religion

Tourists. Damn Tourists.

| ThoughtFossils

9/11 hit a little differently this year. I thought about it all day yesterday and when today came, my mind was a complete mess, which got even hazier as the day wore on.

I’m not entirely sure what made it so different. It could be the already horrible weight of the global pandemic.
It could be the reminder that 9/11 is a childhood friend’s birthday with whom I cut ties recently because of my support for BLM.
It could be because deconstructing religion has made me more aware that most of the awful evils ever done were done in the name of a god by indoctrinated people across all beliefs.
It could be because I never fully grasped thus never fully grieved the loss and terror of that day, as I was a child when it happened.

Sad to admit, but I too, believed in part some of the conspiracies going around about 9/11. My embarrassment at this fact, coupled with disgust and horror that those theories are still alive and well, could also be a reason for why this year it all hits a little harder.

My 10 year old self was in school that day, and we were excitedly preparing for the annual open house when our parents would meet our teachers and mingle. I vividly remember catching a glimpse of another teacher’s TV as my class walked past his classroom. That’s when I saw that surreal image of the towers up in smoke. Settled in at my desk, much to my dismay, we were informed that the open house is cancelled. The rest of the day was chaos and confusion. We mainly sat around until dismissal while the teachers whispered in the hallways. I don’t remember if my teacher had said anything as to what is actually going on, but it was clear that something very serious has happened.

When I got home, my mom ran out of our apartment to collect me from the bus stop which was maybe 30 meters from our front door. She ran towards me and with fear and trembling in her voice said: “Terrorists! Get inside! Terrorists!” I did not know what terrorists were. I actually thought that she said “tourists,” so I imagined a throng of overweight white people, in wide brimmed hats and Hawaiian shirts, getting off of a tour bus and walking like zombies. Oh to be 10 again—reality was not so kind and well-humored.

As someone who is just now coming to grips with the reality of that fateful September day, I’ve not much useful insight to add, but through all of this, I’ve again learned that life can be unrelentingly cruel sometimes. Most of the time as of late, thanks  2020. Today I am also reminded of just how short and volatile life is. How precious and rare are moments of comfort and calm. How important it is to love people, to be kind, and to consistently check our beliefs to make sure that they are not hindering our ability to show love and compassion towards others.

In Christianity specifically, the second most important commandment uttered by Jesus is: “love your neighbor as yourself”. Who is my neighbor? Using a parable, Jesus beautifully illustrates that one’s neighbor is the one others would consider an outsider. It is the one who is hurting, the one who is in need, the one who may cost you some of your own resources. Our neighbors are those who the church has cast out and distanced themselves from, deeming them “unclean”. Loving our neighbor can look like inter-faith friendships, diverse community, social programs/assistance, giving a voice to the voiceless, making room at the table for the marginalized, using our privilege and platform to benefit those who could be drowned out by us instead.

As I write this, it’s all coming together.

THIS is the true gospel that I’ve been deconstructing towards. It’s not interpretations and hermeneutics, not even the trinity or atonement, *gasp*.

It is loving our neighbor enough to give them a chance at enjoying and living a full and beautiful life, because life is precious, but damn, it. Is. Fleeting.

Rain, rain, go away.

| ThoughtFossils

It’s been a while, and I’m sorry that this isn’t going to be a very feel good pick me up sort of post.

But that’s ok.

The current state of America is not for the faint of heart. Highest COVID fatalities, systemic racism, police brutality, political polarization, riots, lock downs, and patriots. So. Many. “Patriots”.

As many others, I have been thinking through a lot, and though I almost feel like a fraud because I really don’t have much to bring to the table, I still want to take part in the conversation.

Tonight I sat down to catch up on some school work. I have become so wearied from the state of things, particularly the callousness of religious people (oh the irony) towards literally anything that involves others catching up to said religious people at their mere inconvenience. Dear god, the privilege.

Sadly, I was part of that as well, and I am not out of the woods just yet. Leaning into my ignorance is not a very pleasant or desirable experience. But pretending that it doesn’t exist is no longer an option.

As I booted up my laptop, I heard the pitter-patter of rain outside.

KA-BOOM.

Thunder.

Lightening.

Random cheers from neighbors.

Again.

I was deeply moved by the contrast of the sheer force and power of nature and my own helplessness.

Taking in the light-show and steadying calmness of the rain, I wanted to pour my heart out onto paper.

Hate, Hate, Go Away

If only rain could wash away the evil in this world
If only rain could soothe and clean out wounds
If only rain could water seeds of love and kindness

If only thunder was the rumblings of Justice condemning hate to hell
And lightening, the teacher who erased all ignorance and called
out those walking in its darkness..

Yet, rain can only fall.

And as it falls, it falls like tears as humanity
weeps for the mess we’ve made of ourselves

It only falls and weeps.

Take care of yourself. Stay well.



I Done Goofed

| ThoughtFossils

Hey friend. I hope you’re well.

I’m currently sitting by the window in my room, listening to my son playing in the next room, singing his ABC’s “C B C D E F G H M M M O P”. It’s a snowy day here in the GTA, and I don’t mind it one bit.

I wanted to share a follow-up on my Van Gogh post. It’s kind of funny, to me at least.

After spending an emotional evening Googling Van Gogh’s life, I wrote and published the piece, sharing it on a few social media platforms. The response was lovely. People were moved and found the story resonating with them, especially Van Gogh’s struggle “I wish they would just take me as I am.”

One comment stood out above the rest though. For some unknown reasons, it’s now deleted, but I will paraphrase: “Interesting observation. My church usually turns the lights off at night, so if it was painted, it wouldn’t have light in its windows either.”

Light-bulb moment.

Are you guys with me?

I laughed and laughed when I read that comment. Like, DUH, the commentator isn’t wrong! Based on the position of the Moon and Venus(the brighter object to the bottom-left of the moon) we know that Van Gogh painted the piece in the early hours of the morning(at least that’s what the painting tells us, if he was painting what he saw). The lights technically would be off in public buildings, while residences are just beginning to wake up and start their day.

I was genuinely stumped after this comment because she’s not wrong. Was I just reading too much into the painting? Am I allowing it to affect some past hurts?

And that’s the beauty of art.

For some, it can have a profound impact and really resonate with their journey. They can relate to the artist’s struggle of trying his best for his God, but still falling short in the eyes of rich and powerful men. While for others it’s about being economical and practical: turn off the lights when you’re the last one to leave the room. Neither interpretation is wrong, and I love that!

Knowing what we know of Van Gogh’s religious background and experiences, in addition to his artistic brilliance, I think it is safe to assume that the lack of light in the windows is a subtle hint at his feelings. In my previous post I mentioned that I could go on so many tangents, and one really could extrapolate many different meanings from studying the painting and artist.

Life is very much like that, isn’t it? There are so many things that are unclear, so many things that are far more gray than they are black and white. Being able to share these observations and becoming aware of other peoples experiences helps us understand and see the world for what it is, a brilliant spectrum of vivid colors revealed by a constantly shifting prism.

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.com

Here I am again, reading so much meaning into a simple online exchange.

Whatever your take-away from either of these stories, please do turn off the lights when you’re the last one to leave the room. I promise I won’t try to read too much into it.

Thanks for reading,

Love, Kris.

Van Gogh: This is not about his ear

| ThoughtFossils

I have to admit, I am no art connosseiur. I don’t even know how to spell connosseiur. (I won’t auto-correct just to prove my point, but why would you put the “i” after the “o” in the correct spelling- now that I’ve Googled it? French words are hard).

One does not need to be even remotely interested in art to have heard of Van Gogh, his ear incident, or- one of my now favorites- the Starry Night. I have always been mesmerized by the swirling pattern and the calming blue hues. As Neil deGrasse Tyson points out, it is the only painting named for its background and it’s an accurate representation of the night sky over where it was painted. However, there is one thing that I never noticed: the lights.

I was listening to an episode of Ask Science Mike recently, and he shared that Van Gogh was actually a preacher in his earlier years, which is a well-known fact I was not aware of (recall: not a connoisseur). More interesting than that, moved by the poverty of the mining town he was serving, Van Gogh gave away his middle-class belongings and showed up to preach many-a-times with hay in his hair or looking disgruntled because he slept on floors in a bid to live humbly. He wanted to embody his Christ, the man-of-sorrows.

And so he was fired by the church. Weren’t expecting that one, were you?

Apparently putting into practice the love and compassion of Jesus is not how to live out one’s faith. We can talk about Jesus, but that feeding the poor thing? Nope, not for us, lest we be too zealous. (I could go on so many tangents right now, but let’s focus. That’s mainly a note to self)

Van Gogh’s Starry Night

When you look at the Starry Night, pay attention to the windows of the buildings. Notice how there is a church in the middle? It has no lights in its windows. There is a light in the window of every single building but the church’s. The one place that claims to know the source of light stands tall, but dark.

Left embittered and impoverished by this place that also teaches love and acceptance, Van Gogh left the church, later writing in a letter to his brother Theo: “I wish they would only take me as I am.”

Please tell me I did not over-react by getting emotional when all of this came together for me?

Either way, I did get emotional. Here we have a young man completely devoted to his God, only to be told that he’s actually not supposed to act on his faith/convictions to benefit the less fortunate. In one account I heard that he gave away all of the money given him by the church to buy a house. That could explain why they didn’t like his fervor. I just find it so ironic though. And frustrating.

I imagine this young man, 27 at the time, feeling utterly powerless. Having done nothing inherently wrong, he was receiving two completely different messages from sources that are supposed to line up in their values. Scriptures: “feed the poor…blessed are the meek…the son of man had no place to lay his head…” The church: “hang out with better company…you are too zealous…here is a tremendous amount of money that can help a lot of people, buy yourself a house.”

I think it a splendid saying of Victor Hugo’s, ‘Religions pass away, but God remains.’

Van Gogh on God

The tall and dark church is a subtle, yet powerful image 120 years after its creation. Who would have though that simple brush strokes on a canvas and the absence of yellow could so accurately represent the state of the church today.

“I wish they would only take me as I am,” reminds me of the parable of the prodigal son. How, when the son returned to his father, it was the father who clothed him. It was the father who gave him his title. It was the father who hugged and kissed him. It was the father who ran to him while he was still a long way away.

I’m left wondering, how many people- like Van Gogh- has the church rejected, when the father would have not only embraced them, but given them a title and noble clothes? Are we even in that place to say who gets in and who doesn’t? (no, we are not)

By all the rules of the day, the father had every right to throw his son in jail for the disrespect and shame the son brought on the family. Yet- yet we see the father taking in his son, just as he is.

If he had never experienced this pain, maybe we’d never have Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Or maybe, we would have had Van Gogh a little longer.

His life took a lot of interesting turns, and it did end in rather tragic circumstances, but for me, the absence of yellow is the biggest lesson that I learned from Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

I want to be where that light is, even if it’s found in the most unlikely places.

-Kris