What Job, Earthworms, Tree Squirrels, and Mark Twain's Wife Have in Common

Even if PEW is right about 15% of liberal Episcopalians being nonbelievers (see last post), that leaves 85% who are. While I doubt that most liberal Episcopalians believe in the virgin birth, the triune God, or that Christ died for their sins, I would imagine that they do believe in some nebulous force for universal good, a view that I daresay lacks currency among earthworms, earthworms being creatures that I reflect upon quite a lot this time of year. The reason for my reflection is that western Oregon gets almost daily rain each winter, and in order to breathe, earthworms must take to the pavement where there's nothing to eat, and they are subject to being run over or stepped upon.

Another case in point. I feed tree squirrels, so it sometimes happens that I witness their suffering. One recently lay on my porch with a skinned leg, and although I fed him, he soon disappeared. I should think that a God who is capable of creating stars by the trillion could save, or at least euthanize, suffering tree squirrels, but God does not, and this leaves but eight possibilities: (1) God does not exist; (2) God is ignorant of the suffering of tree squirrels; (3) God is indifferent to the suffering of tree squirrels; (4) God is unable to help suffering tree squirrels; (5) God allows tree squirrels to suffer for some unimaginable good; (7) Descartes was right, and only humans suffer; (8) the Judaeo-Muslim-Christian religions are right, and God became so disappointed in human beings that he made the whole earth suffer in retaliation. 

If you're a believer, which option do you choose, or do you simply throw up your hands and say that everyone must have faith in something, and your faith is in the Rock of Zion. Yes, we all must have faith in something, but I would offer that your argument has a serious problem in that faith must be based upon a record of reliability. For instance, I have faith in my wife because my wife has shown herself reliable, but upon what record of reliability do you base your faith in God, and when you answer that question, how do you know that God deserves the credit?

Mark Twain's wife was a devout Christian until her father and small son died, after which she regarded God as unreliable, her faith in God's reliability having remained constant through other people's losses. The faith of the Biblical character Job was not so shaken. In that account, Satan told God that he could make God's rich, devout, and happy servant, Job, curse God to his face, upon which God said prove it. Satan then killed Job's children, destroyed his home, made him a pauper, and afflicted him with boils, but Job remained steadfast. Where the story fails is that it gives the reader no understanding of Job's constancy and no reason to prefer the morality of God to the morality of Satan, since both had conspired to wreck Job's life--and kill his children--simply to prove a point.

In a very limited way, I go to church; I benefit from going to church; and I have no intention of not going to church; yet there remains an incalculable gulf between most churchgoers and myself. This means that my welcome at church is conditional upon keeping my mouth shut regarding scores of objections to the very concept of religious faith. Sadly, I have been in a similar dilemma in other groups, not because I'm generally unpleasant, but because I find it nearly impossible to remain silent about things that make other people cringe. Socrates was killed for asking uncomfortable questions as was, perhaps, Jesus Christ, only they died knowing that they had made a positive difference, while I can't tell that I have ever made such a difference. I simply anger people, and then I leave, and the more I come to trust a group, the closer I get to the day of my departure.

Winning Salvation

In 2018, I started re-attending the Episcopal Church, a denomination that I joined in 1972, after abandoning the fundamentalism of my youth. I have since become the most regular participant at a Gregorian Chant Evening Prayer service, and I am among the sextons who provide building security. I volunteered for the sexton job because I felt obligated to do something for the church; because I wanted 24/7 access to the sanctuary and library; and because I needed the trust that goes with having a key to the building.

I have shared the fact of my atheism with those church members who are important to me, most notably the head priest, Bingham, and the layman, Max, who leads the evening prayer service. Bingham has shown me unfailing warmth and acceptance, and Max complimented me by saying that I approach church with a purer spiritual intention than that of many believers.*

The Episcopal Church has long embraced liberal theology, modern Biblical criticism, and archaeological advances. While other mainstream churches buried their heads in the sand during the 1960s, Episcopal priests marched in support of Civil Rights (one was killed) and in opposition to the War in Vietnam. In 1974, the church ordained its first female priests. In 2003, Gene Robinson became its first gay bishop, and, in 2010, Mary Glaspool its first lesbian bishop. The Episcopal Church’s courage and integrity has cost it many members and led other churches within the Anglican Communion to advocate for its expulsion.

Since the time of Martin Luther, most Protestant Christians have defined faith as belief without evidence, and preached that salvation is by faith alone. They claim that this view frees believers from the onerous requirements of the Mosaic Law, but ignore the fact that no one can believe that which he considers nonsensical. The logical conclusion of such a belief is that the worst person who ever lived will go to heaven if he professes faith in Christ at the moment of death, while the best person who ever lived will go to hell if she does not. An alternative definition of faith divorces it from what a person believes and places it upon how he lives. In the common vernacular, by attending church regularly, I am “practicing my faith.” In terms of pleasing a deity in which I don’t believe, the proper definition of faith is meaningless, but in terms of being able to attend church with integrity, it makes an enormous difference.
  
When people lose any semblance of belief, they also lose their fear of hell, but when, at age eleven, I entered the netherworld of agnosticism (as Christina Rosetti put it, “the twilight that doth not rise nor set”), I was besieged by periods of abject terror that lasted for two decades. The more afraid I became, the more I hated God for making me afraid, and the more I hated God for making me afraid, the more afraid I became. Shame kept me from sharing my torment with any other person because my church believed that doubt constitutes the unpardonable sin.

Given the misery that religion caused me, what possible reason could I have for going to church--any church? I go because I hunger, and while the god of my boyhood church was like a stone, the god of the Episcopal Church is like an apple. Just as one need not be a Hindu to practice Yoga or a Buddhist to practice Vipassana, I need not be a Christian to appreciate the solace of evening prayer. I sit amid the glow of stained-glass windows, absorb the light from flickering red votives, and praise the long-dead priest who hand-carved the altar. I recite the ancient liturgy as though it were a beloved poem, and no matter how my day was going when I entered, I am soon awash in the pastel light of joy and peace. But is my non-belief not an obstacle? If I were among those who believe in the monstrous deity that much of the Bible portrays, it would be, but the the beliefs of Episcopalians tend to be amorphous, and they consider it bad form to even talk about their private theologies. This reluctance is one reason that the church’s evangelical and Catholic critics castigate Episcopalians (and other liberal Christians), for practicing “a watered-down, cafeteria-style version of Christianity that allows its members to take the dessert and leave the meat” (the meat being passages which support conservatives’ belief in hell and portray God as sharing their sexism, racism, tribalism, and homophobia). 

The church’s critics are correct regarding its theological vaguity, but wrong in that the Episcopal Church is quite specific on issues of social justice. It is not the evangelicals, or the fundamentalists, or the Catholics, who welcome such outcasts as I, but Episcopalians. Just as the Biblical Samaritan made no demand that the man he was helping give proof of right doctrine, neither does the Episcopal Church expect it of me. When my local parish gave me, an atheist, a key to its building, I offered it as much of my heart as I can offer any group.**

The Parable of the Good Samaritan

...an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
 
“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

In reply, Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So, too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw the man, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came to where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day, he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him, he said, ‘and when I return,’ I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ 

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” 

The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” 


* In researching this post, I learned that 16% of politically liberal Episcopalians describe themselves as atheists or agnostics: https://www.pewforum.org/religious-landscape-study/religious-denomination/episcopal-church/political-ideology/

** I limit my loyalty to groups because groups are unable to give loyalty in return. Also, the Episcopal Church has taken a few stands by which I am appalled. Namely, it: (1) opposes assisted suicide and euthanasia; (2) teaches that only human life is sacred; (3) opposes laws that would restrict abortion, yet expresses moral opposition to most abortions; and (4) professes a reverence for nature, but neither conserves resources nor takes measures to protect non-humans.

We Adopt a Fifth Cat

Our three fosters were here for seven weeks. The two long-haired black sisters left yesterday to live with a young bookstore clerk and her parents, and Harvey, the gray-haired boy, will live with us, although CRAN (Cat Rescue and Adoption Network) initially rejected our application. Since no one wanted to give us the bad news, five days passed during which we wondered what was going on. Finally, a woman named Aven called, and said that CRAN had decided to give Harvey to someone else. When we asked why we couldn't keep him, she gave two reasons. The first was our age, and we could but acknowledge that we shared that concern. The second was that we had stated on our application that if we could no longer care for our cats, we would return them to CRAN. 

Aven said that CRAN was disappointed by that response because it might be hard, if not impossible, to find homes for what by then could be elderly cats with ongoing medical needs. We were astounded by her words because when we adopted our previous CRAN cats, we had been made to promise that we would return them to CRAN no matter how long they had been with us or what our reason was for giving them up. After a pause, Aven conceded that we were right, but she gave no explanation for the discrepancy. I suspected that there must be some additional reason for our rejection, but she didn't give one.

Harvey Schmoozing with Three of His Four Elders

She then wanted to know what our vet would say if she called and asked if our cats were current with their vaccinations. I said he would tell her that our cats had never been vaccinated, the reason being that he advised against it in the case of indoor-only cats. She asked if we would run the matter by him again and follow his advice, and we said we would. With that compromise out of the way, she said, "I think you should keep Harvey." We were again astounded because we hadn't known the subject was debatable. Three days later, we signed the final papers, paid the $140 adoption fee, and Harvey was ours. 

Sisters

We were impressed that CRAN cares so much about its charges that it would deny a cat to its own desperately needed fosters, but puzzled as to why, in our case, one of its two reasons made no sense. Because Peggy rarely has friction with other people, and I regularly do, I can't help but wonder if I somehow incurred bad feeling. As to what I might have done, all I can think of is that, ten days before they were adopted, I was told to take all three kittens to PetSmart where they would remain until adoption. I refused because Peggy (who couldn't be reached that day) knew a woman who she believed would give them a good home, but the woman was out of town. The placement coordinator who I explained this to asked me to at least have the woman start the application process by filling out an online form, but I refused to do that as well because the woman hadn't seen the cats. My refusals were met with a flurry of phone calls and emails, but I stood my ground, and given how things turned out (Peggy and I met and approved of the young woman who adopted the girls), I'm glad I did. Aside from that, I can't think of anything that either of us might have done wrong, and I don't intend to ask. I do intend to remain with an organization that has come to mean a great deal to me, an organization that rests upon an edifice of values, goals, and attitudes that I hold in the highest regard.

As to why I feel so strongly, many people complain that the cost of adopting a CRAN kitty is too high, what with cats being given away on Craigslist, but CRAN doesn't even recoup its cost much less turn a profit. During their time with us, Peggy and I spent upwards of $200 on our fosters, and while we could seek reimbursement, we won't because the funds would have to come from volunteers like ourselves, some of whom have far less money. It is also true that our kittens incurred a heavy expense before they came to us, having been abandoned on someone's porch, and spending the next three months in CRAN's long-term care facility where they were chipped, vaccinated, sterilized, and treated for ringworm, fleas, and ear mites. Two days before we received them, a volunteer named Kim dropped off bowls, toys, litter, blankets, two litter boxes, canned food, dried food, a 3'x2'x4' kennel, and various other supplies, all paid for by CRAN.

CRAN is staffed by over 200 volunteers and has an annual budget of $199,000, nearly all of which comes from individual donations. It is currently building a new long-term care facility, but all of its healthy cats are housed in approximately seventy foster homes until space becomes available in one of five local pet supply stores. CRAN's cats are also listed on Petfinder.com. All applicants must undergo a background screening and, in the case of renters, their landlords are called. Everyone in an applicant's home must want the cat(s), and applicants must promise, in writing, to keep them indoors, and, where desirable, provide them with an animal companion. CRAN cats that are bonded with other CRAN cats must be adopted together. I don't know of a single other humane organization with which I am so philosophically aligned that I can give it my unreserved support.

How to Continue?

The three kittens are still here. Once space opens up for them in a local PetSmart store, I'll drop them off, and they'll be housed in cages until adoption (the store doesn't profit, and the rescue agency goes deeper in the hole with every cat). On that day, I will become the man who betrayed them, and I won't even have the comfort of knowing that they will be sent to loving homes.

I expected fostering to be hard, but I also expected to have the same kittens for only a few days or, at most, a couple of weeks. They've now been here for six weeks, and while I try to enjoy them in the moment, I know what they do not, and that I could spare them. To atone to the dogs I murdered in order to help dogs, I could make this their forever home, and so what if my life contained seven cats--is seven really that many, once they become old enough that the furniture can be uncovered and the knicknacks returned? Peggy says yes, and while my head agrees, my heart doesn't care. My only comfort comes from knowing that, according to the actuarial tables, I will die when their lives are but half over, so it is better to let them go now.

Can I keep inviting this heartache? But if not I, then whom: people who care less; people who are stronger; people who are more practical?

I hate my species for what we do to other lives.

Perhaps, I would be doing better if it were summer because every winter, for me, is a struggle for survival. My pain is worse, and the virtues of the other seasons are absent, replaced by what? Cold. Gray. Drizzle. Darkness. Death. What insanity possessed me that I moved halfway to the North Pole, to a place that rarely sees the sun for life-sapping months? I can't breathe for the agony. I am lost already, and the worst is yet to come.

Peggy, who is more rational than I, points out that there are other ways to serve animals. For instance, I could volunteer to show them to potential adoptees, and the decision to allow--or disallow--those people to adopt wouldn't even be mine. But what if I didn't approve? What then? Turn a cat over and hope for the best? Tell the applicant to go fuck himself? Like a crazed father who greets his daughter's beaus with a shotgun, I favor the latter.

I so wanted this to be fun. I so wanted to be useful, but I am drowning in sadness.