We Celebrate a Wedding, We Celebrate Life

    I may be melodramatic, but, you know, the world is still falling apart.
    Instead of marrying his girlfriend, a man lies very, very sick with Ebola in Dallas.
    An aid worker had his head cut off by extremists who mistakenly believe that violence will fulfill them.
    And now another aid worker, who isn't that much older than me, will might be next.
    Justice has been reduced to a wisp of a word down in Missouri.
    All my concerns about exams and perpetual singleness, all my fascination with chemistry and atonement theories and fantasy stories, stories, stories - they feel very small indeed.
    No, in truth, they feel stupid. Shallow.
    When people are dying, when a psychopathic North Korean dictator imprisons people based on preposterous lies, how can I dream of romance and idealism and mystery? How can I smile, even?
    And yet what can I, what can we, do?
    People are dying, and I can't help them, and it is killing my soul.

    They tell me to pray. Why?
    It feels hopeless. What good will prayers do when a body is too weak, when a person is too brainwashed, when a person is too trapped to save themselves?
    And yet I remember that night, on my knees, screaming up at God.
    I remember crying when someone was saved from death.

    I remember not only that answered prayer, but also the epiphany of sorts I had afterwards: I can no longer give merit to the power of evil.
    This isn't a dismissal of evil. It exists, oh God! it exists.
    This is a choice, of sorts. A choice that says I am trying, desperately trying, not to let evil have credit in any more of my life. I don't want to cower before its blackness, to believe its caustic despair, to be enticed by its smiles.
    I just want good, whatever it is. And ultimately, I hope and put my faith in good being God.

    And so when I ask what point are our stories, what point are our hopes and dreams, what point are our smiles and laughter and weddings, I wonder if the point is the things themselves.
    Because they are life.
    Stories begin with creation, with life. Stories testify to life.
    Hope keeps you hanging on. Dreams inspire you forward. Smiles and laughter, they celebrate.  
    They're all life.
    And weddings - if even two people come together when everything else has fallen apart, death and evil have not won.
    And so we will celebrate a wedding (like the Weasleys during Voldemort's takeover), because maybe in a wedding, a small part of the holy grace of hope comes alive.

Kittens are life too. Don't deny it.

Love,

Kelley

P.S. Congratulations to the lovely cousin and her fantastic husband whose wedding inspired this post. :)

Killing My Church Darling

    Within the the never-ending advice to writers, one common phrase is "kill your darlings."  
    That beautiful passage you've written?? That scene you love, love, love so much, even though it doesn't quite fit into the direction your story is taking?
    Kill it. Edit it out. (I have personally spent many an agonizing day on editing issues).
    And man, is it painful. Because, like, my story won't be the same without that golden metaphor right there...AND I LIKE IT THERE!!!

    Now, there's probably many real-life analogies we could make here. One particularly relevant one for me of late has, for better or worse, been church.
    Church had been my darling for a long while. My attendance proof that I was The Good Christian Making Effort to Keep Up With God. Oh heck no, I wasn't walking away from God. Not me.
    Then, last winter, when I started climbing back up after months of severe depression, I realized I was just plain sick of church.
    Not of God or people (okay, not most people), but I was sick of doing What I Was Supposed To Do. I was sick of following a formula that, for me, led to more anxiety and frustration than anything else.
     Simultaneously, I began reexamining my beliefs in general, a reexamination catalyzed by the advice I'd often received: "spending more time with God" would cure cure my depression. Because I now knew this wasn't necessarily true, I began wondering what else might not be true.
    And as welcoming, as nonjudgemental, as lovely as my church in Boston was, I became very angry at Christian Culture in general. I was furious that mentally ill Christians are largely considered "lesser" for their struggles. I was furious at the way many denominations reflect our culture's oppression of women, dressed up in hollow words like "God's design." I was furious at the way many Christians thought abandoning a child would convict gay couples of their sin.
    I'm still furious, to be honest.
    So I killed my darling. Meaning I cut out church out of my life for nearly a full semester. Silently I fretted that I'd slipped away from God and was sliding down a path of eternal damnation, but those Sundays at home certainly left me in a less anxious go-go-go state of mind.
    Then I went to the Mideast and saw people who acted out the part of church for me. I finally felt what my pastor had been saying for years: church wasn't a building or an event, but people. I was safe, happy, loved, and free, free, free, with these people. We could question and doubt and cry and laugh and embrace and be embraced and all that truly mattered was Jesus loves us all. Not to say there wasn't conflict and everything was perfect, but we were a community.
    So when I moved to Cambridge this fall, I was like, sure I'll try church again.

    And then I realized just how many churches there are in Cambridge.
    Shoot.
    Thus far I've visited a modern evangelical church, a Southern Baptist church, a Catholic Mass, and an Orthodox Liturgy. And, yeah, I had some fears about all these services, along with some admitted prejudices against Southern Baptists. But instead of having my fears met, I found lovely communities where people were friendly, welcoming, and not judgmental.
    There were no assumptions that I was a heathen who needed to be interrogated on Gospel 101. Only kindness. Love, maybe I would call it.
    "What's your name?" asked countless of the people at the Baptist church.
    "You're so colorful," said the Catholic priest by way of greeting, which made me grin (I wear bright colors because they make me happy).
    "You can't do anything wrong here," assured the Orthodox Father with a gentle smile.
    And then I realized "I like all these churches now-what-do-I-do," and "Oh yeah, I wanted to try the Episcopal church and that other Baptist church and the Lutheran church too. And the UCC" - now that I finally realized they're not universalist.
    And that's how my anxiety started settling back in.
    So: I decided this semester will be dedicated, on Sundays, to visiting churches of all different traditions. So far God's shown up in the music of the evangelical church, in the people of the Baptist and Orthodox church, in the hymns of the Catholic church. Maybe next time He'll show up with a talking cat, who knows.

    I don't know exactly what I'm looking for in a church. Someplace where questions are encouraged and people love God and me.
    It'd be kinda nice if God would drop a sign and say "Here is Where You Should Attend Church Kelley," but I doubt He will (feel free to surprise me, Jesus).
   Until then, I guess I'll have to content myself with waiting and searching. Nice life lessons, I suppose.
    In retrospect, killing my darling wasn't so bad after all.

Love,
Kelley

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