Religion and the Decorum of a Good Insult

In which our genteel Lady insults Karl Marx. 

Religion is a big part of my life.  Sometimes I feel like an island in a sea of atheism, what with all the media that consistently and loudly states that there is no God.  Jon and I love movies and books—and guess what’s in them—a nearly constant barrage of voices claiming to know that there is no God out there.  Interestingly, these voices offer either nothing to replace the idea of God, or fall back on the age-old, and in my opinion out-dated, view that science answers the questions of life, as if the indefinite and ambiguous name of ‘science’ was a broom to sweep up the centuries of religious belief. 

Intriguingly, my new experiences with cancer have shown me that there are a lot of people out there that do believe in God.   It would appear that the media sadly misrepresents and manipulates our cultural views in this instance especially.  Not only was I astounded to have so many people say they were praying for me over the last few months, but I have often had chance, and somewhat odd encounters with people all over Anchorage that support the idea that God is a real and benevolent being.  

For instance, I went in to get new eye glasses at Cook Inlet Eyewear, and mentioned that I did not want contacts because they didn’t lend themselves to chemo if I had to do it.  “I have brain cancer,” I said.  Matt, the man who was helping me, simply held up his hand as if to say, this is just my belief and we don’t have to get further into this, but here it is: “God is with you,”  and proceeded on to the eyewear.  I was heartened by his proclamation. 

Another time, my dental assistant, after hearing what had happened, began to tell me about her Church here in Anchorage.  I think she was trying to convert me.  I thanked her and told her that the more cancerous I get, the more Mormon I become.  Again, I was pleased to hear someone willing to offer me what they probably considered the best thing they could give me, under the circumstances.

And yes, I am becoming more religious as I go, and specifically more LDS or Mormon.  Much of the time, this belief or faith is described as naïve by those who don’t understand it.  I suppose we have Karl Marx’s famous quote “religion is the opiate of the masses” to partially thank for that.  But I fight back against the declaration that religion is a drug, and therefore deadening and bad for your health.  If anything, my religious belief makes my life a hundred times more meaningful and vibrant.  Without it, the world would be a sad black and white representation of reality for me.  I gives color to my life to know that there is meaning and direction to the choices I make, the reasons I do things.  Furthermore, it is in no way naïve to have faith in something.  Naivety indicates a kind of youthful stupidity on one’s part, a falling in with societal norms and not being able to think for oneself, especially against harmful or adolescent kinds of behavior.  My faith is not born of naivety.  In my view, it is naïve for anyone else to assume that I haven’t thought long and hard about God, but instead just swallowed religion whole.  But I digress. 

I am glad to have the comfort of knowing that my suffering from cancer is not just suffering for the sake of suffering.  I am glad to think that it may have a purpose.  This is not naïve—but hopeful.  And I am glad to know that other people—the lives we briefly touch on a daily basis—may have this belief as well. 

Saucy Postscript:

Dear Marx,

Cancer sucks, but it would be worse if I didn’t have religion as my “opiate.”  I think you’re a smart guy, and your ideas are intriguing, but you seriously destroyed religion’s potency by your ill-thought-out statement.  And by the way, how dare you inadvertently call me naïve?  To get back at you, I will pointedly say that your socialism and intellectualism is your personal opiate.  Good luck with getting positive results from that. 

Admiringly yours,

T 

The Path to Shangri-La

In which our Lady creates her own Religion.

          I have two big thoughts to write about, both from a documentary Jon and I watched tonight on Tibetan caves recently ‘found’ in a region named Mustang (moos-tung).  The caves are set in high cliffs, and form a complex and impressive system of interconnecting rooms and levels.  Some are graveyards, others are living spaces, and still more are religious.  One set of caves was a convenient storage space for thousands of sacred texts on the Bon, a religion predating Buddhism.  The texts are highly respected by the locals, not only because of the beauty and history, but because of the idea they represent.  It was incredibly cool to learn about all of this, but my big Ahah! moment came when the film revealed that Tibetans don’t actually have a word for religion.  Instead, the word they use is the equivalent of the word scripture.  Isn’t that intriguing?  And true too.  What is religion without its written precepts? 

          Not to put too much weight on my mostly frivolous writing, but what does that say about journal-writing in general, and specifically my blog?  (No, I do not plan on forming my own religion.  Besides, what would I call it? ... hmm ... How about Tumorism—with a sound doctrine consisting of brain reincarnation? ... The scriptural writings will contain spiritual guidance for the cancerous and non-cancerous alike, with a health code, a guide toward general healing, both physical and spiritual.  It will espouse creativity and positive attitude, combining mind with body in ways metaphysical.  Also, the scripture will lay out the paths toward future uncharted lands, sacred Nirvana-like valleys of shelter for those who have faced the gaping chasm of death.  It will flourish in blogopheres everywhere...)  Ahem.  Aside from such interesting segues, when typing the gritty or especially hum-drum details of life, it can be difficult to remember what a collection of well-turned words can aspire toward, can’t it?  I will say that for me writing is becoming an increasingly important part of my life.  Apparently, brain surgery has literally jogged something loose upstairs.  Thus am I enabled to find my own heavenly paths toward happiness and healing, whether it helps anyone else or not. 

          I’d also like to point out that the documentary also uses Shangri-La in its title.  In the actual film, it was used once, in a tidy little sentence at the end.  Talk about false advertising. 

Breaking Boundaries, Moon-walking Style

In which our excellent Lady contemplates Internet Noise

Every time I hit the Post button, I imagine the sound you often hear on spaceship or first-contact-with-alien movies.  You know, the one with the radio static, followed by a news reporter, and then baseball game commentary: “and so-and-so has the pitch…,” applause, followed inevitably by Armstrong’s voice, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”  And in my head, my blogging words stream forth to add to the noise.  I can only hope with each click of the mouse on the Post button that my words will compete somehow with the din.  

There is so much out there to compete with! It was in a training meeting last April that Mary N. Cook of the Young Women’s General Presidency discussed the amount of time that the Young Women were spending online, especially Facebook.  And then she said that they were like a captive audience, and we should be trying to fill some of that online chatter with uplifting things.  It seemed to me to be a novel idea at the time.  I have wondered to myself why this is.  I mean, it’s not like its rocket-science (thank you, Armstrong).  Upon further reflection, I have concluded that it is actually a part of my BYU education to not mix religion with all secular things.  I was taught that there are boundaries with some subjects.  For instance, a good scholarly paper on the humanities should have the best sources in the field of humanities—never is it acceptable to throw in quotes from a general authority on the subject, because it is not their area of expertise and it is a random inclusion at best.  Its just not professional.  Also, if there is a nasty piece of artwork considered necessary for the artist or art historian to know to further their career, then you bet it will be included in class.  The professor may warn the student, and it will be taken with what could be considered a spiritual grain of salt.  But in the end, the boundary is drawn to the left, the art shown, and the religious view is left behind in favor of something else. 

I suppose we Mormons also have the cultural problem of not trying to wear our religion on our proverbial sleeves.  As far as the internet goes, I tried a few times to put something spiritual on Facebook and I felt very un-cool and awkward.  Kitchy, even.   It has been a great leap to even put this kind of thing on my blog.  But this is the story of my cancer (kind of a big deal), and I promised myself at the beginning to tell the whole truth, and that includes my churchy self.  I wasn’t sure how my reception would be to all of you if I did put it all in.  But to the contrary, I have gotten so many comments about the religious posts that I would characterize you all as hungry for the spiritual.  So, into the great din-filled universe, I send out my messages in the hopes of doing what I should do, and making a difference.    

Recollections: Providence Hospital

IN WHICH OUR LADY OF THE BRAIN TUMOR WAKES AND DISCOVERS THAT SHE IS MUCH-LOVED

7 hours of brain surgery. In the waiting room: my husband, mother- and father-in-law, sister-in-law, my daughter, even my stake president. Then it was to ACC, Adult Critical Care (not my favorite place) and later, to my original room in the Neuro-unit. There were many gorgeous flower bouquets waiting for me there, cards, balloons, and even a giant goodies basket. A lovely detail: all my flowers seemed to match: bright purples, oranges, yellows. But maybe this was my altered state of mind. And of course, eventually there were well-wishers. I knew before I went in that I would have as many as 3 wards fasting for me, and it helped to know that. I have an amazing support system that continues on—and who read my blog—to you I pay verbal tribute.

Providence hospital is a Catholic institution. It has statues of Mary and the Crucifix placed throughout. At the beginning and end of each day, a prayer is said over the intercom. It is a good place, and I loved the prayers. Also, I spent a lot of time studying Catholic art while in college, and found those statues of Mary and the cross to be quite comforting. There is a medieval work called the Isenheim Altarpiece that shows a dreadful crucifix. It is the single most gruesome piece of religious artwork I know. Christ’s body is pocked, scarred, wasted, broken, bruised, diseased. It is absolutely abhorrent, but it was painted originally to remind the patients of Isenheim Hospital that Christ had already suffered all their afflictions, a message of hope, healing, and courage. Having now gone through a bit of my own Gethsemane, I appreciate more Isenheim’s message, and the faith it represents for the down-trodden, weary, and bleaguered.

I am not Catholic, but am LDS and very religious, so all the religious intonations were wonderful to me, and I believe, important for my speedy recovery.