Two years

 Weird how time slips away, isn't it?  It's been a bit over two years since my last post.  And what a two years of bitter tears it has been.  Little did I know that in March of 2021, it would be the halcyon days of only half a million dead; instead of the Qultists have helped raise the pandemic death toll to over one million Americans.  Roughly 1 in 310 people died, and so many still refuse to believe it is real.

Much of Evangelical and more traditional Catholicism in America is fully subsumed into a nationalist Qult of Trump, and of being anti-trans, anti-intellectual, etc.  Roving militias are forming.  Murderers stalk the streets openly, as Governors of red states assure them they'll be freed.  And all the while, I can't help but think how the same people who warned me, who traumatized me from toddlerhood, about the coming anti-Christ, now wear the symbol of one upon their heads, just as the Bible foretold.

Most of the moral Christians I know, no longer attend a church. Many aren't even Christian, for the sexual abuse is too prevalent everywhere, and they fear taking their kids near a member of the clergy. I know, disjointed thoughts today, but writing this while sick.  Pretty bad viral infection.

Almost a year after

 I've not written since "Easter in the Pandemic"...and here we are, eleven months later, and still the pandemic rages.  I've not been able to go to Mass, I've not been able to receive the Sacraments. I've got multiple high risk comorobidities and a profession which places me high up in the theoretical vaccine order, but no vaccination as of yet.  

Half a million Americans are dead.  Not a single Republican voted for a relief bill for the pandemic, because half a million American lives don't matter as much as "owning the libs".  They built a fucking literal golden idol to Donald Trump. His supporters did something that Al Quaeda failed to accomplish on 9/11, they attacked our Capitol.  MAGA terrorists tried to overthrow the US government and install Donald Trump as God-Emperor...and only seven Senate Republicans could do more than shrug their shoulders about their workplace coming under attack, an officer being beaten to death with an American flag, and a literal gallows erected on the Capitol steps as the crowds chanted for the Vice President of the United States to be hung from it.  

I am afraid for this nation. I am afraid for this world. I am afraid for my loves ones and my friends.  I am afraid for myself.  I am also afraid for the Catholic Church; the online Catholic community has radicalized into goose stepping fascism, be it Reddit's r/Catholicism, or Phatmass (a site whose name stands for Preaching Holy Apostolic Truth, but now appears to mean Preaching Heretical Apostasizing Trash) and its seeming embrace of a mantra of, "There is no God but Donald Trump, and Q is his prophet."  Phatmass, that spreads medical information, that has posts about how Democrats are all Satanists, and that submitting to government experts is to submit to Satan himself.  That's not an exaggeration by the way, one post literally read recently, "Submission to government experts is submitting to Satan." 

I am grateful though, for some things.  I'm grateful we have 3 vaccines.  I'm grateful we have a President and Vice President who take the pandemic seriously and have secured enough doses for every adult in the nation, even if deployment's not the best.  I'm grateful my employer allows me to work online during this.  I'm grateful my parents have gotten their vaccinations already.  I'm grateful that I have a therapist and anti-depressants now.  Look for what you're grateful for, because the miasma is so easy to be pulled down by. And I'm grateful for today, where the snow is finally melted enough I'll be taking out some trash.

Easter during the pandemic

It's been a strange Easter, amidst the pandemic.  Public masses are canceled all across America, and rightfully so, we must use the brains God has given us, to not cause harm to ourselves or to others.  As many rabbis on Twitter have pointed out, the greatest mitzvah in Judaism is the protection of life, and by not gathering and not giving the virus a chance to spread, that is what we all find ourselves doing.

Passover found families celebrating via Zoom, unable to gather together, and sometimes without the kosher food.  Yet, it probably felt solemn, to remember the story of the Exodus, huddled with what supplies one had on hand, awaiting the angel of death to pass over those who shared the meal. 

Likewise, Holy Thursday for we Catholics was changed, and rather than gathering together to separate the Lord's Supper's institution, instead the churches were empty and dark.  People were left home to begin the Triduum on their own, or watch individual priests by livestream, and the procession of the Eucharist to the place it would be stored until Easter. 

Good Friday, the day of the crucifixion of Christ did not see the throngs of people who go forward at our churches to kiss Christ's foot upon the cross.  Rather, no potential sharing of the germs, as we all stayed home.  Each their own way of remembering and observing. 

Today is Holy Saturday, a day of stillness and silence in the Triduum.  I am writing this as I would normally begin celebrating Easter Vigil, but as I sit in darkness there are no candles - my apartment contract forbids them - and no fellow Catholics, there is no bonfire, no procession, no communal chanting, nor the restoration of the altar, no converts being baptized or Confirmed, and no singing of the Alleluia, having disappeared throughout Lent.  Instead, there is silence and darkness. 

Yet, it is this day, with its lack of pomp and circumstance amidst the pandemic, when we can perhaps find ourselves closest to how the disciples felt.  We are witnesses to tragedy, traumatized collectively by what we have seen and experienced, retreating into our homes.  We huddle amidst our darkened shelters, hoping for a better tomorrow, and for an end to the current sorrows.  We hold our breath, fearful of the same fate befalling us, just as the disciples feared they would share in the fate of their Master.

It can be easy at these times to recall the words of Christ upon the cross, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?", or in English, "My God,  My God, for what have you forsaken me?" One could not be blamed for saying those words encompass 2020 thus far:  a brush with World War Three in the Middle East, Australia consumed by record-breaking fires and killing a billion animals, locust swarms spreading across the Middle East and parts of Africa that are already suffering drought and famine, and now plague.  What horrible thing is coming next?  How can 2020 top what has already occurred?  How will this all end?

Thoughts the disciples shared, that first Holy Saturday while they cowered in their homes.  It was their darkest moment, and their most uncertain time.  Likewise, I can't help but feel we face the darkest moment of my lifetime.  At the time which I'm typing this, the United States has lost 20,611 people to Covid-19, nearly thrice the amount we lost on September the 11th of 2001, when the world seemed to turn upside down.  Experts warn this is only the beginning.  In the shadow of such darkness, it would be easy to fall into despair.

Yet, on Sunday morning the women worked up the courage to go anoint the body of Jesus, and went out to the tomb, as so many people must find the bravery to work essential jobs.  When they arrived, the women found the stone had been rolled aside, and a man in brilliant clothes waiting, and speaking to them, "Do not be afraid, He is not here; for He has risen." 

That lesson from the first Easter should stay with us.  Things can be bad, but it will get better.  It may take time, and we may grieve losses while we await those better days, but eventually, they will come.  When those days do finally arrive, and we dare leave our homes, we can look forward to living by the words, "do not be afraid."  Until then, let us huddle together in our homes, cognizant that we must be participants in our own safety and that of others; one day we shall all rise from the darkness we find ourselves in, but it won't be tomorrow.  It may be months, it may be years, but in the end, we will, scientists will develop a vaccine, and at that time, we will listen to the words of that angelic messenger, "do not be afraid."
 

The constant drumbeat of scandal is exhausting

So...story time? Around 11 years ago, I left my American Baptist church to become Catholic. I was dating a Catholic woman seriously at the time, and we ended up together for three years, as a couple, before it ended. About two years into that relationship, she arranged for me to meet up with a mutual acquaintance while at a conference; the acquaintance was a Salesian novitiate who decided to use the get together to try and get me to dump the woman I was dating and become a Salesian priest, because he knew I was called to the priesthood, just like he was. Then-girlfriend had very strong words for him after she asked me how the meet up went. Fast forward to the present: He's married now and not a priest, and apparently the Salesians are helping to hide pedophiles.

I want to be shocked at this, but I'm really not. Not at this point, when they keep making such mouth-noises about all they've done to 'protect children' and then never implement any of it. Not when they keep braying about the John Jay Report...without acknowledging the number of scandals and abuses that have happened or come to light since the report was commissioned. Not when that pseudo-intellectual hack Bishop Barron released a book on the sexual abuse crisis in the Church, which is basically a small pamphlet with big font going, "don't blame us too much" and "we're doing better now" and "there have been almost no new cases, all of these are old". Not when we keep seeing the same patterns again and again.

This crisis hurts, both as a Catholic, and as someone who keeps being afraid a priest I know will be next. A fear founded, I believe, in the fact it seems to always be so close to me, yet never in touching distance. The Bishop who received me into the Church eleven years ago? Resigned: financial malfeasance to the tune of MILLIONS of dollars and molestation of seminarians. The Bishop of the diocese where I went to graduate school? Redacted from the Pennsylvania Grand Jury Report due to ongoing litigation. The archdiocese I'm in now? Seems to not want to ever discuss protecting children, and has, in the past, paid out double digit millions to victims...and overall the priests have not been the most impressive. One was accused of child pornography before being 'cleared' in an investigation, another treated me like crap for trying to confess during the confession time that was scheduled, another forced me to do a confession walking with him on a public street and kept digging for nonexistent sexual sins, and another told me that my depression and being incapable of safely driving due to lack of sleep was no reason to miss my Sunday Mass obligation.

It's hard to be a Catholic who is trying, when the Church doesn't. It's hard to keep faith in an institution where corruption goes straight to the top. It's hard to watch the more fervent of my fellows sacrifice their beliefs for their new God-King Trump, and to viciously attack the Pope, and rant with a great deal of anti-Semitic and anti-immigrant rhetoric in online Catholic spaces. It's hard...it's just hard. And it's hard to know our tithes get 'taxed' by the dioceses and archdioceses and are then used to cover up sexual abuse, or in New York, lobby to the tune of millions of dollars against a bill designed to protect victims of sexual abuse.

It's hard. I'm so tired, so very tired. I'm not in a dark night of the soul, just in a tired state. But I will tell you this; it's difficult to be more moral than the people who are supposed to teach you about faith and morals. It's difficult to decide to stop tithing and donate to charities instead. It's difficult to accept that evil is so prevalent. Yet, we must all push on, and believe, and pray, and hope.

Trump Cultists and Children

I have several atheist friends, who pose one simple question (along similar variations) to me from time to time, "If Christians are really new creations in Christ, why are they by and large the shittiest people in America?"  Honestly, I've never come up with a good answer for that.  Many people say that there's no reason for someone to judge God by those who profess to follow Him and His dictates and commandments, but if we are new creations in Christ, isn't that exactly what should be done?  If we truly believe that Christians are changed from the people they once were, into new and better people by being saved by the grace of Christ, should it not be assumed that they should act that way?  That their beliefs be judged that way?''

Honestly, I don't know the answer.  I just don't, and I hate the whole No True Scotsman game, because those I would say don't represent Christianity would do the same of me.  I've always firmly believed that my morals came from my religion, and to an extent, I still do.  However, looking at my co-religionists, I have to pause and wonder if that is the case, or if my values often lie more in a broadly humanist philosophy that has been influenced by the positive aspects of my religion. 

It terrifies me to see how American Christendom is rapidly becoming the Cult of their new Lord, Trumpus Christus, instead of Jesus the Christ.  It terrifies me to see the Evangelicals in particular, but more than a few Catholics, practically orgasm at the thought of ripping children from their parents and placing them in literal concentration camps.  It terrifies me on so many levels to see how these people forsake Christ in favor of evil, all for the promise of temporal power.

When the Disciples tried to stop some children from Jesus, He said to allow them to come unto Him and that if one caused them to stumble, then it would be better for them to tie a millstone around their neck and throw themselves into the sea.  Rather than embracing children, as did Christ, the Trump Cultists embrace the idea of throwing them into camps where they are not even provided soap.  Rather than care for their spiritual well being, the Trump Cultists pay them no heed.  In the face that these traumas will scar these children for life, the Trump Cultists will shrug and happily go on their way.  In the face of the great falling away from faith these camps will cause among their survivors (since we know people are dying already in ICE custody...or did until they stopped updating the death counter), the Trump Cultists say they weren't real Christians anyhow.  The Trump Cultists worship death, they worship evil, and they claim to do so in the name of Christ, but the Christ would tell them that it is better to tie a millstone around their neck and cast themselves into the sea, than to continue in what they are do.  The Trump Cultists mouth allegiance to the Christ, but will find themselves on their last day hearing the words, "Depart from me, I never knew you."

Rest in Peace, Rachel Held Evans

The New York Times is memorializing her as a "wandering Evangelical".  It's probably a fitting title, for a woman who wandered her way from Creationism and the depth of conservative Christianity to become one of its leading, yet most compassionate critics.  That woman I speak of, is progressive Christian, Rachel Held Evans, and she was only 37.

How to describe Rachel?  She was kind.  She was generous.  She was compassionate.  She was Pro-Life in the sense of the seamless garment, a critic of those who would state their pro-life stand, but then be against everything that would actually reduce abortions.  She was someone who loved others and was beloved by so many, with even Hemant Mehta over on the Friendly Atheist blog writing a touching tribute to her, a friend lost far too young to the clutches of death.

This Easter season began in Holy Week, and I cried as I watched the Notre Dame Cathedral burn.  However, even though I cried for its loss, I wept at the passing of Rachel, and I still am as I type this.  She fought the good fight of trying to get her fellow believers to love as Christ loves us, and her books like Searching for Sunday are a raw memoir of faith.  In a time where so many are trying to turn the American church into the First Church of MAGA, she extolled upon us to remember that we are all people, all children of the same God, and we are all upon this Earth together. 

Her last blog post, made on Ash Wednesday, touches upon that poignantly; how each week she had people reach out to her about how they felt betrayed in their faith, from the Evangelical embrace of Trumpism to Catholic and Southern Baptist (and now we know, though she did not, Mormon) sexual abuse scandals, to the deep division of the United Methodist Church over the inclusion and exclusion of LGBTQ+ people.  That we are called toward healing, and that we are not alone. 

The end of that blog post is more fitting than Rachel ever could have known, "Death is a part of life. My prayer for you this season is that you make time to celebrate that reality, and to grieve that reality, and that you will know you are not alone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

What Should We Do? Bury Our Head in the Sand!

Today's post has a somewhat facetious sounding title, but it's not a joke, it's rather what I've been seeing online amongst my Catholic places I hang out.  I have no answers for the sexual abuse that continues to rock the Roman Catholic Church and its faithful and will not pretend that I do.  However, I can't agree with the responses that I have seen so far.

The Bishops, for example, and the Vatican, seem to be advocating a "pray and see" approach.  Even as the U.S. Bishops have a conference regarding it, a lot of the time is to be spent in prayer, rather than working on measures to put into place.

Over on Phatmass, I've been seeing a pretty common refrain as well:

"How could people come here just to church bash?"

"something that actually does help is prayer."

"I acknowledge the abuse and coverup. What I don't get is what so much discussion on this accomplishes."

"its okay to be outraged, just don't become obsessed with other people's sins"

"If reading the news constantly fills you with anxiety and dread, perhaps it is best to turn off the television or the computer, and seek ways not to stress out about the matters you cannot control, but to be a holy influence in the matters to which you can offer your indispensable, necessary presence.  Although the Church is in the middle of several emergencies, the point of crisis is one in our individual hearts: whom shall we serve?  If we are possessed of that good and holy zeal, our response will not be loud clamor and inordinate anger but our ancient weapons: fasting, prayer, and almsgiving."

Two of my friends in Pennsylvania, born on opposite ends of that state, each knew one of the priests who committed the abuse, according to the Grand Jury Report.  When I asked them, a married couple, about it, the husband said (and his wife just shrugged in agreement), "Oh well, it happened a long time ago, you just have to have faith and move on."

Basically, all of the responses seem to have a few commonalities:
1.  Pray.
2.  Pray.
3.  Pray.
4.  Don't dare discuss this.
5.  Discussing this is sinful and brings scandal to the Church....apparently all the sexual assault isn't as bad as talking about sexual assault?
6.  We're just individuals, we can't do anything, so we just need to pray.
7.  Don't you dare discuss this, because discussing this is just Church bashing.
8.  And of course, pray.

An atheist friend recently remarked to me, that I was interesting.  Because my sense of justice seemed to be different than that of so many of my ilk.  A few friends, upon reading it, were messaging with me, and posited a few reasons that could be.  One suggested it was how I was raised by my parents, another that it's to be expected from someone with a doctorate in my field.  A third suggested it was my secular humanist morality breaking through, a possible sign of deconversion.

I would like to think that it goes back to my favorite Bible verse.  Micah 6:8 states, "He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God."  When Jesus was asked what Commandment was the greatest, he alluded to the words of the prophet Micah in his reply, to love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind, and to love your neighbor as yourself.  Love justice.  Love mercy and kindness.  Do your best to walk humbly with God.  That is all that can be asked of each of us.

I wish I had a solution to the sexual abuse, but I don't.  However, I can tell you one thing, my friends, we can't just bury our heads in the sand and pray that it gets better.  One atheist friend I was talking to tonight is an ex-Catholic, and she brought up something interesting that I'd not considered when fuming about this to her.  The Catholic Church teaches that prayer isn't enough, that we need works.  To bury our heads in the sand, folks, is not what the Church claims it would have us do.  Because we are a religion of both faith and deeds.