passover story remains a horrorshow, and as far as I'm concerned if God is caught loitering near those dead Egyptian babies, He’s gonna get done for suspicion of murder. Sorry.The thing is, I really WANT to find something of value in faith. I know there’s tons of beautiful stuff in religious writing and imagery. There’s passages in the Bible, the Koran, the Analects, the Zen koans that make me weep, they’re so moving and human. But if the God of the Passover was a person, you’d say, well, gee, (s)he is a great mom (or dad) and husband but also a serial killer, so we need to put them in jail for a long, long time so they won’t hurt anyone again. But because “they” are God, they get a pass.
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That doesn’t seem right to me as a person, or as a parent. Typical Christian explanations seem to be “well, that’s just the way it is, I can’t explain it, it’s a God deal”. How would YOU explain the “loving father/serial killer” to your child? I know I can’t to mine…
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I guess to sum up - the God of the Bible DOESN’T make sense. It’s the “good husband/father/serial killer” deal - great to his family, a nightmare to the “others” or those who break the rules. Hmmm…sounds kinda like…say…a desert tribal patriarch..? D’ya think…?
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Naah.
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Look, I don’t expect people to justify their beliefs. You and him and her can believe in Jehovah of the Thunders, Odin or the Flying Spaghetti Monster so long as those dieties play nicety and keep you home and dry.
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But my reading of religion is you don’t get to pick the Golden Rule and forget all the smite-the-heathen stuff. You’ve gotta be all in or not. And gods, if the historical (and biblical) record is correct, are uncomfortable neighbors. You never know when they will choose to smite you, and for what. The devout say that they’re OK with that.
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But - here’s the big deal - I’m not. Because for me the miracle of a pregnant woman’s slow smile, a chuckling baby in a peaceful room, a sunrise, a field of flowers, every human moment ever lived, is more glory and greatness than every god and every saint and all the angels that ever danced in heaven.