The angry Jesus

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Last year at this time, I did all kinds of Easter-themed blogs.  This year, not so much.  I used to try to feel Christian; then I felt sort of post-Christian; now, I don’t really think about it much.

 

 

But I think the mood of the nation is going in the opposite direction.

 

 

I was asked approximately 17 times this year what I was doing for Easter.  Each time I answered, steadily, that Partner and I weren’t doing anything, that we had no plans, we didn’t really observe the holiday.  No one seemed to believe this.  It’s Easter!  He is risen!  You have to do something!  At least have a ham dinner!

 

 

 

Meh.  (Actually, we did have ham for dinner. But it was nothing out of the ordinary, although it was very good.)

 

 

Anyway: last week I saw this article about the differences between the ways Korean Christians and American Christians think about Jesus.

 

 

Americans, for whatever reason, think of Jesus as the ultimate positive guidance counselor.  They associate him with “love” and “amazement.”

 

 

Korean Christians, on the other hand, associate him with words like “pain” and “suffering.”

 

 

Cultural?  Perhaps.  Probably.

 

 

But wow.

 

 

Now, all you Americans, think about it for a moment.  Jesus (as depicted in the Gospels) is never seen to smile or laugh.  He is, on the contrary, as serious as a heart attack.  He is not depicted in the Gospels as an adorable guy. He did not resemble your football coach, or your pastor, or your favorite movie star.  He was skinny and Semitic and crochety.  He called his own mother “woman”! 

 

 

And a happy Easter Week to all of you.

 

 

(I’ll take Ganesha any day.  He’s usually cheerful, and he is easily placated with sweets.)

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Secular Easter

 

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Partner and I celebrated Easter this year by going to a nice restaurant in downtown Providence for brunch.

 

 

Partner was born and raised Catholic; I was a convert to Catholicism in my teens. Both of us have gone through waves of piety and observance, but we have both come through it and out of it, and Holy Mother Church has lost her charms for both of us.

 

 

A few years ago I went through an ultramontane phase. I went to Mass almost every day at noontime. I joined the local parish. I even did the Triduum, the three-day ritual that leads up to Easter Sunday.

 

 

And suddenly, one day in the spring of 2008, I packed it in. I just stopped going.

 

 

Why? One too many homilies explaining why, although the Church loves everyone equally, they just couldn't accept gay people as they were. One too many homilies about God's mysteries which are beyond man's understanding.  Too many intelligent people sitting meekly and listening to illogical and badly-presented drivel.

 

 

Ritual is very nice, of course, and very attractive. I think this may be the center of religious belief: the deeply satisfying practice of dancing and singing and chanting magic words. A peaceful feeling comes over you sometimes when you do it. And once you're in a nice peaceful mood, it is easy (and comforting) to believe that God is very pleased with you.

 

 

And religion may even be useful. David Brooks, in a recent New York Times column, talked about the uses of absolute religious belief. It creates values, you see. It is a regimenting and organizing principle.

 

 

(Until, of course, it runs up against another absolute faith. It sort of creates problems at that point. But David Brooks is apparently okay with that.)

 

 

I'm not quite a pagan, not quite an atheist. I have vague yearnings, and a sense that there may be something unseen, some magician behind the curtain, something more to reality that we can't quite put our finger on yet.

 

 

But whatever it is, it's not hanging over the altar at St. Sebastian's Church.

 

 

If I want to dance and sing in front of a god, I'll do for some more kindly god, who doesn't mind if I screw up from time to time.

 

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Easter blog: Mahler's Resurrection Symphony

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For Easter: the last few minutes of the final movement of Gustav Mahler's Second ("Resurrection") Symphony.  I don't know this conductor, or this orchestra, or these soloists, but they're really pretty good.

 

 

I don't listen to Mahler much anymore; honestly, he hurts my heart too much. But when I listened to this, it was like hearing it for the first time.

 

 

Even if you think you don't like classical music, give this eight minutes of your time. It is amazing.

 

 

“You will rise again, my heart.”

 

I hope it's true.  It would be lovely.

 

 

Happy Easter, y'all.

 

 

 

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