Tag: Catholicism

Heaven on Earth

I have no traditional beliefs or hopes about going to an “afterlife” once I die. I do believe I have a spirit incarnated in this body at this time in the history of this world.

I also believe that my spirit might be reincarnated when this body I currently inhabit gives out. Shy of any solid, indisputable evidence, the jury is actually still out on that.

I do believe heaven and hell are here on earth. It makes sense to me that if your present living circumstances are such that belief in an eventual heaven helps you get through your days, go for it. Whatever gets you by.

That belief that so many people hold makes me a little sad though. It has allowed powerful and not-so-well-meaning people to suppress and keep people subjugated for centuries. Not naming names, but religious leaders are particularly culpable in this regard.

Advertising that you are in possession of an exclusive hotline to, and relationship with, the creator-god almighty is a pretty powerful cudgel. Combine that with limited access to education and even the ability to read and write, religious leaders have had a pretty easy row to hoe keeping people in line.

I once went to Rome and witnessed a papal audience. I worked in marketing at the time. My overriding thought at that event was that with the leverage of that storied history and artifacts shrouded in mystery and money, I could sell the Catholic party line to just about anyone. Over the ages, the Catholic Church has done just that.

It is fair to say that the Catholic “brand” has been undermined and tarnished in recent years. Widespread sexual abuse of children and a hierarchy devoted to preserving the mythology of “godliness” meant that internal corruption and coverups were almost preordained.

As priest after priest fell under the knife of justice for their unholy transgressions, I watched many lifelong Catholics go through the now-well-known stages of grieving. First, shock, then denial. Then anger when the denial defrosted.

I believe many Catholics were and are still stuck in the stage of depression without acceptance of their spiritual leaders horrific crimes. A belief system inculcated in you from infancy and supported by your culture is hard to throw off.

So there were justifications and diminishment of the grievous transgressions galore floating about in Catholic circles and out to the wider society as “the sins of the fathers” started coming to light.

“Think about all the good he did for the community,” I heard about one particularly unctuous Father. That priest had preyed on altar boys for years. He was convicted and died in prison. Devout Catholics from his parish shook their heads in disbelief and devastation for years after.

The appeal of an afterlife is understandable. In the face of individuals feeling powerlessness, having something better to look forward to after you depart this mortal coil is likely comforting.

It is also true that creating your own heaven on earth can be a daunting exercise. Life throws so many variables at all of us. Choosing the right path or pushing the right buttons often feels like an insurmountable challenge.

It is why I appreciate time alone. When I occasionally sink under the covers of my own busy external environment, that is where I have resolved some of life’s thorniest and most painful issues. I lived alone for many years.

Self-imposed isolation helped me gain my own clarity about many things in favor of other people’s dictates about what heaven and hell or a good life or bad life was. It also shaped my perception of what success is and isn’t.

With time and a little luck, we eventually grab the pebble out of the master’s hand. I was helped to articulate this position in a post I saw today. “When we are young we blame our parents for our troubles. When we are adults, we learn they are also just human beings and learn to forgive them. When we finally learn to forgive ourselves, we have become wise.” – Alden Nowlan

The goal of living is to tip the scales in favor of goodness and right. Bad things and injustice will fling themselves at you throughout your life with astonishing regularity. Your job is to hold fast to the mast of your own core beliefs. To become certain of your own values and to live by them.

I can’t say emphatically that heaven – if there is such a place – is here on earth or awaiting us after death. But I believe that if you stick to your guns and live what is true for you, you’ve got a much better shot at living a version of heaven here on earth than those who don’t.

As for an afterlife, I’ll get back to let you know if there is one when I get there.

So Was Picasso

I am the black sheep in my family. I have pushed back against the dysfunction in our family since childhood. I asked for my needs to be met. I was ignored or ridiculed. I asked for safety. I was thrust repeatedly into harm’s way by my parents’ ignorance and obliviousness. I sought relief from my pain. I was labeled histrionic and, most frequently, “dramatic.”

To protect my mother, the near and extended family clustered around her belief system as if it was gospel, and she the patron saint of non-conformity. “We weren’t dysfunctional,” the chorus would crow in unison. “We are special.”

Our academic and business achievements and worldwide travel thinly covered the truth of a family awash in pain and self-loathing and mutual disrespect. Our family was the living epitome of cognitive dissonance. We acted one way – successful and self-confident, especially in the public arena – and felt completely other in the tight-knit family system. Scared and broken little girls each and every one of us.

Tight-knit we were. To reinforce the themes of superiority and hide the abject vulnerability of each member of the system, no one outside our circle was permitted to get very close. Unless, like us, they were broken and needy and in awe of my mother. then they were granted full admittance to the so-called inner circle and gratefully did my mother’s bidding.

Sinead O’Connor died this week. I had mixed feelings. The musicianship of this Irish wildcat was unmatchable. But her very public pain and defiance against her own dysfunctional and abusive childhood alienated her from a large part of society.

The very public act of tearing in half a picture of the Pope that had hung in her wretched mother’s bedroom was widely misinterpreted. Many of us seeking answers to our upbringings know the misunderstanding that can come when sharing our private pain publicly. It is frequently misunderstood and rejected.

Especially when it treads on other people’s sacred cows and belief systems. Note how long it took the world to take sexual abuse in the Catholic church seriously. I know for a fact many Catholics do not believe beloved priests are capable of such heinous acts.

These song lyrics were recently shared in the wake of Sinead’s death. A tribute song Kris Kristofferson write for her when she was booed off the stage at a Bob Dylan concert in 1992.

Abused adult children desperate for answers and relief from their pain may see themselves in these lyrics. God bless Sinead O’Connor. She sure wasn’t wrong in her belief that child abuse is the fount and mother of immeasurable untold evils in this world. Would that she had an easier ride on this planet. She certainly will now. RIP.


Sister Sinead, Kris Kristofferson (2009)

“I’m singing this song for my sister Sinead

Concerning the god-awful mess that she made

When she told them her truth just as hard as she could

Her message profoundly was misunderstood

There’s humans entrusted with guarding our gold

And humans in charge of the saving of souls

And humans responded all over the world

Condemning that bald-headed brave little girl

And maybe she’s crazy and maybe she ain’t

But so was Picasso and so were the saints

And she’s never been partial to shackles or chains

She’s too old for breaking and too young to tame

It’s askin’ for trouble to stick out your neck

In terms of a target a big silhouette

But some candles flicker and some candles fade

And some burn as true as my sister Sinead

And maybe she’s crazy and maybe she ain’t

But so was Picasso and so were the saints

And she’s never been partial to shackles or chains

She’s too old for breaking and too young to tame.”