...as long as I have Plastic Jesus, sittin' on the dashboard of my car!
I was walking through my neighborhood today when I noticed a blue minivan parked at a corner, in the shade. There was an elderly couple inside. They had apparently been sitting there awhile, waiting for someone within a nearby house. The man behind the wheel looked to be in his sixties, and the grandma in the passenger seat seemed about the same. What caught my eye about this couple was the inordinate amount of Catholic symbols placed throughout their vehicle: Three rosaries hung from the rear view mirror. Their rear door had that Christian-fish symbol on it. My favorites were two Jesus pictures (in different poses of agony) placed on the lower dashboard corners, facing outward, so passerby could see his halo, thorns & blood. This minivan was clearly a chariot of the devout, and would certainly be unmanned in the event of the Rapture.
Chuckling -
Good thing it was parked.
Chuckling -
Good thing it was parked.
 |  |
But what really got my attention was the elderly woman, herself. She held a rosary in her hands, and I could tell by her moving lips that she was reciting Hail Mary's. The sight was amusing, and not unexpected from Aurora's Hispanic community. And found it funny that instead of talking to her husband or listening to the radio while parked, this woman had chosen not only to pray - but to pray hard. She reminded me of David Sedaris' description of his grandmother, living above the comic book shop. She looked like the kind of woman who knew the Bible cover -to-cover, and believed every gilded page in the most literal sense: God created the Earth in one day....just like Khan in Star Trek II. And having been raised Catholic myself, I couldn't help but feel just a little sorry for her. Sure, I guess she was happy...but that happiness came from ignorance.
Eighteen months ago, I wrote about attending Catholic school in Springfield, IL in the early 1970s. My classes had been taught by nuns, daily church attendance was mandatory, and "religion" had been a required class, presently as seriously as history or math. Sometimes religion was taught in the classroom, other times lessons were given in the church, itself (where the stations of the cross provided fitting visual aids). During class, we watched Catholic films, made "stained glass" out of crayons & wax paper, and listened to Father Rick tell us stories from the Bible - like Jesus turning water into wine, or Joshua stopping the sun. Being young, we took in every story and accepted every explanation - no matter how ridiculous. And by "ridiculous" I mean stories like Noah's Ark, the parting of the Red Sea, or Jesus feeding the crowd at Woodstock with just a few loaves of Wonder bread. Forgive me for asking, but don't such Bible tales sound just as unlikely as the "rainbows & unicorns" within North Korea's official biographies of its leaders? Didn't Kim Jong-Il attempt to solve his country's starvation by breeding giant rabbits? Jesus gave us carbs, Kim gave us protein...makes one wonder if the two dear leaders played on the same team.
QUICK SIDE NOTE: On the subject of ridiculous, I've always thought the resurrection to be especially hard to believe. BUT if by chance it wasn't, could we PLEASE put Joan Rivers' body in a cave for three days? I mean, before Melissa strips it of jewels? I'll pray to Jesus, the Kims or L. Ron Hubbard...hell, I'll high-five anyone who can raise her from the dead. Who keeps Betty White alive? Which deity is responsible for Aretha's heart not exploding? What keeps Keith Richards animated? I'll even sit in a minivan with a rosary, if that's what it takes to bring my favorite comedienne back. Can we talk, God? Can we? Can we, please? Sigh...
Eighteen months ago, I wrote about attending Catholic school in Springfield, IL in the early 1970s. My classes had been taught by nuns, daily church attendance was mandatory, and "religion" had been a required class, presently as seriously as history or math. Sometimes religion was taught in the classroom, other times lessons were given in the church, itself (where the stations of the cross provided fitting visual aids). During class, we watched Catholic films, made "stained glass" out of crayons & wax paper, and listened to Father Rick tell us stories from the Bible - like Jesus turning water into wine, or Joshua stopping the sun. Being young, we took in every story and accepted every explanation - no matter how ridiculous. And by "ridiculous" I mean stories like Noah's Ark, the parting of the Red Sea, or Jesus feeding the crowd at Woodstock with just a few loaves of Wonder bread. Forgive me for asking, but don't such Bible tales sound just as unlikely as the "rainbows & unicorns" within North Korea's official biographies of its leaders? Didn't Kim Jong-Il attempt to solve his country's starvation by breeding giant rabbits? Jesus gave us carbs, Kim gave us protein...makes one wonder if the two dear leaders played on the same team.
QUICK SIDE NOTE: On the subject of ridiculous, I've always thought the resurrection to be especially hard to believe. BUT if by chance it wasn't, could we PLEASE put Joan Rivers' body in a cave for three days? I mean, before Melissa strips it of jewels? I'll pray to Jesus, the Kims or L. Ron Hubbard...hell, I'll high-five anyone who can raise her from the dead. Who keeps Betty White alive? Which deity is responsible for Aretha's heart not exploding? What keeps Keith Richards animated? I'll even sit in a minivan with a rosary, if that's what it takes to bring my favorite comedienne back. Can we talk, God? Can we? Can we, please? Sigh...
You know, the older I get, the more agnostic I become...and that's a big thing to say for anyone raised a Catholic. The stories of Christ were drilled into my head from the time I was baptized, and even though I've grown to disbelieve them in adulthood, "not" believing still causes a surprising amount of guilt. A big part of that guilt occurs because I do believe in a higher power - a larger consciousness that not only unites us here on Earth, but a force that connects the Earth to all the other stars & planets in our galaxy. I totally believe in God, just not the shaggy old white guy that was taught to us in church. God to me is more like the "Force" from Star Wars, and if his son should walk on water, it's an act of science - rather than faith. Or a reading from the Book of Scully.
All jokes aside, I'm serious about God being like the Force. Forgive the geek reference, but Obi-Wan describes the Force as this: "It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together." I like that description a lot - at least in how it describes the common spiritual bond that every planet shares - but I also see it as going even further, acknowledging the higher power that I believe is God. Chuckling...Space God. A being that once fed five thousand worlds with just a few scraps of asteroid. He also walked on Waterworld, too...after parting the red spot on Jupiter.
All jokes aside, I'm serious about God being like the Force. Forgive the geek reference, but Obi-Wan describes the Force as this: "It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together." I like that description a lot - at least in how it describes the common spiritual bond that every planet shares - but I also see it as going even further, acknowledging the higher power that I believe is God. Chuckling...Space God. A being that once fed five thousand worlds with just a few scraps of asteroid. He also walked on Waterworld, too...after parting the red spot on Jupiter.
I've mentioned before that my biggest problem with organized religion is that all beliefs seem to stop at the sky, as though the Earth was still the center of the universe. To the best of my knowledge (based on the faiths I've been exposed to in my life), no religion seems to entertain the existence of life elsewhere in the galaxy - with the exception of Mormons & Scientologists. And that's a funny thing to say because every single faith I've experienced has talked about the stars, the heavens, or something almighty watching from above. It's like humanity is a child, looking up from its crib. We see our mother, and occasionally our father and the rest of the family - but we haven't a clue what's outside the house, or how small we are in relation to the rest of the world. And it's that perspective that's doused my belief in Catholicism - or any other organized religion for that matter. I do believe in God, just not the God whose son got nailed to a cross. I don't accept the "stories" anymore, and losing religion in adulthood is like a child finally realizing that Santa isn't real. Still, we put up the Christmas tree.
Well, whoever - or whatever - is watching from above, I still find myself praying to you almost every day. And maybe "praying" isn't the right word...maybe "talking" is better, acknowledging your existence. When you've grown up with religion, it's hard not to pray - even during moments of sobering agnosticism. It's not implausible that the galaxy is connected by a consciousness we've yet to understand...but breaking free from our Earth-centric religious will take a courage that most don't have right now.
Well, whoever - or whatever - is watching from above, I still find myself praying to you almost every day. And maybe "praying" isn't the right word...maybe "talking" is better, acknowledging your existence. When you've grown up with religion, it's hard not to pray - even during moments of sobering agnosticism. It's not implausible that the galaxy is connected by a consciousness we've yet to understand...but breaking free from our Earth-centric religious will take a courage that most don't have right now.
You know, I lived in Phoenix from 1999-2006...and I've always wanted to return. Specifically, I want to retire somewhere in the desert...in a place where I can look up at the night sky, and wonder what might be out there. I don't want to die in a hospital; I want to die at home...preferably in a comfy backyard chaise lounge (with a nice whiskey buzz). And when my spirit leaves my body, I want to leap up into the heavens and finally meet the being (or beings) that put us on the Earth.
Maybe that's what the grandma in the minivan was praying for!
Maybe that's what the grandma in the minivan was praying for!