The Cosmic Cop

Michelangelo painting "Last Judgement" in the Sistine Chapel 

Without doubt one of the most pervasive images of "God" in the popular imagination is, essentially, a kind of Cosmic Cop.  This depiction has God always on the look-out for some kind of infraction, some breaking of some sacred law.  And like some cynical detective on TV, this Cosmic Cop has seen the worst of humanity so often that he now expects it.  (And these fictional cops -- like this fictional "God" -- is almost universally imagined as a "he.")  You are, in this cop's eyes, guilty until proven innocent (beyond a reasonable doubt).

In fact, while often unsaid, this image of "God" is also sort of like a vigilante.  Vigilantes are those who "take the law into their own hands," and since "God" is often seen as the creator of these laws as well as their defender, this might not seem like a fit.  And yet, the other aspect of the classic character of the vigilante is that they act as, "judge, jury, and executioner," and that is certainly part of this image of "God."  Not only does this characterization of "God" police our every action, but judges -- often harshly -- every violation, and then condemns the accused to, in most cases it seems, eternal punishment.

There is perhaps no more famous example of this way of thinking that the sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," which was preached by the colonial preacher the Rev. Jonathan Edwards on July 8, 1741.  It contains this rather memorable passage:

"The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider of some loathsome insect of the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked.  His wrath toward you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire.  He is of purer eyes than to bear you in his sight; you are ten thousand times as abominable in his eyes as the most hateful, venomous serpent is in ours."

Actually, there is a modern example of such an understanding of "God" taken to an extreme in our own day.  Some will certainly say that it would be to choose just one, but I think that the Westboro Baptist Church, under the leadership of Fred Phelps, is arguably the most hateful.  These are the folks who show up at funerals to "share their message" of "God's"  utter revulsion at, among other things, "LGBT people, Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Muslims, Jews, U.S. soldiers and politicians," to quote from the Wikipedia article about them.  In fact, this "church" believes that "God" hates pretty much everybody.  They wrote and recorded a parody of the rather remarkable so-called "charity song" produced in 1985 by more than 45 of the top musicians in the United States at the time, "We Are the World.".  The Wetboro Baptists Church's version is called, "God Hates The World," and you should only follow that link if you have a strong stomach and want to see how truly pervert a view of "God" some people have.

If this is "the God you don't believe in," then I couldn't agree more.  Yet this is not the only way that "God" has been conceived.  The Universalists, whose tradition forms one half of the lineage of today's Unitarian Universalism (the faith tradition I serve) did not believe in this "God," either.  Their name actually comes from the central teaching in their theology -- that salvation is universal.  Not only doesn't God sit in eternal condemnation of humanity, but God's relationship with creation is like that of a loving parent and their child.  God as "father" (or "mother") is one of the most common ways of talking about God, and if this truly is what God is like, then you have to ask what parent would ever condemn their child to eternal punishment no matter what they did.  All you have to do to convince yourself that we are not born "in sin," predestined to suffer in hell, is to look into the eyes of a baby. 

One might argue that Universalism was branded a heresy, and outside a proper understanding of Christianity.  (I could argue the reverse -- that the kind of "Christianity" we're talking about here is the true heresy, and that Universalist Christianity is the proper understanding, but I digress ...)  Yet even if I were to agree that Universalism is a fringe (which, again, I don't), there are many, many examples of a more Universalist understanding of "God" within mainstream Christian traditions.  In fact, it's been said that one of the reasons the Universalist Church of America  dwindled the way it did was that it essentially won the debate.  Some form of Universalist theology is being preached in a great many mainstream Christian congregations today, so you no longer had to leave your Methodist or Presbyterian church to hear the message of God's love (as opposed to God's wrath).
As an example, look at Matthew Fox.  Fox was a Catholic priest who was silenced by the Vatican and eventually moved to the Episcopal Church, developing what he called "Creation Spirituality."  One of his books is titled, Original Blessing, and contrasts this concept with the idea of the centrality of "original sin" which forms the foundation of the kind of theology we've been talking about here.  "And God saw that it was good," is recorded in the Hebrew Scripture of Genesis as God's first judgement of creation.

In one of his books on contemplative prayer, Fr. Thomas Keating gives what is by far my favorite expression of the antithesis position on God from the idea that God is some kind of Cosmic Cop (and judge, jury, and execution) It is a story that Cardinal Basil Hume, used to tell on himself:

When he was a child, his mother would take his brothers and him into the pantry where there was a cookie jar. She would tell them that God was always watching, and would know if they ever took a cookie out of that jar between meals.  And, so, young Basil grew up thinking of God as some kind of Cosmic Cop, always on the lookout for even the smallest infringement of the rules.  Even so – or, perhaps, because of this – he went on to become a priest.

But he remembers the day when in prayer he received what he considered a tremendous grace.  He suddenly realized that if God had been watching him take one of those cookies, God would have said, “My dear boy. Why don’t you take another?"

"My dear boy, why don't you take another?"  That is a God I can believe in.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Tell Me About This God You Don't Believe In ...

As part of my preparation to become an ordained minister I took a unit of C.P.E. -- clinical pastoral education.  Simply put, for a year I became a part-time hospital chaplain.  I learned a lot!  Perhaps especially because I am a Unitarian Universalist, the need to be able to be of service to people with a wide variety of religious and spiritual beliefs was excellent training.  For those not familiar with the religious tradition I serve, Unitarian Universalism does not demand that people assent to a particular creed.  Instead of asking "What do you believe?" as our foundational question, we ask, "What kind of world do you want to see?"  We think that if we agree on the vision of the world we would like to create together -- if we can agree what justice looks like, for instance, or how inclusive community should strive to be -- then we can recognize each other as religious/spiritual kin.  The question of belief only comes up secondarily -- I believe that we should live in this kind of a world because I believe Jesus Christ shows us the way.  I believe that we should live in this kind of a world because I believe that all things have Buddha-nature.  I believe that we should live in this kind of a world because there's nothing but us and we need to take care of one another.

In a Unitarian Universalist congregation you can find Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Sikhs, Wiccans, Transcendentalists, Spiritual-But-Not-Religious folk, and atheists sitting next to one another as one community.  This same diversity exists for hospital chaplains.  You can walk into one room and find a Seventh Day Adventist, and then walk into another room to talk with a Buddhist.  One challenge I found, and others have encountered as well, was walking into a room and being greeted by, "Thanks for coming, Pastor, but you don't need to spend your time with me.  I don't believe in God."

My supervisor taught me a response that I have used many, many times in my career.  (I have since seen it pop up in other places, so I'm not sure of its ultimate origin, but I'll always be thankful to my C.P.E. supervisor for it.)  When someone would say to her, "You don't need to bother with me.  I don't believe in God," she would respond, "Why don't we talk about this God you don't believe in.  I probably don't believe in that God, either."

To some people, the only thing that qualifies as "pizza" is the kind you can get by the slice in New York City.  For others, "pizza" means deep-dish, Chicago style.  When I was in Japan I ate "pizza" with a crust so thin that it was like a cracker.  And these very different foods are each called "pizza," and each is considered by some the only way that word should be used.  "It's not pizza if you can't fold it in half."

This is true of the way people use the word "God," too.  Some people believe that you can only use the word to refer to a male, interventionist deity who judges all of our actions within very narrow proscriptions.  Others, when they say "God," are thinking about an all-loving Mother.  Some people understand "God" to be singular, others a trinity, and still others a multiplicity.  And some find the word to be utterly meaningless, like "purple tap dancing unicorn with dentures," or "flying spaghetti monster."  And, as with pizza, there are people who think that their understanding of the word is the only understanding of the word.

The dominant culture in the West seems to reinforce the idea that "God" is a triune being, who actively intercedes in people's lives and who ultimately stands in judgement of us all.  (That judgement being, more often than not, condemnation.)  And since that seems to be the predominate understanding of the word "God" in our culture, people who don't find that understanding to be true often end up believing that that have to reject the idea of "God" altogether.  In other words, there are a great many people who "don't believe in God" because they reject a particular understanding of "God."  And, so, the invitation:  Tell me about this God you don't believe in.  I probably don't believe in that God either.

Over the next few weeks I'll exploring some of the ways people understand and experience what they call "God."  For now, I'll encourage you to think about the God(s) you "don't believe in," and to try to define more clearly -- and personally -- the "God" that you do believe in.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Using Technology

Many people imagine a shaven-headed monk, sitting beside a still pond, on the top of a mountain when they hear the words "spiritual practice."  Well, maybe it's not that extremely austere for you, but simplicity is a word that comes up often.  And a whole lot of people can't imagine how they could possibly fit something so quiet, calm, and spacious into their overly crowded lives.

I believe I've referenced this before, yet I'll go ahead and risk doing so again.  In the movie my Dinner With Andre, the actor Wallace Shaw is having a wide-ranging dinner conversation with the director Andre Gregory.  At one point, Shaw (who may be best known for his role as the villainous Vizzini in The Princess Bride) says,

Tell me, why do we require a trip to Mount Everest in order to be able to perceive one moment of reality?  I mean ... I mean, is Mount Everest more 'real' than New York?  I mean, isn't New York "real?"  I mean, you see, I think if you could become fully aware of what existed in the cigar store next door to this restaurant, I think it would just blow your brains out!  I mean ... I mean, isn't there just as much 'reality' to be perceived in the cigar store as there is on Mount Everest?

I think it's important to point out his saying "if you could become fully aware ..."  That, it seems to me, is another way of explaining the "purpose" of spiritual practices.  Yes, as I noted in an early posting, from one perspective there is no purpose to any spiritual practice above and beyond the doing of it.  On the other hand, or from a different point of view, spiritual practices help us to develop our ability to see the "really real," ultimately preparing us to be able to "become fully aware of what existed in the cigar store."

The other point of this passage is that "the spiritual quest" need not take place far outside of our every day lives.  It can, and perhaps should, take place right in the middle of it all.  This is one of the ways I describe the difference between therapy and spiritual direction.  If, during a time of trouble, you go to a therapist, generally speaking they will try to help you understand what is happening (maybe even why it is happening), and then try to help you work through it.  A spiritual director, on the other hand, will try to help you focus on where the sacred, the holy, the spiritual, the Life is in the midst of the trouble.

Two of the chapters in Faithful Practices: everyday ways to feed your spirit offer ways to use that ubiquitously quintessential icon of modernity -- the smart phone -- as a tool for spiritual growth.

Cynthia Cane writes about how she uses Instagram as a way of helping her to take the time to really look at things.  She stops, and takes the time to notice the details of her environment which she might otherwise literally overlook.  Instead of looking over them, she looks at them, and how they relate to one another, as she frames a shot.  And in sharing the image, the moment, she captured, she offers its beauty to others and invites their active awareness, too.

Aaron Stockwell offers a number of ways that he uses his phone's features to support his spiritual deepening.  One in particularly struck me powerfully, so much so, that as soon as I'd read about it in his proposal, before I knew whether his was going to be one of the chapters included in the book, I incorporated into my own daily life.  The practice takes advantage of the ability to set a number of alarms on your phone, and to name them.  So, following Aaron's sage advice, have set several alarms to go off at various times of the day, and each one has its own name (which comes up on the screen with the alarm).  At 9:43 there's a chime, and the words, "Remember God."  At 11:51 it's, "Remember your blessings."  I am promoted to "Remember you live in love," at 1:17 each day, while at 3:33 I receive the message, "Remember to be grateful."  The last of these alarms, at 7:53 each night, is, "Remember what is true."

Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, whoever I'm with, when I hear the chime I see it's reminder as I go to shut it off.  I don't need to take off my shoes, put on a robe, and light some incense to engage this practice.  I don't need to set aside lots of time in the midst of a busy day.  Instead, I am called (briefly) to attention by the sound of the chime, and gently reminded of something that it would otherwise be all too easy to forget.

Is this something you could imagine doing?  Whether it is or not, I wonder what messages you would send to yourself ...

Pax tecum,

RevWik

The Spirituality of Superhero Action Figures ...

Since I was a little kid, I have loved comic books.  It was Marvel figures in my childhood -- Captain America, Spider-Man, Doctor Strange (Master of the Mystic Arts), the Silver Surfer, Black Panther, Thor ... the whole bunch who've been lighting up the silver screen for the past decade or so.  In my young adulthood, and later, I was more captivated by the other hero universe -- DC -- with its Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, et al..  (I had actually stopped paying much attention to comics and comic book heroes during college, but then a friend gave me a copy of Frank Miller's seminal The Dark Knight Returns, and I've been a bit more than hooked ever since.)

Much has been made of the role Star Wars plays as modern day mythology, particularly the first three films.  (It's known, for instance, that George Lucas studied with Joseph Campbell, the pre-eminent scholar of comparative mythology, and intentionally followed Campbell's structure of the Monomyth -- the Hero's Journey -- when constructing his story.)  It is also widely acknowledged that superhero stories function as a modern mythology as well, and, more that they function as a reflection of our cultural zeitgeist -- superheroes as "cultural barometer."

As I've noted elsewhere, one of the things I love about reading comic books, something that grows out of reading about the same figures over time, are the numerous ways that these characters are "made real" by their writers and artists.  Every character has quirks that make them more than just a powered person in spandex, and over time you can see these characterizations become more nuanced.  If you read a comic long enough, you can watch its characters grow, mature, change.  And in the hands of some of the real pros, there are a myriad little details of interaction that are delightful gifts that reward those of us who've stayed with them.  While any one issue of any one comic book title may consist of little more than "a slugfest," as they're sometimes derided, over time it becomes clear that they really are a form of what we might call, "expansive storytelling."  Just as the story of "The Boy Who Lived" plays out over the more than 2,000 pages of the seven primary Harry Potter books (and the roughly 18 hours of the movies), and the story of the One Ring is told over the 1,200 or so pages of Tolkien's masterpiece, so too the stories of these comic book heroes and heroines have grown and developed over time.  (Superman premiered in 1938, the Bat-Man first appeared in 1939, and Wonder Woman showed up a scant two years later.)

Given all of this, it should not be surprising that I have quite a comic book collection.  I also collect action figures.  (My collection is probably something in the range of 350-400 comics, and somewhere a little over 200 figures.)

In the new anthology about spiritual practices I edited for Skinner House books, Faithful Practices:  everyday ways to feed your spirit,  I wrote a chapter about a practice that feeds my soul, "Playing With My Dolls."  I note that I'm not one of those people who leave their comics bagged in plastic, requiring you to wear gloves if you take it out, nor do I have my figures boxed and safe from scratches and fingerprints that might lower their value.  I read (and re-read) my comics, and I play with my figures.  I also make scale models in which to pose the figures, because I also take photographs of them.  [As I write this, my action figure photo album on Flickr has over 800 pictures in it.]

I write in my chapter more about what this practice consists of -- in practical terms -- but I also list seven characteristics that I find in my photography of action figures that I think are common to all spiritual practices.  If there's something you do that brings you joy, that feeds your soul, that helps you to be more alive, check it against this list of attributes.  If you find that it has elements of more than a few of them, you may well have a spiritual practice on your hands!

• Commitment:  A spiritual practice, as opposed to a mere "spiritual hobby," is something that you have made a commitment to.  Runner don't always want to go out into the cold and the rain, they'd often rather stay in bed, but they're committed to their running, so they put on their shoes and go out.  Is this thing you do something that you keep coming back to whether or not it's frustrating or challenging?
• Regularity:  Using the metaphor of learning to play an instrument, a person can make a sound on an instrument they pick up haphazardly, from time to time.  A person who takes their instrument out regularly, with some consistency, is much more likely to make some kind of progress.  Is the thing you do something that you do on a regular basis -- daily, weekly, monthly?
• Interior Circularity:  I made up this term, but it points to the experience of different aspects of a practice reinforcing one another.  For example, entering your meditation space respectfully leads you to engage in your meditation more seriously.  Your experience(s) in your meditation make you want to return to your cushion the next day, or later that day.  Are there elements in this thing that you do which, in and of themselves, inspire you to do the thing?
• Flexibility:  Although this would seem to contradict the qualities of commitment and regularity, I have found that I am more likely to engage a spiritual practice that I can, at least in part, fit into my ever changing life.  Yes, regularly and commitment are important, and both the desire and the ability to dip my toe in the waters of my practice seems to me to be important, too.  Is the thing you do something that you can do in some way whenever the mood strikes?
• Separate From Daily Life:  When I'm in my workshop working on building, say, the fourth iteration of a 1:12 scale Batcomputer, or making minor adjustments to the tilt of a figure's head in a photo, I find that the rest of the world "drops off."  The ten thousand things that pull me this way and that, the million-and-one voices that call out to me for attention, quiet down, and in that quiet I am more able to hear that "still, small voice," that "voice of quiet stillness," which some call God.  Is the thing you do something that takes you out of the hustle and bustle of your day-to-day?
• Yet Not Entirely Separate:  There is a critique made of some religious/spiritual folk that they are all pious and holy in church on Sunday, or are filled with loving kindness when kneeling on their prayer rug, yet who seem to forget all about that during the other 23 hours of the day, and six days of the week.  I have action figures in my house and in my office at church, not just out in the workshop.  I watch superhero movies, and read comic books.  There are reminders of my practice throughout my life, and there are aspects of it that are integrated into my daily life.  Is that true of whatever it is you do that you're thinking might be a spiritual practice?
• Joy:  I really enjoy "playing with my dolls."  I'm aware that lots of folks might think it odd -- my teenage sons keep me well aware of that.  Yet I really love it.  Even when it's frustrating, even when I'm faced with a hurdle I don't know how to overcome, I return to the workshop again and again because it doesn't just make me happy to do so -- it brings me real joy.  How about you?

There is a popular notion that "anything you do can be a spiritual practice," and that's true.  That's true especially if you remember those two central words, "can be."  The seven characteristics of spiritual practices that I've just listed are certainly not the only ones, yet I recognize that they are present in my practice of building "sets" and taking pictures of action figures, and it's in that recognition, and through my intentional cultivation of them, that what might otherwise simply be a hobby becomes a way to feed my spirit.

Pax tecum,

RevWik