Recently a good and dear friend of many years remarked how although he was not of my faith he enjoyed reading what I wrote each week. His brief remark gave me reason to consider and in some ways to reconsider what exactly is “my faith” and how “my faith” might or might not differ from his or yours or anyone else’s faith.
Pope Saint John Paul II was a regular penitent[1] to the confessional and an fervent believer in the efficacy of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, so much so that he wrote an apostolic exhortation Reconciliatio et Paenitentia (Reconciliation and Penance.) In its introduction he speaks of the deep divisions that permeate society and identifies their root as a wound in man’s inmost self, that which we call sin.
Noticeably absent these days from public discourse, social commentary, or didactic pedagogy is an awareness of and recognition for the essentiality of a strong moral code. Morality is a topic studiously avoided for the simple reason that any discussion of it necessarily raises uncomfortable questions and inconvenient challenges to many of our social norms, behavioral modalities, and perceptions of reality.
Linquistic hallucinogenic schizophrenia is a condition whose symptoms are manifested by constantly reading between the lines, inserting words into another’s mouth, seeing words where none were written, completely missing the point, taking statements out of context, assuming intent without basis or foundation, and an inability to easily digest various forms of humor, sarcasm, irony, or criticism. But of course LHS is a condition produced solely from my own somewhat jaundiced mind, although it would appear that multitudes actually suffer from such a malady.
Who am I? Or perhaps the question should be, “Am I?” There is no need to ask who you are for you are nothing but a figment of my imagination, that is of course assuming my imagination isn’t just my imagination, yet then again it’s all relative, isn’t it. Perhaps I exist only in some dystopian reality such as depicted in the film The Matrix and I am nothing more than an energy source and what I see and feel and experience isn’t real at all but rather merely what I imagine it to be.
Religion is a subject that more often than not evokes impassioned debate, dogmatic intransigence, and fiery rhetoric; its mere mention guaranteed to incite controversy and condemnation. What it seldom elicits is any semblance of reasoned dialogue or sanguine attempts to develop a common understanding. And yet, religion is in its broadest application, universally embraced and practiced by quite literally every human being who has ever existed, is alive today, or who may come into existence in the future. And that, in and of itself, ought to add fuel to the flames and stoke the fires of indignation and vehement denial from just about everyone. If so, so be it. It is what it is.
Recent rulings by the U. S. Supreme Court, related to the First Amendment to the Constitution, have failed to sooth or quell the bilious dissentious acid that has roiled up within the throats of the governed masses. These decisions are especially surprising in light of the publicly acknowledged religious affiliations of the nine learned justices who so pompously preside from their exalted positions high upon their gilded thrones.
There once was a city that lay nestled upon the floor of a broad verdant valley. The first men to come upon the valley were so taken by its beauty that they named the place Bab-ili, which meant “gate of the gods” for they thought such beauty must surely be a worthy entrance to the home of the divine.
Somehow, to loosely borrow bits and pieces from the lyrics of a Beatles song: yesterday came suddenly and now it seems so far away.[1] Time warps do indeed exist and the speed of it a fickle thing, just ask any child waiting for the bell to ring or hoping summer’s end will never come. Ask anyone who has lived three, four, or five score[2] years or more and they will confirm that the speed of time logarithmically increases while the distance that lies between then and now decreases exponentially in direct relation to one’s own longevity.
George Santayana, Spanish-born philosopher, essayist, poet, and novelist once wrote “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”[1] It is often restated in a slightly different construction as “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” While it would seem to stretch its meaning beyond Santayana’s original intent, I would argue it does not diminish the truth of either in the slightest.
