What Good Friday doesn’t mean to me
There is nothing bad about having a day in our calendar called Good Friday. Friday happens to be my favourite day of the week. Today is a special day observed around the world, filled with symbolism and celebration. I will celebrate, too, but it has nothing to do with religious observance.
In today’s Globe and Mail, John Stackhouse Jr. writes about his take on Good Friday. Stackhouse ends his article with these words: “God does for us what we can’t do for ourselves, rescuing us from the doom caused by our own actions. For Christians, that’s good news. That’s Good Friday.”
This has me reflecting.
Christ by Rembrandt
I was born and raised in the Christian Protestant faith, though I would not say we had a religious household. I went to church, sometimes, and attended Sunday School, sometimes. Always in the midst of the sermons and church with its spectacular stained glass windows, somewhere deep inside me I questioned the stories I was hearing. As a child, I did not understand that what I was hearing was mythology. I did not yet have the consciousness to know the difference between fantasia and reality. Yet, my inner compass always seemed off centre.
For instance, I continually asked myself how can a dead man come back alive? I had seen many images of Jesus being resurrected, but at a deep level I didn’t buy into the story. Just like I didn’t buy into the story about a boat that held many animals that marched onto it two-by-two. These stories kept me questioning about the truth.
I am obviously not an academic or scholar. Nor do I, as an adult, subscribe to any religion. What I am is curious. What I have been doing for the past few years (in my spare time) is my research, which points to this: organized religions disempower people. True religiosity should never disempower. While it is true that organized religions give us community for us to deal with death, birth and other major life milestones that humans experience and require support of another, how beneficial can it be if it keeps us “small, contained and shackled?” I find no comfort in mythologies, as much as I love to learn about and study them. More than anything, I am perplexed by the gazillions of people around the world who blindly buy into the fantasia without asking the simplest of questions.
So while I came into the world as a Christian purely by default, as a grown woman who makes her own way in life, I “question.” I look for my answers in nature and in science.
Going back to Stackhouse’s comments, if Christians are looking to God as any kind of savior rescuing us from our own actions, then we, by default, disempower ourselves with this kind of thinking.
And so, today I will celebrate Good Friday in a way that has personal meaning to me. How will you celebrate?
Photo credit: Christ by Rembrandt (1661). I include this here because I recently had the privilege of viewing it in person and admire it for its depth and mastery.
Death is Life: Farewell to a Friend
I received sad and unexpected news yesterday that a long-time friend and mentor, Allan Reynolds, suddenly passed away this week. He had passed away, as it turns out, only hours after I received an email from him congratulating me on all that I am doing and wishing me continued success.
I have been rolling around in my mind many images, conversations, laughs and experiences we had together in more than 20 years since we have known each other, since he was my boss when I worked in the PR agency world. He was, without a doubt, one of the best PR pros in the country. I have been trying to find a way to deal with my grief, and have come to realize there is no way to “deal with” grief, but only to experience it and go through it. Plain and simple: I feel sad.
Death, as a topic, is not something I had intended to write about much here in my blog, not in this space, but with this news of my friend and mentor’s death, and the recent passing – and near death — of other friends and acquaintances, I find myself in a state of reflection and contemplation, filled with questions that have no answers.
Death is not a topic people want to read about, because deep in our psyches we cannot comprehend it and, probably more importantly, do not want to face the hard truth that one day, we, too, will slip away from the physical world; this world that we have come to know by our human senses and feel comfort in experiencing our existence, even if that existence is a mere illusion.
For centuries, philosophers, writers, scientists, theologians and other deep thinkers have pondered our existence, the world on “this side” and “that side” of the veil that is fragile in its ability to separate “this” from “that” — and whatever lies ahead. I am one of those ponderers. For some, religion offers grievers of lost loved ones support and some wisdom in its dogma, tradition and writings. I just find no comfort in any of it.
I am reminded of a book I had read not that long ago about happiness. The author tells a Buddhist parable, to paraphrase, of an individual who begged for Buddha to bring back to life a loved one who had just died. Buddha told this individual to visit all the houses in the village and see if they could discover one house not touched by death. Alas, the individual found no house not touched by death.
What I seem to be resisting, and yet, slowing coming around to accept, is this: death is life. The death process begins at birth. Therefore, we are all dying from the moment we are born. As we age, we are touched by death more and more.
Only a few months ago, I had the opportunity to thank my friend, Allan, for the skills and knowledge I gleaned from working under his wing and guidance many years ago, when I was in my 20s. He groomed me to be a professional. As we sat side-by-side at a gala dinner, his lovely wife on his other side, I thanked the grey-haired, bespectacled, jocular, loveable, hard-working man who still called me “kid,” for playing an important role in making me who I am today. I had thanked him in the past, but for some reason, that night, the last time I would see him, I felt drawn to repeat myself.
And now I know why.
It is never too late to thank people who have touched your heart, support your endeavors and challenged your ideas and dreams. These are the people who help us grow and succeed in life. The two most powerful words “thank you” take almost no effort to say, and yet can have an enormous impact.
Who can YOU thank today?
Katie, Tom and Scientology
Okay, I admit it. I have been following the TomKat divorce news. It has had me intrigued, not just because Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes happen to be one of the most famous celebrity couples in the world. I’ve been fascinated with how the media have been covering their split and, more importantly, how this event has sparked a global conversation about the highly controversial new religion, Scientology.
In my observation, the media has portrayed Katie Holmes as an “angel” — and Tom Cruise as the “devil.” As a seasoned PR pro myself, I’m highly aware of the inner operations and tactics of a PR machine and how an person’s image can be shaped in the way they want it to be shaped. No question, both Holmes and Cruise have sophisticated PR teams behind them.
And I am also certain that the reverse of this image can be made true – it depends on how you want to spin it. Rest assured, Holmes is no angel. And I’ll bet you that there are loads of people who would tell you Tom Cruise is the nicest guy on the planet.
But more than the divorce itself, what I find interesting is how much fear that people– and I mean the masses — have about Scientology, which has been on the forefront of the media coverage. By all accounts, the media has Holmes “fleeing” from her controlling husband and the control of what is being projected as a cult with sinister activities. For instance, there were reports of “Scientology people in dark suits and sunglasses” following Holmes around New York City — which has been noted as the reason she had a contingent of security detail. Give me a break. She needed the bodyguards because of the paparazzi.
People are afraid of what they don’t know. In doing some research on Scientology, the organization seems to have some merit in terms of its emphasis on personal development and helping people fully actualize their potential. While some of the ideology is a bit too far-out for me, it obviously has served a purpose for those who subscribe to its teachings. But that is the same for any religion or spiritual group — or self-help guru — that holds its own belief system.
These are two human beings who could not make a marriage work. I suspect that, when reading between the lines based on what Katie herself has said in a recent interview, at some point she became unhappy, perhaps with more than just her marriage.
I can only imagine how unpleasant the media coverage has been for these two people, especially for Cruise.
Why the Easter Bunny is my hero
Today is Easter Sunday. While many families are spending the day together, I have chosen to catch up on some of my creative projects — and reflect.
When I was a kid, I loved Easter Sunday. The reason I loved Easter more than any other day of the year had nothing whatsoever to do with some ancient guy named Jesus supposedly being brought back from the dead. It had absolutely nothing to do with finding meaning or anything deep. Nope. It had everything to do with something much more important. Something that would impact me profoundly for the rest of my life.
The Easter Bunny.
Every Easter morning, my siblings and I would wake up early to hunt for the little chocolate eggs wrapped in colourful foil hidden behind and underneath furniture, and in our older home’s nooks and crannies. Sometimes they could be found outside on the ground in a basket next to a tree. The night before the “Great Event,” I would lie in bed imagining what the Easter Bunny looked like. I had it in my mind the oversized rabbit was a “he,” probably due to the song Peter Cottontail and the mass marketing of Peter Rabbit. However, I was perplexed about how this male rabbit could lay eggs. I mean, he is a guy after all!
Then there was the tradition of dying eggs. Sometimes we would dip cold, smelly, boiled eggs in food dyes. For the Ukrainian Easter holiday (my mother is Ukrainian-Canadian), I would get together with my grandmother (Baba) and we would make pysanky — dying the eggs red and writing on them with beeswax in the traditional Eastern Christian Orthodox way. It was a terrific excuse for me to spend time with my grandmother, who would teach me how to speak Ukrainian and sternly correct me when I would say, ahem, phrases my Great uncles taught me that, unbeknownst to me, must not be repeated – especially to a grandmother. I digress.
Now, I confess: I am not religious. Even though I grew up in a Christian household, as an adult with my own opinions and values, I decided years ago to not subscribe to any religious group. Looking back, I have never really felt like I fit in anywhere, in any group, including religious groups. I respect all the great religions and other people’s beliefs. But, for me, I find wisdom and love, and talk to God when I want to, not by kneeling on a pew, but when I tune into to my heart and soul.
Well, okay, and the Easter Bunny.
So where did this idea of rabbits and eggs at Easter come from?
Easter folklore is intriguing. If you study it, you will discover that hares and eggs are associated with fertility from the time of antiquity. In medieval Christianity, the hare was symbolic for, get this, a hermaphrodite. So how on Earth did we ever get the idea that rabbits (male bunnies) lay eggs? It’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?
Well, all I know is that as a kid, I liked it. It didn’t need to have any deep meaning. It was simply this: fun. Thanks to the Easter Bunny — my hero.
Who is YOUR hero?
© Shannon Skinner 2012
