Archive for category Faith
Faith, Love, Acceptance: All Summed Up in a Yogurt Shop
Posted by Travis Griffith in Faith, General, Life on February 28, 2010
Travis Griffith
Travis Griffith shares a brief moment in time that, in his opinion, sums up all that is right with humanity. Does it? We’d love to hear your stories too!
Sometimes conversations about faith get so bogged down in philosophy that we forget to look at the human aspect.
We can discuss the relativity of truth and whether or not Jesus is a triune God until we throw up, then wonder if we even got anywhere.
Religious commentary and mock speeches for the pope are interesting and worthy of conversation, but what about the little moments that happen in everyday life that so often go overlooked? Sometimes that’s where the answers, or at least the most valuable lessons, lie.
One of those moments happened last Tuesday when I was at a small, locally-owned frozen yogurt shop with my wife, sister-in-law and two kids. The shop is in a university district and frequented by college kids (especially on Tuesday nights… $1.69 mediums!).
On this night, among the throngs of nubile college co-eds, two of the oldest people I’d ever seen were there; sitting a few tables away from us. This couple had to be close to celebrating their hundredth wedding anniversary. The man, wearing a matching tweed hat and jacket, was hunched over and moving slowly. The woman was seemingly frozen in mid-bite. A folded up walker rested against the man’s chair. The couple didn’t say a word to each other and seemed oblivious to the incredibly diverse, laughing, chatty, text-messaging crowd that surrounded their table.
I was just amazed that the kids had enough respect to keep their distance and allow the couple to enjoy some peace. But then the frail lovers of frozen yogurt began the arduous process of getting up from the table and exiting the building. It was then that a complex choreography of absolute human beauty unfolded.
First, one of the college girls at a table next to ours nudged her friend and uttered a quiet, “Cute…” as the couple stood up. Then a man across from their table fluidly stood up, while talking on a cell phone, and in one motion unfolded the old man’s walker and set it in front of him before gracefully falling back into his seat and not missing a beat in his conversation.
Walker in place, the couple put on their jackets and made their way for the door. Crowds parted to allow them access. A customer just entering the shop stopped and held the door open for much longer than would have been necessary, allowing the couple to exit without having to lift a finger.
The couple’s Cadillac was parked directly in front of the shop, but the man had to shuffle down the sidewalk until he could step off a lower part of the curb before shuffling his way back up to his car. By the time he got there and started the process of opening the passenger side door, another yogurt customer was passing by and opened it for him. The man gave a small nod before disappearing into the leather-clad abyss of the Caddy’s interior.
The man’s walker was still outside the car though. His wife managed to fold it up, but when she opened the back door to slide the walker in, she lost her grip on the door and it slammed shut. A customer exiting the shop with her daughter noticed, and opened the door again. She even took a moment to slide the walker onto the rear seat. The old lady smiled, held her purse in front of her chest with both hands, said thank you and began to work her way around to the driver’s seat.
As the white reverse lights blinked on, I turned to my wife who had happened to watch the entire chain of events unfold too. We mouthed the word “wow” to each other and went on with our conversation. Everyone else in the shop was either engaged in conversation or had thumbs flying across phone keypads. They were oblivious.
The amazing thing about this? No one who helped the couple seemed to notice the person who helped just prior. This was not inspired kindness, but pure, genuine individual compassion that when viewed from 15 feet away looked like a perfectly timed and choreographed TV commercial for human grace. It was nothing short of heart warming and inspiring.
In that little yogurt shop, and for no more than five minutes, humanity came together as one to help an elderly couple in need of a little love and assistance. Then everything returned to normal. But for that moment it didn’t matter what religion anyone in that shop followed. Prejudices and orientations and races and beliefs were all overshadowed by one commonality between us all:
Pure, unconditional acceptance of humanity.
Ahh… if only the rest of life was so easy.
Have you seen any similar moments of human compassion unfold? Let’s hear your stories!
***
Travis Griffith, who left behind the corporate marketing world, choosing family and writing in lieu of “a comfortable life” financially, is a former atheist trying to define what leading a spiritual life really means. His children’s book, Your Father Forever, published in 2005 by Illumination Arts Publishing Company, Inc. captures only a fraction of his passion for fatherhood.
A Writer Wrestling with Unity
Posted by Ian David Philpot in Faith, Guest Blog, Writing on February 27, 2010
Brent Robison
Brent Robison joins the blog to discuss his thoughts on finding unity within his writing and spirituality.
I write fiction, but I’m not much into plots, nor pleasing resolutions. I love the capital-Q Questions — the questions without answers. I don’t need answers, but I love learning as much as my sub-genius mind can handle about everything we humans have so far come to know in our dogged pursuit of answers to the unanswerable.
That puts me squarely in the realm of the invisible, where I travel alone. I don’t self-identify as Christian. There is no “ism” I feel attached to. Yet there is a driving force in my heart and mind to explore the territory — call it “spiritual” — that every religion’s fringe-dwellers, the mystics, have resided in for millennia: the philosophical borderlands currently going by the name of Nonduality. In Christianity today, perhaps Bernadette Roberts is its leading investigator, with her contemplative teachings and “No-Self” books. In her experience, the self and God are not separate: “I and my Father are One,” one without even the concept of another.
For me, years of study fueled by parallel passions — science and metaphysics — gradually led me to glimpse a perfect interweaving of current knowledge and ancient wisdom. Quantum physics intertwined with Advaita (Sanskrit for “not two”). Spacetime as a metaphor for Oneness. Superstrings pointing to the Nameless Absolute.
Meanwhile, I played the writing game: workshops, submissions, the occasional publication in a literary journal. But mostly I labored away at writing stories: notes, sketches, little stories, bigger stories. Imaginary characters with lives and hearts and pains all their own kept jumping up and asking to be acknowledged. Inspired by literary realism, postmodern and classic, lush or minimalist, I worked at exploring psycho-spiritual states and getting something both meaningful and beautiful onto the page. Then out of all that jumble rose the challenge that got my blood pumping at a whole new rate….
If everything is One, how is that expressed in story?
Well, it’s been done, with various degrees of success, in many ways:
–exegesis of various cultural mythologies
–allegory or parable with a “moral”
–stories from the lives of famous gurus or holy men
–the conundrums of time travel (see my friend’s book The High Priest of Prickly Bog)
–fanciful alternate realities like those of Italo Calvino
–narrative thought experiments ala Jorge Luis Borges
–straight science fiction: on other planets, things behave differently
–variations on the sword and sorcery genre
–human encounters with angels or extraterrestrials
–magical realism
–etc.
Trouble is, none of these appealed to me. Or rather, they were not what I was doing as a writer. As Harvey Pekar (American Splendor) said, “Everyday life has a huge effect on people.” I wanted to write literary short stories, about us, the common folks. Our ordinary tragedies and existential crises. The mundane epiphanies that move us all incrementally forward. In other words, “real life.”
It was my invented characters themselves who offered me the key. Of their own accord they had began lurking on the edges of each other’s stories. But I wasn’t sure what that meant. Then one day as I surveyed the whole array of stories and fragments, a complex web of faint shimmering lines seemed to materialize before my inner eye. These people, like all of us, were connected by invisible threads, coincidences, ephemeral glancing touches, by which subtle influence was being exerted. Life paths changed in seemingly tiny, but possibly powerful, ways. I saw that we’re like cells in one giant body, all going about our business transporting enzymes from one place to another and effecting change on other cells, but with hardly a glimmer of awareness of our own impact.
To suggest this newfound truth seemed to me the best way I could express Unity. One friend argued, correctly, that interconnection requires separateness, so I was a little off the mark. On the other hand, ultimate oneness is ultimately inexpressible in human language. The best we can offer is suggestion, metaphor, a finger pointing at the moon. And after all, in literary fiction — just as in this thing we call “reality” — the needs, hopes, dreams, heartaches, addictions, and loves of daily life are the foreground. To see the background is another level of perception altogether.
I’m entirely a beginner on the road toward Unitive Consciousness. But that vision of all human beings interconnected by a vast intangible network of influence, invisible energy lines weaving us together, became the engine driving the finishing, assembling, and publishing of a collection of thirteen linked stories called The Principle of Ultimate Indivisibility. All those bits and pieces of characters’ lives finally came together and made sense, to me. And more important, it set me and my writing on a course for the future, and for that I’m grateful.
***
Brent Robison emigrated west to east and is now rooted in the Catskill Mountains of New York. His fiction has appeared in a dozen literary journals and has won awards from Literal Latté, Chronogram, and the New Jersey Council on the Arts, as well as a Pushcart Prize nomination. His collection of linked short stories, The Principle of Ultimate Indivisibility, is available wherever books are sold. Between daddy and hubby hours, he blogs at ultimate-indivisibility.com and continues chipping away at two novels-in-progress. He is also the editor and publisher of the Hudson Valley literary annual, Prima Materia. Brent’s short story “Baptism” can be found in Relief Issue 3.2.
The Speech that can Save Christianity
Posted by Travis Griffith in Faith, General, Life on February 21, 2010
Travis Griffith
Travis Griffith has some advice for Pope Benedict XVI. What do you think of it?
A recent Associated Press news article says Pope Benedict XVI is condemning what he calls a “growing aversion” to the Christian faith.
The article says ‘the pope is urging Christians to invigorate efforts to spread their faith’s message despite what he described as the unfriendly climate to Christianity in parts of the world.’ Benedict is quoted as saying,
In a world marked by religious indifference and even by a growing aversion toward the Christian faith, a new intense activity of evangelization is necessary.
The pontiff went on to say that Christians need to put aside their differences so they can unite their efforts.
Regular readers know by now that I adore the Christian faith and the people who follow it. I believe their religion is the correct one… for them. I also happen to believe that every other religion (or faith or form of spirituality) is equally correct for their respective followers.
I know I’m just a lowly blogger and Benedict is, you know, the pope, but that doesn’t mean I can’t disagree with him. Was he wrong in making the statement he did? Of course not. His truth lies with the Christian faith and he’s just walking his path.
But, it’s not a path I believe is best for the world. I believe intense evangelizing is exactly why there is an aversion to Christianity in the first place. It pisses people off.
With that in mind, instead of saying what he did, I would have liked to see the pope deliver this speech (yeah, now I’m writing speeches for the pope, which is kind of cheesy, but I’d sure have a lot of respect for him if he’d say something like this):
Dear Friends,
It is with great humility that I recognize a growing world trend; a trend that is leading many of the world’s people away from the Christian faith. In fact, I acknowledge that there is even a troubling, and growing, aversion to Christianity.
Our world is marked by religious indifference, and even worse, intolerance. While I, and the followers of Christianity, believe that Christ is the way and the truth, we must also be aware enough to realize not everyone will believe as we do.
In the past I might have called for intense evangelizing to spread the Word and convert non-believers. Today though, I ask of you something even greater. Rather than join the ranks of the intolerant, I ask that we, as Catholics and Christians, evolve to the ranks of acceptance.
How can we preach tolerance without following it? How can we know love if we don’t experience it?
It is simple arrogance to preach that all people of the world should believe as we do. So please, do not evangelize to your Muslim, pagan and atheist neighbors. Love them and accept them for who they are, but remind them the door to Christianity is always open should they choose to walk through it and follow us.
Upon all of you, I invoke the abundant blessings of the Almighty and, in particular, the gift of peace.
Love… to all.
Do you think a speech like this would help reverse the aversion to Christianity? I sure do, but feel free to discuss amongst yourselves, or make fun of me, in the comment section.
***
Travis Griffith, who left behind the corporate marketing world, choosing family and writing in lieu of “a comfortable life” financially, is a former atheist trying to define what leading a spiritual life really means. His children’s book, Your Father Forever, published in 2005 by Illumination Arts Publishing Company, Inc. captures only a fraction of his passion for fatherhood.
***
Editorial Note: The thoughts presented within this blog post are those of the individual author and do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of the entire Relief staff. Though there may be some differences between the journal’s theology and that of the author, we believe that the questions this author raises about faith and love are important.
Giving It Up
Posted by Amanda Bauch in Faith, General, Life on February 20, 2010
Amanda C. Bauch
Relief’s Assistant Editor, Amanda C. Bauch, ruminates on ritual compulsions and Lent.
My fingers were bleeding. Again.
Even as I pause while typing this, my right hand reaches over to the left hand, longing to pluck at a piece of loose skin on my pointer finger. I worried this piece of loose skin on the drive home yesterday, when I was working out, and while I watched the Winter Olympics with my husband.
But it’s not only the fingers. It’s also my legs, my face, my scalp. All subjected to frequent, almost ritualistic, picking. I’ve scratched and dug at my legs so often that they’re bloody and bruised. My face bears scars from years of attempting to rid myself of imperfections, whether real or perceived.
The face digging began when I was in junior high. The finger mangling started in college. The leg scratching and scalp digging are fairly new developments, added to my repertoire over the past year or so.
The escalation of my finger picking during college prompted me to seek counseling. I felt out of control, and I knew the problem wouldn’t go away on its own. All of my fingers wrapped in band-aids, torn and bloody, I cried as I told the doctor that I couldn’t stop and I actually enjoyed hurting myself on some level.
This initial appointment set me on a road I’ve now been on for over a decade, trying to understand why I do what I do.
While I’ve been diagnosed with OCD for some time, I’ve only recently learned about a disorder that goes by many names, but is most frequently referred to as dermatillomania. In layman’s terms, compulsive skin picking.
Viewing a variety of websites and reading testimonies of those who suffer from this ailment, I am amazed to see my story reflecting back at me from my computer monitor. However, one young lady’s comment resonates: “I have not felt worthy.”
Now that we’ve entered the holy season of Lent, I had to decide if I was going to give something up, and if so, what. During Ash Wednesday service, I sat in the pew, praying to God to help me make this decision, all the while picking my cuticles into oblivion. I pulled a particularly tenacious piece of skin I’d been attacking for some time, immediately feeling the tingle and rush of pain derived from tearing off layers of skin.
At that moment, I knew it had to stop, and I felt that God was telling me that it was time.
Granted, this skin picking is a habit I’ve developed over about twenty years of my life, and I know that it’s not going to vaporize overnight. However, I made a commitment to the Lord to try to change. To truly believe that with Him, all things are possible. I am learning to trust Him, trust myself. I’m learning to combat the self-criticism and feelings of unworthiness with His Word: “When I said, ‘My foot is slipping,’ your love, O Lord supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul” (Ps 94:18-19).
Over these forty days of Lent, I’m giving up my self-criticism. I’m giving up the belief that if I just had enough faith, all of my problems would be resolved. And perhaps most importantly, I’m giving up the belief that I am unworthy.
***
Amanda C. Bauch, is Relief’s Assistant Editor, a writer, and a teacher. She fled the harsh Upstate New York winters and now resides outside of Jacksonville, Florida. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University and is currently working on a young adult novel and a memoir. Her short fiction has appeared in Tattoo Highway, Bent Pin Quarterly, The Hiss Quarterly, and nonfiction pieces have been published in Writer Advice, Empowerment4Women, as well as two print anthologies, Tainted Mirror and MOTIF: Writing By Ear. She is also a monthly contributor to 30 Points of View, a blog/ezine/something-or-rather ( www.30pov.com).
Living in the Hours
Posted by Michelle Metcalf in Faith, General, Life, Writing on February 19, 2010
Good Morning. It i
s 5:45am, still dark. I have been up since 4:15. I woke up cold, restless, a little hungry. In the past hour and a half I’ve done what I can to satisfy myself: I’m now wrapped in a huge quilt sitting on top of the furnace vent on the floor in my living room; my dog is under the covers on my lap. I have been packing boxes in the kitchen—we’re moving to our first house in under a week and a half. I packed dishes quietly in the kitchen as my husband slept upstairs. I wrapped glasses in newspaper and towels. All of this while bread baked in the oven and too hungry to wait for it, I ate a bowl full of cut watermelon squares.
I wish all days started like today—with purpose and darkness and quiet and productivity. Just today, I feel somewhat akin to the monastic life; I feel connected to all the others awake right now in the world—working in quiet—its not just about waking up early—its about getting to work, about the ritual of living in these divine early hours.
Today, I will pray the hours, connected with the monks and restless morning pilgrims. Today I will not just intend it, I will do it. I will remember. I will stop. I will allow moments to be holy.
Today I will write. I will pray for inspiration. I will ask God for help. Today I will let it come. I will not be in a hurry. I will move through this work as if my life depends on it, and it does. Today I will not be afraid. Today I will believe for myself what I believe for others. Today I will show up and do the work. Today I will be a professional writer, even if I have to pretend. Today I will turn off my phone, today I will listen to silence. Today I will light candles. I will burn Fir Balsam incense and smell the air. Today I will look at what has been left undone and leave it undone. Today I will not be lost in distraction, in necessity that does not involve words. Today, I will listen to words; I will listen inside of my head. Today I will not use my ears, today I will not use my eyes. Today I will live in my spirit. I will condition my mind. Today I will work until the moon rises. I will pray the hours before I sleep.
An invitation to pray the hours during Lent, and maybe not during Lent too: 
http://www.explorefaith.org/prayer/fixed/
* * *
Michelle Metcalf feels inspired today because the sun has finally started to shine in Cincinnati, OH, where she lives with her husband and dog. She lead a writer’s group this morning, just like she does every Friday. That’s her favorite part of the week.
Susan is giving up Facebook for Lent
Posted by Guest Blogger in Faith, Guest Blog, Life, Writing on February 17, 2010
Susan Fish
Susan is giving up Facebook for Lent.
Susan’s fingers instinctively reach for the F for Facebook.
Susan wants to check in with God fifty-million times a day, instead of checking for status updates.
Susan is grateful for the friend who emails her status updates the first day.
Susan wonders what role Facebook plays in her life, what boredom it staves off and what will become of her without it.
Susan has to go on Facebook the very first day – to retrieve business information from an old message. She shields the page with her hand, ignores the new message in the inbox and finds what she needs before exiting quickly.
Susan is not exactly praying more yet, but it has been a busy day.
Susan has realized she thinks of events now in terms of how she will frame or caption them for Facebook: how will life be shaped into a status update?
Susan thinks about how Facebook is utterly self-centred. What is the motto again: connecting and helping you share with friends. Something like that. But every sentence starts with me.
Susan has more than 25 random facts to tell you about herself. She is so fascinating. To herself. And can she employ her skills (Random Fact: Susan is good with words) to make you fascinated with her too?
Susan wonders what this Facebook fast is about, anyhow. Narcissus not being allowed to look into the pool? Perhaps.
Susan wants to express her feelings, to be heard. Is FB more gratifying than prayer? If a tree falls in the forest, does God hear? And will God comment on the status of the fall?
Susan misses the juiciness of the details. And can make a rational argument that FB is better than gossip or reading tabloid stories.
Susan decided not to break her fast on Sundays. It seems arbitrary and weak to take a break.
Susan’s grandma is sick and she wants to blurt it out once and get lots of nice notes back. Would that be so wrong?
Susan watches how she fills her Facebook hole and is not exactly proud. But I’m trying.
Susan thinks it’s funny to speak in the third person. Not the royal we. The self-reflexive she.
Susan really, really, really, really, really wants to go on Facebook. A lot. A really lot.
Susan is going to Italy tomorrow.
Susan is exploding with anticipation and she has already called everyone reasonable to call. Must. Get. Going. To. Italy. Presto.
Susan hopes she is not sending her children into therapy by leaving them on the other side of the world.
Susan is dreadfully homesick, jetlagged and culture shocked but she has never ever seen such beauty.
Susan was wooed in a garden today.
Susan is in a quiet place: no Internet, no phone, no tv.
Susan’s thoughts are clearer, way clearer.
Susan was afraid to be alone for ten days with her husband and without her kids and the props of daily life, but now she loves it.
Susan is dreaming in Italian…un poco.
Susan is dazzled by beauty.
Susan is pondering.
Susan is learning that anxiety comes more often than I would like, but it goes too, every time.
Susan feared they would have to spend the night in the car when they got lost, but they got home. Grace.
Susan’s children are doing well. More grace.
Susan thinks people are delightfully kind.
Susan learned to make pasta.
Susan does not have Stendhal Syndrome, just Art Overload.
Susan may have had the happiest time of her life.
Susan can’t wait to be home.
Susan is dizzy with fatigue. Her kids are not.
Susan needs more beauty, less noise.
Susan is scared it will recede and fade. How do you hold onto it?
Susan is sorting things out, examining the things I stuffed away, preparing to enter the fray again.
Susan feels like my garden: boggy, slightly mildewed and winter-weathered, but with fresh green shoots of hope.
Susan is editing up a beautiful storm.
Susan is sleeping naked.
Susan is glad to see the world greening up.
Susan no longer feels like there is a glass ceiling between her and God.
Susan has fancy eyelids.
Susan can now write about prayer in a visceral way.
Susan feels surprisingly regretful at the end of Lent: do I want to start narrating my life again? Unlike other addictions, this one is social. Can you go to a party and just sit in the corner? Why not stay home?
Susan circles the site like a cold pool, dipping a toe in here and there, reluctant to take the plunge.
***
Susan Fish is a writer, editor, wife, and mother of three school aged children who lives in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. Her first novel Seeker of Stars was published in 2005, while her second is still looking for a home. She is always intrigued by the signs people choose to erect on their garages, fields, or lawns, and once had both a pesticide sign and a Green party sign on her front lawn at the same time. Fortunately, she saw the irony in the situation. Susan’s story “That Sign” can be found in Relief Issue 3.2.
Enter Lent with Relief
Posted by Brad Fruhauff in Editor's Blog, Faith, General on February 17, 2010
A number of us at Relief have informally decided to prepare for Calvin’s Festival this year by practicing a spiritual discipline during Lent. Since we hope our words are pleasing to God, we’ve decided to read a psalm a day, learning how to worship God with words from his own inspired poetry.
We’d like to extend an invitation to any and all in the greater Relief community to join us and to tweet your experiences with a #LentRelief tag. There’s no strict program, but some of us will be starting with the “Psalms of Ascent,” nos. 120-127, which, given that Sunday is a “free day,” should take us through next Thursday, at which point we’ll let you know if we’ve picked a new set.
Maybe I’ll look for an Easter poem to wind everything up at the end.
Sightings
Posted by Michelle Metcalf in Faith, Life, Writing on February 5, 2010
1983: In the th
ird grade, my religion teacher, Mrs. Brandstetter, tells me a story during Tuesday night CCD class about a woman in Mexico whose taco meat, after falling out of her tortilla at lunch, miraculously formed itself into a silhouette of the Virgin Mary. The image my young mind instantly created: small individual crumbly rounds of ground beef mysteriously and reverently moving themselves across a piece of Mexican hand-painted ceramic ware, one grainy chunk of meat at a time coalescing into feet, a robe, veil, nose and eyes.
On the side table by the couch in the living room of my childhood, a small, engraved photo album. On the first page, a photograph of oil-stained window panels on an office building in Clearwater , Florida, that looked remarkably like a profile of the Blessed Virgin. A miracle on display wasn’t at all strange to my devoutly Catholic and generally superstitious family—why shouldn’t heaven and earth somewhere converge?
Once a year, we made it a family pilgrimage to gather with hundreds of people at the Holy Spirit Center just off the Norwood lateral about twenty minutes from our house to say the Rosary from lawn chairs on a hill while waiting for Our Lady of Light to make her midnight appearance.
Skeptic’s Dictionary: Apophenia (n): the experience of seeing patterns or connections in random or meaningless data, the “unmotivated seeing of connections” accompanied by a “specific experience of an abnormal meaningfulness.” May be linked to psychosis or creativity.
2005: Hundreds gather at the Fullerton Avenue underpass on the Kennedy Expressway in Chicago. They’ve come to see the Virgin Mary in the salt run-off. That same year, a pregnant couple sees the face of Jesus during their ultrasound at a hospital in Toledo. A concession clerk sees him in a nacho pan. He also appeared on the tinted windows at a hardware store in Rio Grande Valley, Texas, and, shortly before that, in a pecan tree to a Louisiana man who was barbecuing in his backyard.
We are programmed, Carl Sagan says, born with a propensity to identify the human face. It’s for evolution’s sake, so that we can make out faces from a distance using only minimal details. This is why we can recognize faces before putting in our contacts in the morning.
At the stroke of twelve, church bells rang, cameras flashed, we waited and waited.
But I saw nothing.
Type I Psychological error: (false positive, false alarm, caused by an excess in sensitivity): Often used as an explanation of some paranormal and religious claims, and can also be used to explain the tendency of humans to believe pseudoscience.
I saw nothing but the moon.
I saw nothing but the moon hanging heavy in the sky, so full that it made a glow behind the backs of the pine trees on the horizon.
* * *
Michelle Metcalf does believe in miracles, especially moonlight illuminating the trees. She lives in Cincinnati, OH and sometimes still prays Hail Marys out of habit, even though she is no longer a practicing Catholic.
Avatar: What’s the Big Deal?
Posted by Travis Griffith in Faith, General, Life on January 26, 2010
Travis Griffith
Travis Griffith finally buckles under pressure to see Avatar, and shares his reaction to the film and its implications on spirituality.
My brother called it a “life changing experience.”
My mom said it was “an amazing insight into spirituality.”
A friend said it was just “a remake of Dances With Wolves.”
The pope called it “simplistic and sappy.”
The Vatican newspaper, L’Osservatore Romano, said the film “gets bogged down by a spiritualism linked to the worship of nature.”
Then Avatar won for best drama at the Golden Globes and now is a favorite at the Oscars, so I decided I had to experience the film for myself, make up my own mind and then share my thoughts with all my Relief friends. The overall take away: What’s the big deal?
James Cameron, the film’s director, said,
Avatar asks us to see that everything is connected, all human beings to each other and us to the Earth. And if you have to go four and a half light years to another, made-up planet to appreciate the miracle of the world that we have right here, well, you know what, that’s the wonder of cinema right there, that’s the magic.
Of course, that’s why the Vatican says the film supports a worship of nature and neo-paganism (which obviously is bad for business).
Here’s the deal: Avatar does indeed support a worship of nature. It also supports a love for one another and the importance of not judging other people, regardless of race or beliefs. In the movie, the Na’vi people have developed a vibrant, complex, and sophisticated culture based on a profound spiritual connection to their planet, one another and the encompassing spirit they call Eywa. The operative concept for the Na’vi is balance. Their lives express this balance in body, mind and spirit.
A review at movieguide.org said,
In reality, you are connected to the earth by gravity, not by spirit. The Bible tells us the earth will be burned up and there will be a new heaven and a new earth in which righteousness reigns. We are stewards of the earth and its creatures, not brothers. We are accountable to God for what we do with the resources He’s given us.
The spirit world is not something in need of balance. It is a war zone where evil spirits want to drag you into lust, greed, anger, and depression while the Spirit of God seeks to rescue you from darkness.
Who's the more enlightened one?
So the hard-line Christians blast the spirit world with their “reality” of fire, fear and brimstone while lauding heaven as God’s Kingdom. Pagans reject heaven and revel in the universal energy of the spirit world. Who is right?
What if the Christian heaven and the pagan spirit world turned out to be the same place behind the veil, just with different marketing here on Earth?
Yet, the Vatican tries to protect its stake in religion while belittling messages like the one in Avatar. It would have been great to see the Vatican lead a discussion towards a more loving and accepting version of spirituality instead of calling the film’s relevant message “simplistic.” Some might even call the type of spirituality portrayed in Avatar as more advanced when compared to the archaic beliefs and practices of Catholicism.
In the end, all Avatar asks us to do is love each other and our planet so humanity can evolve into a place of unconditional bliss. That, after all, is the same ultimate goal many of the world’s religions have, they just all seem to call it something different. Catholics call it the Kingdom of God. Buddhists call it Nirvana. Avatar called it Pandora. Same damn thing, just with different paths that lead there, all as valid as the other.
As long as beliefs are based on love, who’s to say who gets to claim the correct one? I say choose what feels right to you, without fear of being judged for your beliefs by someone else.
If you’ve seen the movie and want to share your thoughts, or care to challenge anything I’ve said here, I’d love to have a discussion with you.
Love… to all.
***
Travis Griffith, who left behind the corporate marketing world, choosing family and writing in lieu of “a comfortable life” financially, is a former atheist trying to define what leading a spiritual life really means. His children’s book, Your Father Forever, published in 2005 by Illumination Arts Publishing Company, Inc. captures only a fraction of his passion for fatherhood.
World Peace: All Figured Out
Posted by Travis Griffith in Faith, General, Life on January 21, 2010
Travis Griffith
Travis Griffith has a surprisingly simple plan for World Peace. Would it work?
Guess what I did this weekend?
Well, aside from watching my Cardinals get spanked by the Saints in the NFL Playoffs, I figured out the way to world peace.
Yeah, I know. And it wasn’t even that hard.
First, I was thinking about the reasons why humans on Earth fight with each other. The biggest reason, though certainly not the only one, is this: faith. Why? Because when humans have faith in a god alone, it makes them crazy. It makes them believe their way is the only right way, and others should believe it too.
Here’s a simple example that boils down the history of faith-based fighting into a brief exchange between characters. Imagine these people sitting in a beautiful café at sunrise, enjoying a latte and talking about faith:
The Christian: Jesus is the Lord and the only true path to God’s Kingdom.
The Jew: I don’t believe in Jesus.
The Christian: You are going to Hell unless you accept Jesus into your heart.
The Jew: That’s why we don’t like you very much.
The Muslim: Just don’t come to our land and say Jesus is Lord. Allah is the one and only God. And we’ll fight to defend Him.
The Christian: Christ is the world’s only savior and those who don’t believe will burn in Hell.
Elise (the pagan): Enough with Hell. Just love and worship the planet, and the people and nature around you.
The Christian, The Jew and the Muslim: You’re crazy. That’s worshipping a false deity.
The Muslim: You’re no better, Jew.
Pretty soon, the peaceful little café erupts in a firestorm of punches, hate, judgment and lots of spilled coffee.
Isn’t faith crazy?
Now, what if each of these people had faith in their gods, but also in each other? Maybe the conversation would go like this:
The Christian: I’m curious about what you guys believe.
The Jew: We basically believe what you do, but without the whole Jesus as savior thing.
The Christian: Fascinating. Tell me more.
The Muslim: We believe in a peaceful planet, ruled by one God, who we submit ourselves to.
The Christian: Sounds lovely.
Elise (the pagan): We worship our Earth and respect our gods and goddesses while exploring spirituality.
The Christian, the Muslim and the Jew: Still crazy, but hey, that’s cool.
The Christian: I’ll tell you what, I’ll pick up the bill this time. Nice chatting, friends.
Now the café is a place of love and acceptance. Everyone’s beliefs are still intact and each person had the opportunity to gain some knowledge. Would it really be that hard to expand this little café scene to the entire world?
Granted, on the world scene we’re dealing with spilled blood instead of coffee, but the solution is the same. Love each other. Keep faith in whatever gods we choose, but while working to restore faith in the humanity that surrounds us.
Why is it so hard for humans to accept people with different beliefs? Could love and acceptance truly be the keys to world peace? I have faith that they are. What do you think?
Love… to all.
***
Travis Griffith, who left behind the corporate marketing world, choosing family and writing in lieu of “a comfortable life” financially, is a former atheist trying to define what leading a spiritual life really means. His children’s book, Your Father Forever, published in 2005 by Illumination Arts Publishing Company, Inc. captures only a fraction of his passion for fatherhood.
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