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Showing posts with label Frank Schaeffer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frank Schaeffer. Show all posts
How about this: Genie’s easygoing intelligence and friendly, unpretentious, graceful kindness always makes her an instant hit with the wisest, most empathetic people. And Genie is my wife, lover, and best friend.
If I’d “repented” and rejoined the fold, we could have used the well-tried model of Christian-leader-screws-up-blames-Satan-repents, then is “called” back to a GOD CASH “ministry.”
I first met Frank Schaeffer on Facebook, when I was there the First Time which lasted about 15+ years. Then I've followed him on YouTube since... His commentaries are always timely, so this latest one on Tucker would not have been known to me and many of us who do not follow "conservative news." We've learned from Fox News what that normally includes--Lies!
Shaeffer has been stead-fast, as with many others, who saw DJT as the man he was right from the beginning... I had finally found somebody who I knew I could trust... Why? because one of the first videos I listened to was his accounting of what occurred at a meeting with evangelical christians related to Trump. Yes, he and his father was there... Soon thereafter, he chose to break away from religion, while continuing to pray and recognize God as part of his life. He says it many other ways, but I saw through his protestations as a cover of his shame in what was being planned...
Since then, whenever I catch his videos, I save them as favorites automatically, knowing that there will be a time when I want to hear his opinion. I don't recall a time when, after listening to the entire video, that I have not agreed with his opinion and/or learned from it. But I never had really gotten to know Frank, the man--the man who daily lived, seemingly for his family and for speaking truth... Learning he babysat daily was an interesting "plus" for this man who had rejected religion without rejecting God's love... So, when he started talking about his latest book, which he was going to give away free on YouTube, I went ahead and bought it to start reading...
The book is written in shorts--as is his videos... Thus you can read a day's writing, or you can continue to read based upon a topic being covered. I found this was a convenient way to also keep reading other books to keep my blog readers busy. LOL It took me longer to read the entire book, but I believe breaking it down to easily come back provided an opportunity to better digest and learn from what was being said...
The basic premise is to Find the joy and happiness in your life through Love... His use of his companion, Zip, to spotlight his message was delightful, but when you read it, you will find that it is, more, a memoir, of his life with his family. Beginning with the time he was still involved with his family's "cult" as he now calls it... which, fully stated, was a "cult of male domination..."
Having never know a father, I found Frank Schaeffer's story to be a compelling one. To be able to find his true love and continue to live a life you'd learned from your family, and begin to see what really loving a woman and a family calls for, is a unique experience from a man who, late in his life, has become willing to share a story which, in my opinion, should be read by every male now alive. The contrast of what is being taught through christian nationalism is so far different that readers will immediately know that Frank is a man you can know and trust. In his family life, he may have his personal opinions, but he would never, after many years, attempt to become the dominant figure of the family--that was never intended. He shares his life with his wife as his primary soulmate we have always heard about... But many never really believed it... Read his story to learn.
His Latest Video... - Re Hate, of Any Kind...
And predictability is what my parents stripped their children of by volunteering us into an “open home” where we had to save our “guests” for Jesus, as they wandered around stoned, awake at all hours, or sometimes threatening suicide during a “bad drug trip.” An animal, be it a human animal child or a dog like Zip, who doesn’t know when the food will appear or what other animal (or mentally deranged human) will wander in, can discern no consistent schedule and so experiences constant distress. That is never what happens to Zip, let alone to my grandchildren I do childcare for, but describes my three sisters’ and my childhood in a nutshell.
Zip doesn’t read but teaches everyone around him by brilliant, generous, and kind example. If Zip could read and write, here’s what Zip might say:
There are no small moments! There is just the time you have— right now! Life is not about some “big plan!”
Your life is about how you interact with others! The “important” meeting you’ll go to is no more significant than the extra moment you spend talking to the woman delivering a package.
ALONE IS BAD! TOGETHER IS GOOD! CONNECT! Alienation and isolation, distrust and disconnection from others never end well. Bluntly: evolution wants lonely people dead. The surgeon general said so.
Surgeon General Vivek Murthy issued an urgent warning about the epidemic of loneliness and social isolation. He said “Loneliness and social isolation increase the risk for premature death by 26% and 29% respectively … lacking social connection can increase the risk for premature death as much as smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day. … Poor or insufficient social connection is associated with increased risk of disease, including a 29% increased risk of heart disease and a 32% increased risk of Stroke. Furthermore is associated with increased risk for anxiety, depression and dementia.”
These days when I hug Genie while we’re standing in the kitchen, in hallways, bedrooms, or on a walk with Zip, my arms wrapped around her tightly, my hands clasped behind her back, Genie makes the most comfortable sighing mmmm sound. This happiest of all sounds of deep contentment makes me feel deliriously joyful.
~~~
Zip leads the family in their acceptance of friendliness and joy, as, whenever the mail comes, and he hears the mail being delivered, Zip runs from wherever he is to say Hi! Barking to say hello to Elena, he will wait to have Frank open the door so they can visit! Everybody in the neighborhood knows Elena and comes out, even if they have a Trump sign in their yard. He is friendly to his neighbors and goes to the local Hispanic church, participating as a leader... It's nice to know that friendliness can override the hate of this administration...
Classical tapes play in the background of Genie's work area, or even children's stories when babysitting occurs. But, it has to be known that this couple also acquired every 1960s rock album made...
By age 6, granddaughter Nora could sing all the songs from two of the albums by the Beatles! LOL
Soon readers will begin to relax and enjoy how this family lives--together always--but in such a friendly environment that you'll begin to feel the "vibe" of living and loving... But Frank admits it took him longer to find the "bliss..."
Isolating someone from friends and family is the hallmark of a controlling abuser. In the earlier days of our marriage, Genie had to travel to visit her family and friends because I denied her the pleasure of hosting family and friends in our home. My anti-visitor phobia took longer to get over than anything else. Get over are the wrong words to describe what happened. I should rather say: I took longer to learn to behave differently. I still regard visitors as intruders. I still love a shut door. The difference is, the older version of me welcomes guests and family these days, for Genie’s sake. My coping and changing behavior was only possible when I learned to separate feelings (unreliable) from actions (measurable). I learned Genie and I did not live in my house but in our home. I learned that life with Genie was not about finding myself, but about finding ourselves. I learned that how I act could (eventually with enough brain-changing repetition) become who I am. I learned that being “happy” all the time isn’t what life is about. I learned to stop excusing my shitty behavior as a reaction to the way my parents trashed our home’s privacy and take responsibility for how I was behaving.
Now, you might question how long that actually took, so I can only say that this was on page 54 and there was still 300 pages to read... I'd say that's a statement that you can go with, especially since, I have to confess, I'm like Frank... I've always been an introvert who enjoys books behind a closed door, more than "some people..." especially right now seeing the hate and violence... Still, there is always time to keep learning... Schaeffer's admissions allow each of us to keep trying...
But there is no doubt about it, Zip has played a major part in changing the public figure of Frank Schaeffer! Cats do that for me--but then I never had a childhood like Frank had...
Why do I interrupt my writing for Zip? Maybe he fulfills a physiological need. As Jessica Pierce says, biologists have discovered physiological explanations for why we enjoy touching and being touched by our dogs. Sensory neurons are found in mammals, including in us. These neurons stimulate the release of the hormone oxytocin when we pet dogs. And oxytocin plays an important role in bonding, trust, and wound-healing. And Pierce says we shouldn’t underestimate how much can be communicated between dogs and humans. Besides holding or petting them we also communicate well with dogs. Pierce writes, “It is how somebody says the words, or when, or with what look in their eye that tells us what we really need to know. They talk with their ears, eyes, face, and body.” Dogs speak to us the same way. They know to follow a pointing finger, and they follow the direction of our gaze. They can make inferences about the reliability of the human giving the cues, responding more consistently to reliable human sources they trust. Pierce writes, “Researchers believe that dogs evolved their vocal repertoire to facilitate communication with us. And we are actually quite adept at reading their signals, too. For example, humans are good at accurately interpreting dog emotions by quality of barks.” And just as dogs follow our gaze they seem to expect us to follow theirs.[21] So I know what Zip needs, and he “reads” me too. That paw on my wrist as I type says, “SEE ME.” I like being seen too. I like Zip’s healing touch. When Zip looks up at me and I hold his gaze, he is communicating. It is not a stretch to say he is saying, I love you. And Zip has made me into a kinder person. Pierce says “a correlation between positive relationships with pets and the development of humane attitudes toward animals in general, as well as the expansion of empathy for other people.” A study found that, in preschool children, empathy for animals is correlated with empathy toward other schoolchildren. Children with strongest bonds to animals showed the highest empathy scores.[22] In our home there is no question that Zip sets a “tone” of caring. He softens the mood. Being with Zip all day puts Genie and me into a certain frame of mind that can be described as cheerful kindness.
Readers will find that Schaeffer is also well read and there will be references documenting the basis upon which he writes--including a list of footnotes in the print copy I have... Do enjoy reading this book. It's free if you wish...below... or if you wish to support this writer's ongoing commitment to helping our world be retained as a democracy... it can be found on Amazon...
“Professor!” Kuiper exclaimed. “Is the rumor true? Did you tell the president to build a wall?” “Don’t Change Horses Midstream!” Verboom bayed, running circles around Kuiper and the guests. He yanked the lapels of his tweed jacket over his blond hair and looped the anchor’s desk like a headless horseman, shouting more historic slogans. “A Chicken In Every Pot! The Buck Stops Here! All The Way With LBJ!” He neighed like a feral stallion. “It’s The Economy, Stupid! Ross For Boss!” He stopped himself with invisible reins, lowered his jacket, glanced side to side, and asked Kuiper in a whisper: “Yes We Can?” “Can we, professor?” Kuiper demanded. “Can we get God out of government?” Now trotting in place, Verboom chanted boldly: “Yes We Can! Yes We Can!” “There’s no wall between church and state!” scoffed the theologian. “There’s a wall higher than any ladder!” the historian shot back. Verboom flung his arms wide and sang, “Ain’t no ladder high enough! Ain’t no pundit low enough! Ain’t no angle wide enough. To keep me here talkin’ with you.” Then he galloped off stage, tearing through the greenroom, racing down the hall, clattering down the emergency stairs, and bursting through the exit door onto the frigid streets of Capitol Hill.
“When negotiations hit a wall, the rep asked: ‘What’s it going to take to get you in this truck?’ The answer came naturally, ‘The Flying Dutchman on surround sound.’ So, the guy ran to a music shop and came back with a version on CD.” “Richard Wagner, huh?” I smirked. “Flight of the Valkyries would’ve better set the mood.” “Woulda, coulda, shoulda!” He threw up his bare arms, pretending to conduct an orchestra of what-ifs.
The car ahead of us on the freeway had a bumper sticker: HONK FOR FREEDOM. Verboom read it aloud, slowly, as if weighing each word. “Hands off the horn, Santo. No telling what kind of freedom they’re after.”
(NPR) “From Washington, the president refuses to comment on Final Freedom or distance himself from the E.C.S. fellow Dr. Pieter Cornelius Verboom. Our sources, speaking only on background, debate whether the nascent movement is a serious political force or a stunt for the attention-starved. Opinions are split—some see Dr. Verboom as the mastermind of a revolution, others as an accidental prophet whose message was taken...” “Backasswards,” Verboom said, reaching over to mute the radio. “Isn’t the phrase ass-backwards?” Without answering, he switched the audio to CD. The opening strains of The Flying Dutchman filled the truck, and he let it play through—twice—without another word about politics. As our chariot rolled into the high desert city of Flagstaff, Arizona, I asked Verboom how long he planned to stay. He laughed—sharp and unhinged, like a man in need of medication—then mumbled something about Jonah in the belly of a whale. “My father can name every kind of tree,” he said, gazing up at the mountain slopes. “Mainly ponderosa pine, some oak, a few juniper.” “Let’s not get into particulars until they’ve got my mind universalized.” At the clinic, he scrawled my name on the intake form, listing me as his emergency contact and labeling me student. Then he frowned and tore up the form. He asked for a replacement. The second time, he wrote son. I’d like to say the title meant nothing to me, but I can’t. My girlfriend believed I’d become so obsessed with Verboom that he was taking advantage of me. When I told her I was simply following my interests and had genuine respect for his research, she scoffed. She insisted I was shopping for a surrogate father—my mind colonized by his influence and the whole of Western Civilization. Then she twisted the knife, remarking on his overwhelming manliness. “He must have great physical prowess,” she marveled, “in addition to his blind obedience to capitalism.” To my knowledge, he had no commitment to a grand economic theory, but her point was clear: the fact that I so deeply admired a middle-aged Dutchman meant I had failed to see his true nature. As for my dedication to the man, my motives weren’t mixed but many—not a conflict of interests, but a confluence. He was someone I wanted to help, and he was my cover story to get out of town. My quarter-life crisis paired with his midlife crisis.
For a few days on the open road, I could escape the heavy clouds of Lake Michigan and my heartache, narrowing my role to that of a getaway driver. To catch my breath and make sure Verboom settled in, I decided to stay at a hotel near the clinic. After three days, with my duty complete, I packed for home. Before bidding farewell to the professor, I received a text message. No greeting, no affection—just a blunt declaration: “We should see other people.” My heart pounded hard three times, heat rushing to my face. Embarrassed, I didn’t write back. I’d been saving for a ring, debating whether to surprise her with one or to let her choose. She chose: none of the above. On our first date, she told me I was too diplomatic—the only time she was polite about my politeness. A few months later, she met my mother, who, though frail beneath a wig, summoned the strength to give her approval with awkward gusto. And just like that, a year had passed. Now, I was six states away with my mentor—America’s most notorious social scientist. Not famous for his research, but for being the first man in history to have a nervous breakdown on live television with an encore on radio. Since my coursework was complete, I could write my dissertation anywhere. Why not stay in the high desert? Already sick with grief, and now unceremoniously dumped, going back to campus felt impossible. We knew all the same people. Instead of hiding in my apartment, I decided to stay in Arizona until Verboom checked out. Clearly in need of a long stay, we had his mail forwarded to the clinic. Verboom’s case manager suggested I screen my “father’s” mail for anything triggering, so I intercepted Ella’s letters and stashed them in a size-thirteen shoebox. Once the shoebox filled, I put her letters in a beat-up plastic milk crate I had found behind the clinic’s cafeteria. Some of the envelopes felt like they held Polaroids and pamphlets. I had the nerve to run my fingers over them but not to open them. In addition to Ella’s envelopes, I held back a slew of speaking invitations. On the heels of his radio finale, fringe groups and lone-wolf fanatics began to flood Verboom with speaking requests. The sarcastic screed born in madness was metastasizing, spreading like a chain letter for the terminally outraged. As a swelling congregation of zealots clamored for Verboom to lead them out of the wilderness and into the corridors of power, the media took more notice. The New York Times picked up the Final Freedom story, calling his immodest proposal “an ironic rant taken literally by literalists.” And a leading WNN pundit fumed, “Verboom crashed our last dance with democracy.” More troubling than Verboom’s unraveling was the country’s willingness to embrace a delirious dare. People on the Left understood the rant as irony—which it was. People on the Right took the rant as an invitation to man up. The provocation became a watershed moment, a defining plot point in the media’s election year melodrama. Verboom had baited the American fringe, and they had taken it as the Lord’s Supper. As the spotlight intensified, he sank deeper into denial, refusing any discussion of politics or the press. He began to see the clinic not as a place to heal, but to hide. And yet, even as he closed his eyes and shook his head, his thought experiment took on flesh—and dwelt among us.
2 Behold! I send you out as sheep among wolves, therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves!” Verboom recited a verse from the Gospel of Matthew, lying in his bed at the clinic, staring at the ceiling...
~~~
I have to admit a couple of things... I thought the Orange in the title was for one man we all know... I was wrong... Second, when I announced this book and said it was weird... I was right... Because it is so much more...
It is Wild, Weird and Wonderful!
There is so much in this complex book--important info that is helpful at this time of chaos... Most of all that it all started with a man who had a breakdown and threw out words that were picked up by the people who actually liked what he said... and it became a winning slogan...
First, the author started writing the book during the time period when Obama was running for office and then proceeds thereafter... Yet, it many ways, it is not a linear movement in toto. In fact the book runs much like is being used during these days of chaos... it is more by subject or topic... So there will be multiple time periods as we explore the topics presented. And don't expect the topics to be in the right time period...
There are two main characters who run throughout the book. One of which as I read, I identified as our present president. He is a distinguished professor of psychology in the book, who has begun to have mental lapses... I can only assume that the actions of these two men are based upon similar mental disabilities which many will recognized from our present days of chaos... Only the character in the book has been actually diagnosed as having breakdowns as well as lapses into psychological trauma and flashbacks...
I held back a slew of speaking invitations. On the heels of his radio finale, fringe groups and lone-wolf fanatics began to flood Verboom with speaking requests. The sarcastic screed born in madness was metastasizing, spreading like a chain letter for the terminally outraged. As a swelling congregation of zealots clamored for Verboom to lead them out of the wilderness and into the corridors of power, the media took more notice. The New York Times picked up the Final Freedom story, calling his immodest proposal “an ironic rant taken literally by literalists.” And a leading WNN pundit fumed, “Verboom crashed our last dance with democracy.” More troubling than Verboom’s unraveling was the country’s willingness to embrace a delirious dare. People on the Left understood the rant as irony—which it was. People on the Right took the rant as an invitation to man up. The provocation became a watershed moment, a defining plot point in the media’s election year melodrama. Verboom had baited the American fringe, and they had taken it as the Lord’s Supper. As the spotlight intensified, he sank deeper into denial, refusing any discussion of politics or the press. He began to see the clinic not as a place to heal, but to hide. And yet, even as he closed his eyes and shook his head, his thought experiment took on flesh—and dwelt among us.
It all began when Verboom was asked to participate in a televised panel discussion. Including Professor Verboom, Social Psychologist, are a theologian promoting Christian Nationalism, a historian tracing US secularism, and a political scientist exposing propaganda. The first issue was aimed at the Professor. “Professor Verboom, sources within the administration claim you told the president to ‘get God out of government,’” and "to build a wall of separation between church and state." His response took it even further. “If God is truly God, how could we get such a Being out of anything?” Then, "Let God" answer the question!"
He ran off the stage, only to have his agent stop him, unsuccessfully, it seemed, when he ran back on stage and shouted. "The Union Shall and Must be Preserved." He howled to the ceiling, darted to the camera and instead of answering the moderator who asked for verification of the first question, Verboom shouted, "Don't Change Horses Midstream..." and then started spouting all of the political slogans he could think off. That is, until he began to calm down but was still pressed as to whether a wall was needed.. to which he now replied “There’s no wall between church and state!” Which could have, of course, meant anything by that time since Verboom was clearly not capable of clearly explaining his position. But that didn't stop those listening deciding exactly what was meant... Because he had again ran out off the stage and this time out of the building...
Santo was Verboom's graduate student assistant and had become almost like a son... In fact, when he had agreed to drive Verboom to a clinic, he wrote on the entry form that the contact individual was Santo, his Son... Santa, for his own reasons, found that he didn't mind that title... But when Verboom began reviewing what had happened and the responses, he told Santo that he realized an ugly thought--he could bring the whole thing down... And heading for a clinic where he couldn't be disturbed was the best hiding place for him to be...
But you can only stay in a clinic as long as you remain visibly disturbed. And that was not true, all the time, for the Professor... Then later he stated, “A terrible notion, of course, an intrusive idea inspired by the myth of Samson pulling down the Philistine temple. The Bible is such a violent book.”
Thus begins a journey of two men--one a professor and his selected assistant... Now a professor without a career with a very intelligent caretaker... With some very interesting points of concern being spouted along the way. Fact: There are more guns than people in the U.S. We are making more guns than babies...
Fact: Americans make up 4% of the world’s population, but we own half of the entire global stock of civilian firearms! Can I get a U-S-A?” “Another fact: We own at three times the rate of Canadians. ‘O Canada! Our home and native land!’”
“People wander the streets like they’re in another dimension. They don’t ask for money; they speak to the air. They look right through you, like you’re the air. Maybe I’m moving into the next dimension myself. Think I’ll fit in?” “Careful. Conservatives believe all behavior is a free and punishable moral choice, and Liberals think it’s rude to be fascinated by abnormalities—unless that abnormality is conservatism.”
Of course there has to be more to the book, right? Well, it surrounds the professor's agent and her obsession to be wherever the professor is... Yes, sex is involved, but is that all that is driving her to track the professor down no matter where he tries to hide--yes, he has actually asked Santo to keep her away from him... Santo knows why, the professor cannot say no when she comes to be with him... Why? Or is the more important question, why would a beautiful younger woman bother???
But the professor just can't stop talking--sound familiar? So going on the radio becomes the next big announcement! Stay tuned, you might even hear him. Well, no, because he goes by different names... LOL And talk included climate control, God, Jesus, men wearing clothes like Jesus--maybe klansmen... Yeah,,, and the Professor always wore the same outfit that appears on the book cover... Figure this one out! And have fun...
Some managed to unify the Ego with their Self. “I and the Father are one."(John 10:30) comes to mind.
The Self has left signposts all along our history to guide us on the “Straight and Narrow.” This expression refers to the state of balance, which we must sustain to preserve the relationship between the Self and the Ego. As for this relationship, it simply refers to the balance between what is good for one, and what is good for all.
Ego — is intended to protect the advantages that our reality offers to each individual, human or otherwise, to each living creature that can create diversity. It deals with building blocks of our phenomenal reality.
Self — is the guiding light that leads the Ego to conduct itself in a manner that will result in good for all. Both sentiments are necessary for the preservation of the phenomenal reality. For the world that Ego recognizes as real.
At an individual level, this is superbly expressed in King David’s Psalm 23, which I offered at the beginning of this series “In Search of Secular Ethics,” inspired by Dalai Lama. (3)
~~~
Stanislaw Kapuscinski is, I am sure, the most brilliant of the authors with whom I've become friends, through his words--sharing words that were, often, so above my level of comprehension that I had to sometimes read over and over until I understood. Of course, a total new lexicon, at least to me, didn't help the absorption of the knowledge being shared... I have found, when dealing with a potential "advancement" in our world of knowledge, I, and many writers, want to "create" words to differentiate, to ensure the reader knows that this may be something new to the reader. Working on a university campus, I had met and interacted with many of those whose brilliance was brought to the realm of instructing our future leaders. But reading the words of an individual through a book allows readers to really begin to actually know an individual.
Stan, for instance, is a man who wants to share what he has learned. He wants to have you feel comfortable with him even though he will be talking about things that, at first, you may not comprehend. So, he writes by simply breaking his real name down so that you will be more comfortable with your new teacher--Stan I.S. Law. To me, he set the tone for his many books, some written under his own name, other with just Stan as the author name. Stan is an approachable man, even though he writes of things unknown, at first glance... But, there is, oh, so much to learn!
I believe that I was led to move to Stan immediately after introducing Tim Speiss, to illustrate what I think God wants us to immediately realize. We are a specis created in His image and as such, there is so very much potential for growth, for knowing more and more of God, of the universe, ever striving to expand and move upward, forward...grasping a bit of new knowledge from this purpose or advancement in life, absorbing that information into our "Ego," and allowing it to influence our very own set of accumulated experiences, to, in turn, create new thoughts as a means to expand and grow our contribution to the phenomenal reality...
Consider, this, as somewhat of an example of how my Ego has responded... For example, Psalm 23, for me, is a song, a song that can be sung together with many different notes to create an entirely new song. I remember that my choir director said she knew 22 different versions of the song. I sang a little of the one I had learned different from the one we were practicing, and she immediately laughed, 23... Yes, there are at least 23 different versions of the 23rd Psalm as it has been set to music. And, as found in the video, many words can be updated or emphasized by the individual singer who creatively has heard the original and wanted to share them more passionately and with words he or she preferred... Sometimes at night, when I sing on my way to sleep, I will sing one version and then another that I've learned... Different, yet the same words because of course I had sung them so often I had them memorized... So, we, in turn create our living Ego and contribute to God's world, gaining a bit of learning, merging, adding perhaps, or changing the words, or, also the ingredients to a recipe--all for the betterment of mankind.
So, that, during my own life experiences, when I read Black Hole in Stan's book, I immediately thought--Star Trek! Yes, I am a Trekkie from way back and I was always captivated by what the future held as created by Gene Roddenberry... So, now, of course, my Ego began to immediately merge Stan's words into a vision of a Black Hole, which, by the way, the Captains of The Enterprise always escaped... now being used to, perhaps, speak of...Hell???
I was led to Stan and this specific book, after I had written the latest page of my open memoir. I've read several of his books, although, I know I should read more...especially after having read Self Ego Virus. Stan is one of the most well-read men in the world, honing in on the sciences and religion--the latter words used is my attempt to make this understandable for me and those of us who have no background in the study of either.
You see, folks, I realized as I was reading that what I had written yesterday was not totally accurate. It was accurate for that moment in time as I wrote it. Which then changed as soon as I had read Stan's book. I learned a major key for understanding "me." How can I say it to make sense of it? What I was being reminded of was that there would not be any one book, or any one author that would have all the answers I've been seeking as a Christian. I would always need to continue to read...and...learn.
On the other hand, Stan's book explained why... But to do that, I think I must translate Stan's words into my own... and, of course, add music, book and movie references from my own "Ego..." In the book, the person I think of as Me, Glenda, would be that part of my body called Ego. More importantly, that part of my body in which His spirit resides is called Self... For me, I've normally used the words "Holy Spirit" from my understanding of the Holy Trinity... It's exciting to me to learn that we are all, really, scientifically, pure energy and that the Ego, me, is free to act as I choose, but with a constant monitoring by Self. I think of the Star Trek era movies which included a large flying ship controlled centrally, while people were "absorbed" into the ship from other ships and tied into a central consciousness. The Borg! Of course, in the movies, that was always fought against because we humans wanted to retain ourselves as individuals... But what if we could do both? Stan explained about vibrations--yada, yada, yada (a scientific explanation)... I did finally get the gist of it and immediately thought of a song! Of Course!
Self, that is, would be good vibrations--all those creative thoughts, dreams, actions which my Ego produces which helps, self, others, the earth, the universe...
But Stan points out that, while Ego does indeed retain my own individuality, sooner or later, if I, as part of the whole (Love Thy Neighbor as Ourselves), do not creatively add to the total body of energy that makes up "Earth..." that's when our bodies will begin to deteriorate sometimes pushing the Ego's "bad vibrations" to the point when we are no longer using our energy toward the betterment of mankind. Think climate control and those who refuse to believe and do anything about it! They'll be going into...a Black Hole... (again, version of Hell?)
Notice Virus as part of the Title... Egotistically, we hated to think about the loss of life during the Covid Pandemic. However, when you are looking at it in a good way, we find that families were brought home, brought together to protect each other. It allowed our bodies to regenerate, even if our minds and hearts were concerned, we acted, to the best of our ability to ensure the virus was stopped! Or did we?
It has been too recent that the pandemic was in full growth and spreading. In fact, I got my latest shot just this week! And, immediately, we had learned that there were many in America who refused to be vaccinated. First, I'm not talking about those who decided for specific scientific or health reasons that they did not agree to take them. In my mind, that decision did not lead to the common good for all that I totally believe in at this point in my life. No, what I am talking about was the incitement of a president who, while, at least, moving ahead to get pharmacies working on a vaccine (even to the extent to also admit to Bob Woodward, for his book, that he chose not to share all information needed to make good decisions... or whatever rationale he thought of at that time). What he did do was use it as a campaign prop! And most of his followers refused to even consider vaccinating! How very cruel...
And then Stan provided the "twist to the plot," the answer to the mystery! Could it be--could it really be that while those religious leaders who were making a deal with the devil, which resulted in complete chaos for America, with the incitement of hate, bias, prejudice, that God really also had a plan? I have to admit I've been smiling ever since I read it... And I'm confident that Stan will not mind my sharing that twist, while also highly recommending that you use this particular book to read now, even if you've not read this author before. I truly believe that if you are a concerned citizen, you need to begin to understand your own role in that grand scheme we call...living in America.
Ask not what America will do for you,
but what together we can do
for the freedom of man.
--John Kennedy
You see, the key to this short book, just 44 pages, for less than a dollar(!) was reading the book in relation to what has been occurring... Consider, for instance, that much of what the past president ultimately did was to move us backward in knowledge, advancement and NOT for the good of mankind...
In fact, it was the wishes of the conservative republican religious leaders to place judges that would do harm to many. Because of course, nothing could be done except for it to be completely radical. Don't say gay, Ignore being woke, put women back into the kitchen having babies, climate is not a problem that we could heal, and most of all, don't even talk about taking guns away, even if babies, school children, and innocent adults are being killed on an ongoing basis!
Well, this single Christian woman has been woke all of my life, it seems, and every single thing that the past president was doing, I was watching, knowing, wondering what to do... Because, I knew what was happening was not by God's guidance. I've recognized Self within me for over 50 years, even when I may have chosen my own will of Ego....
And, thankfully, I am no longer wondering...
Imagine a man who, practically singlehandedly, exposed the iniquity of a corrupt government; who exposed the selfishness of all members of the ruling classes that worshiped money above all else? Wouldn’t people hate such a man? Or at least most people? And yet... he isn’t hated. He’s still admired by many. Has he done so on purpose... or accidentally? Although the vast majority of people would have no idea what he was attempting to do. Perhaps he is no more than an instrument, completely unaware of the import of his mission. It often looks like that. Perhaps his mission is too great, far too great, for an ordinary man to comprehend. Surely nature, let alone the Omnipresent Consciousness, would be very selective in choosing the instrument for such a mission. Perhaps, a suitable man would be so involved in his own Ego as to be completely unaware of the true reality? And yet, possibly due to such an instrument’s inadequacy, yet to help him in his titanic endeavor, the Omnipresent Consciousness invaded his unconscious and, in Its infinite wisdom, planted a pernicious virus, somewhere, far away, that could assist him in destroying the “disease of materiality” that denied the intent of the evolution of the whole world. He needed help in his seemingly Sisyphean commission. He’d have to destroy the mindset anchored in material reality, reduce the overpopulation of the whole world, get rid of the most inept members of our species, members who never contributed, nor were likely to contribute, to the wondrous miracle of the phenomenal reality. The list goes on... With luck, unbeknownst to him, humanity might realize that we are no more than visitors in this illusory reality. That this world isn’t real... unless we make it so. That we are not placed in the magnificent constructs of our bodies to make money, but to restore the Paradise that this world once was. By the time such a man carries out his task people will realize that unless they learn to think for themselves, their lives would continue to be governed by idiots; by ignorant, self-centered sycophants. This is what the Age of Aquarius is all about. Those who survive the Pluto Effect must learn to enhance their own states of consciousness. They must at least try to raise the rate of vibrations of their Ego to get closer to the Self that supplies them with the wondrous experience of life; the experience of Becoming. Perhaps, once again, we shall recognize that we are not only our physical selves but merely visitors of these magnificent bodies engineered over billions of years, which might, just might, generate ideas, which would add to the diversity of the reality we call our world. Our phenomenal world. Our Garden of Eden.
~~~
Hopefully, before we, too, get kicked out of the Garden of Eden for something that does not improve our world, we will begin to see and respond. The above video may or may not be true about Trump being kicked out of a church. I didn't take the time to double check. Because it is not the only example of what is NOW happening where women, it seems, in particular, are speaking out against Donald Trump.... Think very, very, very bad vibrations moving toward his part of the Black Hole...
Dare we recognize that the United States has indeed become too materialistic, even while also saying that this is perhaps a symptom that could be avoided quickly. I think of people, for example, going overboard in Christmas shopping. While doing little, if anything, to celebrate the birth of our Lord... For, after all, Christmas was a purely Christian Holiday, until Santa Claus was added... Can it be both religious and secular?
I remember when Christmas came in my home during my early years, there was little money to even consider buying gifts. Yet my mother would work, skrimp and save so that she would get, perhaps, one big gift for her four children. I remember one year it was a croquet set that, even though it was December, we all went out, set it up in our big yard, and played most of the day. My Mom, by the way, gave me the most precious gift--ensuring I learned of Jesus.
Will the movement of Donald Trump into the Black Hole be the solution? Of course not, but the impact of what has happened to the "religious" world as a result of his presidency and subsequent actions, will certainly continue to be part of the knowledge, the awareness, within our combined Egos, that just may result, if Stan is right in his assessment, his proclamation, that America will slowly move forward again--toward Becoming what we were intended to be.
Perhaps by Stan's books, by Tim Speiss' books, or by all of the other writers who are speaking creatively to the world, expanding awareness, knowledge, and passions, we can work to positively support our phenomenal reality.
"One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
(Neil Armstrong)
Popped up when I was looking for a specific video;
Instead I diverted. These men are also ones working to serve mankind...
One final note: I woke up around 5 and was going to continue to read, but "write" was clearly in my mind. Now, I was going to end with Awesome God, but my eyes were drawn to this song...
Readers, this is your/my time. We are all being called by God to, figuratively, lay our bodies down for our nation, our world. Forget about thinking whether Biden is too old, forget about your chosen political party, we are nearing a black hole caused by soooooooo many egos expelling bad vibrations of hate, evil, murder, prejudice, and, lies declaring "god" as being served by these horrendous actions...
Let me ask you... do you feel good vibrations about what is happening in this world today? Then consider what Stanislaw, Tim, and Frank have been talking about! Open your mind, instead of listening and following. Think, Think, Think... Look for Truth, Truth, Truth. Truth will lead us forward. We are merely "Egos that have been given total free Will. It is up to each of us to live because... (now His selection)
This has been a presentation of my creative ego
to serve self...Merging information acquired over decades with a desire to improve...mankind...
And isn't it fun to do so?! LOL
Creatively Start Living Again! What is Your Passion?
Look for New Group of Security professionals, Retired Military Staff, et.al.,
Speaking Truth!
Note: I will be adding relevant supportive videos as we are now also in a war--Against Trumpism...
Free America from Lies, Prejudice and Violence!
~~~
It was a hot and sultry July afternoon deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains, where cellphone signals can’t penetrate and sun-faded Confederate flags fly. I was part of a sweating crowd listening to a preacher. We sat in a big white tent with the sides rolled up, the type of tent religious revivalists might use when they’re crying out to the Lord to save us sinners from eternal hellfire. But this preacher was very different from that stereotype. In fact, that stereotypical pastor probably would have tried to exorcise what he would consider the demons possessing the crowd I sat with. And he would have started with our preacher — one Nadia-Bolz Weber, all six feet of her, dramatic streaks of gray in her dark hair, and a big Mary Magdalene tattoo on a bicep muscular enough to make Michelle Obama jealous. She is a Lutheran minister who says crazy things like sex is good. Even if you’re not married, even if you’re gay or trans or bi. A preacher who asks, “Isn’t forgiving abusive men over and over what keeps battered women battered?” A minister whose congregants don’t fit the cookie cutter that my Holy Roller preacher — and a lot of conservative Christians — would try to make us all fit into. No, her flock included straight, gay, trans, the newly sober, the-trying-to-be-sober, the eternally — and humanly — imperfect. As she wound up her talk, the crowd stayed with her, cheering and clapping. And then she said, “C’mon up and dance with me!” My new friend Jes, her asymmetrically cut hair swinging, a wicked glint in her eye, grabbed my hand and pulled a hesitant me out of my chair. “Okay, Kate, let’s go!” she said. And we ran up to the stage together, joining dozens of others as the loudspeakers blasted Prince’s Kiss. There I was dancing and singing, surprised at how many of the lyrics I knew by this artistic genius who transcended conventional boundaries of gender, sex and identity. It was the perfect soundtrack for this crowd, some straight, some gay, some transgender, some Christian, and some, like me, not Christian at all. Whatever I had expected of a progressive Christian festival, this was definitely not it. I had had no idea of what I’d be getting into when I’d left my triplex apartment on Manhattan’s deep blue Upper West Side two days earlier. I’d taken an early morning flight out of LaGuardia to Atlanta, then boarded a zippy little Bombardier for the quick hop to the Asheville, North Carolina, airport where I picked up a rental car. Driving out of Asheville, I wound north and west on US-25, my rented Chevy Spark's feeble but valiant engine laboring up the first hills leading into the Blue Ridge Mountains, That’s when I lost my internet connection for the bulk of the weekend. My route took me through a green-as-a-tropical-jungle landscape, occasionally passing a weather-beaten house with a tattered Confederate flag rippling in a hot breeze. C’mon, man, I thought, having internal monologues with the owners of homes flying those flags. It’s been more than 150 years! You lost! Then I realized we’re still fighting that battle. And I was headed toward a very different rebel enclave, one that fights against all that that flag stands for. My destination: Hot Springs, North Carolina., so named for the 100-degree-plus mineral springs that have attracted people for centuries. It's a small town that's a handful of one- and two-story buildings on one side of a railroad track. On the other side, the Hot Springs Resort & Spa and a giant campground. That big campground was the staging area for the Wild Goose Festival, part Woodstock, part Burning Man, part South by Southwest (SXSW) and 100 percent progressive Christian.
It’s a place where you see banners like “Who Would Jesus Torture?” and “Recovering From Religion.” Another intertwined hearts and the words “Jesus and Darwin” in a line drawing of a fish used to symbolize Christianity. Religion has always wrestled with sex in this nation. Sex is something that tempts you, gets you in to trouble. So if there were anywhere in the country where I would hear a minister talk about the joy of sex, this was it. And Bolz-Weber did not fail me. She is the founder of the House for All Sinners and Saints in Denver, Colorado, which caters to those on the margins, and a New York Times best-selling author. She gave a deliciously profanity-laced talk about her latest book, Shameless: A Sexual Reformation. Martin Luther must be spinning in his grave! I’d thought when I first saw that title. Her take on sex and Christianity was music to my ears. Christianity, in my experience, has always had a big problem with sex. You need it to propagate the species, but it’s just a little too much fun to be good on its own. At the festival, Bolz-Weber did a major league deep dive into talking about the joys of shame-free sex, cutting the bonds that religion has tied around the joy of sex. Some parts of her talk were painful. That was when she described the end of her marriage and the start of a relationship with her new boyfriend. One reason she ended her marriage was because of sex. Or rather, lack of it. Or not enough of it. I actually can't remember exactly what she said because, instead of her voice, I heard my soon-to-be ex-husband’s voice telling me roughly the same thing about our sex life and that he had no more time to put into it. Or our marriage. That hurt. Because I had put so much time and effort into that marriage. And into him. And that included trying to revive our sex life. Because I love sex. In high school, my wiry, blond, Norwegian Lutheran boyfriend and I had torrid make-out sessions in his red Barracuda on county trunk roads up on the Ridge, hills that ringed Sparta, the small Wisconsin farm town where I grew up. We’d drive up Highway 71 towards Norwalk or Highway 27 toward Cashton, two little villages, passing barns, farmyards and fields of corn and hay. Heading uphill to the Ridge, the highways pass through stands of scrub pine and oak trees and then to the top, where the roads travel along the spine of the Ridge. It’s a stupendous view of seemingly endless sky, rolling farmland dipping down into forested valleys, with the occasional Amish horse-drawn buggy clip-clopping along. Of course, we weren’t up there for the view. At the drive-in movies, we were horizontal in the front seat and making out before the previews had ended, oblivious to whatever the couple double dating with us was doing in the back seat. His older sister let us use her apartment! Major score for high schoolers! I’d bought some book packed with ideas like squirting Reddi wip on each other for a little additional fun during oral sex. It made us both giggle. We were two small-town kids too afraid to buy condoms at the local drugstore, which sat on the main intersection of downtown Sparta next to the town’s only stop-and-go light. My family’s next-door neighbor ran that drugstore. So, blow jobs and oral sex were as far as we would go. There were more boyfriends after that, in college, in the small town where I had my first full-time job as a reporter, in Aspen where one of my best friends from college and I spent a season ski bumming and, finally, grad school in New York. There, I dated a couple of Columbia College English majors looking for their Molly Bloom, heroine of James Joyce’s Ulysses. It seemed to have been a core part of their curriculum. One of them thought he’d found her in me. Except that once I discovered what I thought was the high calorie count of seminal fluid (it’s apparently fairly low in calories, I’ve since learned), I started to spit it out. A very un-Molly move, he told me, laughing. I was also very un-Molly in that I only took one lover at a time. Finally, at a party, I met the guy I would eventually marry. He was slim and tautly muscled, olive skinned, with curly black hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. He was funny, sarcastic and totally unlike any of my other boyfriends. We met once and then, not again, for months. But we became part of an informal group of twenty- and thirty-somethings who loved concerts in Central Park, hiking, skiing, cooking, eating and drinking. I called us the Outdoors Sports and Photo Op Club because we’d have parties to look at photos after our weekend adventures in those pre-digital photo days. And, boy, was he an emotionally armored guy. But when we first kissed in his apartment, I stuck my tongue in his mouth. I got his attention. He already had mine. I loved him, blindly. We moved in together and bought our first apartment. I bored my coworkers as I rhapsodized about him and my adventures with New York real estate. It was fun and wonderful. There were lots of evenings of stopping for a bottle of wine on the way home from work and cooking dinner together before crashing into bed. I loved sitting at my desk at work and smelling his musky maleness on my skin. It came from a quick morning tumble that dictated a too quick shower that couldn’t quite wash away his scent. Years went by. Marriage, kids, mortgages. I had always felt that sex in the morning would guarantee a solid marriage. I just hadn’t factored in the exhaustion of work, freelance writing, cooking, lick-and-a-promise cleaning and getting kids to skating lessons, swimming lessons, horseback riding lessons, Hebrew school and on and on and on. The result? Those encounters didn’t happen nearly often enough. And it wasn’t just kids, too many hours at work, too little time at home and not enough money. It was all the baggage we all carry. Things can be falling apart and you can still have good sex short term. But sooner or later, what’s happening in other parts of your relationship catches up with sex and overtakes it. And that is what had happened between me and the driven, sexy, funny, depressed, angry and, in his deepest depths, terrified man I’d married. Those memories kept playing in the back of my head as I listened to Bolz-Weber. A lot of what she said went straight to my wounded heart and made it feel better. She talked about an ex-boyfriend who would routinely insult her — and then worry that the squirrels in a park wouldn’t have enough to eat. I knew that bewildering combination of cruelty and kindness all too well. This talk riveted me. Bolz-Weber was fearless enough to talk — and write — about her abortion. In one of her books (I read Shameless and Accidental Saints: Finding God in All the Wrong People over the weekend and on my flight home, and Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner and a Saint as soon as I got home) she wrote about how she had always loved babies...
Kate Rice is a runner, ex-ski bum, java junkie, loyal Green Bay Packer fan and a rock’n roll singer and stand up comic who performs mostly in the shower but sometimes on stage. She is a prizewinning reporter and an activist who believes that to be a citizen of this great country is both a gift and a responsibility. ~~~
After I finished this book, I thought if I ever won the Lottery, which, of course, I wouldn't ever because I don't believe in gambling... well, anyway, if I had the money, I would buy a copy of this book for every woman and teen girl in America. While the title is somewhat misleading--it's not all about politics--and when it is about politics, it's a good book to read...LOL
Actually, much of this book is a memoir, much like I've been doing in writing my own... That is, Kate Rice travels all over the world as a reporter and activist. She writes as a secular liberal, which you may have a hard time actually knowing what that means, as you read. For, like most of all, Kate Rice grew up in church but when she begins to talk about sex, she talks exactly as I might, or you, and you, and, yes, you.
Christianity, in my experience, has always had a big problem with sex. You need it to propagate the species, but it’s just a little too much fun to be good on its own. At the festival, Bolz-Weber did a major league deep dive into talking about the joys of shame-free sex, cutting the bonds that religion has tied around the joy of sex...
And that's about when I perked up and wanted to learn more, right? Because America is so filled with sex--sexual movies, books, even ads for bread can have a sexy woman holding the slice of bread, or maybe even, spreading it thick with honey, licking her lips as she tells us that Wonder Bread is the best bread ever! Or, seriously, do we really need a female in a short skirt, dancing around a golf course, right where the ball is supposed to go in... Yes, there is such an ad, and I have no idea what it is supposed to advertise. Neither does the man's wife who takes one look at what her husband is staring at through his binoculars and walks away...
And, to me, that's exactly the point... When something involves some type of sexual innuendo, most individuals either walk away, turn the TV off...OR, sit down and watch! How many of you would say that you've never watched anything in which sexuality is part of the program? I certainly can't. Me, I'm even old enough to see how television, in particular, has moved more and more to include sex as openly as possible... So here's the basic question. If you are white, single and find yourself turned off of a church because, while chastity is the only course for teens, at the same time you hear of those in the church, who are acting on their own sexual interests, while, say, the same preacher or priest is counseling abstinence? Or you see your parents involved in parties where somebody might get a little drunk...and...
Or, is it the issue that some have a different type of preference of who to love and , heaven forbid, that individual is your own daughter or son? Do you hide in shame, refusing to accept that child or allow them to be what they tell you that they are? Homophobe?
This man was part of the original planning group of Evangelical Christians...who walked away when he saw what was planned... Is Now
an Activist!
~~~
Well...
Seriously, can any of us really believe that any teenager watching television will accept religious training that claims that there is to be no sex prior to marriage? Or that if you've realized that you see yourself different in any way related to your sexuality, you can bet that you will be ostracized, perhaps even physically hurt or killed--in the name of religion?
Kate Rice, early in her life, did what many young people who have and are doing daily. Turning away from the church. But that doesn't stop her from going where things are happening--strange things! Like, the attendees may be addicted to drugs or alcohol, or they are gay and with their spouses, or they are secular, but interested? Well, as you can see above, Kate went to visit what was to be a Christian event. One that she soon realized was not in any way what she had thought it would be--especially those who had gathered there! And, especially, what was discussed there!
The Love of Jesus for All...
I was once again reminded of the recent book which proclaims that Jesus does not judge (things of the earth) He loves us as we are, whether we've made bad decisions or even decided to reject some things that they had been taught in their old home church, which they had left or, perhaps, had never even been inside a church in their lives, but merely wanted to listen and maybe get a little food or fellowship...
And as I continue to explore, just as Kate Rice is doing through traveling--mine through books--(My next read is Jesus and John Wayne!) I am finding that there are many patches of those who are trying to do what they believed was their mission. To spread the word of the love of Jesus...
Rice tackles Racism, White Nationalism, Anti-Vaxers, Sexuality--various issues, Progressive Christianity and more... She writes in the first person, often adding personal anecdotes of the people who she met along the way and who added "more color" to her own perceptions and opinions. As we move toward the close, she hones in on the topic of the Evangelical Exodus. Indeed, this topic might not have been covered if it wasn't for Kate meeting Kayla Cannon who she met as they sat in a jet waiting...
Kate remembered that she was lost in thought thinking about proceeding to write this book, but then realized that the woman sitting by her wanted to chat. All of a sudden, Kate was thinking to herself, "God, did you arrange these seating arrangements?" Well, you all know that I would have called this a God Incident. But then, since Kate considered herself a secular liberal (LOL), I chuckled when I read that internal question to God...
Kayla was on her way to a business conference, leaving her baby for the first time, yet happy to have a little time for herself. As they talked Kayla openly told that she had been an Evangelical Christian, but had rejected it.
She talked freely about her horror when ICE conducted a raid and people she worked with at a restaurant in Telluride suddenly disappeared. Anyone with half an eye in any resort area knows how many workers are Hispanic and may be undocumented, or afraid of exposing a friend or relative who is undocumented. I sat up in my seat. “ICE conducted a raid in Telluride?” I was equally horror-struck. ICE is a constant in New York, packed as it is with people of color and immigrants. But in a remote mountain town like Telluride? Only 2,500 people live there. But it is a blue enclave. People in Cortez, which is seventy miles away and also blue, but surrounded by a lot of red, talk about the Telluride hippies — although in a town where the median home price is about a million dollars, you’ve got to be a pretty capitalist hippie. ICE strikes tactically — resort towns and meatpacking towns as well as in big cities, which usually have far more diverse populations. It’s all part of its strategy to terrorize and intimidate. Kayla wasn’t afraid to talk about that, or anything else, as it turned out. Going to a secular high school and American University clearly opened her eyes to a much broader world than the one she’d been raised in. Early on, she had begun questioning the credos she’d been taught. She had an outgoing personality. She wanted to run for student council, but her conservative brethren talked her out of it. Why? She was a woman. That kind of leadership position was for men. She was realizing that “I’m a strong woman who does not fit the biblical interpretation of what a woman should be.” She pushed her parents to let her go to Rutland Public High School in Vermont because the religious school she attended did not offer the advanced placement courses she wanted to take. When she won her scholarship to American University, her parents were supportive. But, she said, they clearly worried about her move to a liberal school. Once she began attending American University, which is in Washington, D.C., she found herself intensely studying bills that were going before Congress. “Being Republican was against everything I stood for and cared about,” she realized. One of her first friends at American University was flamboyantly gay. Her religion had taught her that it was her job to tell him that his lifestyle would land him in hell. She did not. And then there were the gaping holes in the theology she’d been raised on. “The Bible talks about divine intervention,” she told me. But in a world where children starve and can be sold into the sex trade, she saw no divine intervention at all. Growing up, expressing any kind of doubt was forbidden. To doubt was to sin. She quit going to church while at college, although she continued to believe in God and still identified as a Christian. Then came the 2016 election and the swell of support among evangelical churches and their congregants for Trump. “The way the Church championed Trump, that was when I could not associate with Christianity. Period. I was also angry at how many of my friends and family didn’t talk to me for supporting Hillary,” meaning Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential race. Kayla lasted only two years at American University. She had long been plagued by anxiety and it peaked while she attended college. Her evangelical upbringing had taught her that everything, including things like anxiety and other emotional distress could be overcome by prayer. If she was suffering, it was because of her personal failure to fully embrace her faith. She left American to stay with a cousin attending a conservative religious school, to try praying her mental health problems away. There she met her future husband, who was attending the school. His calmness and rationality helped her enormously. They fell in love and planned to marry. He went home to Telluride, Colorado, and she returned to her family in Vermont, where her anxiety spiked. And there, with her mother’s support, despite evangelical doctrine, she finally got the professional help she needed. She and her husband continued to wrestle with faith, personally and as a couple. She sees this a lot among millennials, and some are leaving their churches. “They are sick of having to hate because of their church,” she said. And here is the problem for the religious right. Once these young people question one thing, the whole house of cards falls apart. Because, as Kayla sees it, conservative Christianity is based on absolutism and blind faith. So once there is room to question one thing, everything is open to debate. Kayla stopped associating with any kind of religion and considers herself agnostic. She is not alone. Her best friend, whom she met at a Bible school she attended, has also renounced organized religion. Twitter is a great way to find this community, she told me. Just use the hashtag #exvangelical. That hashtag reminded me of Rebeca and Charlie Seitz and their podcast, Freevangelic. These are two more people who told me the same thing. Once you ask one question, a torrent follows. I found Rebeca and Charlie on Instagram just before I went to Wild Goose. I had been using social media to connect with Wild Goose attendees, but we didn’t manage to meet during the festival. Having been reminded of the podcasters I missed at Wild Goose, I contacted Rebeca through Instagram. She is a blast, funny as hell. She can find the humor in terrible things. She told me how her parents became evangelicals. By age nineteen, her mother was married for the second time with two kids of her own plus stepchildren. It was a rough situation, Rebeca said. Neither of her parents were churchgoers, but Rebeca’s mom found a conservative church that gave her a much-needed framework to help her handle her chaotic life. Her mother does nothing halfway, Rebeca told me. She quit wearing shorts. Makeup was verboten. Rebeca compared it to someone going on a diet and throwing out everything in the pantry that has sugar or carbs. In her mom’s case, it meant every book in the house was about religion and every song she sang was religious. “My mom’s finding faith was never going to be Lutheran,” Rebeca said. This embrace of a very conservative religion startled Rebeca’s father. So he went down to the church to give that pastor a piece of his mind, or maybe even a punch in the face, according to the family story, Rebeca said. Instead, the pastor converted her father and baptized him. It was such a drastic change that it alienated almost all of Rebeca’s relatives. But it was the world into which Rebeca was born, and she knew nothing else. Rebeca grew up memorizing the Bible. When she hit adolescence, her mother handed her a book by the right-wing guru James Dobson, Everything You Need to Know About Adolescence, and it was all about female subservience, Rebeca recalled. ) You may recall, I've reviewed another of his books, Dare to Discipline, where he encourages use of physical punishment for children.) You can’t call boys or ask boys out. You can’t wear anything low cut. Your makeup has to look natural. There was an emphasis on your body because it was the temple of the Lord. But your sexuality was not about women, it was about how women related to men. Rebeca matured physically early. “I was very well-endowed from sixth grade on,” she remembered. Ultimately, she had a breast reduction. But throughout her childhood and adolescence, her family lectured her on her appearance. “Don’t put on lipstick; don’t look like a hussy.” A man sexually abused her when she was eleven. “What were you wearing?” her mother asked when Rebeca went to her. And it happened again and again, in high school and in college. The response was always something to the tune of “you probably asked for it...”
And, of course, Kate had to include the personal thoughts of the Reverend about the time when Trump had protestors gassed so he could have a photo op...
Rev. Gerbasi was there. She had been on St. John’s patio, which had become a refuge and an aid station for demonstrators. She’d been handing out water to demonstrators when riot police descended upon her, chasing her from her own church. Shortly after the incident, she talked about her experience in an interview on Unholier Than Thou. This was a podcast produced by Crooked Media, originators of Pod Save America, whose politically savvy (they’re former Obama staffers) and bitingly funny hosts have had some fun remembering times when Democratic candidates have clumsily tried to assert that God guides them. In that podcast. she told host Phillip Picardi about her anger. She was coldly angry about the way Trump subverted her church and I think she epitomized the anger driving many Christians who are outraged at how the right has co-opted Christianity. Gerbasi trained first as a lawyer and had to overcome a lot of interior resistance in order to become a priest — it sounds as though one part of her dragged the other part of her kicking and screaming into the holy orders. I think it was that same voice that Sylvia Clahchischilli heard, the nilch’iyazhi. Gerbasi described those conversations as talking with God, who, she said, has a sense of humor. Hey, I like that!
There is so much we don't know about our God Almighty! But there are many people talking, writing and sharing about what their personal experiences have brought into their lives. And, many, like Kate Rice concluded, Jesus is Not Republican.
