I was sitting in a
church the other day and I kind of
glazed over, just staring up at the front. The particular
house of worship I was sitting in had marvelous
stained glass windows and a titanic silver crucified
Jesus in the middle of the altar.
I was in a strange
state of mind. I wasn't listening to the
priest. I was in that open, shapeless
frame of mind that washes over me from time to time. The lights reflected dazzling spirals of spark-like spears from the silvered hide of the crucified. My
poor eyesight cast the scene in a hazy
dreamlike glow.
The accepted realities of the
ceremony flowed away. This room, this house of worship, had a
depiction of a man in a horrible
state of pain, nearing
death, glorified in
silver metal. The
cross, symbol of the
religion that gave birth to this
church, is a device of terrible torture and death. How strange. Why do we show this
inhumanity? Why do we remind ourselves that man squandered the
gift of God? We killed the
son of a deity, if the Bible is to be believed. It
boggled my mind. I sat in wonder at the
confession of guilt hammered out in
cold metal. We did this. Ancient bloody
man crushed what he could not
fathom. I felt a bit sick at this. The pattern of man is
eternal. 2000 years and we still
kill what we don't understand. We glower like cavemen at the
fantastic, demanding to know the
price and how to bend it to our
personal advantage.
I have wondered if the
flaw in
religion is solely the nature of the
people that follow it. All religions seek to better the lives of their followers.
Islam,
Hinduism,
Christianity,
Buddhism. They all look to guide men from their
base nature. But with all human systems, they are
flawed. Human influence sullies the designs of the
divine. I think of
wonderful and magnanimous powers looking down at us, confused at the
chaos we wreck
in their names. Like giving a
great hammer to a
simpleton. We cannot fathom divine purpose.
Transfixed by the statue, I thought of
Jesus as a man.
INRI is tacked at the top of the cross.
Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, mockingly penned by a
Roman centurion. He was a man, a person. A person with his
hands nailed to a board. With a
crown of barbs on his head. With his
feet nailed together. With his chest
stabbed deeply. What a hideous state of
butchered humanity. The
cruelty of man captured in one moment of butchery. It makes me wonder at the
infinite sadness of our century, and of most centuries. What if he was a just a
well-meaning man that only hoped to help men live their lives above their station in the mud? This is the reward that we give the freely loving.
Thinking these things,
sickened by the thoughts that came to me, I wondered at the purpose of the
church. It is a wholly
human institution, and it has a
terrible history of mistakes, as do most religions. People,
the eternal problem, are its
industry. The one
purpose I could find in the church was to remind men that
they can be better. They
can love one another. They
can be like those that do not judge, and
give freely of themselves, in a divine nature. The
way that they do this can be questionable, but I fear it is the
human interpretation of something
beyond our reasoning. The only absolute truths are that
men can be cruel, and that
men can be kind. It is up to us to
choose the path we will follow. No god on high can change that. No fear of an
eternity of fire can change that. No rewards in an
afterlife can change that.
Free will, and the reason for your actions or inaction rests solely on your own
head. All the wonders and evils of history are born of that
choice. Religion seeks to
stack the deck in favor of good, and for good or ill, it has a
dramatic effect. Fear your God and his wrath! Death to the unbelieving infidel! Beg for your eternal soul! Submit to the will of God! These are the
sticks and carrots we try to use to steer the masses toward our vision of
righteousness. This is the
human poison introduced into the idea of
unconditional love. This is where I think we got it all
wrong.
But then, I am
only human as well.