Atheist Blasphemy Challenge Looks Sophomoric

I understand the danger of corporate religious power, and the part strict dogma plays in isolating people, and ruining lives. I can almost fathom the possibility of a return to medieval patterns of dealing with perceived heretics, and blasphemers. I have been on the wrong side of the gavel in ecclesiastical edicts determined by false charges and I have seen the devastating wicked power which can occur at the hands of religious leaders.

To most people these things are a fantastic possibility - like tilting at windmills, or yelling at monsters under the bed at night - few people in the western world live under any serious ecclesiastical threat.  The few of us who have experienced it, even under its greatly diminished power compared to medieval times, understand its dark under belly.

In the Muslim world, and in the superstitious boundaries of a highly charged animist Africa people are loosing their lives.  Muslim reformers are being imprisoned and murdered.  Women and children are being tortured and thrown out on the streets as accused witches.

Enter stage left the Atheist Ireland response to the recently enacted blasphemy law in Ireland.  Their 25 blasphemies, which they posted online the day the law went into effect look like a sophomoric publicity stunt in comparison to the people whose lives are on the line in a real life situations.

The response by Irish authorities to the 25 blasphemies has been next to nil.  I will be completely surprised if this ends up amounting to anything more than a group of people shouting obscenities at one another to get attention, and finding like a group of junior high kids standing on a street corner trying out their four letter words that no one was listening to them anyway.

Many of the atheists responding to the blasphemy law have been intelligent, well spoken,  and considerate people.  I have a number of atheist friends whom I count among people I trust most in this world, but for the crude and abusive ranters I have no respect.

Step aside little kids!  Let the people who have the scars from the battle fight the war.  We are the ones who know where the battle lines are really drawn, and understand what the real dangers of religious power look like.  I think the Irish blasphemy law is really what designers say it is:  made to make prosecution nearly impossible.  It is a toothless lion.  All the four letter words in the world can only bring up an indecency charge, and that quite frankly might be worth slapping a few nasty little boys with.

Persecution of Supposed Witches on the Rise

The following stories have popped up in the last few days:

Nigerian children accused of Witches cast out of their homes, tortured, even killed by church leadership, and their own parents:

see this report from yesterday:
SOS Children's Village
and this one from 3 days ago:
CBS News

The above stories are from Nigeria alone, but this is happening in much of the "third world." Mike Davis' book Planet of Slums outlines this problem in Kinshasa, Congo as well. You should read this book. See link to it in the column to the left.

Indian Muslim widows beaten after being accused of being Witches:
video footage here

Is there hope for delivering these abused women and children from the evil created by superstition and fear-mongering? I hope so, but I am convinced that this superstition has been exported by many US churches, and expanded to unbelievable lengths by poverty, greed, and ignorance. Heaven help us.

For previous blog posts on this issue see here and here.

Theology and Experience: Which Drives Which?

My life ought to be driven by my faith, and my understanding of truth. Or so my pentecostal/evangelical heritage tells me, but I wonder to what degree my understanding of theology has been driven by my experiences in life.

I have noted elsewhere in this blog that I began to read the Gospels differently after experiencing the backside of corruption in my previous denominational affiliation. Was there a significant theological change following my circumstances? I tend to think that there was not a significant change, but rather a deepened understanding of things previously only partially understood. Yet there are others who would see it as a theological veering off course.

So this causes me to wonder what degree off my own faith is driven by experience despite the fact that I think of myself as far too objective to allow it to be a large percentage.

Are my experiences the back seat driver of my theology, and have I been listening to them? And is this good, or bad, or a little of both?

Leadership as a Familial Model and Acceptance of Sinners

We had a rather interesting discussion last night at church, which moved to a discussion of homosexuality, and then to outreach among fringe people groups. We had been foraging through some follow-up from our Conference "God For People Who Hate Church."

Jim Henderson, Jay Bakker and Tony Jones all emphasized in some manner reaching out in love with no agenda, and this became a point of challenge which included wondering if there was a place in which the Gospel was being compromised in order to show acceptance to those outside the church.

As an afterthought concerning this discussion I have had some thoughts based upon a discussion with one of our members following the evening dialogue.

I believe the model of Christian leadership outlined by Paul is one of familial interaction. Nowhere are potential leaders asked to measure up to some corporate or militaristic model of leadership, rather they are expected to be family men and women, who run their family well, and peaceably. This means that way Christian leaders treat people should be like the sacrificial love and patient longsuffering we show our family members. If we really lived like this in church, I wonder if it would significantly reorganize or transform our experience and our leadership patterns?

A Letter from a Witch's Friend

The following letter was written by a friend of my friend Shawn, who died last month. It speaks for itself, and says something about the problems Christians sometimes create through judgmentalism, and fear of being defiled by "the unbelieving," and those who do not live up to our lifestyle expectations.

"Phil,

You don't know me and I have never been to your church. I knew Shawn Poirier since we were teenagers and I remember his zeal for church. I used to sleep over his house and we would pray all night. I remember earnestly studying the Bible with him, going on retreats, worshiping together in church.

I also remember the way church people judged Shawn and his family, spread lies about him, talked behind his back and accused him of things that were not true. I remember walking into a church with Shawn and watching as the minister stopped his sermon and then announced that "a spirit of homosexuality" had just walked into the room. Shawn was crushed. I remember watching him try again and again to find community, acceptance and love in church....all to no avail. The church really poured on the fire after he became a witch but I made it a point to publicly give him a hug and tell him that he would always be my friend. This would freak out my family but I felt that it was important that Shawn know that not every church person was judging him. I attended Shawn's wake but had to leave early. I was sad not to see church people there, but I tried to brush off my feelings. Imagine my shock when that Sunday I heard a pastor publicly preach that Shawn was in hell and standing naked before an angry god. This was coming from one of the churches that had hurt Shawn. I was furious and distraught. I watched Shawn get publicly rebuked in life...I was not about to watch it happen in death, when his family was in pain. I made sure to write a letter to the pastor right then and there and I handed it to him and told him to read it before he preached his next sermon. (It was at Christian (name of church)... in New Bedford at the first of what are 3 morning services)

I wrote to Christian Day expressing my deep hurt that Shawn had died, my anger that Shawn's name was being mentioned publicly and requesting his family's decision as to how I should handle this. In my mind a public response was necessary. But Christian Day....showing incredible tolerance, grace and maturity suggested that I let it roll off of me and not let it take up my energy. He gave me the link to your church and told me shortly how you were of great assistance during this time. I wanted to therefore send you a note of thanks, that a pastor, instead of judging actually stood up and was a blessing during this time.

I can't thank you enough. You don't know me but I wanted to tell you that I appreciated your response after Shawn's death and I know that God is pleased. May God enlarge your voice so that others can hear the words of Jesus instead of the taunts of the Pharisees.

Sincerely,

Steven Thorne"

Like Stephen I wanted to fully publish the name of the church, but for the sake of exhibiting God's grace I have not. Stephen, thank you for having been a long time friend of my friend.

Beyond the Pall

I stood outside the doors waiting with seven other men. We were all dressed in black. The mood was somber, but then, it almost always is. Especially when death knocks earlier than expected.

The doors broke open. The coffin emerged, and we took our positions. My friend in front of me had to throw his long black cape over his shoulder, and reposition his tall pointed hat upon his head. The amulets, and trinkets bounced off the patchwork of his cape. Behind me a tall young man in a tight black T-shirt emblazoned with occultic imagery, and a black leather coat took his place. As we made our way down the steps to the hearse, I had to kick aside the flowing cape which filled the steps in front of me. I in my black pin-striped suit, and deep grey wool overcoat was one of two conservatively dressed men appointed to carry the casket. The six Witches, and Neo-Pagans were dressed in their regalia, and the one other conservatively dressed man was young. He wore a sharp black suit, a crisp black shirt and black tie, with one small round lapel pin - the symbol of the First Church of Satan.

What had brought me to this moment is the stuff fables are made of. The newspaper had announced this funeral with the words, "Witches Mourn Their King." I was a simple Christian Pastor, and somehow I felt at home.

We made our way to the back of the hearse, and together pushed the casket upon the rollers. Then together we watched the doors close.

The minutes before the casket arrived at the door, and came into our hands were surreal as any I've experienced. It was surreal that I was there. It was perhaps more surreal that I was comfortable. We stood and made small talk. The younger men looked out of sorts, as though this was a part of life yet unknown - some rite of passage only now being experienced - except for the young Satanist. He was calm, in control, and appeared familiar with the deeper moments of life. It was he who was considerate enough to suggest that we all greet, and learn each others' names. During those same moments, a close friend of the deceased, a large man with a severe limp adorned in a long black cape stood at the bottom of the stairs, and said ceremoniously to we eight pall-bearers, "Carry my friend with honor." He repeated himself with conviction, and touch of sorrow, perhaps wishing he were healthy enough to play his part in the moment, "Carry my friend with honor."

Between the wake the night before, and this day of the gravesite service hundreds of people had come. Some traveled from as a far as Canada to honor my deceased friend the High Priest of his little circle of a Salem variety of Witchcraft.

The services were decidedly witchy, filled with some of the pomp of Wiccan ceremony, and some of the drama of Halloween in Salem, Massachusetts, with cauldron, and blade, and broom, and skull.

For the two days of services I sat with my dead friend's mother. She, like myself, was a Pentecostal Christian. She grieved, and worried over the death of her son, and felt uncomfortable with the witchiness of the ceremonies, though she had seen it dozens of times by now. When it came to the conclusion of the gravesite service each person was given the opportunity to honor the deceased by taking a memory of his life, and ritually casting a pinch of salt upon the casket. She asked me if it was okay with God to do this. I leaned over and whispered to her, "I think God would like you to remember that you have been the salt of the earth in your son's life. Of course, it's okay." She cried, and limply tossed her grains of salt upon the gray metal box.

Few funerals in America have the output of emotion I experienced over these two days. People openly cried, and wailed, and expressed words of appreciation. This man barely 40 years of age had gathered this strange troupe together in his death, and I watched people from all walks of life: Christians, Witches, Atheists, and Satanists speak of their respect for him. There were many people who had been touched by his life, and felt that his help had been instrumental in their lives. One Christian spoke of her return to Christianity from Witchcraft, and stated that he had been instrumental in helping her find her way back to Jesus. This was the surrealism: Many people mourned him though he was a Witch, a Voodoo Practitioner, and even joined the ranks of Anton LaVey's Organization in his last years of life. To most people he lived beyond the pall. Yet to some he offered words of wisdom, and hope.

I consider the life of this strange man who died, and contrast it with a man who yet lives.

The man who yet lives is a Christian pastor I once served alongside. He says all the right things, and appears at cursory glance to be the model of citizenship. His dress is impeccable. His actions are sharp, and decisive. His ministry is successful by all appearances, but a deeper look reveals a dark underbelly of corruption. Subtle lies, clever manipulation, and political savvy are his trademark. He rules his little kingdom with an iron fist, and crushes those who refuse to labor under his heavy-handed control. Good pastors have been lost, churches have been dismantled, and reputations have been ruined under his guidance.

I wonder which life is more tiresome to the gracious Nazarene I serve. Which life is wearisomely beyond the pall?

I was strangely, but deeply honored to be asked to be a pall-bearer for my friend the Witch. Somehow I am ashamed to know the man who yet lives, and declares to serve my Jesus, and it makes me wonder what it is that only God can see beyond the pall-bearing.