Life Explains Religion

 

Over Labor Day weekend we attended the Greek Festival at the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church. It’s a beautiful building. I’ve walked past it several times and always been fascinated by the logical sequence of gradual size inherent in the appearance, one thing leads to another, from the smaller offices and classrooms surrounding and attached to the exterior, climbing in orderly steps to the arched dome over the cathedral. It carries the weight of awesome symmetry from every angle. There is an order and structure to the shapes, they seem almost independent of each other, but so interconnected and mutually reliant it gives me an odd sense of being a mirage, a dream in the middle of a busy intersection, in a trendy, fashionable area. I had never been inside, so this was my chance to visit.

 

I’m not a religious person, but sometimes I wish I was. Life would be so much easier if I had something to hold onto when the discomforts of existence begin to grind away at my ability to resist. Inside a church you can almost sense the majesty of the almighty. 

 

We attended a tour of the nave while we were there. It was gorgeous. Stained glass diluting, refracting, and cooling the suns rays, taming the vicious nuclear fusion that powers the stars, refracting it into rainbows. There are depictions of the Saints, the Apostles, the Virgin Mother, the Savior. All looking beatifically from the upper walls, the vaulted ceiling. You can feel the strength of the unknown, the unknowable. 

 

Everything was spotless, as if the process that creates and distributes dust is unwelcome in churches. There was a shine and polish, a sparkle that was almost hypnotic. Churches must be some of the cleanest places on earth. They don’t smell of disinfectant, or cleanser, it’s almost as if they just don’t get dirty.

 

There is a solemn quiet, a hush that offers strength. It seems peaceful, serene.  Until two women bumbled in through the large doors below the balcony and sat behind us. They seemed to be playing video games on their phones and whispering insulting contradictions to almost every point the guide made. It was constant, beeping, blathering and completely distracting.

 

I listened, as best as I could, to the gentle, kind voice of the guide as he told us about the saints, and the spiritual reasons for the features, and depictions. There was a pattern and uniformity, across the Orthodox religion. It was surprisingly technical. I’ve always assumed religion was just interpreting the scripture. But there is an order, a method, a reason approaching scientific, maybe astrological. 

 

“Any questions?” He asked. 

 

After a few questions from around the pews I raised my hand.

 

“When did Christianity come to Greece?” I asked. He answered, politely and thoroughly.

 

I really wanted to ask, “Why did the ancient Greeks turn their back on such a rich, complete polytheism, developed over a millennium, a system of beliefs that could find a somewhat implausible, sometimes fantastic reason for almost anything and adopt a religion whose main explanation for any kind of suffering is ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’” I was mad at myself for not having the courage to ask. It was probably the last chance I’ll ever get.

 

Ancient Greece has the most fascinating history. In many ways it resembles “The Readers Digest Condensed Version” of world history. Everything that ever happened in the world happened on a smaller scale on the mountainous peninsula, wars, prosperity, desolation, revolution. And their mythology had everything covered. They had a god, or goddess for every occasion, it was a thorough, complete list of responsibility covering everything from hunting to the cultivation of crops. They had an explanation for disasters, unusual good fortune, even run of the mill, everyday life. It must have taken centuries to devise and record. And they abandoned it. For a relatively new phenomenon. An upstart religion based on a single messiah. I’m not sure how long the conversion took, but it had to be a tough sell. 

 

I was interested in the schism, too. What caused the western and eastern patriarchates of the oldest Christian religion to split apart so completely. I’ve taken a little time to look it up, and there doesn’t seem to be a clear answer for such a radical dissolution. It seemed to have been a slow process, that simmered over centuries, and involved fragile human egos, and petty political rivalries. 

 

As I read about ancient Greek mythology, and the schism behind the split a realization came to me, the only peace you find in a church you have to bring in with you, the only comfort you ever found you had to invent. Every church was complete with the mean little people who sat behind me. They were a part of the act. I remembered the services I had attended, Lutheran, Baptist, Catholic, all with the same message, conform, convert, or else. I remembered the evangelicals throwing themselves at Trump, acolytes before the one true grifter. 

 

Churches are ancient institutions; they’ve learned how to present themselves as islands in a sea of madness, sanctuaries against the unclean, the unholy. It’s a foolproof plan. But it’s an illusion, they are organizations designed to prosper, and grow. They sell salvation, it is their only product, and they are the only ones who can define it, and they have the only outlet. 

 

I love the beauty of churches. The majesty. And I wish I could find some comfort, more than a temporary feeling of escape. In many ways it probably comes from my unhealthy need to be an outsider, or it might come from the self-interest that seems to drive churches to indulge in shameless political promotion. Also, it could be the wealth, the enormous treasure churches seem to acquire and hoard. Still, religion seems a wholesome thing, in many ways, like politics, and business administration, it’s always the people who corrupt the process, turn it to personal gain. 

I went, paid my ticket, bought some food, and a few pins featuring saints of Greek Orthodoxy for my newest treasure, so I donated. I don’t mind pitching in occasionally, but that’s as far as it goes.

Looking for Answers

Oscar Wilde said "I think that God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability."  That might be a little cynical. I'm not sure God is to blame for man. Certainly there is enough blame to go around, and God gets a lot of credit. I have seen some of the greatest athletes of my time thank the good Lord for their achievements. 

This is more than a little troubling. It almost implies God liked one team more than the other. I'm no theologian but that doesn't sound like the God. At least not the God they drilled into me in Catholic school. But, God works in mysterious ways.

Recently someone on a Facebook writers group I belong to (yes I am still calling myself a writer) had an idea for a television project. It would take a book and make a season long series. Most books are hard to compress into a two hour movie, but a 22 episode series provides a little more substance. She asked which book people would choose. The first one that came to my head was "God Knows," by Joseph Heller. I loved that book, but was surprised that it was the first one to come to mind. I'm not a religious man.

The other day, I was looking for a quote for an article I was writing about love. And I remembered a concert with Bob Dylan and Tom Petty. In the opening Dylan talked about heroes.

"This song's about my hero. Everybody's got heroes, I don't know who your hero is, maybe Mel Gibson, all right, let's hear it for Mel Gibson. I think for some of you it might be Micheal Jackson. maybe Bruce Springsteen. Anyway, I don't care nothing about none of those people..." Followed by a scorching hot version of "In the Garden." The best I have ever heard.

Which reminded me of the Steppenwolf song, "From Here to There Eventually."

"I remember when, I still embraced you,
A little prayer could ease my mind
Til' I saw that you hide from the misery outside."

A song about the disillusionment suffered by so many as the world falls apart and the answers seem so trite and pointless. There is no comfort in teachings that don't address the suffering. And I remembered the liner notes from Aqualung by Jethro Tull.

"In the beginning Man created God.
And in the image of Man created he him..

...But as these things did come to pass, 
the Spirit that did cause Man to create his God
lived on within all men: even within Aqualung.

And Man saw it not.

But for Christ’s sake he’d better start looking."

Life, religion, art, all seem so intertwined, so dependent on each other. In a way we have always been looking for answers. We always will. Finding something to offer a little comfort is a blessing. That is all most of us really want, just something to make sense of the madness. I don't think that is asking too much.

Marketplace, Memories, and Madness.

Yesterday my wife and I went to the Columbus Marketplace. She gets free tickets from one of her coworkers, a gentlemanly, polite man with one of the most perfectly groomed mustaches I have seen in years. He works there with his wife, son and granddaughter.

The building was huge. Still, though, it was crowded, every inch, except the narrow, crowded aisles, filled with vendor booths. Each booth stuffed with art, crafts, trinkets, gift items, almost everything. Clothing, rugs, pillows, everywhere. It was a world apart from what the average person experiences. And it was fantastic.

Colors ran from bright and gaudy, to tan, subdued, and cream in one step. People hurried from display to fixture to shelf, pulling 2 wheeled carts, the attached baskets filled with coffee cups, shot glasses, gloves, jewelry, candles, handbags, sundries only to be guessed. Treasures were everywhere, depending on how you define treasure. People were buying, people were shopping, it was a celebration of commerce and capitalism.

There was a peaceful feeling in the midst of the madness. A pleasant solace in the joyful noise. In the midst of this terrible campaign, filled with division, slander, and venom here was a sound of normalcy. From the bustling, inconsiderate shoppers, to the apathetic callous vendors I saw America.

In what was just a short trip, a spur of the moment decision, really just one of those things we do because it is new and different, w e were delighted to find our country was alive, and kicking. Despite the wailing and lamentations of political cadres this country, and its citizens, are moving forward, and the election is not really going to make much of a difference.

Our country is a machine unto itself, and it will churn on, turning out Marketplaces, craft shows, street fairs, all sorts of community festivals, bringing people together, selling products (many of them made somewhere else), food, and generating conversations, right in the middle of the cramped aisles. Causing other shoppers to rush through one of the claustrophobic booths, in a mad dash to the next knot of glorious merchandise.

One thing apparent, in every aisle, and almost every booth, patriotism and Christianity are alive and well. People were lining up to buy the symbols so dear to both beliefs. You could not miss the immense on display, rows and rows of Christmas trees, angel necklaces, bracelets, Crucifixes made from, and into, almost every imaginable medium, shirts, and signs adorned with the flag, sometimes the original flag, showing a star for each of the 13 colonies. People find comfort in symbolism, and I find comfort in that. As long as we can find something to rally around, and some common message to share there is still hope, and that is a scarce commodity.

We left there with a few gifts, sore feet, a new wristband sporting the skull and crossbones, for only $2.00. Plus, a small belief that there is a future. And that didn’t cost anything.