The @Pontifex throws in his #pallium

This blew my fucking mind. I never would’ve imagined a pope would retire. My lack of imagination seems to be justified as apparently the last time a pope resigned was 600 years ago.

I’d always been creeped out by Joseph Ratzinger. I mean look at him. Those dodgy, pedophile-priest-hiding eyes. That innocence-devouring, cock-swilling grin. Plus, he’s German. They’ve never done anything good. Except this. And maybe this.

When I first heard that he’d headed the office responsible for investigating pedophilia cases, I was appalled, shocked, and cynically amused. Of course he did. It makes perfect, cartoonish, Bond-villain sense that the Church would pick as their next pope the guy single-handedly responsible for “handling” the child-abuse scandal.

What’s also cynically amusing to me is that the one billion plus Catholics out there haven’t abandoned their Church. Of course they haven’t. Because the abused rarely leave the abuser, much less have them arrested. The narrative’s just too fucking important.

“The Church is good.”

“The Church is God’s institution on Earth.”

“The Church is perfect.”

“Death is terrifying so let’s uphold this bullshit at all costs.”

I remember Bill Maher said years ago that if the Church were a day-care chain, it would’ve been shut down, bankrupted, and its culprits arrested and locked away.

But…

“The Church is good.”

I saw this documentary yesterday called Mea Maxima Culpa. It went into all kinds of detail on the various scandals. During it, I remarked something to the effect of, “The Vatican is a sovereign state. There’s no way to prosecute the pope.”

I met someone who is a registered sex offender. He/She must register wherever he/she lives for the rest of his/her life for his/her indirect part in a crime. He/She never molested anyone, but must wear this stigma forever.

The pope gets to retire. The “sex offender” must live with a stigma. Ah, the all-important narrative.

Someone told me things will change. Even Catholics will say, “Enough.” I’d like to agree. I’d like to assume that my (other) motto will ring true. Reason will always prevail. But sometimes, I’m not so sure.

And now, here’s a very amusing Betty Bowers video to cleanse your palette of all this depressing shit!

The Great Poster of All Who Will Perish!

A friend sent me this:

That’s a lot of groups. And what makes the sign holder right? And seriously, am I missing something? Without fornication, how does the species continue?? Isn’t that counter to being fruitful?

Did they mean “Bahai”?

Losing Religious (Facebook) Friends

First, it was Judy T., a born-again Christian, who de-friended me on Facebook as chronicled here. She made a comment about my comments on this site being snide and disrespectful. They probably were. She cited no examples, so we’ll never know specifically what she was talking about. She implied that our friendship was contingent upon her level of offense. We’ve not spoken since.

Next was Belinda V., a Roman Catholic, as chronicled here. She initially claimed that I disrespected her and her beliefs. As you can read, I (initially) only asked questions. But then, as detailed here, I finally had to admit to myself that she did have at least one or two things to object to. During Belinda’s and my whole conversation, she didn’t de-friend me. That happened later.

And now, just the other day, out of curiosity, I looked up Nathan G. I knew Nathan way back in grade school. I liked him then. Thought he was a funny, light-hearted guy. I found him on Facebook a few months ago, saw that he’d already connected with a number of other mutual friends and acquaintances, and invited him. He accepted and I thought little of it (in terms of controversy). I soon discovered that he was also a born-again Christian. I paid little mind. Then, one day, he posted something about the devil. I responded with something along the lines of this:

“You don’t believe in the devil. You don’t believe in a guy in a red suit with horns, a pitchfork, and a Clark Gable mustache.”

–Me

Nathan didn’t respond. Totally cool. His friend Mary did. We conversed and, technically, still are conversing. I never heard from Nathan one way or the other about it. Then I saw he was no longer in my friends list. Now, I can’t prove that he de-friended me based on the devil controversy, but it seems a likely cause.

So now I have to wonder. My premise in Keeping Religious Friends was essentially that, though it might be possible, it’s difficult and takes work on both sides. Now I’m not so sure. I’m almost starting to think that it is only possible depending on the level of commitment of the religious friend. One friend of mine, Bruce B., a Christian, has gone so far as to read some of my rather more difficult articles on religion and written me very supportive messages. He’s obviously able to handle our differences. That and I don’t think he believes in bullshit like young Earth creationism.

Is it the crazier the bullshit is, the harder it is to maintain a relationship with the person? Is there an inverse correlation? Judy once struck me many years ago at her declaration that she would be raptured and she was sad about those who would not, including her now late father. At the time, I listened silently. I had no idea how to respond. I was in her car, on the way to some restaurant or something, so I wasn’t about to be a total dick and challenge her (that and Judy does NOT do challenge of her beliefs). But I also wondered, shit, Judy, do you really believe in the rapture??

I’m afraid that my conclusion at the end of Keeping Religious Friends has evolved into something a little more sour. I hate being a pessimist. I hate it even more being called such. But after not talking to Judy directly on Facebook and having her ditch me, asking Belinda questions (at first) and having her ditch me, and now no idea what happened with Nathan and having him ditch me, maybe I was wrong. We can’t keep (really bat-shit crazy, off the rocker, whoah Nelly, you’re seriously committed to that shit, no kidding, no joke) religious friends.

Thank you, Tori Parker, for your de-conversion story!

Tori’s tale is as follows and is also posted on the De-Conversion Story page.

“The images flood my brain, if I let them.

“Me, age 8. Big, brown, bouncy curls, chubby cheeks, a huge grin. I’m dressed in a white dress and eagerly awaiting my First Communion.

“My 4th grade class: I raise my hand (a big deal for me back then), horrified. ‘What do you mean, my dog won’t go to heaven?’ The teacher shrugs. ‘They have no souls. They can’t.’ Tears flood my eyes. ‘But then… how will it be heaven for me without my dog there?’ The teacher has no answer.

“5th grade: Our huge project is to study the Catholic church service. I memorize and then write about the steps to the mass. 12 years of confusion suddenly clears up. I vow to be a good little Catholic girl, so as to avoid hell.

“6th-8th grade: I switch to a public school (the kids at the Catholic school were much too mean for me). I still attend ‘PSR’ classes (Public School Religion) once a week and become the kids that the nuns warned us about at the Catholic school (‘It’s Tuesday, boys and girls. Take your valuables home. The public school kids WILL take them.’). The classes are long and tedious and I spend more time fascinated with boys than fascinated with Jesus Christ.

“8th grade: I make my Communion. My mom’s friend MaryJo is my sponsor. We go to classes and retreats in preparation. I take my ‘church’ name, Veronica. I spend days choosing the name, finally settling on something perfect. Then it’s never mentioned again.

“I went to church in high school, and I sang in the choir. But I saw the difference between myself and the parochial school kids. They were rich; I was not. They were preppy; I was not. They were all white and snotty; I had more minority friends and we were friendly and open. Somewhere, in my mind, there was a rift. As religious as I was on the outside, there was no ‘love of God’ on the inside. Sometimes I would sit in church and wonder who else didn’t believe. Then I would feel guilty.

“When I went to college, I knew no one. I needed to search for an identity. And so I joined the University Catholic church. Everyone was so friendly, and the church emphasized feminism. God was referred to without gender in the readings. There was a female deacon (although, of course, the priests were men). The nuns didn’t wear habits, and they were young and energetic.

“I became Involved. I gave out the Eucharist. I read the Liturgy during mass. I went to meetings and organized activities and gave myself to that church. I even led a Bible study in my dorm. And as I look back now, I can’t recall one face, one name, of any of those people. No one wanted to be my friend. I gave and gave, and they were one big clique that I was not a part of. But I busted my ass for them.

“And then I moved to a different dorm, and I met different people. I made friends who were homosexual, and friends who were open and accepting. I met people of different faiths, and people with no faith. And it was okay. It was okay to believe your own thing, or nothing. Instead of feeling accepted because ‘God’ said so, I was accepted.

“I tried to meld both parts of my life for a while. It wasn’t that I was becoming ‘godless’, but that god was meaning less to me. I don’t think I realized that I had options. And that semester, in between the devout at church and the easygoing at my dorm, I had experiences that tipped my allegiance. I took a Bible as Literature course and really read the Bible. It was beautifully written, but it was angry. It contradicted itself, and I really thought about the validity of the book. I watched Brother Jed (a local Christian who wandered among Ohio colleges, arguing with students) spread his hatred around our campus. I saw a family from Texas march around campus–even the toddlers–holding signs with aborted fetuses on them. I talked to my friends, my new homosexual friends, who were told that they would go to hell.

“I went to different types of churches with a friend, hoping that there would be meaning and acceptance in the non-Catholic realm, but I was starting to get that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Any display of religion – from a bumper sticker on a car to a person professing his faith – made me feel sick inside. Sick from the hypocrisy, sick from the hatred, and, likely, sick as my brain protested being sucked back in. I turned away from religion. I eschewed it.

“I started to read new authors–not Dawkins or Sagan, yet, but authors that made me think, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series includes a character named Death. She wears an ankh- the Egyptian symbol of eternal life. It’s, in essence, a cross. The ankh was a focus of my early college life. I pondered it… if the cross was a symbol of Christianity, why was it a symbol of the Egyptians, many years before the supposed Crucifixion? Why did it mean ‘eternal life’ so long before the cross meant ‘eternal life’? And I think that was the true moment–that was the true symbol–that ended my religion. I put ashes on parishioner’s heads one Palm Sunday (Palm Sunday 1999, I believe), walked away from the church, and never went back. I remember feeling empty as I dipped my thumb into ash, feeling superior as I looked into the parishioners’ eyes and saw their blind devotion–superior, because I knew this was all ritual, all sham. And I knew I couldn’t be their symbol if I didn’t feel it inside. And so I severed all links with the church.

“The next decade was full of change for me. I didn’t actually identify with atheism until 6 months ago. Since then, I’ve become involved in the atheist community and I’ve ‘come out’ to my friends and family. When I was younger and I met my first atheist, I thought that he was very brave to live his life with no hope for a future after death. But now that I’m atheist, I realize that I’m not brave at all… I’m just honest. And I’m absolutely okay with that.”

–Tori Parker

An Easter conversation resumed

Holy fuck did I get served! For context (I’m in italics; Pen Pal’s in bold italics):

No worries–>This is my last on here. Just thought it was funny that you deleted our conversation. Kind of proves my point of the desire of confirmation rather than validation.

All it proves Anton is I have no time to argue specially when the conversation is one sided and narrow minded. Please pick fights with someone else!! I all love and peace…fight with someone or on your own wall!!! I do not tolerate our accept lack of respect to who I am or who I am and my believes. That you don’t understand something does not give you the right to act this way. Respect and tolerance dude!! Learn that first.

She’s right. I can’t prove that she deleted our conversation because confirmation of her beliefs was more important to her than validation of them. I shouldn’t have said that. That said, a number of things that she said pissed me off because they’re tired bullshit (“narrow minded”, “tolerance”) that people constantly use to attempt to establish that you either don’t have the right to question/criticize what they’re saying or you somehow lack the understanding of what they’re saying (but when you ask for explanation, they accuse such a request of being an attack).