Christian Piatt

The University of Chicago recently performed an exhaustive survey of the beliefs of people in 30 countries around the world. There were a few surprises in it, and I also struggled a bit with the entire structure of the survey.

Though I knew there was a large (and growing) disparity between those claiming some faith in the United States and those attending a church, I fully expected that the number of die-hard faithful would be much lower. After all, a previous study some years ago by the Baylor Institute for the Studies of Religion found a direct correlation between church attendance and one’s confidence in the existence of God. It would be interesting to revisit that question, given these new results, to see if that trend is still happening, or if there’s a resurgence in American faith in God, regardless of the still-declining church numbers.

I had a stew of emotions when I read about an activist group in Portland calling itself the “Angry Queers” vandalizing a satellite church of Mark Driscoll’s Mars Hill network. Neighbors in the area reported seeing a handful of young people in black masks smashing stained glass windows and damaging other property on the church campus early Tuesday morning.  A group called the “Angry Queers” sent a letter to a local news affiliate taking responsibility for the damage.

I get the anger. I feel that anger when I read things that pastors like Mark Driscoll say about the LGBT community. It’s wrong and it should be confronted publicly.

But please, for the love of God and one another, not like this.

I know plenty of reasonable, kind, law-abiding people who carry guns. One guy, a pilot, needs to be able to handle a firearm secured in the cockpit as part of his job. Others are hunters, police officers and former military. For them, the gun is not a status symbol. It isn’t a tool used to intimidate or threaten. Unless you know them well, you probably wouldn’t ever know they even carry guns.

And all of them are members of the National Rifle Association.

However, like many groups (organized religion included), these are not the spokespeople for the whole body that we tend to see. Rather, it’s the bombastic wing-nuts like Charlton Heston who can certainly grab headlines, but not necessarily always in the way the constituency would prefer to be represented.

The sovereignty of religion in the United States is a thorny issue when it comes to state powers. But most Americans can agree that there are lines that even the Church cannot cross.

The problem is that sometimes that realization comes too late.

Sixteen-year-old Austin Sprout is the most recent victim of such religious transgressions. Oregon’s Register-Guard recently reported that Sprout’s parents declined medical care for their son, opting instead for prayer to ensure his recovery from an undisclosed but commonly preventable illness. He died in spite of their faithfulness.

Sprout’s father, Brian, reportedly died of sepsis five years ago when the family refused medical treatment for his medical injury, opting for faith-based healing. The family attends The General Assembly Church of the First Born, a congregation the Huffington Post notes is “known for their practice of faith healing.”

Two things leap off the screen while watching the debut of “Mad Men;” first, everyone drinks and smokes. All the time. Second, women are treated like so much property, and though they seem complicit in their subjugate role, they also have a racket of their own going, using their feminine wiles to work their way up alongside the mean of greatest means and power to enjoy both by association.

It’s hard to believe only two generations ago that an executive was within his purview to suggest to his secretary that she hike up the hem of her skirt a bit and fetch him some fresh ice for cocktails with the boys.

Or is it?

The popularity of Colton Burpo’s story, called Heaven is For Real,, about experiencing heaven while undergoing surgery raises very mixed feelings for me. On its own, it’s a nice story. It presents a hopeful outlook of what happens to us after death, and there’s little in the short tome to get worked up about.

But it’s a story. It’s an account retold by a pastor’s son while under heavy anesthesia, offering imagery of the afterlife that props up nearly every stereotypical description of heaven, from the clouds and halos to angels with wings. Though it hardly resonates with my understanding of heaven, I don’t have a problem with folks embracing such an idea of what heaven is for them.

The teachings of the church are seen as devalued. This doesn’t have so much to do with the inherent importance or validity of what is being said, but rather it’s a reflection of the value of information overall. It’s really a matter of supply and demand. Abraham Lincoln probably wouldn’t have walked so far to get a book from the only area library, after all, if he had Wikipedia and Google Books at his fingertips. Most anything being said, taught or preached about in a church on Sunday can be found somewhere else, wherever and whenever we want it. Why wait?

The institutions have outlasted their original purpose. Most of our churches were built when populations were static. People didn’t divorce, change jobs and move around like they do now. This mobility, combined with the diversification of networking opportunities, online and through other means,  puts bricks-and-mortar institutions in an awkward spot of hoping people find them where they are. And much of the outreach efforts of church is still an attempt to get people “in the doors.” But the fact is that most young adults don’t particularly care.

I’ve never liked the fact that we call the day on which we remember Jesus’ crucifixion “Good Friday.” What’s so good about it anyway? Personally I find the entirety of Holy Week – save for Easter – pretty depressing. Sure, the days are getting longer and things have started to grow all around us, but until Easter, the focus of the week is the suffering and death of an innocent man.

It turns out that, although plenty of folks have their own explanations, nobody actually knows why we call it Good Friday. I think the Germans are spot-on by calling it Karfreitag, which means “Suffering Friday.”

Figures the Germans would be more content to sit with suffering than the rest of us. They’re so serious! But I digress…

We had our fourth annual Passover Seder at Milagro last night. I know, you’re thinking, “what are a bunch of goyim doing celebrating a Jewish tradition?” Given that the central act of our worship service every week – communion – was first introduced by Jesus at his last Seder, we figure if it’s good enough for Jesus, it works for us too.

For the most part, it was a party. But there’s a point at which the leader reads off the ten plagues described in Exodus, none of which is pleasant. For each plague, you dip your finger in a cup of wine and mark the edge of your plate with a crimson dot as a reminder throughout the meal of the suffering experienced by those in captivity.

It’s not exactly a crowd-pleaser, but it’s a valuable symbol, placing in context the joy, food and fellowship that dominate the rest of the evening. Go ahead and enjoy, toast and eat well, but don’t forget.

It got me thinking about what the plagues of our day would be if I were to list them. No, I don’t ascribe to the belief that God sends such horrific episodes upon us as punishment, but I do believe that our free will affords us enough rope to hang ourselves at times, so to speak. Our current plagues are more existential, but the byproducts are often painfully tangible.