Of Course Jesus is Lord…But I’m Gonna Need to See Those F**king Starfish!
Tunes in this Episode
Hazlehurst - Pale Cricket
The Skeptic’s Lament - Pale Cricket
Of Course Jesus is Lord…But I’m Gonna Need to See Those F**king Starfish!
Faith, belief, confidence, trust; are the differences between these attitudes simply a matter of semantics, temperament, and risk tolerance, or is there more to it? I’m not entirely sure, but I’m prepared to argue, and by prepared I mean I’m just barely willing to argue, most of us are people of faith. And I don’t just mean the explicitly religious variety, either. Ponder the problem that the atheist, the “science-based” skeptic, the Baptist, the Hebrew Scholar, and your run of the mill nimb-nuts who just wants to eat his porridge while it’s still warm, all share the need to believe in things which they cannot fully comprehend.
For example, consider the mathematically rock solid yet physically impossible notion of infinity. Most people do not understand it. At least I certainly don’t. Yet, if you were to ask any of the afore mentioned groups if the universe is infinite and if so, how does infinity work, unless they say, “I don’t know”, they’re operating on faith, of a sort. And if you find yourself saying, “but I don’t need infinity to get along”, the fact that you might believe this shows just how much “faith” you have in the many things which you use every day. Take a moment to look up “Rigorous Calculus” and consider that without “The Infinity Principle”, we wouldn’t have the understanding of electricity currently making possible this very communication. In other words, we all rely upon devices and principles we do not fully understand in order to function, and that might take more than belief, it might just take faith.
Is it fair to say religious faith and the belief one has in, say, how a toaster works, are different? The dictionary tells me it requires intellectual assent, or a mental agreement, in order to have belief in a thing - i.e. Toasters are real and they get hot enough to burn down a house. But if you wholly commit to that thing without question and risk it all by using it, do you not have faith in it? – i.e. I have no idea how this machine works, but I’ll just drop a couple slices of bread into it and wait for them to pop out hot and crispy, no need to think about it, really…boy, I do like toast! Considering most of us are so completely in the dark about the framework upon which the modern world is built, maintaining an intellectual assent for something which one fundamentally does not understand but continues to rely upon, reads less like an abstract agreement and more like a whole hearted commitment, or an act of faith. Obviously, I could be wrong, and many before me have argued these points with greater insight and clarity.
So, why am I, a man of the nimb-nuts and warm porridge variety, talking about maters of faith, while daring to invoke anything to do with calculus? I bring them up for two reasons. For one, I just like thinking about these complex and confusing subjects. Two, I found myself especially compelled to think about them after I heard a brief snippet of a conversation while eavesdropping in the sand.
It was late in the afternoon on a beach in Southern Oregon. Low tide was fast approaching, and people were making their way down from a parking lot to the shore, rounding the bend near a large cliff face, and heading towards the edge of the beach. The crowd was mixed; families, single people with dogs, teenagers, and an assortment of couples not quite rivaling the variety of sea life in the tidepools they’d all come to see. I was sitting near the edge of the cliff base, facing the sun with my back against the rocks. It was warm, a shelter from the sandblasting wind – a delightful spot to casually judge any and all passers-by.
Hank Williams said “If you mind your own business, then you won’t be minding mine…” Obviously, he missed out on some great shit.
I overheard many of snippets of many conversations from my spot in the sun. One lady was complaining about people smoking pot on the beach. And there was a relentless dad of three who had a running gag about teaching his kids the best way to ride a shark. But, by far, the most interesting snippet came from a couple discussing their last visit to the tidepools on the previous day.
From my perch, depending on the winds and the timing of the swell of crashing waves, I could hear about thirty to forty-five seconds worth of any given conversation. I’m guessing a physicist could have calculated the best place to sit in order to be the most effective eavesdropper on the beach, but I have faith I picked the right spot without the benefit of any calculus whatsoever.
Anyhow, I saw the two of them coming before I heard them. They were the sort of couple that looked like they might share clothes - similar height, build, age, taste. Probably five foot seven, about a hundred fifty pounds each, early fifties, sporting a combination of jean shorts, T-shirts, tennis shoes, and ball caps (actually, the lady was wearing a visor - yuck). The man, who appeared to be on the quieter side, wore a plain grey shirt with a crew neck, tucked into his shorts and pinched to a nearly perfect spherical tension around his belly, like he was trying to keep a small melon out of the sun. His shorts had seen some starch recently, while his shoes looked like they’d traveled many miles before this stroll. He seemed comfortable, relaxed and untroubled by the sensation of sand between sock and shoe.
His counterpart, a woman with greying hair bundled tight above the topless band of her white visor, seemed less comfortable, but otherwise identical. The chief difference was that her T-shirt featured two points of semi-spherical tension, like a couple of polished lemons under a cotton sheet, and carried a very specific message. In bold black letters, underneath a large black cross which touched both lemons, it read, “Jesus is Lord”.
When the couple made it within ten yards of my sandy toes, I could hear them. “Well, you SAY I saw ‘em, but I don’t remember seeing ‘em. You’re sure it was this beach?” It was the woman, posing this question to the man, indignant and demanding, yet ever so slightly playful. His reply was short, but not impatient or unkind, he simply said, “Yup, yesterday. Right here.”
They were in front of me when I heard her say, “Hmm…I’m not sure I believe you. I’m gonna need to see those darn starfish!” The man, sanguine, resigned, unphased and confident in what was waiting for them in the tidepools beyond, replied simply, “OK”.
After they crossed my field of view and presented their backs, I saw the shirt was not quite done with me, proclaiming, rather opaquely if you hadn’t seen the front first (and even then, it’s still a bit conceptually fuzzy), “He died for YOU!” Big emphasis on the “YOU!”.
It was the briefest of encounters, one which may not seem like much to you, but I was wholeheartedly amused. I couldn’t get the phrase out of my head - Of course Jesus is lord! But I’m gonna need to see those fucking starfish! For sure, she never said Jesus is lord, and certainly didn’t say fucking starfish, but her shirt did, and my heathen mind can’t help but insert powerful and inappropriate words whenever possible. So that was my takeaway. And what a concept! I then had to consider the scope and scale of the various leaps of faith this woman is both willing and unwilling to make.
As a Christian, I have faith that the only way to be saved from the fires of hell, is to believe that the son of God himself is a bronze age Jewish guy called Jesus who’s mom was a virgin even after he was born. So, while he was living on Earth, Jesus was busy teaching philosophy to a dozen other guys, healed some sick people, brought a dead old man back to life, and was REALLY, REALLY GOOD at catering! The holy dozen who were following him around were sure taking lots of notes and writing lots of letters, but most of them didn’t get published in the big book. After a few years of miracles and preaching, Jesus got betrayed by one of the unpublished. And Jesus’ dad, omnipotent, all powerful, and merciful God, you’ll remember, well, he knew it was gonna happen, but didn’t stop it because of his plan to work in mysterious ways. So he sacrificed his kid to be brutally murdered for all past, present, and future people so they might have eternal life in heaven…but only if they believe he died for them…I’m not real clear on how that helped the people who came before Jesus, but that doesn’t bug me too much. Ha, be here now, right? Anyhow, after Jesus got killed, his disciples handed down their memoirs and letters to be interpreted by thousands of men for a couple thousand years, and now I can wear a super-condensed version of their findings on a T-shirt made in a country where religion is pretty much illegal. But, that very real thing you say I saw just yesterday…FUCKING STARFISH!! For that, I’m gonna need some hard evidence!
Now, I’m obviously being a dick. But what good is it to casually judge people while basking in the glow of what I’m told are the sun’s distant nuclear explosions, if I can’t have a good time doing it? Besides, these are the deconstructed tenants of the Christian faith, if not somewhat condescendingly retold. So what am I supposed to think here? Is it wrong to chuckle at this lady and her dichotomous belief structure, even if it offers more than the opportunity to pick apart the weirdness of religion and faith in general? I sure hope not. Is it wrong to look into a funhouse mirror and laugh at my own distorted image? Metaphorically speaking, the funhouse mirror view is the best way for me to get a glimpse of my own conflicting beliefs and acts of faith.
For instance, when I find myself chuckling at the visor lady, I’m reminded of my relationship with my telephone. I truly do not understand how it works, yet I take it with me everywhere I go. It’s basically a genital-adjacent super computer which can access the great literary works of nearly every writer who ever published a sentence, or provide me with at least some kind of answer to nearly any question I could ask of it. Yet, more often than not, I use it to look at and take photos of the dog I’m already with. That, or I use it to help me efficiently go from being an idiot in one place, to being an idiot somewhere else. No, as much as I’d like to be, I’m not much different from that incredulous and faithful lady. The real difference is that I’m not bold enough to announce my devotion on a shirt. So, if you see me laughing at the gaps between her conflicting ideals, know that I’m crying on the inside at the galaxies separating my own. Fortunately, my faith tells me, it won’t really matter in the end.