Not the Right Attitude

As I left the house last Saturday morning to help Renata, my catechism co-teacher, lead the planned retreat for our first-year confirmation teens at the little house on the edge of town that the church owns, I knew I was not in the right frame of mind. There was neither a sense of calm nor purpose. The source of the disturbance in my peace was Bart.
Bart has come very irregularly to our Thursday evening classes, but his mother is planning to have him "make up" the lessons in writing so that he can be confirmed with his peers next year. The issue is not whether this is an acceptable approach to dealing with missed classes. It actually may be a very acceptable approach because Bart will have to read every word in the lessons and in the accompanying scriptures and respond in writing to the questions that we discuss in class. In class, Bart participates actively, but in a challenging manner. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he does not believe a word that we say. He makes loud declarations from time to time, out of the blue in some cases, that "there is no God." There is hostility in his words, a hostility that disconcerts our largely Hispanic group of teens who share a deep faith with their parents, one that I have found to be typical of rural California Hispanic towns. Bart is one of the English-speaking kids, referred to here as Anglos, with no disrespect intended, and, indeed, Caucasians and Latins blend quite naturally in our community, resulting a considerable number of mixed marriages. Three of my four children have united White and Hispanic (two cases) and White and Black (one case). No, the issue is not an ethnic one; it is a spiritual and religious one.

When I got into the car, I stopped long enough to pray for God to intercede in my mood and for me to find and use the right words with the kids, not only with Bart but especially with him. The group has not bonded as well as groups in the past even though most attend the same high school or maybe because they attend the same high school. They are generally quiet and would prefer lectures to thinking activities. They, in fact, seem to lack either critical or creative thinking skills, and part of our hope for the retreat was not only to bond them spiritually but also to make a dent in the wall blocking them from independent thought.
My hope for post-prayer instant calm was unrealized, and internal irritation caused me to fidget during the short, one-minute drive to the edge of town. (From one side of town to another is at most a two-minute drive.) That one-minute, though, had an impact. I arrived peaceful and calm.

Bart participated, surprisingly, with enthusiasm in the various kinesthetic activities we had the teens do. Somehow, for once, communication with him flowed easily, and he did not push back whenever talk turned to spiritual matters. Of all the teens, he most readily applied spiritual meaning to the physical activities (building a house out of marshmallows and spaghetti, blind walk, etc.), something that was very difficult for most of the kids who wanted to wait for their teachers to tell them the meaning (which I refused to do – I want them to learn how to think). At the end of the day, we could honestly say, “a good time was had by all,” including Bart.

Then, it was time to attend Mass. We cleaned up, packed up, and walked the few minutes it takes to get from the edge of town, through the field, past the parish office and education center, into the mission garden to the church doors. Bart sat in the few in front of me and a little to the left. I had a good view of him. While he behaved himself properly and quietly took communion, Bart, clearly emotionally disengaged from his automatic responses to the liturgy, exuded a level of unhappiness that was difficult to miss.

Renata has talked extensively to Bart’s parents. They know that he described himself as an atheist and publicly states that he has no faith. Nonetheless, his parents want him confirmed, whether he wants to be confirmed or not. They want him to “have options within the church” in the future.

All of this sits uneasily with me. I disagree with Renata. I know the feeling of being forced to attend church when one has no religious beliefs. At least, Bart’s parents do not whip him with raspberry switches as my parents did to me until the day I stood up in church, having been asked to speak at Youth Sunday, and declared that parents in the congregation should consider raising their children in an honest atheist environment rather than in a dishonest Christian home where all kinds of improper things went on, such as Deacon X sleeping with the wife of Mr. Y and the like and then pretending it was all okay because they came to church. I managed in a very short few minutes to reveal most of the town’s secrets; whether they were really secrets or simply part of a conspiracy of silence, I would not have known and still do not know. The result, though, came swiftly. My family was expelled from the church, and I was delighted. No more being forced to spend Sundays there, no more switchings in order to make that happen.

Oh, I understand Bart very well. Except for gender, he might be me in a younger generation. That is why when he has his atheistic and anti-theistic outbursts and the other teens tell him, “You can’t say that here,” I respond, “this is precisely the place he should say it because here is the best place to talk about it.” I have shared my conversion story with the teens, and I can tell that it flustered Bart but has not changed his mind, let alone his heart. That is why I also know that neither Renata nor I are going to “convince” him that God exists and loves him just as he is. No, God will be the one to change him, in time, at the right time, in the right way, as God always does.

I had been contemplating talking to Fr. Ed about the situation, but he has been in Ireland due to his mother’s recent death there. Unexpectedly, I ran into Sr. Maria after Mass, and, grateful for her willing ear, shared my concerns about Bart with her, about the “rightness” of someone being forced into confirmation by parents. She agreed with me. If Bart is truly an atheist (or agnostic) next year at this time, he should not be confirmed. She felt certain that Fr. Ed would not confirm him if he knew the situation but suggested that we wait until he was nearing the end of the second-year confirmation class to see if he has a change of heart.

I don't believe removing Bart from the catechism classes is the right approach even though he acts out and tries to force his atheistic viewpoint on the other teens. I assume he does the same in school if the topic comes up. At least, in catechism class, I can be a countervailing force since I have gone through what he is going through. At least, in catechism class, Bart, and any others who wish, can put forth their doubts so that we can respond to them and discuss them and so that other teens in the class can share their faith. It is better to share them and in the ensuing discussion have those doubts dissipate than to store them permanently without any response except one’s own thinking, and class may be the only place that this happens for some of the teens. And at least, in catechism class, Bart experiences prayer at the beginning and end (and sometimes during) of each session, reading & discussion of scripture, and a spiritual way of interpreting his daily experiences. That he brings up daily experiences for interpretation, albeit always in a sardonic manner, tells me that the Holy Spirit has gripped him though he may not know it – yet.

I would love to know how readers would handle this.

(Picture is of the kids as they head to church after the retreat; one can see the mountains that surround San Ignatio on all sides.)

Womb Wisdom: Is There a God?

Elizabeth Esther runs a meme in which on the first Saturday of the month bloggers select their favorite post of the month and share it with other bloggers. The links are posted at Esther's site: here.

It was difficult to select a favorite for November: there were three contenders in my opinion. While The Walnut Tree: An Example of God's Bounty is my personal favorite, Dona Nobis Pacem received the most comments, so I have copied it below. (f you wish to read the 19 comments that were left there, click on the link.)

The blogosphere, as most of you probably know, is celebrating today as a peace movement day. More information can be found at Mimi's site, where you can read the contributions of other bloggers on this theme.

As so often happens in my life, I experienced a moment of synchronicity as I was preparing this blog post. In the afternoon, I was in Arizona to give a graduation speech to a class of Arabic specialists. Without giving any thought to today's peace blog, I nonetheless spoke about peace, beginning my speech in a way not atypical of graduation speeches I give whenever linguists are among the graduating students. The Cold War, I tell them, was not won with weapons. It was won with words -- the words of Americans who understood Russian language and culture and the words of Russians who understood American language and culture. I was thrilled back then to be one grain of sand in the cement of the span that bridged the two superpowers and brought both to a cautious ally status. So, too, today, it will most likely not be weapons but the efforts of the Americans who speak Arabic and understand Arabic cultures and Arabs who speak English and understand American culture who will bring the current hot war to an end. General Abizaid has ascribed the success of the surge in Iraq to the contribution of American linguists.

Years ago, at the approaching end of the Cold War (although no one knew at the time that the Cold War was going to end), I served as interpreter for a remarkable man, Pyotr Volkovich, then vice president of the Belarus Peace Committee. During the Cold War, every major city in the USSR had a peace committee, composed of citizens dedicated to promoting world peace. You see, the Russians were honestly afraid that the USA intended to start a war against them. The members of these committees can today be considered veterans of the Cold War, So, too, I would argue can be that handful of us Americans working and studying in Russia at the time and those Russian scholars living and studying in America. My daughter, Lizzie, cherishes a button that says "Veteran of the Cold War." As the only Westerner in her Soviet 7th grade classroom, coping with distrust and dislike of Americans at the time, she considers rightfully that she has earned the title.

Pyotr I knew from my work in Belarus, one part of which in 1989 was to prepare bilingual documents for the Ministry of Education for an exchange with the USA. Therefore, I was subsequently brought to Portland, Oregon in 1990 to put together the corresponding set of bilingual documents for one of the Portland school districts to establish an exchange with Belarus. Since the Peace Committee provided the financial support for the exchange from the Belarus side, Pyotr had come along with the superintendent of Minsk public schools. The timing had been manipulated to allow Pyotr to be the keynote speaker at the International Rotary Convention that took place in Portland that year. I went to the convention to provide moral support for Pyotr or so I thought. However, Pyotr surprised me by ditching his Soviet interpreter and called out as he approached the podium, "Beth, so mnoi." (Beth, come with me.) And that is how I ended up being the interpreter for his very moving speech which focused on the need for peace. (I have posted details of his speech on Mahlou Musings.)

Perhaps the most potent advocacy for peace I have ever encountered is a poster drawn by a child, who contributed it to a contest for peace advocacy organized by the Moscow Peace Committee. Against a pure blue (sky?) background, the child had drawn a chalky white frame of a house encompassing a globe inside. At the top, the child had scrawled five words: "U nas net drugogo doma." (We have no other home.) No other words were needed, I think. That pretty much says it all, doesn't it? So, let's wrap the only home we have in the protection of peace!

Womb Wisdom: Is There a God?

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A friend came across the following anecdote on a Russian atheism site today, obviously not posted by an atheist. We don't know the author; otherwise, I would be very happy to give an attribution. Perhaps if I had thought about some of these things back when I was an atheist, God would not have had to conk me on the head to get me to "see" reality. Here is the anecdote, which I have translated into English:

A conversation between twins in the womb:

- Do you think there is life after birth?
- Hardly! No one has ever returned from there.

- Do you think Mother exists?
- Forget that fairy tale! Have you ever seen Mother? Look around: everywhere there is only darkness and fluid.

- But Mother is everywhere. She is all around us. She even sometimes talks to us.
- Oh, brother, so you are hearing voices? You are becoming schizophrenic!

I will add no comment. The anecdote speaks for itself!

*image by Rosalie Rosalie

From Blest Atheist to Blessed Believer

I have been come across a number of thoughtful blogs in recent days written by people who have left the church to find another path to God. All of them express cogent reasons for this. For example, Barb (A Former Leader's Journey) describes a painful discernment process that led her away from her role as a leader in a church that moved from mainstream into a pecking-order organized group that demanded conformity. Alex (Oikos Community) proposes the concept of an "organic" church (a term coined by T. Austin-Sparks), i.e. "a non-traditional church that is born out of spiritual life instead of being constructed by human institutions and held together by religious programs." And D (Loving Jesus, Leaving Church) tells of growing up as a pastor's child, serving the church in many capacities, and ultimately becoming so busy with church that, in her opinion, she lost out on a relationship with Jesus.

In some ways, I can relate to these complaints and disaffections. As a teenage atheist forced to attend church by an abusive family (not abusive because of the church thing but scandalously physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive), I managed to get my entire family permanently expelled from our local Baptist Church. An award-winning public speaker in high school, I was asked to give the sermon on Youth Sunday, to which I agreed as long as I could write my own, not read someone else's. My sermon pointed out many of the things that those critical of the church have written in various blogs, as well as the specific "sins" of our church leaders such as which deacon was sleeping with someone else's wife and the like, and ended with the challenge to the parents in the congregation to be honest about life and raise their children in an atheist home. It was a small Maine community of 500 farm and village folk. You can imagine the uproar! It has never been forgotten and that was 40 years ago!

Now, brought to God by God, I find myself in another small community, this time in California. Our small town has only 1700 people, at least 60% of which are children. Everyone knows everyone. We have no fast food joints, no malls or upscale stores, no doctors or vets (those are 10 miles away), no theaters, no roller rinks, and no youth activities (except catechism classes, which are filled to the brim perhaps in part because they are the only activity in town). We do have two small grocery stores, one on each side of town (within walking distance of each other), a one-room city hall, a one-truck fire department, one part-time sheriff, two statues (both commemorating saints, one of which the town is named for), an elementary school, and, among the outlying ranches, a regional high school. More essential to the nature and being of our town, in addition to several blocks of historic buildings maintained for the public by the state, is the mission, built in the expansive arches-and-garden tradition of the Mexican missions founded in California. Connected to the mission, in addition to the church and cemetery, is a monastery, convent, and Franciscan retreat center (which is also home to our Secular Franciscan Order), all very humble-looking places that contain vibrant life. Masses are held daily, and in more than 200 years this town has never missed a mass or been without a priest, which may be surprising when one considers that we have three kinds of masses: modern mass in the vernacular (English), Mexican style in Spanish (almost everyone here speaks Spanish), and high and low mass in Latin. It may be less surprising if one knows how blessed this tiny, historic community is with priests. We have four priests right now: a Franciscan mystic (always ready to interpret my spiritual "events" for me), a pre-Vatican II traditionalist, a post-Vatican II ecumenicalist from Ireland, and an immigrant from Spain (who, when necessary, is substituted by a fifth, visiting, priest from Colombia). Our priests range from young 30s to young 80s. Plus, we have some additional priests at the monastery and retreat center who step in, as needed. Perhaps because we have so many priests and so many different approaches to worship, there is an understanding that one's relationship with God is not dependent upon any particular clergyman but is a personal matter. For that reason, I have found a home in the church, not outside it, and in this town, which a Russian Orthodox visitor called "namolein" (soaked in prayer). Visitors do feel a special connectedness with the divine here. I consider myself extremely blessed to have become situated in this town, something that was a bit of an accident (if one wants to believe that it was really an accident). I would also note from my experience here that there can be good church experiences as well as bad ones.

Not long ago I read a joke, not sure where, probably on the Internet. It went something like this:

A man showed up at a fancy city church, dressed in jeans, dirt-encrusted boots, and a cowboy shirt. He would have fit right in with our local congregation, but at this church, where everyone was dressed in fancy clothes, he stood out. After the service, one of the deacons welcomed him and suggested that if he were to come again, he might consider dressing more appropriately. The man appeared the next Sunday, dressed the same way. The deacon spoke to him again and this time suggested that he discuss his dress code with God. The man came a third Sunday, dressed the same way. After the service, the deacon asked in exasperated tones whether the visitor had discussed his attire with God. The visitor responded, "Well, yes I did, but God did not know how to advise me. He said He does not come to this church!"

I know that God comes to our mission church. His presence is profoundly felt there by just about anyone in the congregation, including visitors. But then, given that many of them are ranchers, our parishioners are very apt to show up in jeans and cowboy boots!

I love my parish. The people are, in general, rather poor, but that is not uncomfortable for me. After all, I have spent most of my life in the Land of Splat! (although I have to admit that God has been very kind to me in recent days, and I have approached Splat!'s very border). Moreover, the priests here have considerably enriched my life. (I will write about them in another post because, for sure, they have been a gift from God.)

The other side of the matter is that I struggle with the spirituality vs. faith split. Yes, I admit that there does not need to be a split, but I see one frequently, and those living by faith and dogma, at least in my experience, far outnumber those experiencing spirituality. I find myself yearning for the company of people who have had the kinds of spiritual experiences that the desert fathers describe and that I encounter from somewhat frequently.

I would love to hear from others who have had good experiences with church for I believe that God wants His people to commune with him with each other ("where two are together..."), and a good church, it seems to me, is a great place to start. Further, do you sense a split between faith and spirituality within your church or am I being overly sensitive (and perhaps even greedy) in desiring the company of contemporary Saint Theresas of Avila and Saint Johns of the Cross?

Conversion Journey

For many years, my youngest son, who is severely retarded but full of faith, hoped and prayed that his parents would give up their atheism and adopt his belief in a personal God. When God reached out to me about three years ago, that happened. I was shocked by the contact, but I could not deny what all my senses were telling me -- and not only me but also a friend who was with me. (The full story is in the book, Blest Atheist, and is the purpose and message of the book.)

The book ends with the start of the journey. Conversion is not a one-time happening, but, as I have since discovered, a long journey with some interesting twists and turns. I love reading Jennifer Fulwiler's Conversion Diary website (www.conversiondiary.com). She began the journey about two years before I did, and her experiences frequently parallel and occasionally foreshadow mine. I wonder how she is managing this experience with her family, and I look forward to the book she is writing about herself.

With my family, I worked hard to raise atheists. I sent my children to a parochial school because the education was better but insisted that they not be required to go to the chapel and that they be exempted from catechism of any sort. (How ironic! I am now a catechist!) Nonetheless, two of my children--the retarded youngest son and the daughter with spina bifida--both became strong believers. They were apparently experiencing the presence of God all those years that I was trying to dissuade them from believing what they were experiencing. My son, who is pretty much incapable of deception, given an IQ of 52, has all his life talked about talking to God and, more important, listening to God.

It should not have been surprising then that he was so concerned that his parents meet this very special entity in his life. I was quite amused (his father less so), when he said grace one morning after I had had my conversion experience: "Thank you, God, for bringing Mommy to church, but You forgot about Daddy!" Out of the mouths of babes!

I think God has not forgotten about his father, however, for his atheism has slowly turned to agnosticism and from agnosticism to curiosity. Perhaps the next step will come sooner rather than later.

I would be very interested in hearing from believers who are married to non-believers. How are you handling your relationship, given this significant difference?