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I have had my share of experience with God. I have spent time in churches. I have read the bible, twice. I have seen grown men roll on the floor, speaking in tongues, compelled by God toward wisdom made incomprehensible by its divinity. I have skipped trick-or-treating, MTV and awful hair metal for spiritual purity. I have rejected a birthday cake, and I have had my fill of faith.
Jesus seemed like a reasonable man. I have no complaints. But I am confused by his execution. Had Jesus asked if he should die for my sins, I would have blushed and refused. I sin, but I’m not concerned. “Take me off of your list,” I’d say. No sin of mine was severe enough to merit a crucifixion. Was it the apple my ancestors ate? Call it bygones – I’ll replace it at the grocery.
I would have declared that brutal crucifixion an atrocity. I’d demand to see justice served, lobbied the empire to change its criteria for capital crimes. Not because I believed Christ was a messiah, but because it should not be done to anybody. I condemn it. I also condemn the Holocaust, Abu Ghraib, school shootings and Sept. 11. In other ways, I condemn the veal industry, wars, and drunk drivers.
I am told I owe Christ my life anyway, and I must obey his laws. I follow some. But it seems we ignore many commandments. Does murder’s punishment still equate to working on the Sabbath? Will God punish my children for ridiculing that law? The commandments say so. Taking the Word on its word, this article will rain four generations of punishment upon my children. I could have a free pass: If my father published an opinion article favorable upon Him, God promises love to 1000 generations of my father’s children. If Dad has never worked a Sunday, I might be in the clear.
Perhaps God was lying to us, or perhaps he changed His mind. There must be some reason we are all working on the Sabbath. Oh, that’s right: As rock beats scissors, New Testament beats Old. Jesus’ death rendered the Old Testament obsolete. Jesus, in Matthew, said to love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all of your mind. And, you shall love your neighbor as yourself. “On these two commandments,” Jesus said, “hang all the law and the prophets.”
Loving my neighbor is difficult, but I try. Not for any reward. I know I will rot into the ground upon my death. My consciousness dark, my body feeding worms and grass, becoming the air that fills my child’s lungs. I choose kindness anyway. Without heaven, time gets heavier. Consciousness is brief and sacred – a confusing, short-lived miracle. It merits dignity.
There is beauty without God. We owe each other nothing, but we choose kindness. When we do that, we’re perfect. Systems have evolved into gorgeous complexity – we will discover exponentially more and only find a shallow sliver. Perfect. It is enough to keep us occupied for all the time we have left. Make your own choices and love who you want. The sunset is enough to break your heart.
Eryk Salvaggio is more of a pie guy, anyway.
