Theology

The hospice chaplain came by the other day to ask how he could help us.  I told him I welcomed his presence in our lives even if I couldn't provide a good answer to that question.  Let's see ... Carl is a Catholic who attended Jesuit schools and has had no involvement with religion since he was old enough to make a choice.  I was raised Protestant, then liberal/social action/unaffiliated.  When I went to Oxford for my graduate work I fell in love with a man who was a high-church Anglican.  Eventually I became one too.  I loved the ritual of the liturgy, and I imagined that I believed the words that went with it.  I certainly tried hard enough.  Leo, Annie and Peter were baptized Episcopalian, but have rarely attended church.  When I was working, I was simply too exhausted on Sunday mornings.  I needed to worship St. Mattress.  Now I belong to a small Unitarian community where God is optional.  I like that. 

I told the chaplain that I really don't believe in anything that might be referred to as "spiritual".  I believe that The Golden Rule is the fundamental moral underpinning for my existence as a human being.  I believe that as humans, good and evil are always at war in us.  But taken as a whole, I believe there is far more good in humanity than there is evil, and I believe that good will always triumph in the end.  Good triumphs over evil in small ways every moment of every day, even in the places where evil is the strongest, when good people reach out to help one another.

"When I was a boy and would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'" ~ Fred Rogers

"When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it always."  ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Of course, the chaplain has never met a family like ours, nor a person with as peculiar beliefs as the ones I hold.  One of my favorite things about Christ's teachings is the understanding that no matter how special and important I may think I am, I am no more worthy of understanding, respect and love than any other person on earth.  Even -- and this is a stretch -- Mohammar Ghaddafi.  In the past when I've said The Lord's Prayer, I've focused most on the forgiveness part (the forgiveness I ask for and the forgiveness I am obligated to grant) and on the powerful words "thy will be done".  When I've prayed, I've asked for the strength to face what's in front of me, and the grace to find joy and beauty in the world around me every single day.

I don't need to pray for Peter's life.  That gift has already been bestowed on me.

Afterlife?  It's nice to think about reincarnation as a possibility, but I can't buy it any more than I can buy heaven and hell.  I think the white tunnel comes from our last moments of consciousness when the brain is about to stop.  Nevertheless, it gives me great comfort to imagine Mummy and my dear Nana waiting at the end of the white tunnel for Peter.  I've gone ahead and used the image of heaven to help my kids accept the inevitability of death without fearing it too much.  When we had to put a cat to sleep, I had the kids draw pictures of "kitty heaven", full of tuna and scratching posts and catnip and soft cushions to sleep on.  If Peter ever reaches the point where he understands that he is dying, I won't shy away from talking with him about heaven.  I'll tell him that Nana and Grandma Shanti are there waiting for him, so he won't ever feel afraid.

Today I started to write the lyrics to a special song for him.  I'm thinking of setting it to the tune of Leonard Cohen's "Halleluia" and asking my Unitarian choir if they will let me sing it with them and record it.  “Peter’s Heaven” … There is no diabetes in Peter's heaven.  And no bipolar disorder.  You are surrounded by friends who always want to be with you.  All the cats sleep on your bed.  You can have all the dark chocolate you want.  No one ever calls you a fat freak with a tiny head.  Everyone slaps you five whenever they see your smiling face.  And if there's a God, He slaps you ten.