In the past, I never cared for bloggers. Lonely, soft-skinned boys and middle-aged men, I thought, resigned to live out their days with online gaming and endless searches of obscure literary music blogs. While I see that this stereotype is not inclusive of all bloggers (though, undoubtedly, many), I still hold a distaste for the business in general.
Call me a hypocrite, I suppose, since I am now one of the legion of online writers from whom I choose to remain aloof.
The blogs I detest are those written by "anguished/suicidal" teens in tight black clothes listening to any number of cynical, ironic musicians (with whom I am so ill-acquainted that I can't even insert a band name). But if there is anything to be learned from all this Bible-reading I've been doing lately, it's that I am in no place to judge the people I make fun of. And, more importantly, I should make all effort to be kind to those whom I would sooner cast-off.
I don't want anyone to get confused with my mentioning the Bible in this post and Jesus in an earlier post. I am not a Christian. I cannot convincingly say that Jesus was the Christ or divine in any way, because I believe that his divinity/non-divinity is totally irrelevant in regards to his impact, both in his time and in ours. The only time his divinity is necessary is when you try to support the concepts of Heaven and Hell and the Eternal Afterlife. Since I don't believe in those things, Jesus can just be Jesus.
What I've come across while reading the gospels is an inconsistency in Jesus, and a frustrating ambiguity in some of his parables/exhortations. Like in Luke 14:26, when he says, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple." I assume he's trying to be a dick on purpose, to drive his point home: because all energy must be devoted to God, none can be devoted to earthly possessions or relations; these fade, and will one day end, whereas God will not.
Even if I did believe in Heaven, I wouldn't agree with Luke 14:26. My general belief is that God doesn't create anything without a purpose. I conclude from this that everything must be valuable. Therefore, my father and mother, etc. are incredibly valuable, and, as products of God, deserve any kind of love I want to give them. Even if their only value is in getting me to the afterlife, why can't I love them? It doesn't add up to me. And I don't want to hear any Christians retaliate with, "God's plans don't have to add up to you, for humans will never understand him." I can't imagine that a god would give us minds and logic and deductive reasoning and free will if he intended for us to be fooled by them persistently, even if he more closely resembled Descartes' Evil Genius than the universally accepted concept of the eternally beneficent God.
But my gospel experience isn't all negative; it isn't even mostly negative. Jesus was a man trying to affect people in an incredibly significant manner. I can understand if he was moved to extremism every now and then. I just wish he had had the foresight to see what kind of extremism that would breed in followers throughout the years, who lacked the capacity to understand his most important teaching, to use it as a check in regards to their own dogma: question the authority surrounding you.
I don't understand how a religion based upon a man who openly defied the leaders of his own faith can be followed by people who, for the most part, refuse to question the words and actions of their religious leaders.
My favorite teaching so far in Matthew, Mark, and Luke (I haven't gotten to John yet) is the concept of loving your enemy. Since I'm on Luke, and since the gospels all repeat each other, I won't bother to quote from more than one source. Here's Luke 6:32 - "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them." In case it isn't obvious, the main theme surrounding Jesus' teachings and death is Sacrifice. Your comforts, your wealth, your family, your body, your Life, amongst other things. If we expect to be good, if we expect to be rewarded, we must sacrifice our pride and our prejudice, and maybe even our safety, so that we might extend our hand to those who would strike it down. I think this teaching gets ignored all the time, and yet it's the most important thing Jesus says. It's so much more than love those who hate you. It's love those who are indifferent towards you, who reject you, who would punish you, and who simply are not like you. This love leads to understanding, of the differences amongst us, and of the similarities we share in spite of those differences. A good Christian is no different from a good Muslim. Both seek righteousness and a reward in the afterlife. In the same vein, a radical evangelist is no different from an Islamic fundamentalist. Both are violent in their beliefs, and ignorant as to the true virtues they claim to possess or extol. Both disgust me equally. Yet I'm doing my best to love them.
Another important teaching is altruism. I can't remember where it is, so I can't quote, but basically Jesus says that when you perform a good deed with no expectation of reward, you will be more blessed than those who seek something in return. What's interesting, though, is that Jesus is giving this advice to people who are going to follow it because they believe it will help get them into Heaven. If the expectation of an eternal afterlife isn't the expectation of a reward, then I don't know what is. How would Jesus explain this catch-22? I have no idea. But the reason I mention it is because I saw a sign on a church the other day that said, "Even if God doesn't exist, do you really want to take that chance?" I thought, "Great. Now religion is nothing more than a contingency plan." I don't know why I said "now," it's been like that since it began.
Who becomes a Christian because being Christian enables them to be good to others? No one. If you become a Christian, or a Muslim, or a Hindu, or whatever, you do so because you don't want to be left behind when you die. You can't stand the thought of your own insignificance and oblivion. So you join a group that promises an eternal Red Carpet Club, and you pay your dues in good deeds. I'd say the most virtuous man on earth is the kind atheist. Every good deed he does is for, at most, the person he helps and his own conscience (provided he's not expecting the favor to be returned).
So put that in your bread and leaven it.
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