I am frequently puzzled by pious sayings. I know they are meant to be comforting, but why? Things like “God opens a window when he closes a door.” “God will take care of it.” ” Have faith, God will save you” all imply that you … we … are helpless. That we can do nothing in the face of problems other than pray to a higher power for help.
Why is that? Why should helplessness be a comfort to anyone?
What makes you think God closed that door? Maybe the wind blew it shut. God may take care of you in a spiritual sense, but practically speaking, for every person I know who feels God saved them, there are many more who didn’t survive the disease, lost their home, wound up on the street, lost a child, lost a mate, didn’t succeed, failed to meet the challenge. I’m much more inclined to “God helps them who helps themselves.” Because it suggests that we have strength, that we are not simply at the mercy of forces we cannot control.
Does that mean I’m an atheist? Not at all. What I have is an unyielding belief that with free will, we also have responsibility.
God gave us gifts when we were created as images of Himself. We got intelligence, cleverness, reason, creativity. We were granted the ability to judge right from wrong, knowledge of good and evil. When a window closes, there is no reason to assume God closed it. It’s entirely likely, if you look around, pay attention and don’t collapse in a sodden heap of helpless tears, you may see a window is already there, was always there, but you weren’t looking for it. Walk over, brace yourself, and open the window. Voila!
You don’t need to ask God to do those things you can and should do for yourself.
I don’t believe clouds have silver linings, but I believe storms are no less necessary than sunshine. We need rain, wind and storms. It’s part of life, the normal ups and downs. Rain is not worse or less valuable than sunshine, only different. It keeps the aquifers alive and the crops growing. You may not like rain, but the earth loves and needs it. Creation was not made just for you and me and our personal comfort and convenience.
There are many things over which we have no control. We cannot fix all the broken things in the world or in our lives. Death is part of life and though we fear it, it’s the only certainty.
Until then, we have choices to make and responsibilities to meet. If we can’t make everything go as we want, we can do the best we can to take care of ourselves and each other, make the best of our choices. Pick good occupations, mates. When needed, find the right surgeon, hospital and treatment. Find good people to be our friends, who will support us through good times and bad. We can choose to be decent, kind, caring and treat others as we want to be treated.
We can choose paths of honor and love. We can be the good guys. We can decide to care for other people even when it costs us dearly.
We can make those choices because we were born to an understanding of right and wrong, with the ability to make the best of bad situations, to cope with pain and bear up under ill-fortune. That’s not punishment. It’s life. No one said it was going to be easy.
We don’t have to wait for a higher power to take care of us. We are grown ups. Expecting God to take care of every boo-boo is infantile. If we aren’t supposed to take care of ourselves, why did God give us the ability to do so? If He was intending to personally care for all the needs of every single person on the planet, why give us the wondrous gifts to which we are heir?
Do I pray? Yes. Do I think prayers get answered? Absolutely.
But remember this when you pray. Sometimes the answer is “No.”
We are free to ask, but free will cuts both ways. God has free will too, so there’s no guarantee we’ll get what we ask for. God never promised to fix every hurt or eliminate evil. No matter what religion you follow — or even if you follow no particular faith — nothing and no one promises to make all the bad stuff go away. So I will continue do my best to take care of me and mine, using the gifts God gave me as best I can.
If you are somewhere around my age, you remember the Jonestown Massacre. Even if you were a lot younger, if you were old enough to read a newspaper or watch TV, you could hardly forget it. With fundamentalism enjoying a rebirth, with well-known people urging others to murder or mayhem, it is a good time to remember where this kind of thing leads. These days, disagreements that ought to result in nothing more serious than an argument result in the ugliest kind of hate-spewing rhetoric.
Lest we forget, there was nothing even remotely amusing about this story. There isn’t a word that begins to sum up the sickening reality.
It isn’t rare for fanaticism and hatred to end in death. It frequently leads to a lot of death and almost always, it is the most innocent who pay the butcher’s bill.
The Road to Jonestown
The phrase “drink the Kool-Aid” has become common parlance in American business and politics. Roughly translated, it means “to blindly follow.” It usually carries a negative connotation. The “Kool Aid” references go all the back to the 1950s when it was the typical drink for children on suburban summer afternoons. But the origin of the saying is something else, darker, and different. It has become the kind of bland rhetoric about which we don’t give a thought, but its roots lie in horror.
Before we talk about Kool-Aid, let’s take a brief trip down memory lane to a particularly horrible episode of American history.
Jim Jones, cult leader and mass murderer, was a complex madman. A communist, occasional Methodist minister, he founded his own pseudo-church in the late 1950s. He called it the “Peoples Temple Full Gospel Church,” known in short as the “Peoples Temple.”
The lack of a possessive apostrophe was intentional. The name was supposed to be a reference to “the people of the world.” While Jones called it a church, it was closer to a warped version of a Marxist commune. Initially, it was combined with a hodgepodge of Christian references that he used in his diatribes … supposedly sermons.
Regardless, it was never any kind of church. The Peoples Temple was a straight-up cult. It made serious demands in the way of personal committment and financial support from its members and a level of obedience that is the defining quality of a cult.
Jones was the cult’s leader — and a homicidal maniac — but he had positive attributes. Jones and his wife Marceline were strongly in favor of racial integration. They adopted a bunch of kids from varying racial backgrounds. They were the first white family in Indiana to adopt an African-American boy. Other adopted children included 3 Korean Americans, a Native American, and a handful of white kids. They also had one child of their own.
Jones called his adopted kids the “Rainbow Family,” and he made a name for himself desegregating various institutions in Indiana. Before you get all dewy-eyed about this, note this ultimately climaxed in the murder of these children by their adoptive parents.
The Peoples Temple continued to expand through the 1960s. Jones gradually abandoned his Marxism. His preaching began to increasingly focus on impending nuclear apocalypse. He even specified a date — July 15, 1967 — and suggested after the apocalypse, a socialist paradise would exist on Earth. Where would the new Eden be?
Jones decided on the town of Redwood Valley, California and before the expected Big Bang, he moved the Temple and its peoples there.
When the end-of-the-world deadline came and went without nuclear holocaust, Jones abandoned even the pretenses of Christianity. The cloak came off and he revealed himself as an atheist using religion to give legitimacy to his views. Jones announced that “Those who remained drugged with the opiate of religion must be brought to enlightenment — socialism.” Prophetic words in view of the fact that Jones himself was a drug addict who preferred literal to metaphorical opiates.
As media attention increased, Jones started to worry the Peoples Temple’s tax-exempt religious status was in danger of revocation. He was paranoid about the U.S. intelligence community — probably with justification.
Jim Jones, cult leader
In 1977, Jones moved the Temple and its people again. This was a major relocation, leaving the United States completely and settling on a site that Jones had been working on since 1974. Located in Guyana, a poor South American nation, he modestly named it “Jonestown.”
It was a bleak, inhospitable place on 4000 acres of poor soil with limited access to fresh water. It was much to small encampment, dramatically overcrowded Temple members were forced to work long hours merely to survive.
Jones figured his people could farm the land in this new utopia. He had put together several million dollars before getting to Jonestown, but his wealth was not shared amongst his followers. He barely used any of the money for himself and lived in a small, bare-bones shared house.
All Hell Breaks Loose
U.S. Congressman Leo Ryan visited Jonestown in November of 1978. Rumors of peculiar goings-on were leaking out of Jonestown. Ryan decided to investigate the allegations of human rights abuses in Jonestown.
Ryan didn’t go alone. He took a contingent of media representatives including NBC News correspondent Don Harris and other reporters, plus relatives of Jonestown resident. During his visit to Jonestown, Congressman Ryan talked to more than a dozen Temple members, all of whom said they wanted to leave. Several of them passed a note saying: “Please help us get out of Jonestown” to news anchor Harris.
If the number of defectors seems low proportionate to the more than 900 residents of Jonestown, keep in mind the congressional party had not been able to talk to most of the “fellowship.” The number of those who might have wanted to leave could conceivably been much more but we will never know.
Ryan began processing the paperwork to repatriate Temple members who wanted to go back to the States. In the middle of this, Ryan was attacked by Don Sly, a knife-wielding Temple member. This would-be assassin was stopped before injuring Ryan.
Eventually the entire Ryan party plus the group of Jonestown defectors drove to a nearby airstrip and boarded planes, intending to leave. Jim Jones had other plans. He sent armed Temple members — his “Red Brigade” after the Congressional party These creepy ‘soldiers of the Temple” opened fire on them, killing Ryan, one Temple defector, three members of the media, and wounding eleven others. The survivors fled into the jungle.
When the murderers returned to Jonestown and reported their actions, Jones promptly started what he called a “White Night” meeting. He invited all Temple members. This wasn’t the first White Night. Jones had hosted previous White Night meetings in which he suggested U.S. intelligence agencies would soon attack Jonestown.
He had even staged fake attacks to add a realism, though it’s hard to believe that anyone was fooled by the play-acting. Faced with this hypothetical invasion scenario, Jones offered Temple members a set of choices. They could stay and fight imaginary invaders. They could take off for the USSR. Another tempting alternative would be to run off into the jungles of Guyana. Or they could commit mass suicide as an act of political protest.
On previous occasions Temple members had opted for suicide. Not satisfied, Jones had tested their committment and gave them cups of liquid that they were told contained poison. They were asked to drink it. Which they did. After a while, Jones told them the liquid wasn’t poisonous — but one day it would be.
Indeed Jim Jones had been stockpiling cyanide and other drugs for years. On this final White Night, Jones was no longer testing his followers. It was time to kill them all.
Don’t Drink the Poisonous Fruit-Flavored Beverage
After the airstrip murders outside Jonestown, Jim Jones ordered Temple members to create a fruity mix containing a cocktail of chemicals that included cyanide, diazepam (Valium), promethazine (Phenergan — a sedative), chloral hydrate (a sedative/hypnotic sometimes called “knockout drops”), and Flavor Aid — a grape-flavored beverage similar to Kool-Aid.
Jones urged his followers to commit suicide to make a political point. What that point was supposed to be is still a matter of considerable conjecture. After some discussion, Temple member Christine Miller suggested flying Temple members to the USSR.
Jones was never interested in escape. There was only one answer that he would accept. Death and lots of it. He repeatedly pointed out to his followers that Congressman Ryan was dead (and whose fault was that?) which would surely bring down the weight of American retribution in short order. An audiotape of this meeting exists. It is just as creepy as you’d expect.
Then it was time for the detailed instructions which — still baffling to me at least — the followers did as they were told. I will never understand why. Probably that’s a positive sign indicating I’m not insane.
Jones insisted mothers must squirt poison into the mouths of their children using syringes. As their children died, the mothers were dosed as well, though they were allowed to drink from cups. Temple members wandered out onto the ground, where eventually just over 900 lay dead, including more than 300 children. Only a handful of survivors escaped Jonestown — primarily residents who happened to be away on errands or playing basketball when the mass suicide/massacre took place.
Jones, his wife, and various other members of the Temple left wills stating that their assets should go to the Communist Party of the USSR.
Jones did not drink poison. He died from a gunshot to the head, though it’s not clear if it was self-inflicted. Jones likely died last or nearly so and may have preferred the gun to cyanide, having just seen the horrendous effects of death by cyanide.
What’s With the Kool-Aid?
In the wake of the tragedy at Jonestown, the phrase “drink the Kool-Aid” became a popular term for blind obedience, as the Temple members had apparently accepted their cups of poison without objection. According to various accounts, the primary beverage used at Jonestown was actually Flavor Aid (sometimes “Flav-R-Aid”) — although there is evidence both Kool-Aid and Flavor Aid were used.
Kool-Aid was better known than Flavor Aid . Kool-Aid was introduced in 1927 in powdered form. When Americans thought about a powdered fruity drink mix (other than “Tang”), “Kool-Aid” came immediately to mind.
So, although Kool-Aid and Flavor Aid were both present at Jonestown, the phrase “(don’t) drink the Kool-Aid” has become entrenched in popular lingo.
For more than 50 years, I have been nurturing this idea and I have to thank you for giving me an opportunity to tell the world.
Back in my bright college days, I was for the first 2 years, a music major. When my fellow wannabe musicians hung out on the quad on warm sunny days, we would plan projects that were going to make us famous. Symphonies were planned. Great achievements as conductors and composers were spun as glorious dreams, although I don’t know that my class actually produced anyone who really hit the big time. Medium time seems to be as good as we got.
But my dream, my great project, was a full musical comedy based on the story of Leda and the Swan. I thought Broadway because in those days, there were no computer generated graphics to make the impossible real on-screen. Now, I think perhaps Hollywood would be the correct venue for this masterpiece.
In the Greek myth of Leda and the Swan, Zeus, in the form of a swan, seduces, or rapes Leda. Which is never made entirely clear, but I vote for seduction since I have a lot of trouble visualizing rape by a swan. I mean, even as Zeus … swans are not agile except on water. They have trouble with take offs being rather heavy-bodied. Moreover, the lack of hands and arms seems to make rape a rather difficult to manage business. Regardless, Leda becomes pregnant from the experience. She bears Helen and Polydeuces, both children of Zeus. Simultaneously (and I’d like to know how she managed this), she also gives birth to Castor and Clytemnestra who are the offspring of her human husband Tyndareus, King of Sparta.
In the myth, Leda is able to convince her parents and husband that despite all logic or reason, her extraneous pregnancy was not the result of a lover or promiscuous sexual behavior. No, no! Honest to gods (we are in a polytheistic world, remember), really, no kidding, it was Zeus who did it. Not merely was it Zeus, not some guy, but he was in the form of a swan!
I figured there were a couple of potential show-stopping moments with high comedic potential embedded in this.
The first … and perhaps my favorite scene … would have to be the first act closer. In this highly emotional musical extravaganza, Leda pours out her distress in a heart-rending lyric soprano rich with passion. In it, she explains that it really truly was Zeus.
Leda: Even in the form of a swan, I knew it was Zeus. And you all know how much I love birds and feathers, right? I mean … what girl could resist such a gorgeous bird who is, after all, the top God in the Pantheon? No kidding. I wouldn’t lie to you.
Tyndareus, King of Sparta: I want to believe you, but I’m having a few problems with this.
Leda: Trust me, dear. It was Zeus. As a swan. You know how clever he can be.
Later, we all get to see the central event, Leda’s experience. In the carefully choreographed dream sequence, Leda relives the heady romance of the seduction. I’m assuming it was seduction rather than rape. I mean, how big was that swan anyhow? And, uh, some of the technical aspects of the experience make for interesting mental meanderings. How, exactly, did … well … this is a G-rated site, so I won’t get too specific. Suffice to say it would make one heck of a scene on stage. Even better, now that CGI has come of age, with some well done special effects?
Wow, this could have the audience on its feet! I can hear the applause from here. I see the royalties rolling in. I ought to add that depending on which version of the story you read, Leda either gave birth to babies … or eggs.
Eggs open up a whole new set of possibilities. If she birthed eggs, did she have to sit on them until they hatched? As Queen of Sparta, could she order her court attendants sit on the eggs in her place while she performed her royal duties? Did she build a nest? In the palace? Did the issue of this union feel a lifelong need to dive into lakes and ponds? Were they born knowing how to swim?
Zeus?
Inquiring minds want to know! Details, details. Please?
I’m a bit long in the tooth now for writing a full musical comedy, but I freely offer this incredible concept to anyone who feels inclined to flush it out. I think it might just launch more than one career. You think?
We were up in Worcester, the capital of our middle-of-nowhere part of the world. Taking pictures, happily unaware that something awful was happening 60 miles away in Boston. When we got home and the phone and email lit up, we knew something was up,
Garry and I lived in Boston for a long time. Garry was a reporter. If he were still working, as many of his friends are, he would have been exactly where the bombs went off. I would have been one of the terrified wives waiting to hear if my husband was alive and/or in multiple pieces. Maybe I would have been one of the unlucky ones. I’m glad to have missed the experience.
A lot of people needed reassurance, wanted to be sure Garry wasn’t working (retired since 2001, but not everyone believes it) and we hadn’t gone to see the Marathon. We had merely taken a drive up to Worcester, looping back via the grocery store and the pond where the swans live. A normal pleasant spring day. For us, anyhow.
I had been laughing earlier in the day about how seriously New Englanders take their holidays. I had tried to get in touch with my doctor only to discover the office was closed for Patriot’s Day. If you live in Boston, there’s also Evacuation Day, another Revolutionary War remembrance, but affecting only the city. I can’t imagine New York closing down to celebrate a battle that took place more than 200 years ago. New York’s all about getting on with business, but Boston is into remembering and celebrating traditions.
Boston State House – Night
Patriot’s Day and the Boston Marathon are part of what makes the Commonwealth and the city special. Unique. Boston is a big city, but it’s accessible. Even with awful parking, potholes and traffic, you can drive in Boston. You may not enjoy the experience but the city is not in constant gridlock. It’s a great walking city too. There are lots of street festivals, free concerts, and events that are open to everyone and their families. Is that going to change?
Are people going to be too afraid to enjoy the city? Lock themselves up behind steel doors? If terrorists can’t kill us all, they sure can take the joy out of life … if we let them.
I can’t in good conscience tell anyone not to be afraid. But I lived in Jerusalem. I did lose friends to terrorists. It was black humor indeed to call Thursday at the marketplace “Bomb day.” Yet we went on living because the alternative is too horrible to contemplate and because if you close down your world, the bastards have won.
Yesterday, as we watched and listened to the news, we worried about people we knew until we finally heard they were safe.
I don’t “get” the terrorist gestalt, murdering civilians to make a political statement. What statement can you make based on murder? That you are willing to slaughter people because your cause is more important than life itself? Nothing is more important than life.
I have a feeling we aren’t dealing with an international conspiracy. No one has claimed responsibility for this atrocity. The bombs were built to inflict maximum harm, ugly bombs intended to tear flesh, rip and rend. Any bomb can kill you, but these were explicitly created to maim as well as murder.
If it’s discovered this is the work of a homegrown psychopath, will this make us feel better? I don’t find the idea comforting. Quite the opposite. The perpetrator could be a neighbor … or anyone. That’s creepy, not comforting.
Garry always laughs at the expression “senseless violence.” As if there’s some other kind. The sensible kind.
There may be times when killing is unavoidable to prevent a greater evil but it’s never a good thing, only sometimes justifiable to protect yourself or others. Killing is never good. Sane people know this. Civilian, military and law enforcement personnel don’t casually take lives. That so many people seem comfortable with murder is deeply disturbing. What is wrong with them … and with us that we glorify killers and turn them into heroes?
Yesterday in Boston, someone showed his/her/their inhumanity and cowardice. Religious fanatics? Non-denominational crazies? Foreign sociopaths? Homegrown psychopaths? Some other previously unknown lunatic fringe group … or a deranged individual?
Does it matter?
Whoever or whatever … I hope we catch them and make sure they never do it again to anyone anywhere.
From Garry:
I covered the Boston Marathon and other Patriot’s Day events for 31 years until my retirement. They are some of the most wonderful memories in my entire TV/radio news career covering more than 40 years. Patriot’s Day is special in New England, in Massachusetts, in greater Boston. The Revolutionary War re-enactments at dawn in Lexington and Concord were among my favorite assignments.
You could see children getting their first real look at history. Normally stoic or cynical adults looked on with pride and awe. I still see their faces in my sense memory. The Marathon weekend was always a period when the bad things going on in the world were put on hold for a brief time.
You met people from all around the world. Instant friendships were formed. Politics were set aside. Laughter and smiles were the common language. It is hard not to see this attack — even in this post 9/11 world — as anything but a horrible loss of innocence. It is so very sad.
I was delighted to learn that Carol Berg is writing a new pair of books after a long interval. She is a fine author and has a unique style. So, in honor of her return, I’m republishing two reviews I originally posted in September.
The first, Song of the Beast, is her only singleton book. A pity, in my opinion, because I love dragons and hers were different than any others I’ve encountered.
The second of these reviews is one of the books of Berg’s “Rai Kirah” trilogy.
I highly recommend all her books. If you like this genre, I bet you’ll love Carol Berg too.
Song of the Beast
There is a whiff of Pern to these dragons, except that a dragonrider of Pern would never so dreadfully mistreat his or her dragon. I’m a sucker for dragons, Pernese or any other. Despite some reviewers feeling that significant human relationships were absent, I don’t agree. I thought the characters were well-drawn. Given their species (unlike other books, some of these characters are not human, though they are human-like) and tribal affiliations, they form relationships that are extensions of where they come from. It’s a different world than that of any other of Berg’s books and the only one in which people who are not human are important to the story. In fact, the relationships between the various humanoids is part of the story.
Each of her series is set in a different world. The magic used on each world is a bit different, sometimes very different from any other world. Separate kinds of magic, morals, religion, customs, and sometimes sentient species. This is, for me, part of the fun and why I read fantasy. It is also what Carol Berg does very well.
She creates worlds in where the fantastical is normal. Her magic users are powerful, but never invulnerable. On some worlds, they are the rich and powerful; on others, they live in fear of exposure. In all cases, magic wielders pay a price, often a very heavy price.
I wish there were a sequel to this book. I really wanted to know what happened next, how this society evolves. The book left me with lots of questions. It isn’t a cliff hanger, but there is plenty of room for more tales as this world realigns and reconstructs itself in the wake of a greatly enhanced understanding of their dragons.
No I won’t tell you how, but it’s not difficult to figure out where the story is going from very early in the book.
The main character is typically a Carol Berg’s hero … a man who has suffered greatly. He isn’t sure what he did to earn his punishment. Atypically, he isn’t especially brave or valiant. He is a broken man, beaten beyond endurance who has to find his way back to himself. He wants nothing more than to live in peace and remains a gentle soul in a cruel world, a man to whom violence is abhorrent no matter what was done to him. He’s neither vengeful nor mean. As in other books by this author, music is an important part of magic.
I liked the book very much and was sorry it ended. I never want any of her books to end and I only wish there were more to read. Carol Berg is an outstanding author, one of the finest writers in the genre and does not get the honor she deserves. I deeply regret that and hope to see it rectified. Meanwhile, I’ll have to reread all her books again.
Transformation, “Rai Kirah” Trilogy
Carol Berg books are mistreated souls who are ultimately delivered and restored. This trilogy is one of my favorites (the other being Collegia Magica). Although her books don’t end in universal tragedy, you cannot necessarily count on an entirely happy ending. You can be fairly sure your favorite characters will survive, but they may sustain significant damage, mental and physical, along the way.
The common denominator of her main characters is that they have suffered great injustice and cruelty. Sometimes, they know why, sometimes not. Often, the true reason is cloaked and only revealed late in the story. All her primary male characters have been persecuted, beaten, enslaved. They may have come from wealth and power, but all of them fall as low as they can go and have to fight their way back. Injustice is the dominant theme of the plot of “Rai-Kirah” trilogy and also Ms. Berg’s other series. In brief, there is a great wrong that must be made right and her hero(es) is (are) the man (men) to do it. Who must do it.
This time, both victim and persecutor find are forced to evolve and ironically, are forced to do it together. Both must learn to trust and forgive and in the process, they are transformed. They not only learn to trust each other, but become very close. They save each others’ lives many times and their relationship becomes intricately interwoven. The developing relationship is touching.
Despite the childish viewpoint of some reviewers, two people of the same-sex who love one another are not necessarily homosexual (note that even if they were, I wouldn’t care), but in this case, they are not. In my world, loving non-sexual relations are called “friendship.” Some reviewers seem to have a problem with this concept, so I advise them to reconsider their own lives, perhaps try developing more meaningful relationships. Drinking beer and watching a game is not necessarily the highest level to which one can take a friendship.
Hatred, bigotry, ambition, politics, greed … the traditional pantheon of human evils … are the forces that destroy the lives of individuals and nations Carol Berg paints this series with a broad brush. Characters and entire peoples endure the unendurable without explanation or comfort; one could easily draw an analogy to Job.
Carol Berg never sets her stories in our world. No one belongs to any known religion, but everyone believes. There are no atheists in Berg’s books. They believe in their Gods. They never question their deity’s existence, only why they have been abandoned by him (her or them). A Carol Berg hero or heroine has suffered terribly, lost everything, but survives … after which, he/she/they will save the world. To be fair, pretty much every fantasy novel involves a lot of saving of the world, often many times over.
Transformation turns a selfish, cruel monarch into a compassionate human being. The slave rises while the king falls, but everyone is redeemed. More or less.
There’s plenty of action. The writing is intelligent and the author never takes the cheap way out. Plots are therefore complicated with no “deus ex machina” endings. There is magic but while it is powerful, it has its limits. It works, as do other weapons. The ability to wield magic doesn’t confer invulnerability. Magic offers benefits but exacts a toll.
I don’t know why Carol Berg’s books are not better known or more popular. They are beautifully written, have great stories, action, romance (think “Dumas” rather than “Harlequin“), nobility, fantastical realms and plenty of magic. If you are an audiobook reader, only “Collegia Magica” is available on Audible. You will have to read her other books on paper or Kindle.
The question was: “How come religions that say they are all about peace and love seem to be leading the march to war … and are responsible for so much death and destruction?”
Gods and dolls in the bedroom
And so I said:
Proclaiming you are fighting for love and peace is like screwing for virginity.
Have you ever noticed that every nation at war has God on their side? Has anyone ever heard God weigh in on the subject? Or considered that God might favor the other side? Or no side?
No one goes to war for peace and love, no matter what they say. Wars are begun and fought for money, land and power. Not necessarily in that order.
War is fueled by greed and hate. The rest is rhetoric intended to make us march to the beat of war drums, to stir whatever embers of hate live within us into a fire hot enough to burn through our prohibitions against killing. If a soldiers’ heart is full of love, how could he be sent to kill?
There are times when fighting is all that remains … but how often is that really true? How often is it more rhetoric intended to make aggression sound like self-defense, a thin excuse for a land grab?
War has always been with us and probably always will be. We seem ever able to find reasons to kill and few reasons to seek mutual respect and peace. If everyone genuinely wanted peace, we would have peace.
I don’t believe my God wants war, but I guess it depends on who you worship.
When I was much younger, I played a mental game where I would pretend I was God. I could do anything, so what would I do to fix the world, its people and make life the way it ought to be?
It’s easy to say I’d make it so no one ever needs to fear hunger, homelessness, or lack of medical care. Everyone would be warm, fed and safe. There would be no war, plague or famine. Everyone I love who is sick I would make well, including me. Except when I got into the nitty-gritty of how to get it done, even as God, it turns out to be exceedingly complicated. Unless you go with the “abracadabra solution.” That’s the one where you wave a wand and voilà! Everything is fixed, everyone is fed, housed, and the whole world is playing “nice” with all its neighbors.
In a real world, there has to be enough food to go around and farmers to grow it. You need to harvest and distribute food because it doesn’t automatically go from the field to the kitchen table without a good deal of other stuff happening in between. You need doctors and nurses to run hospitals. You have to manufacture stockpiles of medications, clothing and other goods. Unless we plan a fairyland built on a child’s imaginings, the mechanics of a perfected world are staggering.
If I had the power to change just MY little piece of the world — a different question — I would make it so that we would have cures for our ailments and all the money we paid into programs that were supposed to take care of us actually would take care of us. I’d want a life in which we could live without the shadows of fear darkening our days, without the gnawing worry we’ll end up homeless, sick and forgotten. I would make it so I would never again wake up in the grip of terror because I have no idea how I will stretch the money to match the month.
Maybe I should just go with “abracadabra” after all.
Garry and I lost a good friend today. Pastor Stan Vanderklay was one of the Pastors at our church, Pleasant Street Christian Reformed Church and was the interim Senior Pastor during the Church’s long search for a permanent new Pastor. Above all, Stan was our friend.
Yesterday we were swapping emails and puns with Stan. He had a great sense of humor and was particularly fond of puns. Today, without warning, while having lunch with a friend, he passed out and died.
A friend and a companion, he presided over our last vow renewal. We will miss him very much. We already do.
With camera in hand, exploring European lands, cultures, food, and drink...mostly with a plan, but sometimes enjoying the adventure of just getting lost.
