In no insdustry in the United Kingdom are you allowed to say, "Find me a boss with a penis, i refuse to be supervised by a woman," except one: the Church of England.
The C of E began ordaining women as priests in 1994. Now the debate is women bishops. If a male priest excels at his job and serves the church well, he is made a bishop. Now that there are women priests, surely there will be women bishops, too. Right? Not so much.
You see, if a woman is a priest, she is only in a position of authority over parishners, and they don't count. But if she is a bishop, she has authority over other clergy. Male clergy. Ooooh, scary.
The church is already operating under an exception to national anti-discrimination laws, otherwise they wouldn't have a choice in the matter of whether to make women bishops or not. This situation brings to light 2 compelling questions on discrimination:
1. Should any organization, even a church, be exempt from national anti-discrimination laws?
2. Should individuals within that organization be allowed to refuse to work for someone on the basis of that person's gender?
Also, the debate on reproduction still rages below. Feel free to continue to comment on older posts.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Responsibilty
So far it seems that we all agree that Guppy-Woman is behaving incredibly irresponsibly. That's no surprise. Let me re-phrase my original question:
Do people have a personal right to behave irresponsibly when it comes to reproduction?
If not, what kind of system do we implement to enforce responsible reproduction?
Do people have a personal right to behave irresponsibly when it comes to reproduction?
If not, what kind of system do we implement to enforce responsible reproduction?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Questions of Reproductive Rights
You may have read lately about the woman in Las Angeles who just gave birth to octuplets. This raises some interesting ethical questions about reproductive rights. A few facts:
1. The woman, aged 33, already had 6 children
2. Yet she sought invitro fertilization in order to conceive again
3. She is unmarried and does not live with the father of any of her children
4. She and her (now 14 in total) children live in a 3 bedroom house, along with her parents. (Yes, that's 17 people in a 3 bedroom house.)
5. Her father is employed as a contractor in Iraq (and as such is not around much to lend a hand with child-rearing)
6. Despite her father's income, the family filed for bankruptcy last year
7. When told she was carrying 7 children (they didn't find the 8th until the cesarian) and informed of the extreme risks, she was encouraged to reduce the number the foetuses to give the remainder the best possible chance of survival. She refused.
A lot of people are discussing the ethics of implanting multiple embryos in a woman trying to conceive because of the high risk of multiple births, which exponentially increases the risk of various medical complications to both the foetuses and the mother. These are legitemate questions and well worth exploring, but I'm more interested at this point in the financial ethics involved.
Here is a woman who is already unable to afford the 6 children she's got, as evidenced by the bankruptcy report and the fact that she's still living with her parents in a 3-bedroom home. And yet she has fertility treatment to have more kids. (I'd LOVE to know who paid for that. Herself? Insurance? Medicaid?)
Then there's the hundreds of thousands of dollars of hospital expenses for the delivery (7 surgeons and 7 nurses in the delivery room) and all the neonatal treatment. The babies were delivered 9 weeks early, all with extremely low birthweights. All are still too small to be handled, 7 are at least breathing on their own now. Each baby has 2 nurses assigned to it night and day. They will all remain in the hospital for several more weeks. Did I say hundreds of thousands of dollars? Make that millions.
This woman is not paying the hospital expenses on her own, clearly. Either she's on medicaid (goverment-provided medical care for extremely low-income people), in which case the taxpayers are paying for all this, or she's got insurance, in which case all the other people who also happen to have their insurance with the same company are picking up the tab in the form of their monthly premiums. Regardless, none of them got a say in how many kids this woman has.
Then there's the food stamps she'll almost certainly need to feed them all. Then there's the cost of education, which is likely to be much higher than the national per-student average. Why? Because babies born with such low birthweight have a very high likliehood of having physical and learning developmental difficulties, possibly severe ones.
Ultimately, it comes to this:
Is reproduction an absolute right, to be undertaken by any individual regardless to the cost of society, or if society must help bear the cost of raising the children, does society therefore get some say into how many children are created, and by whom?
If so, who decides these questions, and with what criteria?
On you marks...
get set...
...comment!
1. The woman, aged 33, already had 6 children
2. Yet she sought invitro fertilization in order to conceive again
3. She is unmarried and does not live with the father of any of her children
4. She and her (now 14 in total) children live in a 3 bedroom house, along with her parents. (Yes, that's 17 people in a 3 bedroom house.)
5. Her father is employed as a contractor in Iraq (and as such is not around much to lend a hand with child-rearing)
6. Despite her father's income, the family filed for bankruptcy last year
7. When told she was carrying 7 children (they didn't find the 8th until the cesarian) and informed of the extreme risks, she was encouraged to reduce the number the foetuses to give the remainder the best possible chance of survival. She refused.
A lot of people are discussing the ethics of implanting multiple embryos in a woman trying to conceive because of the high risk of multiple births, which exponentially increases the risk of various medical complications to both the foetuses and the mother. These are legitemate questions and well worth exploring, but I'm more interested at this point in the financial ethics involved.
Here is a woman who is already unable to afford the 6 children she's got, as evidenced by the bankruptcy report and the fact that she's still living with her parents in a 3-bedroom home. And yet she has fertility treatment to have more kids. (I'd LOVE to know who paid for that. Herself? Insurance? Medicaid?)
Then there's the hundreds of thousands of dollars of hospital expenses for the delivery (7 surgeons and 7 nurses in the delivery room) and all the neonatal treatment. The babies were delivered 9 weeks early, all with extremely low birthweights. All are still too small to be handled, 7 are at least breathing on their own now. Each baby has 2 nurses assigned to it night and day. They will all remain in the hospital for several more weeks. Did I say hundreds of thousands of dollars? Make that millions.
This woman is not paying the hospital expenses on her own, clearly. Either she's on medicaid (goverment-provided medical care for extremely low-income people), in which case the taxpayers are paying for all this, or she's got insurance, in which case all the other people who also happen to have their insurance with the same company are picking up the tab in the form of their monthly premiums. Regardless, none of them got a say in how many kids this woman has.
Then there's the food stamps she'll almost certainly need to feed them all. Then there's the cost of education, which is likely to be much higher than the national per-student average. Why? Because babies born with such low birthweight have a very high likliehood of having physical and learning developmental difficulties, possibly severe ones.
Ultimately, it comes to this:
Is reproduction an absolute right, to be undertaken by any individual regardless to the cost of society, or if society must help bear the cost of raising the children, does society therefore get some say into how many children are created, and by whom?
If so, who decides these questions, and with what criteria?
On you marks...
get set...
...comment!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
What's the point of unity?
I've just read a hugely distressing piece in the BBC News website:
Anglicans to halt gay ordinations
Basically the Church of England told the Episcopal Church to toe the line, and rather than stick to their principles -- the principes that gay people are as God made them are and just as entitled to love, marry, and serve the Lord as anyone else -- they bent and did what Canterbury told them to do, mostly because the African bishops were getting all medieval on Canterbury.
"The meeting was attended in part by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, who urged the Episcopal Church to make concessions for the sake of unity."
Here's what I want to know: What's so hot about "unity"?
If two bodies of people have diametrically different positions about something, why force one body of people to compromise their principles for the sake of staying in the same club. What's wrong with leaving? What's so bad about saying "you know what? We're never going to agree on this issue, and if agreement is a condition of membership, we'll just be over here in our own, new clubhouse on the other side of the lake, k?"
WHY ARE PEOPLE'S CIVIL AND HUMAN RIGHTS BEING COMPROMISED FOR "UNITY"?
I also liked this bit:
"The Episcopal bishops did reaffirm their commitment to the civil rights of gay people and said they opposed any violence towards them or violation of their dignity."
Do they really not see that keeping gay people second-class citizens and denying them the basic right to marry IS a violation of their dignity??? What's with this attitude that physical abuse is the only form of oppression?
Anglicans to halt gay ordinations
Basically the Church of England told the Episcopal Church to toe the line, and rather than stick to their principles -- the principes that gay people are as God made them are and just as entitled to love, marry, and serve the Lord as anyone else -- they bent and did what Canterbury told them to do, mostly because the African bishops were getting all medieval on Canterbury.
"The meeting was attended in part by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, who urged the Episcopal Church to make concessions for the sake of unity."
Here's what I want to know: What's so hot about "unity"?
If two bodies of people have diametrically different positions about something, why force one body of people to compromise their principles for the sake of staying in the same club. What's wrong with leaving? What's so bad about saying "you know what? We're never going to agree on this issue, and if agreement is a condition of membership, we'll just be over here in our own, new clubhouse on the other side of the lake, k?"
WHY ARE PEOPLE'S CIVIL AND HUMAN RIGHTS BEING COMPROMISED FOR "UNITY"?
I also liked this bit:
"The Episcopal bishops did reaffirm their commitment to the civil rights of gay people and said they opposed any violence towards them or violation of their dignity."
Do they really not see that keeping gay people second-class citizens and denying them the basic right to marry IS a violation of their dignity??? What's with this attitude that physical abuse is the only form of oppression?
Thursday, September 13, 2007
The "New Death"
Read an article in the BBC this morning about a doctor who wants to revise the definition of death used in the UK.
Right now the medical definition of death is based on brain death -- the cessation of brain function. Apparently this is confusing to some people because a body can be kept alive on life support after the brain is no longer capable of cognitive processes, and so a body doesn't "look" dead.
The definition of death as brain death came about in the 1970s because it made organ harvesting (there's an agricultural term if ever i heard one) much more feasible.
Now a doctor is aguing that the definition of death needs to be revised to fit more in line with people's preconceived ideas about death (ie, when the heart stops) rather than "medical pragmatism."
I have 3 reactions to this:
1. What's wrong with medical pragmatism? He says it like that's a bad thing.
2. Our definition of death needs to be based around our definition of life. We need to ask ourselves not what is it that makes a person dead, but what is it that makes them alive? Where does the essence of a person reside: in the heart, as Dr. Kellehear seems to be advocating, or in the brain? Well, since we can perform a heart transplant on people and they are still the same person after that they were before, the heart doesn't seem to be what makes a person a person, or what makes them alive. The essence of a person resides in the brain. When the brain is gone or dead, there is no coming back. The body may still show symptoms of life, but the person is gone. That then, truly, is death.
3. Dr. Kellehear is approaching this from the wrong side. There is a descrepancy between what is medically death and what people percieve as death, but rather than altering a sound (and pragmatic) medical definition to suit the general public's uninformed sensibilities, we need to focus on educating the general public and slowing altering the general social perception of death.
Right now the medical definition of death is based on brain death -- the cessation of brain function. Apparently this is confusing to some people because a body can be kept alive on life support after the brain is no longer capable of cognitive processes, and so a body doesn't "look" dead.
The definition of death as brain death came about in the 1970s because it made organ harvesting (there's an agricultural term if ever i heard one) much more feasible.
Now a doctor is aguing that the definition of death needs to be revised to fit more in line with people's preconceived ideas about death (ie, when the heart stops) rather than "medical pragmatism."
I have 3 reactions to this:
1. What's wrong with medical pragmatism? He says it like that's a bad thing.
2. Our definition of death needs to be based around our definition of life. We need to ask ourselves not what is it that makes a person dead, but what is it that makes them alive? Where does the essence of a person reside: in the heart, as Dr. Kellehear seems to be advocating, or in the brain? Well, since we can perform a heart transplant on people and they are still the same person after that they were before, the heart doesn't seem to be what makes a person a person, or what makes them alive. The essence of a person resides in the brain. When the brain is gone or dead, there is no coming back. The body may still show symptoms of life, but the person is gone. That then, truly, is death.
3. Dr. Kellehear is approaching this from the wrong side. There is a descrepancy between what is medically death and what people percieve as death, but rather than altering a sound (and pragmatic) medical definition to suit the general public's uninformed sensibilities, we need to focus on educating the general public and slowing altering the general social perception of death.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Racism
Why do racists always feel the need to point out they're not racist, usually immediately preceding a racist statement?
Surely if you're racist and you're not ashamed of those views you should have no problem admiting it? (I myself hold many unpopular views, though racism is not among them.)
But if you're racist and afraid to admit it, wouldn't that be a clue that you need to reevaluate your perspective?
Just a thought.
Surely if you're racist and you're not ashamed of those views you should have no problem admiting it? (I myself hold many unpopular views, though racism is not among them.)
But if you're racist and afraid to admit it, wouldn't that be a clue that you need to reevaluate your perspective?
Just a thought.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Children's Squabble
Matters of religious interest are central to the mission of this page, which is to question and evaluate our basic assumptions about life, the universe, and everything. This is a squirmy process, as I have recently been reminded.
I enjoyed this article in the Guardian on a new ITV documentary airing soon about the Muslim beliefs surrounding Christ. I think it's a great idea. Even as children we're taught that there are two sides to every story. We learn this the first time we get into a squabble with a sibling and our parents (if they're at all sensible) ask each child what happend before handing down a ruling.
Some stories seem to be exempt from this treatment. 'There is one side, once correct view, and it is mine,' seems to be the attitude. Shame, really. I think a lot of people would benefit from the discomfort of hearing the other side of their sacred story.
(And Random Thinker, I know exactly what you're going to say here. No, I am not contradicting my earlier statement about truth being objective regardless of perspective. There is a difference between a story and a fact: a story has multiple sides, a fact does not. In the case of the story of Jesus there are multiple sides (even within the Christian New Testament, where the gospels contradict each other all over the place), and then there is the truth of what actually happened, which nobody knows.)
I enjoyed this article in the Guardian on a new ITV documentary airing soon about the Muslim beliefs surrounding Christ. I think it's a great idea. Even as children we're taught that there are two sides to every story. We learn this the first time we get into a squabble with a sibling and our parents (if they're at all sensible) ask each child what happend before handing down a ruling.
Some stories seem to be exempt from this treatment. 'There is one side, once correct view, and it is mine,' seems to be the attitude. Shame, really. I think a lot of people would benefit from the discomfort of hearing the other side of their sacred story.
(And Random Thinker, I know exactly what you're going to say here. No, I am not contradicting my earlier statement about truth being objective regardless of perspective. There is a difference between a story and a fact: a story has multiple sides, a fact does not. In the case of the story of Jesus there are multiple sides (even within the Christian New Testament, where the gospels contradict each other all over the place), and then there is the truth of what actually happened, which nobody knows.)
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Back to Basics
I'm going to return now to a variant on the question that inspired me to subject my my blog to a mitotic split and create this spin-off. I am deeply interested in the fundamental ways people perceive the world and how they interact in it. So here is my question:
How do you personally decide what is true or not true?
Should be simple enough.
How do you personally decide what is true or not true?
Should be simple enough.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Burning question
I had a discussion with a devout, evangelical X-tian last winter on a rowing training camp, and he allowed me to pick his brains about a topic that had been bothering me for some time: ghosts and god. Specifically, why one and not the other?
This question became intensified in my mind on the Easter holidays when I was touring old castles with Pirate's mom and little brother. Our tour guide at one particular castle kept getting destracted from the historical element of the tour to tell us about all the castle ghosts. Little Pirate (as we may as well call him, despite the fact that he's 26 years old and a certified engineer) is a devout evangelical christian and got all huffy over the mention of ghosts. Finally he got so fed up with the whole thing he left the tour, lest his ears continue to be accosted by such unholy utterances as the story of the spinning woman in the dungeon.
I find this very difficult to reconcile. If one believes in a god, an omnipotent, supernatural being, why cannot ghosts exist as well? How does one justify the existance of one but deny the possiblity of the other? It seems to me the one is just as un/likely as t'other. So what gives?
Here, then, are your questions:
1. Do you believe in a supernatural deity/god creature?
2. Do you believe in ghosts?
3. If you answered questions 1 and 2 differently, WHY??? (If you answered them the same than you may be wrong, but at least you're consistent.)
This question became intensified in my mind on the Easter holidays when I was touring old castles with Pirate's mom and little brother. Our tour guide at one particular castle kept getting destracted from the historical element of the tour to tell us about all the castle ghosts. Little Pirate (as we may as well call him, despite the fact that he's 26 years old and a certified engineer) is a devout evangelical christian and got all huffy over the mention of ghosts. Finally he got so fed up with the whole thing he left the tour, lest his ears continue to be accosted by such unholy utterances as the story of the spinning woman in the dungeon.
I find this very difficult to reconcile. If one believes in a god, an omnipotent, supernatural being, why cannot ghosts exist as well? How does one justify the existance of one but deny the possiblity of the other? It seems to me the one is just as un/likely as t'other. So what gives?
Here, then, are your questions:
1. Do you believe in a supernatural deity/god creature?
2. Do you believe in ghosts?
3. If you answered questions 1 and 2 differently, WHY??? (If you answered them the same than you may be wrong, but at least you're consistent.)
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The Broadcaster's Tale
A Christian, a Muslim, and a Jew go on a radio program...
No, it's not the beginning of a joke. It's a broadcast by journalist John Humphrys who, like me, is seeking to understand why people believe things in the hope that he, too, might come to believe them. Unlike me, he is a famous broadcast journalist and as such has access to high-powered, famous religious people and their brains. In this series on BBC Radio 4 John Humphrys interviews a Christian (Archbishop of Canterbury Dr. Rowan Williams), a Muslim (Professor Tariq Ramadan), and a Jew (Chief Rabbi Sir Jonathan Sacks).
Mr. Humphrys is a fellow pilgrim on a journey seeking truth. He approaches each interviewee with the same mindset and question, summarized thus: I used to believe in God. As a child I believed. But then I became disalusioned of the idea upon witnessing a world of suffering in my career as a journalist. I want to believe again; I want to have faith. How can I get it? How can I find God again?
It's worth listening to the extended interviews if you have time. I recommend doing some ironing or other mindless task while you enjoy the broadcast. Cheers!
No, it's not the beginning of a joke. It's a broadcast by journalist John Humphrys who, like me, is seeking to understand why people believe things in the hope that he, too, might come to believe them. Unlike me, he is a famous broadcast journalist and as such has access to high-powered, famous religious people and their brains. In this series on BBC Radio 4 John Humphrys interviews a Christian (Archbishop of Canterbury Dr. Rowan Williams), a Muslim (Professor Tariq Ramadan), and a Jew (Chief Rabbi Sir Jonathan Sacks).
Mr. Humphrys is a fellow pilgrim on a journey seeking truth. He approaches each interviewee with the same mindset and question, summarized thus: I used to believe in God. As a child I believed. But then I became disalusioned of the idea upon witnessing a world of suffering in my career as a journalist. I want to believe again; I want to have faith. How can I get it? How can I find God again?
It's worth listening to the extended interviews if you have time. I recommend doing some ironing or other mindless task while you enjoy the broadcast. Cheers!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Saga Continues
...over at Herebe Monters' place.
Note: the posts of mine he's referencing (that he didn't link) are Big Questions and Faith part II
Note: the posts of mine he's referencing (that he didn't link) are Big Questions and Faith part II
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Castro Blogs
When I first saw the headline on the Guardian online, "Castro Blogs," I thought for a moment that I was still at The Onion. But no, there -- in all its glory -- is a CiF blog by none other than Fidel Castro. I have to admit I kinda like the guy. He's not the worst dictator you could have, anyway. Here's his post, if you're interested. (And I see Tim Footman managed to get his comment in at the top of the list!)
So here's our question for the day: Can you kill an idea, or are they immortal, as Castro suggests?
So here's our question for the day: Can you kill an idea, or are they immortal, as Castro suggests?
Monday, May 28, 2007
The other side
Recently while giving a talk at some small college or other in Virginia (or was it North Carolina? anyway...) Prof. Richard Dawkins was asked by a student "What if you're wrong?"
It's actually an interesting question, but one that shouldn't just be directed at scientists. Why not consider what we believe from the perspective of the other side? Why not examine the other possiblities?
So I put it to you: tell us what you believe, and then tell us what happens if you're wrong.
It's actually an interesting question, but one that shouldn't just be directed at scientists. Why not consider what we believe from the perspective of the other side? Why not examine the other possiblities?
So I put it to you: tell us what you believe, and then tell us what happens if you're wrong.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Why is no one ever wrong anymore?
Tonight I was listening to two people I know well, respect, and care about have an in-depth discussion on the economics of ecological sustainability. Both of these men are intelligent and informed, but disagreed vehemently on a particular point. They went in circles for 30 minutes while I cleaned the kitchen around them. Eventually the discussion was ended, but it was never concluded. Neither one could see the other's point of view, and neither one's position had shifted one iota.
This got me thinking: how come no one is ever wrong any more? I can't remember the last time I heard someone say "Gee, that's a good point; I hadn't thought of it that way," or "You know, you're right. I'm going to have to reconsider my position on that." Have we completely lost the ability to change our minds (assuming it's an ability we ever had)? Or do we always approach every topic with out minds made up, no matter how little information we actually have?
So here's today's question: When was the last time someone changed your mind about something by presenting you with information you previously lacked or through the pursuasiveness of their logic?
This got me thinking: how come no one is ever wrong any more? I can't remember the last time I heard someone say "Gee, that's a good point; I hadn't thought of it that way," or "You know, you're right. I'm going to have to reconsider my position on that." Have we completely lost the ability to change our minds (assuming it's an ability we ever had)? Or do we always approach every topic with out minds made up, no matter how little information we actually have?
So here's today's question: When was the last time someone changed your mind about something by presenting you with information you previously lacked or through the pursuasiveness of their logic?
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Short Hiatus
Hi all. I'm heading back to the States for a short time to deliver a paper at a conference. I'll be back on the 16th of May, at which time we'll contiune on, so watch this space. In the meantime, feel free to leave some questions in the comments box that you would like to discuss when I return. Ta!
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Spiritual Sojourn, part III: The Politics of the Church
And then I was birthed from the womb of academia and not allowed back in. They sent me forth into the world, and I ended up in a town called Westborough in Massachusetts. It was a pretty little New England town, lots of colonial architecture, pretty gardens, very upper middle class, and very politically conservative.
I was out on my own for the first time, financially independent, supporting myself. It was good, but also slightly intimidating, as I'm sure it is for everyone. I wanted to meet people, make connections, make friends. I turned once again to the best social club in the land, the church.
The nearest Catholic church was just down the street from me. I went one Sunday morning. It was about like you expect. I asked one of the stewards about the choir, and he told me when practice was. The following Wednesday evening I turned up, said hello, introduced myself, said I was new in town and looking for a parish, and might they allow me to join their choir?
I expected a warm welcome. I expected them to be delighted to have a new member. What I got was handed, almost without a word, a stack of sheet music. I took a seat next to an elderly woman who looked at me and said, "That's Doris's seat." Not even a "Hello, my name is." I got a reception colder than a headstone in the churchyard. I didn't go back.
After that I spent my weekends at Wally and Vi's house. They were my best friends, my family, and all the community I needed. And I found that after I no longer needed the church for community or a sense of belonging, I had no need for it at all, and I didn't miss it. I still went back to college to celebrate major holidays (espeically Easter) with Vi and Fr. L, and that filled my need for ritual and rhythm. I did miss the music, but not too much, as Vi and I spent loads of time singing together.
The backdrop to all this was the political side of the RC church.
I was raised in a very politically active household. My mom held several elected offices, and then worked as an independent political consultant and campaign manager for many years. I should add that mine was a very, very liberal household in a very, very conservative town. This did not win me many friends.
In particular we (my family) took serious exception to the church's stance on abortion, birth control, women's rights, and gay rights. I remember times as a child at Mass when the priest would go on about the evils of contraception during the homily (sermon) and mom would just get up and walk out. Just like that. Stand up and walk out during the homily. I was mortified to be so conspicuous (especially as we always sat near the front, and everybody knew who we were, mom being something of a local celebrity).
All my life I struggled with this. How could I be a member of an organization with whose principles I disagreed so strongly? I was often accused of being a "cafeterial catholic," someone who picks and choses what they want and what they don't want. It was a fair critique.
Because of my political views I was often taunted, mocked, teased, bullied, picked on, beat up, and harassed at school. I was called "baby killer" almost every day for 4 years in high school, despite the fact that I have never had an abortion. I was abused regularly by people who claimed, quite vocally, to be better Christians that me. ??? I don't think the hypocrisy of their statements ever registered with them.
So there I was, living in Westborough, Mass, trying to make friends and fit in at church. All the while this was happening the story was breaking about Cardinal Law of the Archdioces of Boston and how he moved dozens of paedophile priests around from parish to parish to protect the preists and sheltered them from the law, acting as an accessory to their perverted and heinous behavior. Since I was living so near Boston, this story was big news and everyone was up in arms about it. And then one morning I broke my toe.
I was getting ready for work, stubling around in the dark, and I stubbed my pinky toe on a kitchen chair. I knew it was broken. Fortunately it was my left foot and my car was an automatic, so I was able to scoot down the two flights of stairs from my flat and drive myself to the nearest hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital I hobbled in to the Emergency Room, which was (thankfully) empty. I addressed myself to the nurse at the reception desk and explained my injury. She began asking me all the relevant personal details about general health, meds I was on, etc. And then she got to the question of my religion.
This is standard practice in American hospitals, because just in case it all goes horribly wrong they want to know which chaplain to send to you and your family. She asked me this question, and at that moment the TV in the corner was blaring a news report about Cardinal Law. And I couldn't bring myself to say I was Catholic. I thought "I don't want to be associated with this organization, with these people. We have nothing in common. I want no part of this." And I told the nurse to mark down "none" under 'religion.' That was the day I left.
I was out on my own for the first time, financially independent, supporting myself. It was good, but also slightly intimidating, as I'm sure it is for everyone. I wanted to meet people, make connections, make friends. I turned once again to the best social club in the land, the church.
The nearest Catholic church was just down the street from me. I went one Sunday morning. It was about like you expect. I asked one of the stewards about the choir, and he told me when practice was. The following Wednesday evening I turned up, said hello, introduced myself, said I was new in town and looking for a parish, and might they allow me to join their choir?
I expected a warm welcome. I expected them to be delighted to have a new member. What I got was handed, almost without a word, a stack of sheet music. I took a seat next to an elderly woman who looked at me and said, "That's Doris's seat." Not even a "Hello, my name is." I got a reception colder than a headstone in the churchyard. I didn't go back.
After that I spent my weekends at Wally and Vi's house. They were my best friends, my family, and all the community I needed. And I found that after I no longer needed the church for community or a sense of belonging, I had no need for it at all, and I didn't miss it. I still went back to college to celebrate major holidays (espeically Easter) with Vi and Fr. L, and that filled my need for ritual and rhythm. I did miss the music, but not too much, as Vi and I spent loads of time singing together.
The backdrop to all this was the political side of the RC church.
I was raised in a very politically active household. My mom held several elected offices, and then worked as an independent political consultant and campaign manager for many years. I should add that mine was a very, very liberal household in a very, very conservative town. This did not win me many friends.
In particular we (my family) took serious exception to the church's stance on abortion, birth control, women's rights, and gay rights. I remember times as a child at Mass when the priest would go on about the evils of contraception during the homily (sermon) and mom would just get up and walk out. Just like that. Stand up and walk out during the homily. I was mortified to be so conspicuous (especially as we always sat near the front, and everybody knew who we were, mom being something of a local celebrity).
All my life I struggled with this. How could I be a member of an organization with whose principles I disagreed so strongly? I was often accused of being a "cafeterial catholic," someone who picks and choses what they want and what they don't want. It was a fair critique.
Because of my political views I was often taunted, mocked, teased, bullied, picked on, beat up, and harassed at school. I was called "baby killer" almost every day for 4 years in high school, despite the fact that I have never had an abortion. I was abused regularly by people who claimed, quite vocally, to be better Christians that me. ??? I don't think the hypocrisy of their statements ever registered with them.
So there I was, living in Westborough, Mass, trying to make friends and fit in at church. All the while this was happening the story was breaking about Cardinal Law of the Archdioces of Boston and how he moved dozens of paedophile priests around from parish to parish to protect the preists and sheltered them from the law, acting as an accessory to their perverted and heinous behavior. Since I was living so near Boston, this story was big news and everyone was up in arms about it. And then one morning I broke my toe.
I was getting ready for work, stubling around in the dark, and I stubbed my pinky toe on a kitchen chair. I knew it was broken. Fortunately it was my left foot and my car was an automatic, so I was able to scoot down the two flights of stairs from my flat and drive myself to the nearest hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital I hobbled in to the Emergency Room, which was (thankfully) empty. I addressed myself to the nurse at the reception desk and explained my injury. She began asking me all the relevant personal details about general health, meds I was on, etc. And then she got to the question of my religion.
This is standard practice in American hospitals, because just in case it all goes horribly wrong they want to know which chaplain to send to you and your family. She asked me this question, and at that moment the TV in the corner was blaring a news report about Cardinal Law. And I couldn't bring myself to say I was Catholic. I thought "I don't want to be associated with this organization, with these people. We have nothing in common. I want no part of this." And I told the nurse to mark down "none" under 'religion.' That was the day I left.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Spiritual Sojourn, part II: The College Years
Music was always a big part of my life. I can remember going to sunday school as a wee tot and singing singing singing! I loved the singing! I can still remember some of the songs we sang, and Mrs. L. with her long, brown hair in silver barettes that she would flick over her shoulder to keep out of the way of the guitar strings while she played. We all sat in a circle and held hands and swung our arms back and forth carolling, "I've got a friend and you've got a friend!"
Sunday school was the first place I learned about music, and my whole life music has been intimately connected with the church. I joined the youth choir when I was 8 and the regular choir when I was 15. When I was singing, I was happy. But the only place I sang was in church, so church = singing = happy. If A = B and B = C, than A = C; thus, church = happy.
When I was 18 I moved away and went to college out of state, at a distance of 800 miles from where I grew up. I wasn't prepared for it, but there was definately culture shock moving from a small town in the midwest to a posh, east-coast private college. Like anyone experiencing culture shock, I looked for things that were familiar and therefore comforting.
Church was familiar and comforting. The Mass is the same everywhere you go. And the Catholic chaplain, Fr. L, was accostomed to dealing with kids away from home for the first time and looked after me as I settled in to my new surroundings. He's a wonderful man, and I still have great respect and affection for him. (He's also a druid at heart, but don't tell him I told you.) After a couple weeks I got up the nerve to join the choir, and I made some of my best friends in the choir. Every Saturday at 5:00 for 4 years. JA, the organist, was also a wonderful man. Everyone was wonderful. Everyone was welcoming and warm and actually cared when they asked "How are you today?" Most people ask to be polite, and get very nervous if you respond with anything other than "I'm fine, how are you?" These people actually cared.
My college was a very protective, insulating, in many ways coddling environment. It was easy to stick your head in the sand, forget about the rest of the world, and enjoy your pampered, idyllic existence. So although I strenuously disagreed with much of the Catholic church's politics and policies, it was easy to forget about them, to distance myself from them, to think they didn't reach me or affect me in that warm, wet womb of academia.
So I went every saturday, helped set up, did readings, belted out harmonies to Amazing Graze with Vi at my side, tidied up afterwards, and went to dinner with Vi and Fr. L afterwards. It was a social club, and god had nothing to do with it.
Sunday school was the first place I learned about music, and my whole life music has been intimately connected with the church. I joined the youth choir when I was 8 and the regular choir when I was 15. When I was singing, I was happy. But the only place I sang was in church, so church = singing = happy. If A = B and B = C, than A = C; thus, church = happy.
When I was 18 I moved away and went to college out of state, at a distance of 800 miles from where I grew up. I wasn't prepared for it, but there was definately culture shock moving from a small town in the midwest to a posh, east-coast private college. Like anyone experiencing culture shock, I looked for things that were familiar and therefore comforting.
Church was familiar and comforting. The Mass is the same everywhere you go. And the Catholic chaplain, Fr. L, was accostomed to dealing with kids away from home for the first time and looked after me as I settled in to my new surroundings. He's a wonderful man, and I still have great respect and affection for him. (He's also a druid at heart, but don't tell him I told you.) After a couple weeks I got up the nerve to join the choir, and I made some of my best friends in the choir. Every Saturday at 5:00 for 4 years. JA, the organist, was also a wonderful man. Everyone was wonderful. Everyone was welcoming and warm and actually cared when they asked "How are you today?" Most people ask to be polite, and get very nervous if you respond with anything other than "I'm fine, how are you?" These people actually cared.
My college was a very protective, insulating, in many ways coddling environment. It was easy to stick your head in the sand, forget about the rest of the world, and enjoy your pampered, idyllic existence. So although I strenuously disagreed with much of the Catholic church's politics and policies, it was easy to forget about them, to distance myself from them, to think they didn't reach me or affect me in that warm, wet womb of academia.
So I went every saturday, helped set up, did readings, belted out harmonies to Amazing Graze with Vi at my side, tidied up afterwards, and went to dinner with Vi and Fr. L afterwards. It was a social club, and god had nothing to do with it.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Spiritual Sojourn, part I: When Church Was Good
I was raised Roman Catholic. My mom's family is Polish, and she grew up in a Polish Catholic enclave of Detroit, Michigan. My dad's family is German, and though he was raised Lutheran, he left the church when he was 13. By the time he married mom on September 1st, 1972 (and no, that date is not a coincidence) he was a sworn atheist. Mom wanted to be married in the Catholic church, and the rules of the church say that if a Catholic wants to marry a godless heathen that's ok so long as they promise to raise the tadpoles RC. Dad was fine with this as long as mom assured him that we wouldn't be taught creationist, anti-evolution crap in school. This wasn't a problem since they really didn't teach us much of anything in school.
The thing is, I never really believed in God. I can remember as a child of 8, preparing for my first communion (3rd sacrament and major rite of passage in Catholic families), being told that Jesus was up in Heaven watching me all the time, and I thought that was silly.
Maybe it's a side-effect of my Asperger's Syndrome. Aspergers kids are rubbish at creative play, and I was no exception. When my friends wanted to 'play house' or school or doctor or play with dolls and make up stories for them to act out, I just got up and left. Such things struck me as pointless and rediculous. Maybe I simply lack the imaginative capability that other people have that makes the concept of 'god' make sense in their brains. It just never jived with me.
But for all that, I liked church. I joined the youth choir as soon as I was old enough (right after my first communion, which was the pre-requisite to joining), and stayed there until they threw me out because I was too old. I took a year off, missed it terribly, and joined the regular choir, where I was welcomed with open arms. (I couldn't sing all that well, but they were thrilled to have a member who wasn't collecting social security.)
These were my teen years, and I struggled socially in high school. I had few friends, and my definition of a friend was anyone who didn't dump my lunch on the floor when I sat down next to them in the caffeteria. Even with these low standards I could count my friends (out of a class of 140 students in a school of 700) on one hand. The choir at church was the only place I could go where I felt genuinely welcomed and wanted. When I arrived people smiled and and said "How nice to see you! We're glad you're here," and they meant it. No where else did that happen for me.
So you can see why I kept going. One of the roles of the church is to be a community and provide a place where all are welcome, and in this aspect I have to say that my home parish succeeded brilliantly. It never really had anything to do with god. It was like "Cheers," the bar; it was the place where everybody knew my name.
The thing is, I never really believed in God. I can remember as a child of 8, preparing for my first communion (3rd sacrament and major rite of passage in Catholic families), being told that Jesus was up in Heaven watching me all the time, and I thought that was silly.
Maybe it's a side-effect of my Asperger's Syndrome. Aspergers kids are rubbish at creative play, and I was no exception. When my friends wanted to 'play house' or school or doctor or play with dolls and make up stories for them to act out, I just got up and left. Such things struck me as pointless and rediculous. Maybe I simply lack the imaginative capability that other people have that makes the concept of 'god' make sense in their brains. It just never jived with me.
But for all that, I liked church. I joined the youth choir as soon as I was old enough (right after my first communion, which was the pre-requisite to joining), and stayed there until they threw me out because I was too old. I took a year off, missed it terribly, and joined the regular choir, where I was welcomed with open arms. (I couldn't sing all that well, but they were thrilled to have a member who wasn't collecting social security.)
These were my teen years, and I struggled socially in high school. I had few friends, and my definition of a friend was anyone who didn't dump my lunch on the floor when I sat down next to them in the caffeteria. Even with these low standards I could count my friends (out of a class of 140 students in a school of 700) on one hand. The choir at church was the only place I could go where I felt genuinely welcomed and wanted. When I arrived people smiled and and said "How nice to see you! We're glad you're here," and they meant it. No where else did that happen for me.
So you can see why I kept going. One of the roles of the church is to be a community and provide a place where all are welcome, and in this aspect I have to say that my home parish succeeded brilliantly. It never really had anything to do with god. It was like "Cheers," the bar; it was the place where everybody knew my name.
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