November 27, 2002
when you haven't got a prayer
Celeste and I went downtown today to work on our Christian Science report for Apologetics. Being the intrepid types that we are, we looked up the address of a reading room in the phone book and went to go check it out. (Actually, the address given was that of the church, and the reading room was about five blocks away, but that's neither here nor there.) Made them listen to RENT the entire way. Sang along, too. Heh.
The reading room was rather small, maybe fifteen by forty feet, your typical downtown storefront converted into RR space. A front window held some books for sale, most extolling the wonderment that was Mary Baker Eddy, with various fliers and posters taped inside the glass. The front portion of the room, when we walked in, was blocked off, but you could see through a Plexiglas window and a doorless entry that the rest of the room wasn't any more exciting. The walls were a dingy off-white, with a bit of plaster texture on it. The carpet was the cheap multicolored brown nubbin-y kind. All of the right-hand wall was white bookshelves partially filled with old, battered books and magazines. The front portion had a lot of paperbacks and pamphlets for sale. The back portion seemed to be more of a library than a bookshop, and had a couple of wicker armchairs with dull sea-green tie-on cushions trying to add some kind of warmth to the otherwise interrogation-chamber-cum-waiting-room decor.
We had been making jokes the whole time about what the reading room would be like-- would it just be a bunch of chairs and books that anyone could just walk in and read unmediated; would it have someone there to "evangelize" us and interpret the books for us; would we have to pull out our Swords of Scripture and Helmets of Salvation and Gorgets and Greaves of... Patience and Proper Hermeneutics, I suppose... and valiantly defend our orthodoxy (such as it is; Celeste's a Catholic waiting to happen with a few doctrinal curveballs thrown in for variety and I'm more of a pomo heterodoxical seeker, a denominational commitment-phobe); that sort of thing.
The small desk sitting in front had all its supplies arranged with the painstaking care that speaks of long hours of endless straightening and rearranging. The lady behind the desk jumped up as soon as we hesitantly set foot inside. She was at first glance in at least her late sixties, with practically short silver hair and a lined face. Her sweater was dark red, her slacks were neat light-khaki chinos, and her shoes were your typical old-lady slippers of the black leather that turns a dark greenish navy when scuffed. She had a pair of reading glasses on a gold chain around her neck. She greeted us with barely controlled enthusiasm-- "Young people!" It was apparent that she probably hadn't seen anyone in quite a long time, much less a group of teenagers. Celeste's Incubus ("In-coo-bus") t-shirt was a source of confusement.
We stood around for a bit, asking her if maybe she had any tracts or pamphlets we could have, since we were researching Christian Science for a project (tactfully, we didn't mention that said project was the "Cult Project" as assigned by Fred the Bishop of Fredtism), and she said "Sure, of course!" and scurried around in the back portion for a bit. We ended up with a big pile of old water-crackled Christian Science Sentinels (free, actually, which was nice, as I didn't feel like shelling out dinero for a Fred project), dragging some old pale-green metal armchairs up to the desk discussing doctrine.
Celeste asked her to clarify something we'd been reading about but had yet to actually understand-- the CS doctrine of sin. The basic position, which our guide reiterated, is that sin, sickness, pain, death, and evil are all illusions. Strictly speaking, they don't exist. Plainly spoken, in MBE's words, "There is no death."
She went on to explain a bit, but she had a tendency to go off on testimonial tangents-- not to evangelize, but to illustrate a point, she just got carried away much of the time. I spent most of that time trying to assimilate the concept of nonexistent evil.
It still makes no sense to me. I think this is because it's just nonsensical. It seems to be a way of responding to the question of evil and a good God by theologically sticking one's fingers in one's ears and yelling "LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
My first question to her, in this vein, was "What about murder? How can murder be an illusion?" She answered by talking about people having doubts about things like that until they "reached a certain point in their studies of Christian Science," which I don't know about you but that just sounds like entrenched brainwashing to me. Or to put it more bluntly, sticking one's mind in the Blender of Denial and hitting Frappé.
It was slightly awkward. I thought it would basically be bad form to try to attack her beliefs on her own turf, especially after she mentioned some belligerent visitor who had come in basically looking to pick a fight earlier. But the more I listened to her talk, the more I wondered about the ethics of leaving someone in ignorance. I asked that first question thinking, in some small part, to plant some small seed of doubt. I wasn't willing that I leave someone's sense of truth that wasn't true intact.
What assurance, really, do I have that my faith, my belief in God and Jesus, is no more ephemeral than the lady I sat listening to today? I have God that speaks to me in words, images and life, but then again, she went out of her way to mention how much she had "felt the presence of God in her life." Making me ponder doubt in its many incarnations. How much of my faith is belief, and how much is doubt? Where do I draw the line between justifiable doubt that seeks to uncover the truth, and destructive skepticism that seeks to rip everything to shreds? What part does my own ingrained cynicism play in this?
How much of my belief is solid faith, and how much of it is an unwillingness to question lest I lose my footing? How much of my doubt is real questions, and what part is unwillingness to accept the truth?
I've forgotten the lady's name, whom we thanked for her help, but I do distinctly remember that her left eye was dull blue-gray and her right eye was brown, because I watched her eyes the whole time I listened to her talk. I noticed an odd edge to her voice. I kept thinking it was enthusiasm, eagerness to please and inform us and correct any misconceptions of Christian Science that we might have, but now that I think back on it, I wonder if some small part of it wasn't desperation.
As it is, I think I need to pray more.
The reading room was rather small, maybe fifteen by forty feet, your typical downtown storefront converted into RR space. A front window held some books for sale, most extolling the wonderment that was Mary Baker Eddy, with various fliers and posters taped inside the glass. The front portion of the room, when we walked in, was blocked off, but you could see through a Plexiglas window and a doorless entry that the rest of the room wasn't any more exciting. The walls were a dingy off-white, with a bit of plaster texture on it. The carpet was the cheap multicolored brown nubbin-y kind. All of the right-hand wall was white bookshelves partially filled with old, battered books and magazines. The front portion had a lot of paperbacks and pamphlets for sale. The back portion seemed to be more of a library than a bookshop, and had a couple of wicker armchairs with dull sea-green tie-on cushions trying to add some kind of warmth to the otherwise interrogation-chamber-cum-waiting-room decor.
We had been making jokes the whole time about what the reading room would be like-- would it just be a bunch of chairs and books that anyone could just walk in and read unmediated; would it have someone there to "evangelize" us and interpret the books for us; would we have to pull out our Swords of Scripture and Helmets of Salvation and Gorgets and Greaves of... Patience and Proper Hermeneutics, I suppose... and valiantly defend our orthodoxy (such as it is; Celeste's a Catholic waiting to happen with a few doctrinal curveballs thrown in for variety and I'm more of a pomo heterodoxical seeker, a denominational commitment-phobe); that sort of thing.
The small desk sitting in front had all its supplies arranged with the painstaking care that speaks of long hours of endless straightening and rearranging. The lady behind the desk jumped up as soon as we hesitantly set foot inside. She was at first glance in at least her late sixties, with practically short silver hair and a lined face. Her sweater was dark red, her slacks were neat light-khaki chinos, and her shoes were your typical old-lady slippers of the black leather that turns a dark greenish navy when scuffed. She had a pair of reading glasses on a gold chain around her neck. She greeted us with barely controlled enthusiasm-- "Young people!" It was apparent that she probably hadn't seen anyone in quite a long time, much less a group of teenagers. Celeste's Incubus ("In-coo-bus") t-shirt was a source of confusement.
We stood around for a bit, asking her if maybe she had any tracts or pamphlets we could have, since we were researching Christian Science for a project (tactfully, we didn't mention that said project was the "Cult Project" as assigned by Fred the Bishop of Fredtism), and she said "Sure, of course!" and scurried around in the back portion for a bit. We ended up with a big pile of old water-crackled Christian Science Sentinels (free, actually, which was nice, as I didn't feel like shelling out dinero for a Fred project), dragging some old pale-green metal armchairs up to the desk discussing doctrine.
Celeste asked her to clarify something we'd been reading about but had yet to actually understand-- the CS doctrine of sin. The basic position, which our guide reiterated, is that sin, sickness, pain, death, and evil are all illusions. Strictly speaking, they don't exist. Plainly spoken, in MBE's words, "There is no death."
She went on to explain a bit, but she had a tendency to go off on testimonial tangents-- not to evangelize, but to illustrate a point, she just got carried away much of the time. I spent most of that time trying to assimilate the concept of nonexistent evil.
It still makes no sense to me. I think this is because it's just nonsensical. It seems to be a way of responding to the question of evil and a good God by theologically sticking one's fingers in one's ears and yelling "LA LA LA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
My first question to her, in this vein, was "What about murder? How can murder be an illusion?" She answered by talking about people having doubts about things like that until they "reached a certain point in their studies of Christian Science," which I don't know about you but that just sounds like entrenched brainwashing to me. Or to put it more bluntly, sticking one's mind in the Blender of Denial and hitting Frappé.
It was slightly awkward. I thought it would basically be bad form to try to attack her beliefs on her own turf, especially after she mentioned some belligerent visitor who had come in basically looking to pick a fight earlier. But the more I listened to her talk, the more I wondered about the ethics of leaving someone in ignorance. I asked that first question thinking, in some small part, to plant some small seed of doubt. I wasn't willing that I leave someone's sense of truth that wasn't true intact.
What assurance, really, do I have that my faith, my belief in God and Jesus, is no more ephemeral than the lady I sat listening to today? I have God that speaks to me in words, images and life, but then again, she went out of her way to mention how much she had "felt the presence of God in her life." Making me ponder doubt in its many incarnations. How much of my faith is belief, and how much is doubt? Where do I draw the line between justifiable doubt that seeks to uncover the truth, and destructive skepticism that seeks to rip everything to shreds? What part does my own ingrained cynicism play in this?
How much of my belief is solid faith, and how much of it is an unwillingness to question lest I lose my footing? How much of my doubt is real questions, and what part is unwillingness to accept the truth?
I've forgotten the lady's name, whom we thanked for her help, but I do distinctly remember that her left eye was dull blue-gray and her right eye was brown, because I watched her eyes the whole time I listened to her talk. I noticed an odd edge to her voice. I kept thinking it was enthusiasm, eagerness to please and inform us and correct any misconceptions of Christian Science that we might have, but now that I think back on it, I wonder if some small part of it wasn't desperation.
As it is, I think I need to pray more.
Labels: religion
# posted by Liadan @ 9:11 PM 
