Us. vs. Them

Right up front, I’ll tell you what this is:  It’s a come-to-Jesus meeting.

And since the Christian world just celebrated the death and resurrection of their Messiah, let’s start with the Crucifixion.

Even as a young girl, growing up in my very small, conservative, traditional Baptist church, I was very aware my Roman Catholic friends were…different.  They were a breed set apart with whom you dare not mix.  [A catholic girlfriend, for instance, who was one of my bridesmaids in 1969, wasn’t allowed to step foot in my protestant church without permission from her priest, so I know these things.]  Besides, they ate fish on Fridays.

Interestingly, very early on we Baptist kids began relishing with great pride and glee OUR Jesus no longer hanging on the cross, while theirs did.  OUR Jesus was raised from the dead.  Theirs was forever dying a grotesque and excruciating death.  No wonder they made penance all the time, because THEIR Jesus never finished dying for their sins!  They proved it by the crucifixes around their necks.  WE wore just the simple, naked, empty cross and made a statement:  OUR Jesus was ALIVE.

Did I tell you about the man in our Baptist church who converted to Roman Catholicism as an adult?  Isn’t that like a Christian converting to Christianity?

Then there were those Jehovah’s Witnesses, you know, who believed in the 144 thousand and didn’t celebrate their birthdays or Christmas or Easter.  And the Pentecostals, with their sawdust floors, speaking in tongues and scaring the bejesus out of us.

Oh, and don’t forget that we Christians, along with our Jewish and Muslim friends, all rose up from the same Abrahamic roots but came up with different Messiahs or none at all.
 

How did that happen?

And who do those Republicans think they are, with their high-tea, holier-than-thou, self-righteous, gun-toting, women-are-less-than-men ignoramuses!  When did they decide to boycott my American dream?  And how did we allow them to have so much power?  Who do they think they are anyway!

A bit closer to home, in the Gay Community we have those people who embarrass us:  the dykes, the femme/butch, the queens, the sissies, the pansies, the leather crowd, the fags.  We certainly don’t want to be associated with them, you know.  God forbid.  We’re not that kind of gay!

Have you noticed, it’s not even subtle!

Why is it that when we don’t know or understand something it scares us and triggers a superiority complex?

And who, pray tell, teaches us that kind of discrimination, often in the name of religion!  Surely we weren’t born bigoted?  Or were we!  Did it somehow seep into the collective genes of our ancestors and get passed on to us?
 

Are we really that afraid of what is different or other?  Didn’t anyone along the line think about breaking the scare-tactic cycle?  Or ignorance?  Locking us all in the same cage till we knew and loved each other?

Living in Europe these days, where I see Roman Catholic icons everywhere I go, I’m coming to terms with a forever-being-crucified Jesus on the cross.  “After all,” I say to myself, “Easter Sunday every year really doesn’t make sense without Jesus on the Black Good Friday cross, does it?  Besides, he did say ‘this do in remembrance of me.’  Surely I can live with that!?!”

“Wait.  It doesn’t mean he never rose from the dead, right?”

For Pete’s sake.  Who cares???????????  Besides, we’re not supposed to talk about sex, politics or religion?!  Just do it!

Duh.

Okay, then.  Meeting adjourned.

Our Shoppe Gallery

While celebrating our weekends, and in the spirit of our global collaboration and community of support, we are featuring our personal art as 'Vision to Verb' notecards. 

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This Do in Remembrance of Me

Collegiate Church of St. Boniface, Freckenhorst, Germany

For every Sunday I can remember before going off to university, I sat on the front row of my preacher dad’s church tracing with my mind’s eye the Old English letters on the Holy Communion table in front of the pulpit:

 

 

I’m guessing everyone here knows not only WHO said that but WHEN and WHERE, no matter what religious background.  Eucharist words.

But when you trace things like that, repeatedly, over and over again, they become stuck somewhere in your subconscious, taking on a mind of their own.  That’s probably why I took a calligraphy class in a past life and inscribed names on Dale Carnegie certificates.  Before that, in another life of wild dreams and great expectations, I labored over the Book of Kells as a female scribe!

Did you know that, over recorded history, Easter Sunday has occurred as early as March 22^nd and as late as April 25^th.  That’s a spread!

It goes like this:  Jesus’ death and resurrection occurred at the time of the Jewish Passover, which was celebrated on the first full moon following the vernal equinox.  By 325CE the Christians (à la the Council of Nicaea) decided Easter would fall on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox.

Got it?

And what is the vernal equinox, you ask???  And when???  SPRING!  And it starts tomorrow.

So, today is March 19, and I’m definitely in the ballpark…even though Easter isn’t until April 20^th this year.  It’s confusing, isn’t it!

All of that to explain why NOW, today, I’m thinking about Easter and how it has taken on a mind of its own.

It so happens that my dad, Carl Clarence, died on the Wednesday before Easter in 1995.  A year later, my brother, Bennett Williams, died a month before Easter.  A year later, my mom, Barbara Nelson, died 30 minutes before Easter.  (Three of my bright morning stars!)

Not that I come to this time of the year wondering if another of my 6 remaining siblings or our children or grandbabies will die, mind you, but rather that it’s a time of remembrance for me now…of those already passed...more than at any other time of the year. 

In fact, what I mean to say about this new mind of its own, is that when we remember those who have died, we start naming our children after them.  Have you noticed? 

Olive Nelson Bennett Sidney Rueben Reuel Barbara Carl Clarence Hodges Susan Elizabeth Virginia Louise Nancy Rebecca Williams James Thomas John Stephen Ruth Ann.

Every one of those names has either been passed on from the generations above and/or to the generations below.  I say generations, plural, because, one name, Ann, was just recently passed to the 3^rd generation below mine in our Hart Tribe.  Another name, Olive, set to be born any day now, comes from 4 generations above.  That’s a spread!

Death is about remembering.  Dying to not forget because nothing lives forever.  Right now we’re dying for spring.  We know it will come, just like every year before.  We don’t doubt it.  We expect it.  We add a spring to our step in anticipation.

It’s the cycle we relive over and over again:  death--resurrection.  The one thing we know for sure is it IS a cycle.  It’s not stuck!  And the good news about that is…we all remember! 

THIS DO IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME

Our Shoppe Gallery

While celebrating our weekends, and in the spirit of our global collaboration and community of support, we are featuring our personal art as 'Vision to Verb' notecards. 

Our hope is that they'll inspire you to join with us in our support of KIVA - empowering people around the world with start-up business loans.