The End is Near

As the liturgical year draws to a close, those uncomfortable passages come along. The ones about judgment and who gets into the Kingdom of Heaven. Lines get drawn in the sand, and I awkwardly would just rather skip ahead to an angel visiting Mary. I’ll recite the Nicene Creed every week, but I’d really rather not think about the ramifications of the “life of the world to come.” 

When the Left Behind series first came out, my grandfather didn’t read them. He said he didn’t need to know what would happen to those left behind, because he wasn’t one of them. Now, while that mostly may have been a dig at the whole rapture doctrine, the point still stands that he didn’t see that as a realistic prospect for him, so it didn’t interest him. I feel must the same way on atonement theories. It’s not so much that I’m pridefully assured of my salvation, but I just don’t see not being with God as a realistic prospect.  

I’m too surrounded by him. He’s ever present in my life. I feel his love. I try my best to respond. The concept of being outside of his grace is not too painful; it’s too unimaginable to even be painful. Fire and brimstone won’t work on scaring me into submission. It would be like telling me that my earthly father is going to start hitting me; while I know people experience family violence, my experience says otherwise, so such warnings seem unfounded. 

But there are these warnings. The sheep and the goats. The places of fire and gnashing of teeth. The end is coming. Or, rather, ends are coming. There is the end of the world, the second coming, the new earth, the all shall be well, and the Last Judgment. And there is the end of me, my death, my particular judgment. Winter harkens, death loom, and warnings of ends and judgments abound. Shouldn’t I be worried or sad or shocked? Why the malaise over the end? 

I think there are several reasons. The first, like I mentioned, is that it’s just too foreign a concept for me to grasp fully. Another, although selfish perhaps, is that I’m optimistic that I’ll rest under God’s grace. Lastly, I feel that the end is good, even if it has seemingly terrible ramifications. The judgments are ultimately about God’s power and Christ’s victory over death. Creation is purged and fully reunited with its Creator. All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. 

Or maybe I’m just seriously lacking in Catholic guilt.

A Time for All Seasons

It seems like November is the time of death. The leaves lose their color, the temperature drops, and skies become grey. I’ve had several relationships end in November, and I’ve known several people that died in that month. This seems especially true this year, as the TV goes on about the 50th anniversary of the deaths of John F. Kennedy, C. S. Lewis, and Aldous Huxley, and I find myself attending two memorial services in two days for members of my church family. Death seems to be hanging around.

But death isn’t crashing in. There isn’t stock and depression and weeping. It feels as natural as the tide going out. Death is just another season. There is nothing to fear or dread. It’s a part of life. For the Christian, it’s not the end. It’s a transition. The earthly world wanes into the spiritual. Life continues, free and space and time.

I think I’m supposed to be sad, but I’m not. The memorial services are part mourning, part celebration, but mostly just remembrance. Wasn’t she amazing? Wasn’t he great? And remember that funny time when…? It’s sad the deceased are gone. We won’t interact with them the same way. There is discomfort and pain and uncertainty is learning to get by without that person in your life. But the season changes; the blow softens with time. The dead go on to the next life. The living go on living until their time comes. The cycle repeats over and over. It will be my time one day. And my parents’. And my friends’. Death is a season of living, and it’s quite hard to fear something so reliable.

Death is all around, but it has no power here. Its season is over for now, and life goes on.

Have you been saved?

“Have you been saved?” Given that I’m in the Bible Belt, I actually haven’t been asked that often. I think I give off a “don’t-try-to-convert-me” vibe. After all, the Catholics got me without anyone ever asking, offering, inviting, or trying in any noticeable manner (I won’t discount the prayers of saints). I was first asked, “Have you been saved?” in middle school. As an ill-prepared 11-year-old, I responded innocently, “From what?” Fortunately, my questioner was also an ill-prepared 11-year-old, not ready to give me the full-on Gospel spiel, so I dodged that evangelism effort. By eighth grade, I knew what was coming, so my stock answer was, “Yes, 2,000 years ago” accompanied by an eye roll. That’s the thing about middle schoolers; they’re ready to talk about adult topics, but not ready to go into nuance or context or sensitivity.

This week, Pope Francis made some statements that got way misinterpreted. The pope spoke about how all humans, regardless of belief, were created in the image of God. We are all called to truth, beauty, and goodness. He urged everyone to do good together and work toward peace. The sticking point was when he mentioned that we were all redeemed by Christ. People took the word “redeemed” and turned that into “everyone gets into heaven.” Bad theology abounded.

This just in: Pope still Catholic.

Christ died for everyone; the gates of heaven are open. Mankind is redeemed. Salvation, however, is individual. Each of us must accept the gift Christ gave us. Theologically, redemption and salvation are not the same. I, by the simple fact of being part of humanity, am redeemed. Christ died for me whether I acknowledge his act or not; God loves me whether I believe in him or not.

My salvation is a bit trickier; it is not something I assert with as much certainty. If asked today, “Have you been saved?” my stock answer is, “I’m in the process of being saved.” I don’t believe I’ll be saved until I’m holy up in heaven. I’m not that concerned about it; salvation isn't earned. All I can do is continue to deepen my relationship with God.

At first, I was upset that the pope’s words were misconstrued and then blown so out of proportion. Like there isn’t enough misunderstanding of Catholic beliefs already. This just looked like something else to throw onto the “no, we don’t worship Mary, blindly do what the pope orders, condemn gays to hell, or hate science” pile of things to constantly explain. But then I realized it was an opportunity to explain Catholic beliefs about how Christ loves everyone and how we can all agree to work together peacefully. And maybe the discussion will change a few hearts, and how can I be upset about that? Perhaps this is an opportunity to draw people into the faith and show them the love of Christ.

Pope Francis’ remarks ended with a mention of St. Rita, the saint of impossible things. Sometimes it seems impossible that people will take the time to listen and understand what is being said. It seems impossible that people can stop arguing long enough to actually come together and do good works. It seems impossible that people can be converted in this age of sound bites and skepticism. But nothing is impossible. God's love makes the impossible possible.

Fear and Death

The Seventh Seal

I don’t fear death.

I’m not saying that as some brave proclamation. It’s just a fact about myself that I recently realized when I heard others speak about their fears of death. I don’t fear death.

I thought it had to do with my view of hell. I believe in a hell, but not a devil-ruled torture room. I didn’t grow up around threats of fire and brimstone. I had assurance that if I didn’t abandon God, God certainly wouldn’t abandon me. Therefore, I don’t put much thought into hell because I’m not going. But I’ve started to see that others’ fear of death isn’t necessarily related to views of hell or heaven. People actually fear death.

I don’t particularly want to die, but it will happen at some point. I hope when it does that it’s painless and that my apartment is clean. I’d like to have some of my writing published, and I’d like to die after my parents so they don’t have to lose their only child. But other than that, I don’t mind dying. It will happen. Dying is a part of life. What is there to fear? I really don’t know. Is it pain? Being forgotten? Becoming non-existent? The unknown of the afterlife?

Even if I had no hope of heaven, if I believed that nothing happened except that my body decayed into dirt, I would not fear death. I am a blimp on the story of human history. I enter, I try to do some good, and I exit. I think that is significant and beautiful enough. Whether I’m remembered in 100 years or not doesn’t affect me. I certainly hope I’m not vilified, unable to defend myself, but if I’m forgotten, that’s alright. Lots of wonderful people have been lost in history.

But as an added bonus, I don’t think I’ll cease to exist when I die. I don’t know how much of my individuality will exist. I don’t know how consciousness will work. I don’t know what it’s like to be in the presence of God and saints and angels. There is a lot that I don’t know, but I don’t need to know. I’ll find out when the time comes. Knowing won’t change my plans. I just believe that I’ll move on to another form of existence. Death is a conclusion, but it’s not the end. It’s like fearing graduation; the transition is daunting maybe, but necessary, and much less scary if you treat is as an event for which to be prepared.

Death comes, and although I don’t know the when or the where or the how, I do not fear it. I worry about what I can control. I fear hurting others. I fear failure. I feel lost opportunities. I fear staying silent in the face of evil. But I do not fear that which I can’t control, a part of being alive that I share with all of humanity. Life is a journey of vulnerability and richness and pain. And it is fleeting. Death is just part of the journey.

“There is no man who is master of the breath of life so as to retain it, and none has mastery of the day of death. There is no exemption from the struggle, nor are the wicked saved by their wickedness” (Ecclesiastes 8:8).

Religious Discrimination in Tennessee

A facebook friend recently brought to my attention that in seven states, it is illegal to serve in a public office if you’re an atheist. Do I really need to go into how wrong this is? I want my state officials to reflect my political goals; for the most part, I don’t care about their religious values. There are good atheists who would benefit the state. Furthermore, atheist citizens have the right to better or muck up the government just as much as theists. 

The states that ban atheists from serving are Arkansas, Maryland, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Texas, and my home state, Tennessee. I was extra-disappointed and outraged in Tennessee's law, because instead of just blatantly discriminating against atheists, it added a clause requiring a specific religious belief, making it even more discriminatory than the others:

 

Tennessee, Article 9, Section 2: “No person who denies the being of God, or a future state of rewards and punishments, shall hold any office in the civil department of this state.”

To serve in Tennessee, one has to believe in a future state of rewards and punishments. I think whoever wrote this didn't intend to exclude Christians, but that's why there should be no religious threshold in American politics. Essentially, because of my religious beliefs, I am banned from office in my state. An afterlife of rewards and punishment implies that I will earn whatever I receive after death. But I believe in a little thing called grace, which means what happens after death is not a direct reflection of my actions.

I’ll start with reward. No one can earn Heaven. Most Christian denominations believe that all humans are sinners, ineligible for Heaven. Only grace can get us there. Christ came and opened the gates of Heaven for those who believe in Him. Now, maybe Heaven can be seen as a reward for belief, but even then, it is a disproportionate reward. It is much, much better than we deserve.

Now, punishment. I hold the view that Hell is the absence of God, not physical torture. It is coldness, loneliness, hopelessness. Yes, I think Hell is bad, and I don’t want to be there, but I don’t think it is punishment of earthly actions, just as Heaven is not reward of good actions. Hell is the consequence of rejecting God. Also, no one is sentenced to Hell; it is a self-chosen state. As C. S. Lewis said in The Problem of Pain, “I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful, rebels to the end; that the doors of hell are locked on the inside.” Someone can do very, very bad things but sincerely repent to God and wind up in Heaven instead of Hell. This would fly in the face of a theory that the afterlife is the ultimate reward/punishment justice system.

Of course, this is all speculation, as we cannot be certain of the hereafter.  If we knew for certain how eternity worked, there would be no difference in faiths and no atheists (or perhaps we’d all be atheists). The afterlife is not some post facto justice system. Honestly, the closest Christian idea of a reward/punishment afterlife might be purgatory, where a soul must be purified before entering Heaven. This could possibly be viewed as temporal punishment for one’s actions. But I really, really doubt the writers of Tennessee’s Constitution meant that belief in purgatory was a requirement for public office. And if they did, they’d still be wrong because it would still be religious discrimination.

Earthly governments should be concerned with earthly order and justice and leave personal ideas of eternity alone. Moreso, no one in America should be denied the right to serve in government based on his religious (or non-religious) beliefs. Despite the Puritans’ best efforts, America isn’t a theocracy. The American experiment resides in the belief that Puritans, Catholics, atheists, deists, Lutherans, Muslims, Jews, and anyone else can come together and form a functioning society. Frankly, I’m now more inclined to vote for an atheist now, just so this law can be challenged and hopefully struck down.