He told me there were many reasons for his transformation but number one on the list of disbelief was that there was no proof that God exists and that, in fact, he could come up with all kinds of reasons for God not to exist. That argument was nothing new to me. But in my life I could never get past agnosticism. Atheism–the fervent belief that there is no God–was a whole other ballgame.

(You can find some of my basic arguments about God here and here, but that’s not what this post is about.)

No, I want to write about what happened next. This same acquaintance posted on The Facebook a quote from Sigmund Freud. It was a vague notion about how believers in God suffer from a mass delusion. (At least that’s how I took it.) And I thought such a post was insulting, and why would he want to insult others like that. So I asked him if I had deduced the meaning of the quote correctly. And if so, why would he post such an insulting thing. I may have also said something derogatory about Dr. Freud.

Well holy Toledo. You’d have thought I punched this guy’s mother in the stomach. He was so aghast that I would question his motives and his right to post whatever he wanted. I had, he said, ruined the start of his vacation. He was in tears. He was hurt.

I, meanwhile, was shocked. At first, I thought, “What a typical delicate flower of the younger generation this fellow must be.” But I apologized profusely because I never meant to hurt him. I was intellectually curious–he was a fervent believer one minute and then an atheist trotting out typical atheist talking points the next. I just wanted to find out what gives. But apparently “friends” on facebook is not a literal term.

My apology was long and sincere. But he never got back to me. Never accepted my apology, which, I should repeat, was quite heartfelt. The last thing I wanted to do was bring someone to tears.

But a few days later, again on The Facebook–which I am pretty much learning to loath–this person posted a status update: “I can forgive but I can never forget.”

Now, I was offended. But after a brief moment of teeth gnashing, his post got me thinking. What do people really mean when they say they can forgive but can’t forget?

First, of course we shouldn’t completely forget. How could we learn and grow if we forget the circumstances of life lessons? But is that really how people mean it when they say, “I can forgive but I can’t forget.” I don’t think so.

It seems like they can forgive someone intellectually because that’s what we’re supposed to do, but deep down they won’t forget and so they won’t really forgive.

Inherent in true forgiveness, and I’m no expert, is the very notion that there is a place for forgetfulness. For instance, If a person really pisses me off and they offer their sincerest apologies, then shouldn’t I put that apology and the spirit in which it was offered first and foremost in my mind? The very fact that we actually make a point of not forgetting–I can forgive, sure. BUT I cannot forget–means that we really haven’t forgiven anything. We are giving equal weight to someone’s  apology and their fault. That can’t be what true forgiveness is all about.

No. To me, we should actually forget the offense as best we can. We should, in a phrase, turn the other cheek and look the other way. Of course, the most spiritual of people would not even care if the offending person was sorry. “Forgive them father; they know not what they do.” But I’m not even talking about that. I’m talking about a person who actually apologizes. To say to such a person, “I can forgive but not forget,” is far from appropriate. It creates more disunity. It turns the true meaning of forgiveness into a vapid exercise, devoid of meaning, that serves no real purpose save to the consciousness of the person who utters it.

A great Middle Eastern seer once said, and I paraphrase, “If a man possesses ten good character traits and one bad quality, focus on the ten good ones. And if he has ten bad qualities and just one good one, concentrate on the good one.” This is how good trumps evil; how positive energy trumps negative emotions.

Admittedly, I’m bad at this. I’m like an egotistical singer who exalts the greatness of a saint. Or like a selfish laggard who supports a cause greater than himself. I sometimes feel like I’m the opposite of such loftiness. Yet, I’m attracted to it.

And maybe that’s why the statement “I can forgive but I can’t forget,” seems like rubbish to me. Because I think it, even if I don’t utter it. I forgive but maybe I don’t forget well enough. Maybe this post is actually an example of what I detest the most. Maybe I’m trying to exercise my demons by writing this. Who knows. (Who am I–Freud? Get off my back!)

So, I will forget this person’s delicateness. I will forget that he will not forget. And should our paths cross again, I will only see his true nature as an inquisitive soul. And I’ll wish him well.

But I won’t forgive him. Because there’s nothing to forgive.

The religion part is simple. It’s a series of practices and beliefs. Muslims pray five times a day; they fast one month out of the year; they go to mosque every Friday. And they believe Muhammed was given a message straight from God. He recited the message, which was recorded in a book.

Same drill for Christians–pray, go to church, Christ is the Son of God who was born of a virgin, died on the cross, and was resurrected from the dead. Catholics and Baptists and Methodists, etc, have unique practices and doctrines. People organize around these practices and beliefs. If these practices and beliefs are kept private and used only as a means to a personal end, there would be no argument. Unfortunately, a lot of people let their personal beliefs run rampant over their egos. They start believing, “If I’m right, then they are wrong. And if they are wrong, we must do something about that.” Such simple thinking has inspired wars and terrorism and severely misguided souls protesting funerals.

The faith of God is nearly as simple, but not quite. Every religion is composed of a bunch of principles. Christians find these principles in the gospels. Love thy neighbor, turn the other check, forgive people, have compassion, have faith, seek justice, feed the poor, etc. If you would read the Quran or the Hebrew Bible or the Baha’i Writings or the Bhagavad Gita or the sutras and other books of Buddhism, then you’d see that they have very similar–often identical–spiritual principles. All these compose the Faith of God.

When religious people from different faith traditions gather for some greater purpose, you see the best of religion. I’m thinking of the interfaith gatherings that sprouted up after the attacks of 9/11. Dogma took a back seat to the spiritual principles inherent in each faith. People prioritized the eternal spiritual teachings of their faiths over the temporal teachings best left in their historical contexts. (If you were being chased from your hometown and across the Arabian desert by idol worshipers known to bury alive their newborn baby girls, then the Quranic verse, “kill the infidels wherever you find them,” would make perfect sense to you. But that verse has to be left in it’s historical context. Same with the Bible verses, such as the one where Jesus said he did not come to bring peace; he came to bring a sword. You can look it up.)

And that brings me to the Cause of God. The religious leaders who gathered after 9/11 did so for the sake of unity in the face of a crisis. They sought to create unity while the terrorists were sewing the seeds of division.

Unity, in a word, is the Cause of God.  Who am I to say this? I’m a reader of history, and a kind of lazy one at that.

Think of who rallied to Christ’s side, the downtrodden and marginalized Jews who may not have lived their lives to the letter of Jewish law, as stipulated by the Sadducees or Pharisees, but they loved Moses, the prophets, and God. Jesus spoke to their hearts. And they loved his message–the meek shall inherit the Earth!? Right on, Son of Man!

Greeks and Romans and Arabs and Turks and Kurds and others were also attracted to this message. And they listened. And they watched. And they saw Jesus do something amazing for that time. He stressed the deed of the Good Samaritan. All the good men, clergy even, passed up a chance to help an ailing man on the side of the road. All passed him by. But the Samaritan helped the man, and Jesus dubbed him the Good Samaritan.

But history shows that Samaritans were a loathed people. Jesus turned that notion on its head. He said that the traditional views of Samaritans  didn’t matter; the good deed mattered. In the course of decades and centuries after Jesus, His message attracted disparate peoples from all sorts of cultures into one faith and one religion. This is how the greater cause of Christ was unity.

It is incredibly unfortunate that his spiritual message has been so thoroughly corrupted. Too many, often loud, believers prioritize practices, dogma, and tradition over spirituality. Christendom splintered into a thousand pieces. And now many sects hate each other. What an ironic, horrible shame.

And lest you think I’m picking on Christians, Muhammed united warring Arab tribes and actually set up a constitution to maintain unity. He called Jews and Christians People of the Book and said they needed to be protected and not forced to convert. Then, mere days after His Muhammed’s death, the truth of this cause was corrupted by lesser men. They prioritized cultural norms and dogma and belief ahead of spirituality and unity. Islam, too, splintered into a thousand pieces, the two main groups–Shi’a and Sunni have been at some form of war for more than one thousand years. Yet, in Islam’s earliest days, when Muhammed had a chance to take vengeance upon the woman who tortured and killed a member of his very own family, Muhammed pardoned her. He forgave her.

What a horrific irony that any portion of Islam has become intolerant to the point of killing innocent people via terrorism.

To me, the greater purpose of religion today must be to organize along the spiritual principles inherent in all faith traditions in order to inspire us all to take up the ancient call of unity.

It seems all too obvious to me that peace and security will simply never be fully attained until unity is firmly established. This seems incredibly obvious. Unity first. peace second.

Okay. I admit it was easy to write that last paragraph. How could such a lofty–nay, idealistic–notion ever be achieved in reality?

Oh, I have a few ideas . . .

See ya next time.

Me: You’re such a cutie, Rowan. How’d you get so cute?

Ro: I really don’t know.

Me: Do you think mommy had anything to do with it?

Ro: Yeah. probably.

Me: But not me?

Ro: No. You’re not cute.

Me: I’m not?

Ro: No . . . Well, maybe you’re a little bit cute.

Me: I see.

Ro: Mommy’s cute.

Me: That she is.

Ro: And Willem’s cute. (Rowan’s almost nine-month-old brother.)

Me: Yeah. Willem’s really cute.

Ro: Yeah. Willem’s really cute. And I’m really cute. And Mommy’s really cute. But you’re just a little bit cute.

Me: I got that. You know, there was a time when I was really cute, too.

(Rowan, blank stare.)

(Mommy enters.)

Ro: Mommy? Daddy’s not cute.

Mommy: Really?

Me: Wait a second. I thought you said I was a little cute.

Ro: Yeah. Daddy’s a little cute. But not as cute as you. Or me. Or Willem.

Mommy: Willem is really cute. But I think daddy’s cute. That’s why I married him.

Me: Really?

Mommy: It’s one of the reasons.

Me: It’s not really one of the reasons, Rowan.

Mommy: It wasn’t a reason, but it didn’t hurt.

Me: Mommy’s so nice.

Ro: Yeah. But you’re only a little bit cute.

Me: Yes. I think that’s been made clear.

Ro: Yeah . . . . I’m hungry.

There were only five protesters. Five. Five out of more than two billion Christians in the world. Five people who wanted media coverage for their beliefs that God hates Elizabeth Edwards.

Five people. They were from a tiny church in Kansas whose leader has called for his flock to protest funerals, especially those of soldiers.

Soldiers, you see, dedicate their lives to the defense of a country that tolerates gay people. And Elizabeth Edwards wanted to give rights to homosexuals. I guess the logic is that the country and world are going to hell in a hand basket because of heathens, unbelievers, and blasphemers when in reality the world is going to hell because too many humans, especially our leaders, refuse to see the greater purpose of religion and life itself.

According to their actions, the Westboro folks simply don’t read the gospels.

There’s a button on the church’s website labeled “God’s Hatred in the Bible.” I clicked on it, and there was a list of eighteen verses, all but one of them were from the Old Testament—Psalms, Leviticus, Proverbs, Deuteronomy, Proverbs, Hosea, Malachi, Zechariah, and Lamentations. And the lone New Testament verse was from Romans 9:13, in which Paul quoted the Hebrew Bible.

Do you see it? The elephant in the room? I’ll give you a hint–the elephant looks like a prophet . . . who wore sandals and fed the poor.

The Westboro Five said they were doing God’s work. The church says they are Christians. Yet, there are no Jesus quotes on the church’s website list of hate. Probably because Jesus never said a word about homosexuality, not according to the Bible. And Jesus never said anything good about hate. He did say an awful lot about love and compassion and forgiveness. In fact, the only time Jesus showed anger—not hate mind you—was in the Gospel of Mark. And why was he upset? Because of the hardness of the people’s hearts.

So, really, prioritization is the underlying fault of these misguided people from Topeka. They think they are bringing attention to an issue that is killing America. But that wasn’t the sort of “bringing to awareness” that Christ did. He brought spirituality to the forefront of people’s consciousness. He tried so very hard to get people to see reality with their inner eyes—their hearts—with love and compassion. When he saw people judging others, he told them to take care of the log in their own eyes. He comforted people. He inspired the downtrodden. He healed the sick and aided the poor. Simply put, he defended the defenseless.

And so it brought great joy to my heart to see hundreds of people stand opposite those five protesters to defend Elizabeth Edwards, who cannot defend herself anymore. Good Christians, the lot of them, even if some of them say they don’t believe in God.  To me, these people were saying, “Westboro might be organized, but their not a religion. Not a religion of God. They are far from God; they are far from what Christ taught.”

To me, the counter protest was symbolic for what right-thinking people must do more of. Prioritize the spiritual teachings over the mere facts of belief. Pick up this cross and defend the defenseless. In this, we would see the true godliness of people no matter their religion. In this, we would see Christ in the world again.

I imagine this would be renowned atheist Richard Dawkins’ first thought upon reading my previous post defending organized religion. So let’s just take on the concept of God directly.

Speaking in literal terms for just a moment. God doesn’t act like a person or by the conventions we’ve set up as humans. God is not a thing that can be quantified in any scientific way. And God doesn’t act by any measure we humans can calculate. This should not be news to anyone who’s read the New Testament, in which Jesus says: “God is a spirit and must be worshiped in spirit.”

If the figure who inspired an entire religion says God is a spirit, and a spirit can’t really be defined in any literal terms, then to me the entire question of the existence of God is kind of silly and beside the point. How exactly do we prove the existence of a spirit?

One way, I think, would be to consider holy scriptures as collections of metaphors and analogies that speak to the heart and not the head. Jesus spoke metaphorically about who he was–I’ll address that some other time–and he spoke metaphorically about God, whom he also called, “Father.”

Think about that for a moment. In my son’s eyes I’m this source of unlimited knowledge. (Scary, I know.) I tell him that Humboldt squid live deep in the Gulf of California and swim closer to the surface to feed at dusk, and then my son reflects this knowledge back into the world though his play. More than knowledge, it would be good if I exhibited virtues and attributes so that my boy could mirror those back, too. (But what am I, some sort of prophet?!)

An adult’s relationship to God is similar. The knowledge of the living universe–that is, God–is so vast that we can’t possibly comprehend the essence of it. Expecting an adult to know all of what God is–to be “aware” of this existence–would be like expecting my four-year-old son to give me a treatise on the Iraq War or health care reform or even car repair and to be “aware” that such things exist. Such knowledge is beyond him. Likewise, most knowledge of the universe is beyond us. God, as a thing we can define down to its essence, is beyond us. But as we grow we are able to see patterns, become wiser, and gain nearer access to this wealth of spiritual knowledge just as my son will learn over time to understand some of the broader issues of the world. . . . . And this will have positive consequences as we act in the world.

So, God as the father is merely a metaphor. To my mind, this does not diminish the power of Christ’s message or the existence of some greater wisdom.

And that brings me back to my main point. Some atheists view religious people as a bunch of deluded sheep who  believe that Jesus performed miracles, was literally born of a virgin, and rose from the dead. Some religionists are so vehement in their beliefs that they demonize others, turning into hypocrites, and thus giving further ammunition to those who disparage religion in general. A vicious cycle, as it were.

But all that is so far beside the point. According to the Bible, never did Jesus say that his miracles were central to his cause. Never did he himself mention his birth, let alone its divine circumstances. Instead, he viewed himself secondary to his teachings. He was like a lamp. The lamp is beautiful. It’s okay to cherish it. But the sole purpose of a lamp is to shed light. That purpose must trump anything else. The purpose of Jesus was to spread spiritual teachings. Those teachings–and those of other religions–are as close to God as humans can get. We can even say that they are God. That’s where our focus should be.

If people were to organize around the spiritual teachings, which they do in many cases, then good would be poured out into the world . . . as it is much of the time.

This is the purpose of organized religion. Or at least it should be. The fact that we get it wrong, that we cling to dogma and doctrine and exclusionary thinking, only means that we’re human.

The way I see it, if we give in to radical fundamentalists, if we let them define what religion and spirituality are, or if we let the Richard Dawkins’s and Bill Maher’s of the world define the conversation, then we are doing a disservice to the truth and the purpose of our existence.

From the get-go there’s a major problem: a woman is more or less blamed for original sin. Man’s favorite scapegoat–the wife. Skip ahead a few thousand years to the Zealots of the pre-Christ Jewish state who were keen on assassinating those who differed theologically. Then, a few hundred years after Jesus was martyred the Church simply decided on what was Canon and what was not. The four Gospels were deemed divine. So were books entitled Romans, Acts, and Revelations. But there were many that the Church simply decided to not include.

The Inquisition, the Crusades, witch hunts, the KKK, Kashmir, and most recent, Bin Laden, the Taliban, and John Hagee. Some form of organized religion spawned them all. And, I have to say, I can’t blame any Catholic who is furious at the idea of organized religion in light of certain atrocities perpetrated by priests.

And that about wraps up this post.

Oh. Wait a second. I was supposed to defend organized religion.

Right.

The way I see it, organized religion is like organized anything. It involves people who are less than loving, people were simply  born into a belief system, others who joined a religion to be part of a community, and of course the saints, those grand souls who are beacons of spiritual light–Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, Mother Theresa.

The thing is that pretty much the same thing can be said for every organized group on the planet. Think of governments. I have a problem with even the best governments. I think they are more or less political machines that involve some very good and very bad individuals. You could say that they’ve caused massive wars and millions of deaths, way more than any organized religion could lay claim to. Think of the ungodly Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and the Khmer Rouge. Do we want to go without government?

I suppose the real argument against organized religion has to do with groups of people organizing around certain beliefs–say, the belief in some unprovable entity called God. And that these groups clash over these beliefs. I suppose right-thinking people say, “geez, why bother. Can’t we just go without these religions?”

I agree that it’s better to go without religion if it causes division. But religion doesn’t cause division. Believers do. For instance, two people can look at the same Bible passage and can come up with two vastly different interpretations. One can lead to hate and exclusion. The other can lead to love and unity.  When people say the Word of God is alive, they’re not kidding. It changes color depending on who looks at it.

Religion is kind of like The Force–it has a dark side and a light side. It can be used for good or for ill. I’m of the opinion that people who are antagonistic toward organized religion–again, I used to be one of them–simply ignore the spiritual power some people find in religion. Do you really think MLK would’ve had the resolve to accomplish what he did without his core beliefs found in the Word of Christ? Do you think Gandhi became steadfast out of thin air? Do you think Christ endured what he did out of some form of insanity? No. The spirit provides power.

But I digress. Organize is what humans do in “modern” times. A lot of us seem to relish in community. We organize according the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. We organize in defense of the environment. We organize to form fan clubs for our favorite rock bands.

With all these groups the problems are always the same–the members are human, and humans are imperfect.

At their worst, humans organize to form the Taliban. At their best, religionists organize to help their fellow man, to feed the hungry and cloth the poor and give money to the needy and council the grieving and inspire the downtrodden and on and on and on.

Religion, after all, is just the form. It is the template. It is the means to an end not the end itself. In other words, you pray and meditate and go to church and believe what you believe not because you’re supposed to but because it helps you progress as a spiritual being with the ultimate purpose of transforming society . . . slow though it be. The old Gandhian cliche is true: be the change you wish to see in the world.

When these organized religions teach hate or intolerance they should be called out. But, really, if an organized religion spreads hate or intolerance, they might be organized but they’re not religious. They’re not spiritual. They’re not of God.

I’d rather make this distinction than throw baby Jesus out with the bathwater.

But really, to be fair, I have much higher expectations of myself than I do of my eldest son and my wife. I beat myself up over all kinds of things. I feel shame when I’m supposed to feel shame. I feel guilty when I’m supposed to feel guilty. And, eventually, I get over it, maybe even learn from it occasionally, and move on. According to some, I don’t move on quick enough. According to some, shame is not a good thing to feel. They’re wrong.

But my great expectations don’t extend to other human beings all that often anymore. I still have expectations, mind you. But they’re rather low. And sure, people sometimes don’t even reach my low expectations. Yes I’m talking to you, O people of Earth who drive slowly in the passing lane. But these are trivial matters, usually.

What matters is this: you’re just asking for trouble if you have high expectations of your fellow human beings. They will let you down. But more than that, when you have high expectations of others, the result often translates into low expectations of yourself. You start to wonder, “why doesn’t this person do this or that?” Or, “Why doesn’t this person understand me or help me?” Or “If only we were all like ‘this’ then everything would be better.”

Maybe so. But to quote Gandolf, “That is not up to you to decide. All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us.”

(Sorry, I’ve been watching Lord of the Rings lately.)

I’ll speak for myself. Once I start pointing fingers, I inadvertently take myself out of the equation. And that’s not right. If someone does something that I think is unfair or inappropriate or lacking sympathy, then it’s fine for me be upset. But when others let us down, you should know, they owe us nothing. It would be great if we were all wise sages with time to help everyone who crosses our path. And we should strive to be so caring. But reality tells us that the world is full of jerks and jokers or, at best, people who have many responsibilities. If they can’t be there for you, not only might there be a good reason but even if there isn’t a reason, it’s still not their fault.

Here’s how I see things. Or how I try to, anyway.

We have a bunch of things going on in our lives. And we juggle most of them. I for one am pretty lousy at juggling stuff. For instance, I don’t keep a calendar outside of work appointments. So, I forget things. I procrastinate. I let things slide. Things I don’t let slide are things near and dear to me. I make sure my wife knows I love her. I make sure I spend time with the kids.  A lot of time. I do chores around the house because my wife is exhausted. The list is a long one. But at the top of the list has to be my relationship with the unknown universe some of us call God. This universe has to be foremost in my life. I have to converse with it. I have to plead with it. I have to beckon it. I have to remember it. And I need to take my medicine when it so deems. I expect it to be there because it is real. The universe I speak of is the universe of spiritual attributes, i.e. love, guidance, faith, unity, forgiveness, compassion, etc.

I admit, I’m a little lacking in that last one. Okay, so I’m a little lacking in the first one and second to last one, too. But my point is that I know this universe can’t be part of my juggling act. It has to stand alone, high up, on a shelf, right next to the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Ahem.

Hopefully, if I keep this universe in its rightful place, then I will be able to meet my own expectations. And, maybe, I’ll even meet the expectations of my wife and kids. And just maybe, I can meet the expectations of others. But I can’t worry about that. That is not up to me to decide. I can try. But how can I meet the expectations of others when I don’t really know what they are?

No. Life is hard. I refuse to consider myself a puny form.

The universe is in our hearts. And it is speaking to me. To us. My expectations should begin and end there.

And from there I can push out into the world from a place of strength.

I know I live in the Matrix, and I admit I like it. I like watching sports. I revel in hanging my kids upside down and tickling their bellies. I spend too much time arguing current events with two old friends. And too often I convince myself that I’m too tired to do anything but watch documentary footage of the Making of The Lord of the Rings film trilogy.

But I do try, most of the time, to at least put these things in their proper places.

~ ~ ~

Yesterday, the world gushed about the impending nuptials of future King William and his fiance Kate. Good for them. I love love. But then the Matrix bent. NBC anchor Brian Williams said his mother had  a Prince Charles / Princess Di commemorative coffee mug. “I think that describes a lot of households in this country,” he said, as if trying to justify why his network and others rushed to spend as much time as possible covering the engagement. If he’s right, then that’s sad.

Priorities. Our priorities are out of whack. The Royal Family is just the easiest bone to pick. The second easiest is politics. And politics is a subject less benign than watching “news” shows about the royals.

Look at the 2010 midterm elections. California republican Meg Whitman spent $160 million on her losing campaign. Do you know what $160 million could do in the world? Outside donations to politicians totaled more than $450 million dollars. All told the 2010 elections cost $3.7 billion dollars. That’s 3,700,000,000 dollars . . . for a midterm election . . . to elect people with agendas who will take money from huge lobbies that don’t have our interests in mind.

Meanwhile, there are more than a billion people on Earth who don’t have access to clean water. I’m not talking free health care or democracy or roads or digital television or Lady Gaga concerts. I’m talking . . . water.

The Matrix bends. But it won’t break.

Now, there are solutions to extreme poverty and other despicable realities we let fester outside the lights of TV cameras. The governments of the world could form a more unified confederation of nations that agrees on goals–such as giving everyone on Earth access to clean water–and then implements the means to turn those goals into realities. I believe this will eventually happen; this rabble of competing nation-states can’t  be the best we can do. But how will it happen? Therein lies the rub, doesn’t it.

I like to think the solution is as simple as it is elegant. Unfortunately, we’ve had the solution for a long time and have been implementing it only piecemeal. And most of us ignore it.

When a young man asked our hero, Jesus, how he could serve the Lord, Jesus said he should follow the commandments. The young man said that he already lived the right life. And then Jesus said, and I paraphrase, “Okay then. Sell all your possessions, pick up my cross, and follow me.”

The man did not sell his possessions. He did not pick up the cross. And he did not follow Christ. Why not? Because it’s hard.

I don’t mean to suggest that we should wear robes and sandals, sell everything else, and live lives of monasticism and extreme charity. What I mean is that we have not translated Christ’s message into the 20th century context. Our neighbors still live across the street. But they also live across the globe. To pick up the cross now means to be anxiously concerned for  a cause greater than ourselves.

But. Alas. We instead follow the Matrix. I’m guilty of it. I try to overcome it as best I can. I bet you do, too. A lot of us do. But I fear that most of us don’t.

The Matrix bends. But it won’t break because egotism and self-importance die hard.

Although we’ve made great progress over the course of history, what Gandhi said still rings true to me: until the hearts of men change, nothing will change.

And this is why I have to remind myself that while I’m hanging my kids upside down and tickling their bellies, my ultimate purpose is not to help them become happy consumers. It’s to help them pierce the Matrix, to pierce the veils of illusion that society casts down on us. And if my kids aren’t destined to be Neo, then at least they can pick up his cell phone and follow him.

Because there is no spoon.

Since 1979, the United States has viewed Iran as an evil country–part of the axis of evil, actually. It all started, so the story goes, with an incredible popular uprising that ousted the American-backed Shah, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi.

Radical students seized the American Embassy–the largest American embassy in the world at the time. Those radicals, spurred on by some of the more radical clergy, capturing 52 Americans and held them hostage for more than a year. That’s pretty much enough to hate Iran.

Of course, most Americans probably don’t realize that some Iranians at the time were still pretty ticked off about a certain episode in 1953 when the CIA and British intelligence officers fomented a coup to topple Iran’s only democratically elected prime minister who was in the process of nationalizing Iran’s oil companies while wresting power from the Shah, who was not by the way democratically elected and who was by all accounts a brutal dictator. That brutality, coupled with the Shah’s lackadaisical response to a crumbling economy, sent people into the streets in protest.

But, realistically, in today’s world, all that is ancient history. Today, even a majority of Iranians think very ill of the men who rule their country, the same men–many of them–who toppled the shah in 1979.

In Iran, the greatest power does not lie with president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Since the Iranian Revolution of 1978-79, a theocracy led by the Ayatollah, has been in charge, especially when it comes to foreign affairs. Ahmadinejad does nothing without the Ayatollah’s say so.

Yet, last year’s election and subsequent Green Movement show that Iran is not a monolith of radical Muslims. Far from it. Iran had always been a place of great history, culture, art, literature, poetry, music, academics, philosophy, and even a club culture hell bent on allowing people to smoke and drink themselves silly. More than 70 percent of Iranians were born after the revolution; they are growing nearly as tired of the current regime as many Iranians were of the Shah’s regime in the 1970s.

And it should be noted that the Iranian Revolution was not just a religious movement. Liberals, moderates, Jews, communists, nationalists, students, old ladies, workers, religious radicals. All of them participated in protests and national strikes. All of them had a dog in the fight and a reason to growl. It wasn’t until after the Shah was kicked out of the country that the radical religionists seized power that the other more moderate groups had wanted to claim for themselves.

And then, when the Ayatollah Khomenei returned from exile he welched on his promise of democratic reform, especially the idea that a circle of imams would play merely an advisory role in governance, just as an early 20th century Iranian Constitution had stipulated all along. That didn’t happen; Khomenei claimed power for himself. Iran became a theocracy. The reformers who had opposed the shah and the Ayatollah were either killed, exiled, or relegated to political purgatory.

Since then, Iranian’s political reformers have had little say in how Iran deals with the West, especially the United States. Though most U.S. politicians have had little reason or desire to make amends with Iran, the theocracy there has made it clear that they don’t want to repair relations either.

And for several years now we’ve had to deal with Ahmadinejad and the supreme leader Khamenei, both of whom are rather radical members of the Twelver Shi’a Islam sect who believe that the end of the world is not far off and the missing Twelfth Imam will soon set things right. (Sound familiar, Reverend Hagee?)

This, more than anything, is why I would not be at all surprised if Iran did something crazy, such as attack Israel. Because logic doesn’t have a great track record against apocalyptic thinking.

Most people in Iran’s government know how crazy something like an attack on Israel would be because the West, led by the U.S., would completely annihilate Iran. But crazy is the description of the hour in Iran’s highest leadership. The craziest of Iran’s crazies already feed money and arms to Israel’s enemies, including Hezbollah. It’s not so far-fetched to see how Iran will be involved in a shadow war against Israel even if Iran does not launch rockets against Israel.

Who knows. I’m just speculating. That last paragraph seems awfully far-fetched and kind of reeks of right-wing paranoia even though there have been reports that substantiate the fact that we ought to keep an eye on Iran’s crazy.

One thing is clear: Iranian leaders, including apparently the courts, are completely paranoid about Israel and the End of Days. In August, the Iranian government convicted seven innocent people of spying for Israel and crimes against Islam and sentenced them to twenty years each in prison. These people are Baha’is, members of a minority religion that was founded in Persia in the 19th century. What is the Baha’i Faith’s connection to Israel? The center of the faith is headquartered on Mt. Carmel in Haifa, Israel. It has a good relationship with the Israeli government–that is, Baha’is do what the Israeli government would want any law-abiding organization to do. Follow the laws of the land, don’t make a ruckus, be an upstanding part of the community. Oh, and bring in tourism dollars if you can. Check, check, check and CHECK. (Baha’i pilgrims flock to Haifa all year, every year.)

Ironically, the Baha’i world center wound up in Israel because that’s where Persian authorities exiled the Faith’s founder and His family in the 1850s. First they were exiled to Baghdad, then to Istanbul, then to Edirne, then to Acca, which is across the bay from Haifa. All this when the territory that became Israel was actually part of the Ottoman Empire. The Baha’is had no choice but set up shop in northern Israel. I mean, northern Palestine. Ever since the 1840s, Persian or Iranians leaders, including influential imams, have been trying to exterminate–yes, exterminate–the Baha’i Faith. They failed. There are millions of Baha’is in more than 230 countries. But some of Iran’s clergy, politicians, and military leaders still persecute the Baha’is.

But this logical history is actually beside the point. Baha’is have a very spiritual and mystical view of the Twelfth Imam and how “he” would return and, more to the point, how “he” did return. And therein lies the rub. Authorities in Iran consider the Baha’i Faith a heretical offshoot of Islam. Baha’is consider their faith a rightful offshoot of Islam, just as Christians consider their religion a rightful offshoot of Judaism. In fact, Baha’is consider themselves promoters of the Cause of God and that all humans are part of this cause–a cause for unity, justice, and peace–no matter what someone believes. Even if they don’t believe in God.

The authorities in Iran think they are on God’s side. They think Baha’is are heretics because their religion came after Islam. And Islam, according to the literalist’s view of the Quran, is supposed to be God’s final message to mankind.

Again. Literalism. When it comes to religion and spirituality and just about everything else, I dare say that literalism is the thorn in the side of wisdom and understanding.

The Baha’is stand for unity, forgiveness of their oppressors, and the oneness of spiritual truth–that is, labels don’t really matter; the fruits of a religion’s spiritual teachings matter most. The Iranians in charge stand for disunity, oppression, and a narrow interpretation of religious texts.

I don’t think it’s hard to see which side God is on.

I hope the people of Iran continue to see truth for its own sake. True Muslims, like true Christians, care about the fruit of a person’s life–her character, her actions, etc.

In time, justice will be done, and Baha’is will have the same rights as the most upstanding of Muslims in Iran. And when that day comes, and I believe it will, the sad and pathetic despots currently in charge will be relegated to the dustbin of history and Iran will return to its former glory as a jewel of intellectualism and spirituality.

Yeah, I hate those posts. (Okay, hate is too strong a word; later I’ll write about that word and how much I dislike it.)

I know what you are trying to say when your status update says that your lady is the best wife, best mother, best actress in a television comedy not starring Tina Fey. You’re really just trying to tell us that you love your wife because she’s great and she had just happened to do something that made you want to tell others. That’s fine. (not really; just keep it to yourselves; what are we, some sort of personal karma credit union?)

But, damn it people, get your language right! Go ahead and tell us how awesome your wife is and why. It could go something like this: “Mark Derewicz thinks his wife is awesome because she is incredibly patient, loving, and creative in so many wonderful ways.”

But noooooooo. You don’t say that. You have the gall–the NERVE–to suggest that your wife is better than mine? How dare you!

Frankly, I know some of your wives and they’re not even the best wife I know, let alone the best wife in the entire world. Yes, yes. I understand that she might be perfect for you and I respect that. If so, say so.

It could go something like this: “Mark Derewicz feels so blessed to have his beautiful wife in his life. She is perfect for me. I cherish her so much and pray to God that I never ever take her for granted. I love her more than life itself.”

But nooooo. You don’t say that. You don’t give a second thought to the obvious fact that if I were married to your wife, I really doubt she’d be the best wife on the planet. Granted, I might have something to do with that unpleasant fact. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

And really, how the hell do you know she’s the best wife? Maybe she’s merely above average. Heck, maybe she’s only average. Have YOU been married to every other woman in the world?

And consider this: isn’t there at least a decent chance that the woman you cheated on in college would be as good a wife as the woman you wound up marrying? Think about it.

Now, I never cheated on anyone, but I think it’s fair to say that at least one or two ex-girlfriends out here would characterize me as a jerk. So a status update could go something like this: “Mark Derewicz doesn’t deserve to be married to such a thoughtful, loving soul as his precious wife. But he’ll take it. Pray that he doesn’t muck it up.”

But noooooooo. You don’t say that. You have to tell us that you actually think your wife is the best ever, the greatest of all time.

Well I’ve got news for you. MY wife is the greatest of all time. But do I stick my nose into your facebook page with an unfortunate statement about how your wife is inferior to mine? Of course I don’t. I’m a gentleman. I just tell my wife that I love her, that she’s a fabulous mother, that even though I get annoyed when she misplaces her cell phone every day I will never submerge it in the kitchen sink just to teach her a lesson.

She is the greatest. For me. And I hope I’m the greatest for her. Maybe I should get on facebook and tell her and the entire universe, in no uncertain terms: “Babe, you’re the best ever!”