Lasto beth Lammen - Is your religion nuts?
Ain't a problem for me, either. 
Which really is why I try to keep a low profile in discussions like this one. I think you all know that I am not Christian. While this inevitably means that I have things to say in favor of my own faith over others, I usually don't. (people who knock on my door, literal or online, to proselytize had better have their scripture in order, though
). Not only it doesn't matter to me what others believe, I don't believe it ultimately matters to them.
Anthy, thank you for your kind words.
I certainly learned a lot here as well.
Which really is why I try to keep a low profile in discussions like this one. I think you all know that I am not Christian. While this inevitably means that I have things to say in favor of my own faith over others, I usually don't. (people who knock on my door, literal or online, to proselytize had better have their scripture in order, though
). Not only it doesn't matter to me what others believe, I don't believe it ultimately matters to them. Anthy, thank you for your kind words.
I certainly learned a lot here as well.If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn't as cynical as real life.
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
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JewelSong
- Just Keep Singin'
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I remember when I first heard the idea/belief/dogma that you had to believe in Jesus/be a Christian in order to "get to heaven." That if you didn't confess your faith in Jesus before you died, you were doomed to be separated from God for eternity...which is why many Christians go about trying to "save people." (I have a friend who still occasionally sends me emails of that nature, in an attempt to "save me.")
I was about 12 or 13 when I first heard this notion. And I remember thinking at the time that God could not possibly be that small. I thought then that this belief seemed more of Man than of (an infinite) God.
I still think that.
I was about 12 or 13 when I first heard this notion. And I remember thinking at the time that God could not possibly be that small. I thought then that this belief seemed more of Man than of (an infinite) God.
I still think that.
"Live! Live! Live! Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!" - Auntie Mame
I'm glad for the thoughts you've shared.Frelga wrote: Which really is why I try to keep a low profile in discussions like this one.
Yes. (Although you just discussed a concept in Luke, so even in a religion not your own, you have useful insights. Coolness.I think you all know that I am not Christian.
)I appreciate that. I think that is the key to having discussions like this... earlier in the thread someone said their faith "did not burden its followers with blah blah blah", which I almost had to say something about. Words like "burden" are judgemental, IMHO, and that is where these discussions start to veer off into "mine's better than yours".While this inevitably means that I have things to say in favor of my own faith over others, I usually don't.
Obviously, most people feel theirs is better than other's, or they would believe what the other believed. It is... liberating to be in a discussion where there can be discussion.
(people who knock on my door, literal or online, to proselytize had better have their scripture in order, though
Yes.
I have also been known to yank out the Bible for people at the door, but ultimately it's better to not even engage. They are there to change your mind, but theirs are not particularly open to your thoughts. In my experience, anyway.
I don't understand what you mean here, Frelga. Are you saying that people's beliefs don't actually matter to them?Not only it doesn't matter to me what others believe, I don't believe it ultimately matters to them.
"What do you fear, lady?" Aragorn asked.
"A cage," Éowyn said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
"A cage," Éowyn said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
No, of course not. Bad wording on my part, sorry.I don't understand what you mean here, Frelga. Are you saying that people's beliefs don't actually matter to them?
If anything, I think there is a tendency today to underestimate how much people's beliefs matter to them. The more secular folk might think, "Oh, these people say it's about religion but actually it's about money/power/repressed freudian something." Nope. It's about religion all right.
I simply meant that in my belief system, no one is required to profess a specific faith to avoid going to a bad place after death. Deed over creed - if your beliefs (religious, humanistic, vague) inspire you to care for other people and the world we live in, you are good by me. Like that good Samaritan, you are my neighbor.
I guess I should have said "it doesn't matter to their ultimate fate" or something like that. It often takes me three posts to get out what I mean.
If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn't as cynical as real life.
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
It's impossible to discover whether Mary was a virgin or not.JewelSong wrote:Here's a question for - well, for everyone, I guess. What, if anything, WOULD "destroy your faith?" Or change it in a radical way? Some of you have said that discovering that Mary was not a virgin would alter your perception of who Jesus was, and thus change the core of your belief.
All we have to go on is what the gospels say about it, and I am content to accept that. If I believed differently about the nature of Jesus' conception, it wouldn't destroy my faith. However:Yes. Radically. "And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith." 1 Corinthians 15:14What about the resurrection? If you discovered that Jesus did not physically rise from the dead, would that change how/what you believe
I don't know.In both cases (which I admit would be pretty extreme discoveries for a typical Christian) do you think you would adjust your faith accordingly - in other words, would you continue to believe in God/Jesus and the message? Or do you think you would become a non-believer?
If I thought my faith was founded on a delusion or a lie, I might turn my back on it in disgust forever. On the other hand, I can't imagine I would regret having thought Jesus was who he said, and who I believed, he was. It would have been worth it all, just to know him. I always like that quote from The Silver Chair: "I'm going to live like a Narnian even if there isn't any Narnia."
But as a practising Christian there is plenty out there to shake my faith already. The existence of suffering alone is enough to shake my faith. Big time. The question for me is whether I face that issue believing that the universe is random and meaningless, or whether there is a far greater purpose and meaning than we can possibly conceive of.
What I love about the psalmists and prophets in the Bible is that they are so honest about their questions to God - "why don't you do more, Lord? Where are you?" Etc.
Anyway, it's Christmas Eve and I won't be online much for the next few days: full-on family time coming up!
So I will just wish everyone in the thread my best wishes and prayers for this holiday season.
to all.P.S. Frelga, I also want to say that I really appreciate your posts and always gain a lot from your perspectives.
:"Frodo undertook his quest out of love - to save the world he knew from disaster at his own expense, if he could ... "
Letter no. 246, The Collected Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien
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WampusCat
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A personal statement of belief:
I consider myself Christian, a follower of Christ. But I see much of the Bible as parable, as a window to Truth not a conveyor of fact.
I believe that God exists and reaches out with a desire to know and be known. Jesus, an itinerant teacher and healer, had a unique relationship with God, a clear sense of connection, of being beloved, of seeing through the walls we erect around mystery. Because of this, seeing him and his interactions with people was seeing the very nature of God.
His approach to morality was different than the one we mostly hear today. He talked about intent being as bad as deeds, about care for the stranger being more important than doctrinal purity, about love of God and one another being the summation of morality.
When he encountered people who were suffering, he told them, "You are forgiven." Not "if I die a terrible death, God will let you off the hook." The message was that we are beating ourselves -- and worse, others -- up for the wrong reason. Our task is not to judge but to give to all people the love we are given from birth, to see in all people the image of God and to keep uncovering that image in ourselves.
The followers of Jesus saw in his life and teachings something more than human, a startling glimpse of the sacred. So after his death they told the stories he told and sought meaning in his suffering. He didn't die to appease God for our sins, but he did die because of our sins, our all-too-common sins of clinging to power and authority to the point of crucifying any call to freedom of thought or life. It still happens, often at the hands of his followers, who prefer dealing out shame to proclaiming forgiveness.
In accepting this death, Jesus again showed the nature of God, a willingness to suffer with us, even at our hands, to teach us love.
I believe something remarkable happened after his death, something that deserves the description "resurrection." Perhaps it was physical, perhaps a powerful spiritual group experience. But it was enough to transform scared men and women into death-defying advocates of a new faith.
Everything else in Christian dogma is, in my opinion, optional. The virgin birth could be a parable of divinity lifted from other traditions. Or perhaps it is rooted in fact. Doesn't matter either way. I can still learn much by immersing myself in the story of Mary and Joseph and the child in the manger.
To me, the first chapter of Genesis is not a history lesson, but a poem that declares God is the creator of this beautiful universe, that we are part of it as well, that we and all creation are in essence good, and that misuse of the gift of free will has led us to harm. I do not hold that original sin has tainted all humanity, other than that the societies we create instill a propensity to selfishness rather than love. At heart, we are the image of God and hold the inner flame of love...all of us, of all beliefs or none. We can and do cover up that light with layers of unloving choices, but it is never completely extinguished.
So I do not think anything could fully take my faith. It does not rely on literal fact so much as subjective experience. If science were to find indisputable proof for or against the Resurrection, my faith would be neither shaken nor stirred. I have known resurrection and know its truth.
I consider myself Christian, a follower of Christ. But I see much of the Bible as parable, as a window to Truth not a conveyor of fact.
I believe that God exists and reaches out with a desire to know and be known. Jesus, an itinerant teacher and healer, had a unique relationship with God, a clear sense of connection, of being beloved, of seeing through the walls we erect around mystery. Because of this, seeing him and his interactions with people was seeing the very nature of God.
His approach to morality was different than the one we mostly hear today. He talked about intent being as bad as deeds, about care for the stranger being more important than doctrinal purity, about love of God and one another being the summation of morality.
When he encountered people who were suffering, he told them, "You are forgiven." Not "if I die a terrible death, God will let you off the hook." The message was that we are beating ourselves -- and worse, others -- up for the wrong reason. Our task is not to judge but to give to all people the love we are given from birth, to see in all people the image of God and to keep uncovering that image in ourselves.
The followers of Jesus saw in his life and teachings something more than human, a startling glimpse of the sacred. So after his death they told the stories he told and sought meaning in his suffering. He didn't die to appease God for our sins, but he did die because of our sins, our all-too-common sins of clinging to power and authority to the point of crucifying any call to freedom of thought or life. It still happens, often at the hands of his followers, who prefer dealing out shame to proclaiming forgiveness.
In accepting this death, Jesus again showed the nature of God, a willingness to suffer with us, even at our hands, to teach us love.
I believe something remarkable happened after his death, something that deserves the description "resurrection." Perhaps it was physical, perhaps a powerful spiritual group experience. But it was enough to transform scared men and women into death-defying advocates of a new faith.
Everything else in Christian dogma is, in my opinion, optional. The virgin birth could be a parable of divinity lifted from other traditions. Or perhaps it is rooted in fact. Doesn't matter either way. I can still learn much by immersing myself in the story of Mary and Joseph and the child in the manger.
To me, the first chapter of Genesis is not a history lesson, but a poem that declares God is the creator of this beautiful universe, that we are part of it as well, that we and all creation are in essence good, and that misuse of the gift of free will has led us to harm. I do not hold that original sin has tainted all humanity, other than that the societies we create instill a propensity to selfishness rather than love. At heart, we are the image of God and hold the inner flame of love...all of us, of all beliefs or none. We can and do cover up that light with layers of unloving choices, but it is never completely extinguished.
So I do not think anything could fully take my faith. It does not rely on literal fact so much as subjective experience. If science were to find indisputable proof for or against the Resurrection, my faith would be neither shaken nor stirred. I have known resurrection and know its truth.
Take my hand, my friend. We are here to walk one another home.
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Voronwë the Faithful
- At the intersection of here and now
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Wrote this before, still mean it:
Though I am not a Christian, I nevertheless celebrate Christmas. And not grudgingly, either, but enthusiastically. I sometimes joke that I celebrate Winterfest, or the Solstice, but in truth it is Christmas I celebrate with all the traditions that have grown up around it: the tree and lights and the scarlet extravagance of Poinsettias and heaps and heaps of presents for the kids. Yule, Winterfest, the Solstice, all are caught up in the Christmas excitement, tangled inextricably into a timeless Mystery tied up with red ribbon and trimmed with sprigs of Holly.
In my house there is no Nativity tableau, yet the image of the Baby Jesus is always present in my mind. I don’t care that historians tell us that Jesus was not born in the winter: because it is central to the meaning of the story for me that he was. Who does not pity the poor pregnant woman made to travel in the cold of winter by the requirements of Empire? Whose heart is not wrung by the plight of the family, forced to house themselves in a barn with the beasts? Who can fail to be moved by the mother bent over the manger where her baby sleeps, “this poor youngling”?
My own first child was born in the winter. The memories of that first Christmas as a mother are fresh and poignant in my mind. Much has happened to that baby who once lay on my breast, and the hopes of innocence are long gone. Like many other mothers, I have seen my baby grow into pain and sorrow, and there is where I make my connection with Mary. I think Mary did not care so much that her son was believed to suffer for us all, I think Mary cared only that he suffered and it was beyond her power to help him.
“Mary’s boychild, Jesus Christ, was born on Christmas Day” they sing. I know, on one level, that the Mass of Christ’s birth was grafted cunningly onto the celebration of Yule, and of the festivals surrounding the Solstice, so that the heathens who converted did not have to give up their winter celebrations in entirety, that the wisdom of the early Church fathers ensured that being a Christian didn’t mean you could never party on. But the truth of it is beyond archaeological knowledge: in the deeps of Winter a baby is born, and so we know the Sun and the Spring will come again.
King Herod, according to the carol, “in his raging” ordered the slaughter of the innocents. Fearing the birth of the King who would usurp him, “Charged he hath this day; His men of might, in his own sight, All children young to slay”. But King Herod failed, as History fails, as Time itself fails: every child born is Hope reborn. It is simply this, for me, that the child Jesus is the rebirth of Hope. If Jesus was Divine, so are all infants Divine.
One of my favourite Christmas records is one by Loreena McKennit on which she sings the lovely and plaintive Coventry Carol, the words of which I post here.
1. Lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
By, by, lully, lullay.
Lullay, Thou little tiny Child.
By, by, lully, lullay.
2. O sisters, too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day;
This poor Youngling for whom we sing,
By, by, lully, lullay.
3. Herod the King, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day;
His men of might, in his own sight,
All children young, to slay.
4. Then woe is me, poor Child, for Thee,
And ever mourn and say;
For Thy parting, nor say nor sing,
By, by, lully, lullay.
Though I am not a Christian, I nevertheless celebrate Christmas. And not grudgingly, either, but enthusiastically. I sometimes joke that I celebrate Winterfest, or the Solstice, but in truth it is Christmas I celebrate with all the traditions that have grown up around it: the tree and lights and the scarlet extravagance of Poinsettias and heaps and heaps of presents for the kids. Yule, Winterfest, the Solstice, all are caught up in the Christmas excitement, tangled inextricably into a timeless Mystery tied up with red ribbon and trimmed with sprigs of Holly.
In my house there is no Nativity tableau, yet the image of the Baby Jesus is always present in my mind. I don’t care that historians tell us that Jesus was not born in the winter: because it is central to the meaning of the story for me that he was. Who does not pity the poor pregnant woman made to travel in the cold of winter by the requirements of Empire? Whose heart is not wrung by the plight of the family, forced to house themselves in a barn with the beasts? Who can fail to be moved by the mother bent over the manger where her baby sleeps, “this poor youngling”?
My own first child was born in the winter. The memories of that first Christmas as a mother are fresh and poignant in my mind. Much has happened to that baby who once lay on my breast, and the hopes of innocence are long gone. Like many other mothers, I have seen my baby grow into pain and sorrow, and there is where I make my connection with Mary. I think Mary did not care so much that her son was believed to suffer for us all, I think Mary cared only that he suffered and it was beyond her power to help him.
“Mary’s boychild, Jesus Christ, was born on Christmas Day” they sing. I know, on one level, that the Mass of Christ’s birth was grafted cunningly onto the celebration of Yule, and of the festivals surrounding the Solstice, so that the heathens who converted did not have to give up their winter celebrations in entirety, that the wisdom of the early Church fathers ensured that being a Christian didn’t mean you could never party on. But the truth of it is beyond archaeological knowledge: in the deeps of Winter a baby is born, and so we know the Sun and the Spring will come again.
King Herod, according to the carol, “in his raging” ordered the slaughter of the innocents. Fearing the birth of the King who would usurp him, “Charged he hath this day; His men of might, in his own sight, All children young to slay”. But King Herod failed, as History fails, as Time itself fails: every child born is Hope reborn. It is simply this, for me, that the child Jesus is the rebirth of Hope. If Jesus was Divine, so are all infants Divine.
One of my favourite Christmas records is one by Loreena McKennit on which she sings the lovely and plaintive Coventry Carol, the words of which I post here.
1. Lullay, Thou little tiny Child,
By, by, lully, lullay.
Lullay, Thou little tiny Child.
By, by, lully, lullay.
2. O sisters, too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day;
This poor Youngling for whom we sing,
By, by, lully, lullay.
3. Herod the King, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day;
His men of might, in his own sight,
All children young, to slay.
4. Then woe is me, poor Child, for Thee,
And ever mourn and say;
For Thy parting, nor say nor sing,
By, by, lully, lullay.
Dig deeper.
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Primula Baggins
- Living in hope
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What a succession of wonderful posts. Christmas came early. 
“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
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JewelSong
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King Herod failed, as History fails, as Time itself fails: every child born is Hope reborn. It is simply this, for me, that the child Jesus is the rebirth of Hope. If Jesus was Divine, so are all infants Divine.
Vison, that is possibly the most moving description of Christmas I have ever read.
Merry, merry Christmas to everyone here, far and near. And a blessed New Year.
Xx
"Live! Live! Live! Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!" - Auntie Mame
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WampusCat
- Creature of the night
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It was an intimidating challenge to boil down my core beliefs to a short, personal creed of sorts, but I'm glad of the opportunity to do so. Tonight as i sat in church hearing the familiar story and singing the well-known carols, i thought of all of you and the varied insights you bring to this discussion. This is a wonderful thread, formed by wonderful people who dare to honor one another despite differences.
Peace on Earth, good will to all.
Peace on Earth, good will to all.
Take my hand, my friend. We are here to walk one another home.
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