Religion and Evolution Without Gymnastics: A Response to David P. Barash

    Keep calm, I tell myself. Keep calm.
    But illogical arguments don't sit well with me. Typically I ignore them. Okay, half the time I ignore them. And by ignore, I mean I don't rant online about them, just to my cats or my sister.
    Ahem.
    But since this latest piece deals directly with science and religion, two things I'm pretty passionate about, I'll respond. (Also my dear twin asked me for my thoughts).
    So, last night my sister forwarded me an opinion article published in The New York Times, written by a biology professor named David P. Barash. Dr. Barash presents, once again, the argument that God and science are incompatible masked as a defense of evolution.
    I've heard this a lot, and I used to believe it. Now I don't, so I'd like to respond to Dr. Barash.
    But, first of all, I'm aware that Dr. Barash is a distinctive scientist, whereas I'm, uh, just starting a PhD program. I respect him as a scientist who knows a heck of a lot more than me about science, but I don't think that means his arguments are above critique.
    Also, I'd recommend you read the article before continuing, or I might sound (more) nonsensical.

    Okay, ready? Let's go through this.

     1. I’m not a legal expert, but I would like to know if this "Talk" violates separation of church and state. If I'm wrong, do inform me. Update: see comment below. It doesn't. It helps having friends who know legal issues. :D
     But I still find it problematic that he's saying he wants his students to choose, while telling his students "they will have to undertake some challenging mental gymnastic routines.” That’s as close to saying “your belief is wrong and as a scientist you can’t believe in it” as you can get without saying it outright. And if they’re not asking him his opinion, he has no right to give this indoctrination - I mean, talk. They signed up for biology, not philosophy. Your job as a professor is to prove evolution, not the lack of logic in religion. 
     2. Granted, he says his point is that evolution is correct and we can’t twist science. Well, yes, we can’t twist facts - including evolution (yes, I agree that evolution is true). But in his essay, he focuses more on disproving God’s compatibility with evolution than ACTUALLY proving evolution, which makes me question his true motives. But, again, I don't know him personally and it's hard to guess his motives based on one essay. So, pardon the cliché, take my opinion here with a grain of salt.
     3. Most importantly: in his essay, he engages no argument for the Bible not being a science book. He doesn’t mention Francis Collins’ work, or Peter Enns’ work, or any of the number of scientists and scholars who don't engage in “gymnastics” or “nostalgia” (which we all know are code words for “your belief is irrational”).
     Personally, as a scientist (though not a biologist) I don’t see a conflict. Now, I've heard that the Bible uses an intersex term for the first human before creating man and woman through Adam's rib, which could imply evolution. But whether you buy that interpretation or not, the Creation story reveals the truth that God put His image in us, that God intends for a good, restorative creation. Not chaos. Not evil. Not a balance of good and evil. Good. If we read the Bible to glean this message, there is no mental gymnastic - or nostalgia.
     4. Why is there no nostalgia? I could be wrong, but I’m guessing Barash views the Christianity-is-compatible-with-evolution faith as nostalgic because we don’t want to give up our Imaginary Jesus Friend. Except, we don’t read Genesis to understand Jesus; we read Jesus to understand Genesis. Jesus shows God’s ultimate act of restoration, which God started in Genesis. That’s not nostalgic, it’s a logical and reasoned interpretation of a text using Jesus as our hermeneutic.
      In essence, Dr. Barash has constructed a straw man in which He views Christians who believe in evolution as ignorantly as Young-Earth Creationists view us (in fact, if he would have his students accept his arguments based on a straw man, he is using the exact same tactic as a YEC, only his threat is “nostalgia and lack of reason” rather than “ unbeliever").      
     Unless he engages in a Christian evolutionist’s actual arguments, listens, and thoughtfully explains why he believes otherwise - and presents ALL evidence to his students - why on earth is he giving this talk? And, for the record, should he actually accommodate other views into this talk, I personally believe he should still present this in a philosophy of science class, or in office hours. Not in biology lecture. 
     All that being said, I'd like to make it clear that Dr. Barash is entitled to his opinion that evolution and religion are incompatible. I just don't think he's entitled to imply that's the only conclusion one can reach.

    *End rant.*

Love,
Kelley

Round and Round: Me and My Body

***A very serious trigger warning for eating disorders, friends.***

    According to my medical reports, I've gained weight over the last year.
    I originally requested my doctor not to reveal my weight to me. But then last Friday happened.
    I frantically looked up my medical records online. I also searched how to lose 10 pounds in a week, and considered starving and dehydrating myself because, you know, water weight.

    I tend to use food as my comfort. Sugary food. Like frosting. I <3 frosting. Cake drowning in frosting.
    Well, apparently that, and not my refusal to starve myself, has led to me gaining 10 pounds this year.
    And I want it off. I'm tired of pinching my fat and wearing loose skirts and oversized pants because I can't look at myself in a mirror anymore.
    I'm tired of being terrified to wear a bathing suit.
   
    I'm disturbed that I still envy the anorexic girls I pass on the street, with their thigh gaps and frail arms.
    I know that weight is not sexy. But it always felt comfortable for me (even though I could probably lose half my body weight and never have a thigh gap).

    I thought I was done with this.

    It's easy to scream and blame the jerk who catcalled me for my "big booty" Friday night. But I have to admit these feelings - these feelings of self-revulsion and insecurity, the appeal of 1200 calories a day, and the fond memories of being stick skinny - were brewing for a while. I guess the sexist jerk just brought them to the surface quicker.
   
    At least I've learned to appreciate my reddish hair and blue eyes and even to like my face, which I never did before. I'm gaining a personality and I love chemistry and I love writing. I especially love people.
    It's a start. A good start, I hope.
    But it's not an end. Which means I'll have head to back to my counselor and have a conversation about something I thought was over and done.
    But this cycle needs to end like my neighbor's music. I don't want this, not really. I know the damage to my mind soul is a hefty price that will never be worth it.

    Yeah, there's no real point to this post. Other than honesty, which I hope is a bigger deal than I feel it is. Edit: yes, there is a point. Sometimes saying stuff, the hard and sticky secret stuff, aloud can reduce the secret's power. 

    So, no, old and new eating disorder temptations, you don't have absolute power over me. I prefer to give my power to Jesus and help others with it, not starve myself. Kthnxbye.

   Anyhow:
    Here's a hug for you all.
    And some kittens.

Love,
Kelley
   

I'm Afraid I'll Become an Atheist

    Can I tiptoe up to you? Can I whisper in your ear?
    I have a secret.
    I know, I know.
    I ask too many questions.
    Look, I'm a scientist. I live on questions. But wonders on chemical bond formations aren't the type of questions I'm talking about.
    I'm talking about those questions, the questions that raise eyebrows and churn my stomach with fears of heresy. The questions like is God good? Is Christianity true? What's the point of life in light of eternity?
    So can I tell you my secret?
    Here goes.
    I'm afraid my questions...will turn me into an atheist.

THE HORROR!

    Side note: I know atheists who are among my kindest, most intelligent and helpful friends. I sincerely hope they know I'm not insulting them here.
    It's just, I like my faith. I want it to be true, so I don't want to be an atheist. (And maybe there's a tiny part of me still afraid of excommunication followed by an eternal barbecue...will you just stop, inner fundamentalism?).
    But, yeah. I want to be a Christian.
    I love the idea of God as Creator. God as Storyteller. A God Who believes in redemption and love and hope and good. A God who is so deeply intimate and personal He came to Earth to become one of us, a God who sees value in every. last. person.
    I want the chance to love everyone who ever existed (well, nearly everyone. I'm not perfect, so I freely admit I'd be icky about, say, Hitler and Nero and Genghis Khan - sorry).
    I want the chance to know that subverting oppression is not in vain.
    I want to see that everyone is special (as much as I love The Incredibles, the phrase "when everyone is special...nobody is" is nonsense. If everyone is special, everyone is special).
    I want redemption. Forever. I don't want this to be it.
   - Not for the victims of the Crusades and the Holocaust and the IS and North Korea
   - Not for the privileged but suicidal transgender American teenager
   - Not the inner city kid enticed into a gang, shot dead before he even reached two decades
   - Nor the bitter old man who's all, all alone
   - Not even the bigoted, venomous people who don't understand good.
    I want love to win, to really win, and I want God to be Love (Thanks, 1 John).
    Y'all are too wonderful and I hope and pray we actually have a God who is up there and Who is good.
    I know, I need rational reasons for belief. I have them, but I won't pretend they're hard proof.

    This post isn't a defense of my beliefs. It's not even a complete explanation.
    It's something I just wanted to say.

    I feel (gasp!) that many of us Christians are so caught up in defending their faith, we make it sound like eternal blackmail. A no-way-out situation. You have to believe or suffer eternal sadism, so you'd best do it.
    Desire isn't really mentioned. Maybe we realize we've been bad people and desire forgiveness, but we don't generally hear about people wanting to be a Christian because it's good.
    What if we admitted that the "good news" isn't behavior modification or get-blessed-quick schemes? What if we admitted that the good news is, well, goodness? Redemption, forgiveness, salvation, justice and grace and mercy, humility and listening, freedom from oppressors, they're all part of this good.
    Plus, I have this smidgen of an feeling that all good reflects God Our Author (to bring this full circle: hence my many questions. I'm looking at you, genocidal Book of Joshua).

    So if you ask me why I'm a Christian? Yeah, I'll be honest: a large part of it is because that's who I want to be.
    Why do you believe why you believe (or don't believe), and do you like it?

Love,
Kelley

The Bible Can't Save Us

    The Bible cannot save me.
    The Bible can't save anyone.
    Certainly the Bible is profitable for doctrine once understood in its context. But the Bible cannot save us.
    The Bible did not redeem me. The Bible is not the Word in the Beginning.
    The Bible cannot love me, or you, or anyone.
    The Bible cannot whisper the voice of God. Certainly God can whisper through the Bible, but the Bible is an object. A holy, inspired collection of stories, both poetic and narrative, yes, but it's still an object.
    The Bible is not God. We were created by a Trinity, not a Quarterinity (which isn't even a word, but you get the point).
    And so, the Bible cannot save us.

***

    I've been wanting to pen this post for a while, but I hesitated because people will judge me I know I'm a bad Christian could anyone relate?
    But a few days ago a lovely post went up at Sheloves Magazine from a writer named Heather, explaining that she stopped reading the Bible because reading it shredded her heart every time.
    Which is basically my story, too. Tears pricked my eyes when I read Heather's words because I thought that, just maybe, I felt God whisper to me through a blog post.

***

    I've written a bit before about my struggles with scrupulosity.
    So when I hear the typical evangelical encouragement to memorize Scripture, I cringe, because they don't know how much I've done that. How much I chanted verse and prayers in my head whenever I faced temptation, repeating them until I got them worded exactly right. Exactly.
    When I hear a well-meaning pastor's encouragement to get up early each morning and read the Bible, I feel cold. Because they don't know about the times I spent an hour meticulously reading every. word. of a chapter, making sure I knew every freaking definition, making sure I gleaned meaning from even the most tedious verses (hence why I hated Ezekiel: and he took his rod and measured, and the temple was this many cubits by this many cubits...).
    These compulsions were so ingrained in me that, even when I ignored God in all other aspects of life in high school, I continued my chants and prayers.
    And naturally, when I finally decided I wanted God again, I started reading the Bible with renew purpose.
    Every. Day. Making sure I underlined and reread anything I wasn't getting meaning from. I took special care on the days before college exams, so God would bless me on the test and not punish me for putting biology/chemistry first.
    I was scared, I think. I wanted to Do The Right Thing, and the Right Thing was a formula that fit everyone.

Geez this image triggers anxiety.

    But formulas and feelings only take you so far. When the stress and anxiety began piling on junior year of college, and when the depression collapsed senior year, my Bible reading collapsed into a formula devoid of meaning.
    I kept reading, determined to affirm I was still following a God I doubted and couldn't hear from, so people couldn't accuse me of being depressed because I'd fallen away from God (for those who don't speak Christianese, "falling away" describes the unintentional process of prioritizing the secular over God until we no longer care about Him).
    Heck, even when I started recovery and my church attendance plummeted whilst I began re-examining every belief, I still read daily. No longer a chapter, however. I just read a story of Jesus' ministry.
    I was disappointed that nothing changed. I was still doing it because I had to. Bible devotionals incited rage or gave me panic attacks.
    When I returned from the Mideast, I have to admit, my daily Bible readings went the way of the dodo bird.
    Strangely, not reading my Bible every day, I felt closer to God.

***

    I want to love the Bible.
    I don't think I do.
    I love what the Bible reveals - a God who loves us, who told us to love Him and others as the greatest commandment. A God who came to earth to live among us, a God who would rather die Himself than kill us. A God who defeated death, a God who promises that life ought not be how it is, who promises that He is alive and restoration will occur.
    But I'm horrendously confused by the Old Testament stories of God-approved genocide, and I'm ripped apart inside when I read of a lake of fire. I'm repulsed by the use of Bible verse to bash the victimized while we conveniently ignore Matthew 7:1.
    I know there are books dealing with these messes. Peter Enns just released a book on it. Maybe I'll do some reading and come away with a different perspective, ready to read the Bible again.

   ***

    Heather said she just wasn't ready to read the Bible yet. I guess you could say that's where I am, too.
    It'd be nice to wake up each morning and treasure the Bible. But I'm not there yet, and I'm not sure when or if I will be.
    I guess it's good then, that the Bible doesn't save us; God does.

Love,
Kelley

Woman in a City

*Trigger warnings for language and discussions of sexual violence.

All women is not an exaggeration here, either, friends.

    I was shamelessly singing Mat Kearney to myself as I hurried back home. It was a crisp Sunday evening and Boston glowed behind me, sending a multitude of colors shimmering off the Charles River. I passed the campus I'd attend class early the next morning, sped up as I approached my apartment.
    In the day I take a shortcut through a side street, but at night I opted to take the "safer" main street.
    I was kinda lost in thought and song, in a mood as bright as the city.
    So when I heard his taunt, I didn't realize that the old man was yelling at me until I saw that his eyes were fixated on me.
    My heart sped up, my fists curled, and all I could think was I'm almost home.
    But what if he was following me?
    With a shiver, I whirled around. No old man.
    When I turned onto the side street, I passed two guys on their phones. Their mere presence typically only provokes the slightest unease, but now it provoked actual fear.

    If you don't think feminism is needed, you have never imagined being a woman in a city.
 
    The old man invited me to "do something" with him if I "have that feeling" while I was walking alone at night, sure.
    I've also been invited to fuck in broad daylight. While I was in a group.

    I've been hollered at by old men on benches dressed in one of my favorite skirts and feeling cute.
    I've also been heckled for my "fine ass" dressed in a oversized jacket and shorts, and invited to flash while I'm wearing a loose T-shirt and shorts (and no, I don't have long legs, so don't tell me shorts were the problem).

    I'm tired of being scared of men. Men are complex human beings with God's image.
    No, I'm not tired. "Tired" is too nice a word. I'm freaking sick of this.
    I'm freaking sick of having to take care that I'm walking in well-lit sections so I probably won't get raped.* And, as Sunday night showed, there's no avoiding harassment, none at all.
    I'm freaking sick of having to worry about sexual assault on my way home from work or a friend's house at, say, 7 or 8 pm.

    When the system enforces one gender to take precautions to avoid attacks by another gender, that is a huge problem. Why can't we be one united body of human beings? Different, we all are, man or woman or intersex, but why can't we all be understood as human beings? God made us! We're awesome! We're unique! We can celebrate without needing power! Please, let's love each other. Please.
     We need to love each other.

    Jesus have mercy. On all of us. Give us hope.

Love,
Kelley

*I realize sexual assault happens to men too, and I'm not trying to diminish that horror; I'm merely writing my own experiences here.