Re-Thinking Easter: What If We Aren't Wretches?

Here we are again nearing the Easter season, and throughout progressive Christian churches and circles you will hear sermons and read articles which try to shed a different light on the Jesus story. They will focus on liberation theology, how Jesus’ mission was to reach out to the marginalized, and how he was so inwardly free that he was able to give himself up totally, even to the point of death. Many of these sermons and articles will hold a measure of insight and truth.

But this isn’t that kind of article.

This evening a Facebook friend of mine who I attended a fundamentalist Bible college with posted one of those dreaded meme’s – you know, a cutesy or even powerful picture with an equal cutesy or powerful/insightful quote. But it’s holy week, so the flippancy and absurd nature of such meme’s have found their way into my Facebook feed. This particular meme featured a picture of Jesus on the cross, accompanied by a quote by the American Calvinist theologian and author R.C. Sproul. The quote reads as follows: “Why do bad things happen to good people? That only happened once, and He volunteered.”

There it was – the essential message of fundamentalist Christianity this time of year. In order to raise up Christ, we must naturally denigrate every single human being who ever lived or who ever will live. The rest of us are bad boys and girls who deserve a spanking – an eternal spanking at that. Some fundamentalist evangelical Christian preachers and authors thus become bully-enablers.  Jesus is the most powerful person on the playground, and you must submit to his awesomeness at the expense of your own dignity.

I don’t know about you, but I’m so over the idea of original sin. Does anyone actually still believe that a long time ago in a place far far away (to most of us), a woman was given a piece of fruit by a talking snake, and that this woman then handed it to her husband, who upon taking a bite, ensured the filthiness and depravity of each and every person who would ever live from that time forward? (It was also probably convenient for the author of the creation myth to blame “Eve,” simply on the basis that she was the subordinate woman.)

Ever since this teaching of the fall of humanity became popular and then vastly accepted as traditional Christian doctrine, guilt and shame has been burned, etched into the psyche’s of those of us who were fortunate enough (tongue-in-cheek) to grow up within fundamentalism. “Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving!” as Bishop John Shelby Spong is fond of saying.  We are wretches, worms, unworthy of gathering up the crumbs from God’s table – that is, until the supposedly perfect Jewish Christ relented and finally granted the Gentile woman her wish after a clever reply that she managed to give.

This guilt complex has often invaded us at almost every level and in almost every instance at one point or another in our lives. Not only have we often heard from one or both parents that we’re a “bad boy” or a “dirty girl,” but it is reinforced with a divine devastation. We’re guilty of acts of commission, we’re guilty of acts of omission. We’re guilty for being sexual beings, we’re guilty for using our brains and questioning our pastors or a centuries-old worldview. We’re guilty for only praying for 15 minutes and not 20.

If we’ve had religious guilt pounded into our psyche’s and hearts by those we consider our holy leaders, it has seemed only natural that we turn to them for some way – ANY way – out of our dire predicament in order to escape this earthly guilt as well as eternal hellfire.

And so we bought into the idea of blood atonement. Many of us heard and sang about the blood of Jesus so much growing up that we were practically "brain-washed in the blood" of God’s only son. And it seemed like a perfectly natural idea, probably because it drastically reduced (at least for a fleeting time) our unbearable guilt complex. However, once we give up the notion that every person within every belief (or non-belief) system must be redeemed through what was originally an ancient Jewish atonement ritual, the grotesque and macabre nature of the crucifixion story begin to be realized. Growing up as a fundamentalist Christian teenager (the word Christian has been bastardized by others such as Paul, but I digress,) I joyously and fervently sang hymns like “Nothing But The Blood Of Jesus,” “Power In The Blood,” and “The Solid Rock (My Hope Is Built On Nothing Less).” I had no problem with the imagery.

Today it seems bizarre and, again, grotesque. The only way for all of humanity to be saved is to be “washed in the blood” or “cleansed by the blood”?  It sounds like something more out of the latest horror film than it does out of any sane and rational thinking. As Spong points out, Catholics drink the blood (with the official doctrine stating that when one partakes in the Eucharist, they are literally drinking the actual blood of Jesus,) while Protestants choose to immerse themselves in it.

Another disturbing element of the Easter story which I never questioned at all when I was a fundamentalist was the idea that God the Father sent his only begotten son to die on the cross for my (and the whole world’s) sins. Perhaps you are familiar with the popular modern hymn “How Deep The Father’s Love For Us." Its first verse reads: "How deep the Father's love for us/How vast beyond all measure/That He should give His only Son/To make a wretch His treasure."

Basically, God the Father loved me – ME – so much that he put his son in my place on the cross. Here are two questions: Is such a supposedly all-powerful and great God unable to forgive to the point where he needs shed blood to atone for sin? Secondly, is this not a dolled-up, glorified example of divine child-abuse?

The holy week, including the crucifixion and Easter may or may not be salvageable. Re-interpreting the symbols and language may be fulfilling for you.  A message which focuses on Jesus’ inclusive, compassionate, and loving nature may help a lot of people, as well as his penchant for a refreshing downward mobility. But for me, the long-told stories often bring anger and frustration, as the “good news” of Easter only further excludes non-Christians such as myself, as well as those who Jesus may very well have died for.

For the fundamentalist, there is no room at the foot of the cross or at Christ’s table  for the untouchables. Those who are called the heathen, the the unbelievers, the queer - we shrug our shoulders and look for a welcoming home elsewhere, a home where we will not be called wretches.

mark andrew

What Do You Hear When You Finally Stop?

Good afternoon, I hope your Monday is going well and that you're recovering from setting your clocks forward on the weekend.

I have traveled out of the city for a week in order to relax and spend some time with family and friends.

This afternoon I found myself alone and just needing to rest and be quiet.

What do you hear when you finally stop?

What do you feel?

These can sound like basic questions, but the answers can be telling. For some of us, we rarely do stop and listen to what our inner voice or our bodies are telling us. We're busy with work, appointments, weekly engagements, taking care of the kids, all sorts of things.

What's more is that when we aren't busy we find ways to avoid checking in with ourselves. We fire off a tweet or text, or jump on Facebook for sometimes hours at a time. All of this can be exhausting, even though technically it is our "down time."

So this afternoon I just layed on the couch in silence, allowing whatever feelings that were there to come up to the surface without judgment.

This afternoon the feeling in my body is one of deep sadness and grief. And that's ok. I can't quite nail down why exactly I feel this way, and that's ok. It's just important for me to give permission for these feelings to be here. They won't be here forever, they'll pass, but for now I'll sit with them. I'll put on some sad music, not in order to sulk, but to in a way honour what and how I'm feeling.

Have you stopped today? What are you feeling? What is your body and inner voice saying to you?

Finding God In The Face Of Everyone

Good Evening, I hope you've had a good day.

Lately I've been thinking what an interesting thing it is to hear people talk about "finding God" or "getting closer to God" as if spiritual enlightenment is something that must be chased after like some hidden treasure.

For me, God used to be confined to a few things: the Bible, Sunday worship services, times spent in prayer, times of worship in song.

These days, when I think of God, which I confess are further and farther between now, I think of God (or the Divine, or Spirit) as being in each moment, and everywhere around me. I can no more successfully find God than I can successfully find air. If I were a fish, I would not have to search for water, because it would encompass me.

To me, each and everyone and each and every thing is encompassed in God. I see God in times spent in nature on trails. I see God in the love that people have for their family members as they gather around their hospital beds. I see God in the beauty of other people and in intimate times spent with a significant other. I see God in the snowflakes as they gently fall.

I am not a pantheist; I don't believe that everything is God. Rather, I am what the late author Marcus Borg termed a panentheist - that is, everything is in God.

Going further, during my time in a religious movement called Unity, I learned that everything and everyone on this earth is connected, or one with God. Today I can say that I believe that I am an expression, or an extension of God in the world. Some believe that God makes herself known only in a specific person, such as Jesus, or Muhammed, or the Buddha. I, however, believe that God is in the face of everyone I might come across during the day.

The bank teller, the transit driver, the barista, the mailperson. Female, male, trans, gay, straight. The poor, the wealthy. If I look close enough, I can see that God is in everyone and everyone is in God.

I leave you with a simple, beautiful poem by Denise Levertov.

the avowal

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace. 

Happy International Women's Day 2018!

Mom & I

Good Evening, I hope all of you had a good day.

I’d like to wish all of the phenomenal women in my life a very Happy International Women’s Day.

There are many amazing women that come to mind tonight. Of course there’s my Mom, who is the strongest woman that I know while still maintaining an open and sensitive heart. I have learned so much from her life story (some of which you’ll hear about in an upcoming blogpost!). Her resilience and decision to choose happiness despite much adversity is a shining beacon in my life.

I also think of other relatives in my life, like my Aunt Donna, who is the most giving person I have ever known. Her grace is an inspiration to me. There are cousins (shout out to Trish who I am very close with), family members who have since passed on, so many remarkable women that I have been privileged to call family. I am proud to be your (relation here).

Tonight I also think of the new and old friends in my life who are paving ways for women locally and around the world. Whether they be in the political world or on the forefront of women’s rights, their drive and determination inspire me. I feel lucky to be associated with them.

Below is a snippet of a blogpost that I wrote several years ago on International Women’s Day:

“I have seen much strength and am amazed by women.  Many of them go through drastic transitions, seemingly turning their whole life upside down.

They leave the security of a job they've held for years and start their own business.

They get involved in community projects that impact those around them.

They make the heart-wrenching adjustment as their kids leave home.

They finally leave a marriage that has been unfulfilling or toxic for years and start out on a life of their own.

They start exploring their spiritual and artistic sides that perhaps lay dormant for years.

Some do a combination of the above, undergoing a complete life change even though it is as scary as hell.

You want to see courage and strength? You don't necessarily have to search out a firefighter or a police officer. Just look to the important women in your life, no matter what their age may be. We can all learn from these inspirations.”

Tonight I also think of my wonderful friend who is transitioning into her female self, and the courage and persistence and bravery that it must take. 

I also think of the thousands up on thousands of women who are standing up and saying enough is enough, #MeToo, and #TimesUp!

To all my female-identifying friends tonight, I want to say thank you so much for all I have learned and continue to learn on a daily basis from you. 

I love you,

mark andrew

This Clean, Free Feeling

You are not around anymore
You have vacated your post
Still I feel held like never before

I believe in so much less than I used to
And in turn believe in myself and so much more

When I let go of your chains of freedom
I realized I was never lost and now I'm found

You had the whole world in your hands
Except the Jews, the atheists, the Muslims and the gays
Without you the world just got a whole lot bigger

I am not perfect, but I am no sinner
And I wouldn't trade my soul for this clean, free feeling,

~ mark andrew

You Are Enough To Keep A Man Alive

something in me refuses to die

could it be the god within my heart

or your wickedly mischievous smile

you are enough to keep a man alive

giving into the sway of the rock n roll

reaching down into my scarred tired soul

your hips are enough to quiet these voices

that say enough already

words escape me

your eyes entice me

someone once told me that lust is a sin

i flip them the bird and dig deep in

i find salvation in you.

That Time When I Gave Up On Giving Up

Maybe you're a little like me. Once upon a time you dreamed big dreams, you envisioned yourself in a career or a relationship, or pursuing that thing that you were passionate about. You were young and you were awkward and your clothes didn't always match, but that didn't matter, because your ego hadn't completely taken over and you were still impervious to the World of Success and Dream-Crushing. When you were three, maybe you wanted to be a fireman or princess; when you were sixteen, maybe you wanted to travel to Africa and set up malaria clinics or be a Hollywood actor.

But at some point, you gave up on your dreams. Maybe it was the Dream-Crushing World, or maybe it was one or two people who beat you down, little by little each day, and you learned, like me, to settle. Yes, you showed signs of passion and inspiration, because the light inside never really dies, but storm clouds became the norm. First it was a few days without seeing the sun, then a few weeks, and then maybe twenty years. Life refused to slow down to let you somehow get out of this stunned and shocked feeling, in fact it sped up as you began to get a little older.

Your dreams became mere fantasies rather than a life that was achievable. Somewhere in there, you learned to retreat deep into your head, over-thinking your obsessions, and obsessing about your over-thinking. Living turned into thinking.

Whatever the reason that it happened, it happened. Maybe it was a result of being the ugly duckling at school. Maybe it was major depression and other mental illnesses. Maybe it was a parent, like the one at the coffee shop today who looked at her maybe-seven-year-old boy and told him "Stop being a friggin' ass, you're never coming here with me again." Maybe someone stole your innocence when you were completely powerless.

Have you settled? Have you given up? Giving up can take many forms and it has many faces. Maybe you stay in bed everyday until two in the afternoon and refuse to get help. Maybe you carry yourself very well in a decent career, but quietly you hate it and wonder "How did I ever get here?"

As long as there is breath, there is something in our favour. There is choice, and a chance to start dreaming again. What is it that you want to do? Who is it that you want to be? When will you allow yourself to be vulnerable enough to fall madly in love, even if it means getting your heart broken?

I'm not sure of a whole lot of things today. But in a week, in a month, in a year, I can look back and say, "Remember that time when I gave up on giving up?"

mark andrew

Scraping Off The Mud That Hides The Light

How long have you been caked in mud? I'm not talking about dirt, the kind that you can quickly shake off like a Taylor Swift song; I'm talking about deep, dense mud that you've either covered yourself in or had flung at you by someone else. Maybe you think that this is all there is to life, that your ship has sailed, that happiness, even contentment is something for those other people, but not you. You're just surviving, and it seems that's all there ever will be. I do not have a magic potion, I can not snap my fingers and send you back in time to a place when you felt unsullied and non-violated by the spindly cold fingers of that someone, or that system that kept you from shining the light inside. But I can stay here and say that no matter how dark, no matter how grim things may seem, or actually may be, that light is still inside each and every one of you. It may take time to uncover it, to scrape off the mud, but it is there. As much as you may have tried to go it alone, to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps - something that we often hear is a noble thing to do - that is just another lie. We need others - others who will confirm our inner light even when we can't see it, others who won't provide easy answers, but will sit there with us as we scrape off the mud. The late priest and author Henri Nouwen was wise when he wrote that we must be careful where and with whom we share our pain. If we are not on the road to healing - be that through professional help or some other aid - we may soon find ourselves bleeding all over the place and feeling that many people are walking away with different parts of ourselves.  Cry inward, he writes, and the inner light that you do still possess will eventually pierce the darkness.

This is not the end, no matter how dark, dank, and devastating as this may be. Let us begin again and again and again.

I love you.

mark andrew

The Cold Hands Of Technology

11:45am

Lately I've been thinking a lot about how, although technology and the internet have made the world a smaller place, in some ways they've also made the world a colder place. (I realize the irony of the situation, writing about the negatives of technology while on my computer...and online.)

We all have friends who are basically e-friends, or Facebook friends. We also have friends that are text friends. The days of phoning a friend, or even regularly getting together with friends, seem to be waning. We tell ourselves that we're too busy or that it's too awkward to have anything more than e-contact. Either that or we just don't put the effort into it.

All of this can leave us feeling isolated and lonely if we don't have a circle of friends, or even one or two friends, that we get together with regularly.

I find many e-conversations to be frustrating and cold. They can give the illusion of being close with someone, while maintaining quite the distance from them. Do you ever have text conversations that take days, if not weeks to complete? I find this to be difficult. I send a text off asking a question or suggesting that we get together in real life, and then I don't hear from some people for days or weeks. Yes, it's all so cold.

E-friendships can have their benefits though, such as when a friend moves away, or if you're trying to meet new people or a partner. Introverts can be particularly appreciative of such friendships.  I have an introverted side to me.

But I know that I need face-to-face, real connections with people. I need to be in the company of people, to see their mannerisms, their facial expressions, to have eye contact with them. I think we are meant for relationship, for connection with people. To that end, I'm thankful to be getting together with a good friend for coffee today, and for a new volunteer opportunity that will get me out and interacting with more people.

Are you ever left feeling empty by e-friendships? What do you find to be the strengths and weaknesses of such interactions?

I hope you're having a good day. I love you.

mark andrew

Fences, Pills, and Possibilities

The other night I picked up the refill of my prescription for an anti-anxiety medication that I've been on for several years. There was nothing special about the pick up - I simply showed my ID to the pharmacist and made my way home.

My diagnoses are major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and complex PTSD. I have suffered from mental illness since I was a child. Mental illness runs up and down both sides of my family tree like a blight, so it’s not surprising that I too would face “the black dog.”On top of genetics, all throughout my childhood I was a victim of punishing verbal and emotional abuse.
I have tried every anti-depressant known to humankind it seems, and have been hospitalized on three occasions because of my illness.

But as I entered adulthood, it seemed that I finally came to a crossroads, or as I call it, a fence.

For years I have been sitting on a fence of sorts. On one side of the fence lies death, specifically death by my own hand. On the other side of the fence is a life where I listen to my inner voice which tells me that I have a lot to offer to the world and to act boldly, to stop living such a small life.

I sat on that fence again the other night after picking up my medication. I had two options available to me as I held the open pill bottle in my hand. The first option was something I have considered hundreds, if not thousands of times. It consisted of throwing the entire bottles worth of pills (along with my other prescriptions) down my throat and hopefully ending it all. The second option was to stop living a life of half-steps and second-guessing, a life where my past abuse defines me. To live a life where I listen to that persistent inner voice which calls me to be the best version of myself that I can be. In that moment, holding that pill bottle, I knew that sitting on the fence was no longer an option for me. Doing so had been killing me slowly for years. The fence brought some level of comfort, but the trade-off was a life of constant fear and indecision.

Perhaps you find yourself at a crossroads, or sitting on a fence like me. You've thought of suicide thousands of times but a still small voice inside of you tells you that there is more to life than fear and dread. I get it, I've been there as recently as last night. If you can't hear your inner voice right now, listen to the voices of those around you who know you best, the people who know that you have a whole hell of a lot to offer this world. You may need therapy, medication, or a caring community to awaken from the nightmare. Do whatever you need to do to get off that fence.

I believe in you. I love you.