I Am Too Ornery For Organized Religion
Mamacita says: I am a sincere believer, but I am also a questioner. I don’t have a problem reconciling science and religion, but I do have a problem with people who do.
I do not enjoy sitting in a large megachurch. When I look around at the opulence, expensive carved wood, tile, chandeliers, huge foyers, multiple buildings, plush carpet, and lavish wall art, all I can think about is the food, clothing, shoes, books, and school supplies all that money might have bought; instead, this church chose to dress itself up. I don’t deal well with bling. I much prefer literate, well-fed children and libraries. Churches that spend a lot of money on opulence, bling, and shiny things make me doubt their integrity and intentions. I also question churches that send most of their resources overseas when there is so much need right next door.
If a church has no hymnals and projects the lyrics to congregational songs on a big projector, I tune out everything that comes afterwards. There’s something a about a hymnal held in my two hands, with dog-eared pages and old songs, that warms my heart and opens my mind. Those lyrics projected high up on the wall are impersonal and creepy. If the lyrics have been sanitized, simplified, and in any way changed, I tune out. Censorship is of the devil – Satan – and has no place in a church or anywhere else. If a congregation is so stupid that it doesn’t understand the words, perhaps these lucky churches should put a dictionary in the pews. Those who in any way change the words of someone else are criminals and enablers of ignorance. The minister might even consider defining the “hard” words for the stupid among the congregation before the singing begins. “Ebenezer” ain’t that difficult, and does exist outside of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.
I am far too particular about the talent of people who perform in public, and that, sadly, includes a “praise band.” It also includes the choir. This is MY problem, and I realize that, for all voices and talents are important and worthy of a patient and tolerant ear, but I have never had a patient and tolerant ear. In someone’s home, or an elementary school talent show, I can deal with someone being off-key or arhythmic, but in public (and in hospitals) there must be rhythm or, again, I will tune out. Eagerness, enthusiasm, and self-esteem can’t compete with talent in a public performance. Yes, I know I’m a snob.
I sit in the back. If the back is already full, I’ll try the balcony. If the balcony is full, or – and I’ve encountered this many times – locked, I will go home. If a stranger attempts to grab me, or pray for me, or in any way invade my personal space, I will freeze up inside and never return. Please keep that sweet, enthusiastic, sincere, genuinely kind and well-meaning old woman or man away from me, for I do NOT appreciate the gushing, the invitations, or the buddy-buddy-ness. If I’m asked to stand and introduce myself, I’ll leave.
People who jump up and down, raise both arms into the air, and shout during the sermon? I consider these people rude and intrusive. God speaks to me in a low, hushed, quiet voice, easily drowned out, and if someone is shouting near me, I can’t 
hear God; I can only hear the shouting, flailing human. I used to think people leaped and shouted in church for the express purpose of keeping God’s voice silenced, but now I think some people are so repressed outside of the church that they have to cut loose somewhere. And of course, some people just like to shout at God.
I figure that this post has offended a lot of people in one way or another, or in many ways, even. That’s all right. I’ve been to many churches whose programs have offended me, too. Groups of people have every right to have whatever kind of service they choose, and they certainly don’t have to please me. And, I can pick and choose whatever kind of church’s services I wish, too.
While I’m searching, I’ve been spooked out the door more times than one. I’m tickled pink that people are so happy with their beliefs that they want everybody to have that same joy, 
but I wish these people were more perceptive. Nice people just don’t run backwards across the parking lot to try and corral someone. There were times I felt as if I were running frantically from a lasso.
I love a church where I can sit anonymously and listen to a learned presentation from a literate person of either sex. I like to read a list of goings-on and pick the ones that appeal to me. I love to open a hymn book and sing the original words to lots of hymns. New hymns are often lovely, too, but having only to choose, I’d choose the old songs with the big words.
If there’s a King James Bible there, I know I’ve found a home.
Yes, I know I’m in the minority, especially with the King James Bible. My personal sermon on that will come later.
That’s my take on organized religions. Bring it on!
The Glorious Fourth
Mamacita says: We used to go all-out for over-the-counter fireworks; my son and his friends were crazy about them. They were too young to buy them, so I did that little service for them, smiling sincerely at the clerk while I signed the document that assured the federal government that I wasn’t going to USE the fireworks; I was just buying them so I could look at them. It was legal to buy them, but illegal to use them in any way that involved a lighted match. Go figure.
I’m not going to say that there were no accidents involving fireworks in my back yard, but I did used to have TWO cherry trees back there.
And I think everybody’s deck and sidewalk should have scorch marks on them; it tells people that once upon a time, kids lived here. When I moved out of my parents’ house, I actually wept a little inside at saying goodbye to many years’ worth of scorch marks.
I do not like the loud “bangs,” but I do love the spectacle in the sky. The drought here is so bad that our fireworks show really ought to be cancelled; it would be the wise thing to do, but apparently it’s still on tonight’s agenda.
We all also know that fools everywhere are going to disregard all the fire warnings; already I can hear the bangs and booms all over the neighborhood. These people be crazy. There will be sirens all over town. The fireworks tents and kiosks here are all displaying signs reading “Don’t worry about the fireworks ban; our products won’t cause fires.”
Because gunpowder and matches never cause fires, especially on grass so dry it pierces a bare foot like widely-spaced awls.
My ability to suffer fools decreases with each passing day; I often think that if our society didn’t try so hard to put up with fools, there might not be as many.
The Bible is harder on fools than on evil people, to which I say, YESS. Evil people can reform; fools stay stupid all their lives, and bring everyone and everything around them down, as well.
I do not believe that Americans take the Fourth of July seriously enough, any more. It used to be huge deal, with entire communities taking part: leaders read the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence aloud as the audience recited in their heads along with him – yes, everyone used to be required to memorize important documents! Memorizing things was considered good exercise for the brain. Now, we’ve got kids who don’t know their own middle names, and wouldn’t know the second line to a nursery rhyme if they were offered cash for it. Sad, sad, and very, very bad. (I seriously believe that children who don’t know a dozen nursery rhymes by heart before they ever set foot in kindergarten have been raised poorly, and that their parents are fools.) (Don’t get me started about stupid parents; you might not like what will happen.)
Independence Day is important. It should remind us of the many things we take for granted that citizens of other countries would give anything to have.
It should remind us of how our nation began, and what it stands for, and why we should never take any part of our freedoms for granted. It should make us remember to be grateful.
Independence Day is one of my favorite movies, and, corny as it may be, I love this speech by the President, portrayed by Bill Pullman.
In America, it’s legal to question. Smart people love and encourage questions. Any belief system that can’t hold up under questioning is not a viable belief system. Any person whose sensibilities are offended by questions about his/her beliefs, and who can’t abide other people’s beliefs, and who don’t wish to have anybody else’s beliefs demonstrated in any way, are themselves the very fools who deserve the punishments fools have ultimately gotten for a thousand years.
I don’t like fools. Nope, not a bit. They’re just so, so, so. . . . foolish.
Be smart on the Fourth. If you’re one of the many areas that is drought-ridden, don’t play with matches. If your kids are very young, or any age and irresponsible, don’t allow them to get anywhere near a match under any circumstances.
There are safe ways to blow things up and have fun on the Fourth; go for those. Oh, and DON’T break open a glow stick and add it to anything; those glowing bubble posts and pins are hoaxes. The stuff inside a glow stick can be dangerous.
And above all, think about where we live, and be grateful. Gratitude is one of the most beautiful of all emotions. Feel it and share it. Appreciate things. Express that appreciation. Glory in the wonder of living in a country that allows you to express it.
Well, unless you try to express it in a public school, that is. Or many workplaces. Or. . . . but I digress.
Have a safe and happy Independence Day. Or, if you don’t believe in that, have a safe and happy Fourth of July. You HAVE to believe in that one; it falls between the Third of July and the Fifth of July.
Bazinga.
Miss Wilder and the Bent Pin
Mamacita says: I’ve been a hugely obsessed fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder and all of her books since before I could read.
I first visited the Laura and Almanzo’s Mansfield, Missouri, home when I was in college, and at first was puzzled by the big electric fan on the porch – Laura, with an electric fan? This was my actual realization that she had lived through a multitude of discoveries and inventions, and of course would have electricity. Heck, they had a car. Etc. Laura had been a savvy, sociable, stylish, knowledgeable girl, and was the same as a woman.
My whole family loves Laura. As a family, we traveled to Mansfield, MO to visit her and Almanzo’s beautiful home there. My mother has been several times with her friends.
One of my favorite chapters in Little Town on the Prairie is “The School Board’s Visit.” Laura fans will remember that Almanzo’s older sister Eliza Jane was teaching school in DeSmet while Laura and Carrie were there, and that Miss Wilder was perhaps the world’s worst teacher. She treated all of the students, even the young ladies, as if they were babies; she condescended to them (worst possible thing to EVER do to a student of any age!) and said things like “. . . birds in their little nests agree!” in tones that made even good girl Laura squirm in her seat.
Miss Wilder’s classroom control was non-existent; she never punished anyone, so first the little boys, then the little girls, and then even the big girls, began to disregard rules, stopped studying, and the classroom became a nightmare. That’s what happens when you treat kids like babies, and never follow through with anything.
The school board finally came to Miss Wilder’s classroom, and one of my favorite conversations ensued:
Pa looked at Charley and his eyes were twinkling. He said, “Young man, I hear you got punished for sitting on a bent pin.”
“Oh, no, sir!” Charley replied, a picure of innocence. “I was not punished for sitting on it, sir, but for getting up off it.”
I still think this is hilarious.
And then Pa, as head of the school board, told the students to behave themselves. “We want a good school, and we are going to have it.” When Pa spoke like that, he meant what he said, and it would happen.
Wouldn’t it be loverly if our classrooms could be like that? Students behaving properly because it was the right and decent thing to do? And to have every student there understand that there would be serious consequences for misbehavior? In a perfect world.
P.S. When Laura’s daughter Rose was a pre-teen, she went to live with her Aunt Eliza Jane in Louisiana, as the schools in Mansfield weren’t advanced enough for her. (Rose was extremely gifted.) Eliza Jane had married later in life to a widower with grown children, and when her husband died, his children took everything, even Eliza Jane’s wedding ring. Rose finished school in Louisiana and became a telegraph operator and then a reporter and real estate agent, as was her husband, Gillette Lane; they lived in San Fransisco for a while, and in 1915, Laura took the train to California to visit them during the World’s Fair. Rose and Gillette were later divorced. They had no children, so Laura and Almanzo have no direct descendents. They had only one other child, a boy, who died when he was so young he hadn’t even been named yet.
And now I shall stop lest I keep going and give you a complete history of these beloved people.
P.P. S. I have to say one more thing about Rose: she was the oldest Vietnam war correspondent, and had a home in Albania with her friend Helen Boylston (Sue Barton!) My favorite of Rose’s books is Let the Hurricane Roar, but if you search for it, be sure you get the original; it’s been edited, edited books are never as good. Her characters were named Charles and Caroline, after her grandparents, but the editor changed them to Molly and David, and renamed the book Young Pioneers. Such a stupid move, as are all edited versions.
All the books in the series have been “updated and made more relevant,” which means they’ve been murdered and bespoiled, and tons of cool stuff has been left out, so don’t waste your time with the new versions; find the originals; they’re ALWAYS better. Censors and editors are Satan. Yes, THAT Satan.
Okay, I’m really stopping now.
One more thing: I do love it when a misbehaving child gets what he’s asking for. It seldom happens in real life these days, but in our beloved books, things are still done right.
