Day In The Life: The Long Goodbye

A Great Loss
These past couple of weeks have borne many emotions for me, many of which I still find myself trying to deal with.  I have recently shared in the suffering of a great loss for my family.  While the passing of a loved one is never an easy thing to abide, the surviving family members can often make matters worse simply by attempting to console one another.

My stepfather's mother finally succumbed to cancer last week.  Having exhausted all medical options, she was sent home to await the inevitability we all knew would come soon.  It was both a comfort and a curse, for while the family knew that her time was short, it was good for her to be in her own home surrounded by her loved ones.  We each had the opportunity to say our final goodbyes in those last days, and this too was comforting.  It was also the hardest thing I've ever had to experience.  Nothing can compare to the heartache of leaving the room of a cognizant person whom you (and they) know you'll never see again.

MASSively Unnecessary
Yet most (I dare say all, save my wife and I) think that we will indeed see Grandmother again.  She belonged to a catholic church for the last 40 years of her life, an obvious venue for her funeral.  The large church was complete with the trappings of the catholic faith: the holy water, candles, lavish alter under a huge statue of Jesus nailed to the cross and solemnly looking skyward.  The three priests wore their adorned coats and were catered to by alter girls while they performed their sorcery and chanted their rituals.  All of this I held in silent contempt for the respect of my family and their loss.

On that day, I didn't abhor these religious people for their belonging to a group of respected pedophiles, nor for their tedious adherence to strict, formal worshiping practices, nor for their ignorance .  On that day, I detested them for their complete disregard of the loss this family had suffered.  If you've never been to a catholic funeral, here's what to expect: a few amazingly beautiful and sad songs, several readings of scripture, each followed by a collective "Thanks be to God" from a seemingly entranced congregation of sheep.  Then the priests will perform a long ritual whereby they take turns putting this ingredient into that chalice, kneeling, saying magic words and gesturing like a Vegas performer until finally they transform a cracker into flesh and then eat it.  Once you realize how sick that sounds, you'll understand the discomfort of someone like me watching all this play out.  Then the congregation may come up and partake in this cannibalistic practice -- that is, those who've had the proper training.  Apparently, if one were to engage in any of these sacraments without the said training, one's head may just catch fire (or some equally frightful thing).  Afterward comes more chanting and praying, until finally the casket is brought up and is blessed with smoke in a fashion similar to what a jungle shaman might employ.

In all of this, you're lucky if you get five minutes worth of mentioning the deceased and what their life meant.  I will say that what the Monsignor said about Grandmother was apropos and brought tears to my eyes.  But this brief mention was overshadowed by the rites and practices of making sure you bow this way and say these exact words and do this and that to make sure YOU get into heaven and don't piss God off, that it might as well not have even been considered a funeral at all.

Of course, the reason for all this hullabaloo was, as I said earlier, was because they believe this is not the end for Grandmother, and that she either is in Paradise, was going to be there as soon as we put her in the ground, or would return on the "Last Day" (I don't think they ever decided which one it was; or like the Trinity, it was all at the same time).  I suppose that if you thought this way, then all this would be better than simply sitting around telling stories and remembering the life of selfless, kind, caring woman -- a woman who put others before herself so much that the day before she died she used the last of her strength to fill out birthday cards to friends and family up to the end of the year.  That kind of selflessness wells me up even now.  The faithful cannot claim that this is due to her catholic beliefs, for this is just the kind of person she was.  More mention of that would have been nice, instead of awkwardly sitting through a Eucharistic liturgy.

Once the procession was moved to the cemetery, there was another short ceremony where the priest of the church related a story whose moral summed up Grandmother's life, and I suppose the idea of it was apt.  After this, the priest went on to "ask God to bless the place of her burial", but I had had enough.  Me and several others went to the cemetery's family center for food and conditioned air while the rest of the throng went to watch the matriarch of the family be placed in the ground.

That Grim Specter
Throughout each of these religious ceremonies, we were asked by the priests to "comfort each other through words of faith" -- translation: "lie to each other and fill the heads of the mournful with wishful tales".  The priest also used the very familiar technique of letting the faithless know that we have no hope and that our lives are worthless without Jesus Christ.

I'm not about to launch into that triad (I'm sure you can find out what I think on the matter somewhere on here, and if not, email me).  I'll just close by reiterating the point I made earlier.  To those of us who cherish life for the special thing it is, filling the last occasion in a person's life with droning prayers and mindless rituals misses the point of the exercise entirely.

And this ties in with the second point I made regarding doing more harm by attempting to heal with religion.  It's a helpless and lonely feeling to realize that what people in this situation do to try to cope with death only makes things worse.  The fact that they can't deal with death or finality is draped across their tear-shined cheeks and soak the words they use.  These kind of situations ultimately end in self-reflection for many people in which they search their own hearts for meaning and confront the realization of their own future demise.  None of this is helped by religion.  It's not an easy thing to do by any means, but telling someone they'll see their loved one again and that they suffered and died because of some grand plan is the least comforting thing you can do.  It should be obvious that the best course of action is to look it in the face and try to understand it, not shut your eyes and ears and think of your happy place.

When I die I don't want anything remotely compared to the farce of a memorial I was present at.  Come, pray if you want (there will be no formal group-led prayers), eat crackers and proclaim they're someone's flesh, do whatever religious exercise you feel you need to -- but do them on your own time.  I simply want a small ceremony in which I am remembered.  Perhaps some writings of my could be shared, along with tales of past deeds and memories from those who wish to share.  After all, that's what it should be about, and that's the only way I'll "live on"...through the memory of those I touch.

As for Grandmother, while she held many beliefs that are at odds with my own, she certainly touched my life, and I am thankful to have known such a thoughtful, kind, loving person.  She will be missed.

-STA

Day In The Life: Accused

I just have to share this because I'm jazzed about it.

Many of my regular readers will know that while I'm very outspoken about my atheism on the web, I'm still a mostly-in-the-closet atheist when it comes to my immediate family members.  (I know, I'm working on it; these things take time.)  Said family members were have their Thanksgiving celebration yesterday, myself included.  I love our Thanksgiving.  I mean, sure, I still like going to the houses of parents' and grandparents' of extended family for the holidays, but nothing can beat the spread, quality, and atmosphere of having Thanksgiving at home (and Mom's food is always better).  They're not an overtly religious bunch.  None go to church regularly and holidays have always been about family and food and togetherness, never about Jesus or other religious hogwash.  So there I was, sitting at the dinner table in the house that I grew up in, stuffing my face with...well, stuffing, when one of my grandmother's many brothers walked into the kitchen with his southern boisterous ululations.

"You god-damned atheist!" he roared.

I froze, heart thumping.

"With yer bumper sticker saying 'The hard work of one does more than the prayers of millions'!  I'm gonna go get Brother Jack and we're going to send you straight to hell!"

I nearly choked on the turkey -- with laughter.  "Well, send him over!" I quipped.  My mother chuckled.

You'd probably have to know the man to appreciate it all.  He's known for that type of language, but I was surprised to hear it and being in the form a joke softened it a little.  But the fact was there...I was called an ATHEIST in front of my whole family!  Holy shit!  I'm sure because of me not objecting to the term and congenially welcoming the attack was in a way a coming out of sorts.  At least I'm sure it will aid in the real event, should it arise in the future.  It was great.  In one instant I essentially made the topic accessible.  Call me an atheist, I don't mind.

I assume that my family suspects at least something's up.  I mean, they realize I stopped going to church.  And I have that bumper sticker and an EvolveFish on my truck.  And I made the priest who came into my hospital room when I had my cholecystectomy leave immediately.  And I sent my mom a reply linking to this blog when she forwarded me a stupid email.  And some of my kinfolks and related-in-law already know for sure, through either direct conversation or finding me on the internet (no telling who they talk to).  So I think at least some of my core family members might get the picture, although they're not aware of all the details.


My great uncle was joking, of course.  He meant no ill toward me, though I'm not entirely sure he'd be so cordial if I had stood up and said, "yeah, I'm a soulless, faithless, godless atheist...so what?!"  And I was all ready to defend my position.  This is it, I thought.  Oh well, perhaps for the better; it may have ruined the festivities.  But at least my uncle can joke about it.  He was raised in a tough Catholic school way back in the days where they would beat your hands with rulers for not obeying their strict requirements.  He hates nuns now.

Anyway, I'm still all goosebumpy over it even though it literally was one sentence and nothing more from anybody.  I never thought I'd be (semi)outed by one of own family.  Being called an atheist, just out in public like that, was exilerating.

I hope it happens again.


-STA

Day In The Life: Coincidences

So I’m at work, and I overhear my boss telling the new hire, “How is it that on the exact same day that [newly fired worker] pisses me off and we let him go, that you’re able to start and get the job done that has a deadline today?”

What Are The Odds?
The subject of his mind-numbing conversation was, of course, God. My coworker’s response was something like, “Well, Einstein said ‘God doesn’t play dice with the universe’, but I don’t know.”

Not wanting to get into that conversation, I changed the subject and asked my boss about a meeting the next day, and made sure the subject had shifted to something more reasonable.

The conclusion to this chatter is of course: there are no coincidences. O RLY?!

This matter-of-fact phrase is ripe with a logical error known as the sharpshooter fallacy (look for it in our next Fallacy Friday). Simply put, how many times did you notice when the coincidence didn’t happen?

Count The Hits, Forget The Misses
How often do we hear that an airplane landed safely at its destination? How much good news do you see in the paper, or on the 6 o’clock broadcast? The reason you do is that the good news would fill volumes. The ratio of landed planes to crashed ones is extremely high, yet all one can think about is the crashes.

Penn Jillette had a wonderful example in a recent video. He had a blemish on his nose, and noted that even though the blemish covers a very small portion of his enormous body, it is all you can look at and think about.

We forget the common and focus on the differences. That focusing is often so misconstrued as to be proclaimed an impossibility, or at least a highly unlikely chance occurrence.

Shit Happens
We experience coincidences all the time. It’s mostly a matter of perception; you have to think about things in a wider context. Think about how often the thing occurs as opposed to how many times it doesn’t.

And stop attributing your own ignorance to an invisible entity.

Watch this: What are the odds that you, reading this right now, have a brother named Bill and are wearing a blue shirt?

What a coincidence!

-STA

Day in the Life: I Wanna Go To Heaven

I stopped at a local fast-food restaurant for lunch yesterday. I was alone and as I sat eating, the song on the restaurant's radio caught my attention. While I can't recall the lyrics, the hook was clear: "I want to go to Heaven".

The singer was obviously talking about the Christian Heaven, with the ideas of happiness and joy, seeing all your family and friends, and "good weather" being present in the lyrics.


On High
First, let me say that I did not take offense at the song being played. I didn't storm up to the front, angrily asking the employees why they would allow a religious song to be played while I -- an ATHEIST! -- dined at their fine establishment.

Of course not, that would be silly and pretentious.

Second, understand that this post isn't about my objection to the song at all. Just because a person sings a song doesn't mean that it is true, or that they think it is true. I can sing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" without believing it.

My argument is with the idea put forth by the song, or more rightfully, by the religion.


What's So Good About Heaven?
I'll assume that you know the story of the Christian Heaven, the magical place where God lives and only the people who love Jesus can go there when they die. It's full of golden streets and angels with harps and sunbathing saints on a bed of puffy clouds. For the purposes of this post, I'll ignore the fact that none of this is provable, including the existence of the "soul" that apparently will represent you while in Heaven. We'll hit that some other time.

For now, I want to simply ask the question (presuming it's true), what's so great about Heaven? I suppose you could narrow the common answers down to the following:

• Being in the presence of God
  That may sound like the ultimate dream-come-true for your average Christian, but if the Christian God did exist, I wouldn't want to be in his presence. As Professor Dawkins stated, that god is a controlling, misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.
  
  
• Life after Death
  A wonderful idea, isn't it? Just think about it right now, just for a second. No matter what your beliefs regarding an afterlife are, just for a moment entertain the idea that you can survive your own death. More specifically, you will never really "lose" anyone you care about. Your family and friends will all be there with you, or at least they'll come soon, and you'll all live happily forever-after.
  
  Aside from the scientific logistics of this idea, the thing that bothers me the most of about it is its implications with life. I mean, if you'll have all the time in the after-world to do the things you could have or say the things you should have when you were alive, then you'll end up not saying and doing those things while you're wasting the only one life you know for sure that you do get.
  
  
• There is only joy
  One of these doctrines is the idea that there is no sorrow, sickness, or pain in Heaven. I mean, you're right next to God, for Christ's sake! If your tummy hurts, go tell God and he'll fix it. He'd have to; he's right there!
  
  One could argue, however, that you need sorrow to know joy. You can't have cold without hot, otherwise what would cold even mean? Of course, this is getting too technical and philosophical for my purposes. But a utopia with no more loss or pain would be a wonderful thing, I think.
  
  
• It isn't Hell
  If you don't let Jesus write your name in his special book, you'll be turned away from the Pearly Gates when you expire, and since the Catholics did away with Purgatory, the only other place you could go is to Hell. Hell is the complete opposite of Heaven, they say. A total separation from God, it's supposedly a place of never-ending pain and anguish (brought to you by your all-loving creator!).
  

Aside from being a comforting thought (i.e., there's no need to fear death, because it's not really "the end"), the Christian canon describes this fantastic story with specific stipulations that, to me, do not seem that appealing.


It Won't Be Me
For one thing, how could I "enjoy" Heaven when I know that, for example, my unbelieving wife is down there, roasting in Hell forever? I've asked this question to several believers, and the general response I receive is shocking. God, they say, will alter my memories, or change my "being" so that I will have no recollection of those in eternal torment.

Alter my memories?! Overlooking the fact that memories are a function of the brain, something that goes nowhere when you die, my response is clear: No! I don't want my mind erased just to live in ignorant bliss! My memories and thoughts are part of me...they're what make me, me! If any of them were purposefully taken away from me, whatever's left won't be me.

Unlike the singer, I don't wanna go to Heaven. Sure, I'd like to know that I'll live forever even after I die, and that all my family and friends will too. But there is just no reason to think that that is anything more than a fantasy, no matter how sweet it sounds. I need to do what's right, right now. I need to tell those around me how I feel, right now. I need to live my life the best way I know how, and right the wrongs I have made or will make in this life and not wait around to do it after I'm dead.


~STA

Day In The Life: God Bless You

Yesterday was a horrible day. Vehicle problems, money problems, phone problems...a really bad day. After several trips to the nearby Wal-Mart, I was about to lose my mind.

As I was leaving the store (around trip number three) I was confronted by an elderly woman in the parking lot. She was very short, in her 60's I guessed, and fairly well dressed -- nothing old and ragged, anyway. "Excuse me, sir," she said as I opened my door. "Could you spare a dollar?" She didn't look homeless or overtly poor. She even had a Wal-Mart sack with a few things in it already; I thought a couple of cans of tuna. She didn't look lost or helpless, mental or an experienced beggar. And she didn't smell of cabbage.


Those Three Little Words
"A dollar?" I asked. "What'cha need a dollar for?"

"Groceries," she said, folding her hands. I reached for my wallet.

"Don't smoke, don't drink." I got nothing against either one of those, but I understood that she was telling me that she wasn't going to spend it on booze.

Now as I've said, I was having a horrible day; but this was also payday, and after some troubles to get it, I did have a pocket full of cash. I gave the little old lady one more look over.

"Here," I said. "Take two."

"God bless you!" she said with a smile. Did I jump all over her and tell her that God isn't real? Did I yell at her for assuming that I was only a Good Samaritan following Jesus's teachings in Matthew 5:41, or that I was hoping to gather up some good karma? Did I ask her, "Which God? Zeus? Brahman? Amun? Ngai? Mot? I wouldn't want Mot blessing me..."


An Atheist Volunteer
No, I didn't say that and I wouldn't have -- ever. Even if this horrible day I was having had been thrice as worse. This stranger, this elderly person, asked for my help and was thanking me the best way she knew how. If I were visiting some distant tribe in the jungle somewhere, and they had asked their god to bless me, I would feel honored. I may not agree that it meant anything supernaturally, but it was a gesture of thanks and I took it as such. I just smiled and got into the car.

So why did I help this little old lady? Did I do it for Atheism? Of course not. I didn't do it "in the name of not believing in deities". I did it because I could. I saw a fellow human in need, and I could help that need. Something that all of us should do, not because some God says so, not to get something great in return, not even to further a cause or make a point; do it just because you can. And you know what? It made my day a little bit brighter.


-STA