The Theology of Paul McCartney
Probably not the way you pray--who knows? Prayer is so personal. But I would just, rather unceasingly, chatter up to the universe each day. This or that. Nothing of importance. Everything of importance. And I was rewarded with messages. Like Paul McCartney. Getting into the car and PRECISELY at that moment, "Let It Be" coming onto the radio. Signs.
I saw signs all around me.
A perfect cloud in a pristine blue sky. A finch at my bird feeder. Rain on the roof on a cool autumn day while I was snuggled in bed. Pirate Boy's grin. Pirate Boy sleeping. Miracles in each day.
Signs.
And then I stopped praying. I could go into why, but the short version is the unkindest people, as a group, I ever encountered, were at a church. Jesus H. Man-in-the-Moon, I am so done with organized religion I have forbid my children to say prayers for me at my cremation. I would rather they play Springsteen. But other things too. One of my children converted to Islam and is the most loving peace-abiding hippie-sweetie I know--but you can bet I heard it from relatives (not friends--only relatives). The ones who don't know me well. I just saw and heard enough veiled and not so veiled unkindness related to the issue of God for a couple of lifetimes. And so, by the time I got very, very sick again two summers ago, when I would pray, all I heard was silence. Where was Paul McCartney when I needed him?
I stopped lighting my Buddha candles. I forgot about my little St. Jude candle here. (I'm nothing if not a smattering of faith, hope, and love). I was honest about it. When someone would post on FB or Twitter, "Please pray for . . ." whatever it is they were facing, I would write back, "I don't pray, but I will think good thoughts." I would light candles for others, but never myself. Ever. Still don't.
The silence at times was deafening. One of my best friends . . . her mom got very sick. I prayed for HER. I was extremely rusty. So the prayer was more like, "You know this woman is special, and her daughter is so dear to me, and she needs her mom, so look, Dude . . . if you could intervene . . . um . . . you know, just wake her up out of this coma she's in." Now the woman is DRIVING again. Miracle? Did God say, "Holy crap, I heard from Orloff again after a two-year silent treatment, I better take care of this"? I don't know.
In the Silent Years, the McCartney-less years, it was easy to be cynical. Oh, I saw a lot of love, but then the election cycle came. If I had to hear one more man make national news for not "getting" what "real" rape is, I was gonna vomit. The cacophony of UGLY and hate was so loud, I had to take news breaks. I like to be informed but . . . nope. I was done. Toast.
So where am I now? Oddly enough the photo above is a show of support to the Single Dad Laughing blogger, who came out of the closet this week. He lost over 2,000 subscribers that day. He gained many more. He believes Love is Louder. I don't know that it is. There was a time when I did. The McCartney Years. Now I tend to think it isn't but it CAN be. The thing is . . . we can't be complacent about it. We have to make the connections, tell someone we love them, pick up the phone. Reconcile. Make the first move. Speak up when we see someone being treated unkindly. Find our voice. Use it.
There is nothing more uncomfortable--and believe me I have been there--than being in a group of people who believe you are "one of them." Happens to me all the time. At a cocktail party, for instance, three years ago, when a woman was railing against the idea of gay marriage, just going on and on. It wasn't that I had a problem with her politics--they were her politics not mine. But it was that she felt completely safe "going off" on the topic, confident that here in conservative Richmond, Virginia, at a cocktail party of all-white middle- to upper-middle-class people, likely all church-goin' folks, that she was with a whole host of people who believed as she did. And so I spoke up. Quietly. Then I left the party. I remember my heart kind of pounding. And I thought, "If this is hard for me, then how hard is it to be in high school and speak up when kids are hating on whatever it is they are hating on"--pick a minority, an Other, gay, autistic, geek, loser, stoner, whatever. I saw that at the church I once went to. Love was NOT louder. It was SILENT.
These are still the Silent Years for me. I don't pray. I light candles again. That's sort of a prayer. I garden. But then I realized, maybe I've been praying all along. I just didn't realize it.
Because I've been LOVING all this time. I love. Out. Loud. I sing loudly too. Off-key Christmas songs. I love deeply--my kids and my friends. With a Mama Bear fierceness.
Love is louder. It's louder than the silence.
The theology of Paul McCartney is true. 'Cause he wrote:
And in the end . . . the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Thoughts?
Is love louder in your life?
29 comments:
This is lovely. Yeah, love is louder in my life.
We're in the throws of school choice right now, high school for our oldest. And it makes you realize you'd do ANYTHING to see them succeed and survive well. And I realized if he goes to the school he wants to go to, he'll get more independent quicker, I'll see less of him... but he might be happier and succeed there. So sometimes love is giving them up, too, huh?
Sex Scenes . . . yeah. Oldest Son is heading to college next year. Two out of the nest, two in it. Lots of transition. And you just hope the love they've gotten at home is louder that what they'll face out in the big wide world.
xo
Brilliant Erica!! Well stated and I soooo agree. My Love goes to 11!! Turn it up!
Peace, Love and Light for a joyous and healthy 2013!
Yeah, I'm thinking a lot about that, and how important it is to let kids be kids. And part of that is protection. I want him to be who he is without reservation so that when he does hit college, he can say "fuck off" to the people who don't like it. I'm not sure fighting that battle as a teenager is the right thing at all. But love... yeah. Clinging to it, I guess.
Aww . . . thanks Christopher--from my elementary school!!!!!!!!! :-) Glad you found my blog.
Light and love to you, too.
xoxoxo
Oh, Erica.
This is so beautifully said that I'm in tears.
I'm with you on the whole people assuming you are one of them thing. Look at my picture, and I'm sure you can imagine some of the things I've heard about Muslims. Because people "know" what "they" look like, right?
For what it's worth, your love and living have always seemed fabulously loud to me.
xo
Thanks, Jennifer. I know. My kids are Mexican-American . . . we hear it all . . .
It's all about Other. :-(
Love needs to be louder, but it can't be complacent.
xoxoxox
I'd like to think so. I often feel alone, though others would say I'm not. Perception is reality. Working on changing that perception. It might start with listening. Love might be loud, but we have to be willing to hear it.
I'm heading over to that single dad blog now. xo
I've had three religions in my life, if you don't count atheism. I was a Catholic until about the age of twelve. Most of my adult life I've believed in the Golden Rule. Then I met you, and consequently adopted the most elegant religion of all:
Kindness is my religion.
Keep blogging. You're making a difference.
Amy:
Listening . . . yeah. Sometimes when you feel only silence, listening for the love it hard.
Stephen:
Buddhism changed my life. My religion IS kindness. When I was in the midst of that church ugliness, a woman called me at home on a Friday night and told me to get down on my knees and pray for what an evil b*tch I was--since, and I quote, "NO ONE can be as nice as you pretend to be. So pray for your own soul, you 'expletive inserted here.'" I was so rattled by her venom. Anyway, I thought it was this horrid thing to say, then I realized it was a compliment. I go through life trying to be kind. It's not complicated. It's not pretend. It's just an easier way to travel.
I also realized that woman travels with a whole different rule book--and it was more the rest of the people I expected to be LOUDER in their love who simply weren't. Even to this day? Fix it. Make a phone call. Apologize. Send an email. Leaving the silence means you leave the scar.
Traveling in kindness means you travel with very little baggage. The person you greet in the mirror each day is someone you are completely comfortable with.
I remember the horror you experienced at the hands of those church-goers, E. I'm just glad you're away from them and listening to your own heart.
Aww, thanks, Amy. I am grateful too.
Paul and I are old pals.
I say, "Hey, Paul."
And he says, "Hey, Jude."
But really that is one of the best lines ever in popular music. And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. I remember John Lennon admiring it in his Playboy interview, at a time when he and Paul weren't giving each other many compliments.
Hey Jude (couldn't resist):
It;s such a short little song, but I remember the first time I heard that lyric and I thought it was just brilliant/profound . . . true.
Lovely post, my friend. You made my heart burst.
I wish Single Dad could have known my father. To him, nothing was more natural than that people were whatever sexual orientation they happened to be. This was back when the official list of mental illnesses still had variations of homosexuality on it. As a medical doctor, my dad never bought that baloney.
In regard to prayer: Lately, for me prayer has been more of a clarifying how I feel and what I believe than thinking I can somehow influence the universe. I still pray, but I do it because it centers me.
It is good to hear your thoughts again.
I'm pretty much with Steve. I'm not an atheist, more like an agnostic. But mostly I feel like what I try to do is be "present."
Joe:
I have been a fan of his writing for a while. It's been agonizing, in a way, watching this--albeit not knowing him and thus from afar--as he's struggled. Shows how far we are from true tolerance.
Mark:
Spoken like a black belt-zen guy. :-)
Thanks, Richard.
xoxoxo
Xoxoxoxoxoxox
Xoxoxoxoxoxox
Back at you, my beloved BB.
xoxoxoxox
I hope some day I actually get to meet you in person.
Love is not louder, but I do believe love is more enduring. Hate is the hare and love is the tortoise. We see religious hate in the news every day, but I've also seen religion-inspired love that has endured for a decade or more, ultimately overcoming the anger and hate that assailed it.
I, too, get the "one of us" thing all the time. White upper-middle class balding 40-something male working for a big bank and living in the burbs? I never speak up in those situations, but you've made me think about it a little more.
Peter:
Thanks for writing. What you wrote--about love being more enduring is absolutely STUNNINGLY beautiful. It has given me a new way of looking at it.
As for religious hate . . . I do know that. My own son is a Christian and goes every summer to build housing for the poor in a very rough area around here on a mission trip. The trips are very profound for him and I very much admire him and his character. I know there are LOTS of people like that. I do feel that it's important for people like that to be louder than the hate, or to, with dignity, stand up to the church bullies out there. I really recognize and respect, for instance, how Anne Rice views her faith now--not a Christian but a follower of Christ. She strikes me as quite thoughtful on the matter.
I think, through Buddhism, I have learned the value of NOT debating people on topics. I speak far less than I used to and walk away 9 times out of 10--but I do say something. I.e., before I walk away, I will often (such as in the case I cited) say something like, "I don't think God cares who you love but THAT you love. Have a good night. Namaste." And off I go. I think people--certainly the ones I met in my former church, for example--often go gunning for a fight. Quietness seems for me the way I tend to go. I am uncomfortable with confrontation when I know most of the time I will not change another's point of view. But I do feel it is my duty as a human being to say SOMETHING.
E
That was lovely!!
Thanks, FF!
Post a Comment