The Little Things

The local Mormon community did not seem to be the target of gay-marriage advocates who marched in downtown Chicago Saturday (photos here), joining in nationwide protests against laws banning same-sex marriages.

On the West Coast, some activists have directed their protests against the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS), which campaigned for Proposition 8, the measure passed earlier this month to reverse California’s legalization of gay marriage.  The church in California and in neighboring states like Utah has since experienced vandalism, protests outside temples and threats from Prop 8 opponents.

Mormons in Chicago have not seen this backlash – both the temple in Glenview and the church’s Chicago North Mission in Arlington Heights say they’ve not heard of any protests or anti-Mormon sentiments directed at local groups.  The mission, one of four representing the 54,000 Mormons in the state, isn’t aware of any angry phone calls, lettersor vandalism taking place, said Sister Hicken, the mission’s administrative assistant.

A statement on the church’s Web site describes its position and urges opponents to engage in respectful dialogue over this“emotionally charged issue.”

During Barack Obama’s campaign, media and voters drew attention (and drama) to his religiosity—what’s his connection with Muslims?!  With Rev. Jeremiah Wright?!

Obama chose fellow Chicagoian Rahm Emanuel as his chief of staff, unfortunately subjecting Emanuel to some of the religious scrutiny and speculation that spotted the president-elect’s campaign. 

So perhaps it’s worthwhile to set the religious records straight: Emanuel attends Anshe Sholom B'nai Israel, a modern orthodox synagogue in Lakeview.  Here’s 10 minutes with Asher Lopatin, the synagogue’s rabbi and Emaneul’s “spiritual leader.” 

Emanuel is known for his aggressive temper and fierce political style on Capitol Hill, but Rabbi Lopatin says he keeps his cool at shul: “I haven't seen any of that in the synagogue, that's all I can say! Rahm is very self-aware, he's aware of his image, he's aware of all the stories about him. But, when he comes to synagogue, he comes to pray, he comes to be with his family. He's not in synagogue to talk politics. We don't call him Rahmbo here!”

Emanuel looks to his rabbi for advice on religious matters and how to make his political obligations fit within the rules orthodox practice.  He’s been described as a “committed Jew,” and I don’t doubt that—Emanuel even spent some time volunteering with the Israeli military during the Gulf War, according to a profile by the New York Times.

Happy birthday to the founder of the Bahá’í faith, Bahá'u'lláh!  This Iranian prophet (1817-1892) identified himself as the next in line of Moses, Jesus and Muhammad, writingbooks directing spiritual living. 

On his Nov. 12 birthday,  worldwide—including more than 670,000 in the U.S.—hold services in his honor.   In Wilmette, the Bahá’í Temple of the North American Continent is holding a devotional program in its auditorium at 7:30 p.m.

The Chicago area is a fitting place to celebrate Bahá'u'lláh’s birthday because the religion made its Western Hemisphere debut here, a year after his death, according to the Chicago Bahá’í Community Web site. World’s Parliament of Religion discussed Bahá'u'lláh during the Colombian Exposition in 1893, and the first Bahá’í community in the country formed in Chicago the next year, the site said.

 Photo (from Bahá’í Media Bank) shows the religion's early followers in Lincoln Park in 1912.

When it comes to religion’s role in the upcoming scare-filled, candy-heavy holiday, there’s so much I could say, about judgment houses, the Baptist alternative to haunted houses; Jesus-o-Lanterns, the light of the world shining through a pumpkin shell; or track-or-treating, distributing evangelical pamphlets along with candy.

Instead of focusing on Christianity’s reaction to what Halloween has become, though, I’m going to take it old school, back to the religion’s Celtic roots. In Chicago, the Irish American Cultural Heritage Center has sponsored some events this week to celebrate Samhain—pronounced “sow (rhymes with cow)-en.”

The center, in Albany Park, has mixed-media work on display in its gallery, in an exhibit entitled “Samhain/Day of the Dead…thinking about Persephone.” The show, with works representing the cycle of life, death and rebirth, will remain open to the public from 1 to 4 p.m. on weekends and weekdays by appointment through Nov. 16.

Halloween’s origins as Samhain are darker and more conceptual than the pumpkins, cobwebs and skeletons that symbolize the holiday today. Oct. 31, for the Celts, marked the day where the boundary between the living and the dead becomes “almost permeable as the days darken and become colder,” according to Rev. Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite a Chicago Theological Seminary professor.

Thistlethwaite chronicled “All Hallows’ Even,” later adopted by the Christians as the night before All Saints Day and All Souls Day in the Newsweek-Washington Post blog OnFaith. Beliefnet has more on the holiday’s history.

For Celtic-style All Hallows’ Even fun, visit the 5th Province Pub, at the Irish American Cultural Center (4626 N. Knox Ave.), to hear Irish Musician Joe McShane, as well as some traditional storytellers and poets.

As a preface, let me say that I promise not all of my blog posts about faith will involve alcohol ... but I can't help it when the Catholic Archdiocese decides to give out free beer.

Lately, I have been trying to expand my faith life understanding by visiting different houses of worship and exploring various religions. Last week, I went to a Shabbat Service and found it very rich and beautiful. Next, I'm looking into Eastern religions by visiting a Buddhist Temple.

But last night, I found an interesting lecture series put on by the Archdiocese of Chicago. This wasn't going too outside my purview as I wore the plaid skirt and saddle shoes through a good 10 years in Catholic school. But I found Fr. Pat McGrath's lecture on Finding God in All Things--something in which I have a particular interest--quite refreshing.

Theology on Tap is an Archdiocese-wide lecture series on Sunday through Wednesday evenings at about 40 Chicago-area churches. The series goes on through early August and is followed by a Mass and picnic on the DePaul University campus.

Topics vary from basic issues such as prayer and the importance of attending church to more specific subjects like marriage relationships and delving into certain sacraments.

Last night at St. Vincent DePaul in Lincoln Park, the church provided pizza, beer and other drinks. They also welcome picnic baskets and blankets.

After the lecture, the nearly 50 young adults present split up into groups to further discuss the topic and talk about their "God moments." Hearing so many 20-somethings talk so openly about their faith in the midst of the bustling city with the train interrupting their thoughts every few minutes was quite an experience.

Completely informal and casual, Theology on Tap makes for a great evening in the beautiful Chicago summer weather. For more information, visit the Archdiocese's young adult ministry Web site.

It takes about two vodka tonics before I’m physically able to board a plane—or as I like to call it, a coffin with wings. Another $6 shot of liquid courage from the nice flight attendants, and I’m good to go for the duration.

This becomes a problem with age and maturity as I begin to travel more both because my family resides in Texas (aka, Utopia) and because I am beginning to take business/school-related trips to meet sources and do research. But for most flights, it works.

That is, except for this past weekend.

I traveled home to good old San Antonio for a close friend’s wedding. On the way, I carried out my usual routine and made it to my dad’s awaiting classy minivan with little more than cramped legs. (Aside: I should never get cramped legs when traveling due to my ridiculously short stature. Thank you, American Airlines.)

The trip back to O’Hare was quite a different story. I waited at the crowded Tex-Mex bar in the San Antonio airport, reading Cosmopolitan, as my flight was delayed once, twice, thrice. Two-and-a-half hours later and facing the bottom of my second double, the attendant announced it was time to board. If this were the end of the story, I would have pleasantly drifted as Damien Rice or Lucinda Williams sang me to sleep through my ear buds.

Instead, we sat on a runway for an hour while my fogginess wore off and then lifted off into certain demise in the cloudy skies. (This is where it begins to make sense that I’m writing this for a religion blog.)

Some respond to turbulence by tightening their seatbelts or distracting themselves with juicy reads. I, on the other hand, dig my nails into my palms and pray to God that I live to see tomorrow. It’s more like a chant: “Please God, don’t let us crash into the Gateway Arch. Please God, don’t let us get struck by lightning … or another plane.” (I also happen to be ridiculously claustrophobic, so occasionally I’ll toss in a “Please God, don’t let the flight attendants park the drink cart next to my seat.”)

It may be silly. And it may be true that whatever will happen is already written, and God doesn’t cause or prevent it, but simply allows it.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop my chant when the pilot crackles on and warns us to buckle up.

Interestingly enough, the great thing about my prodigal prayer is that it does remind me how often I forget my daily, hourly need for His help and grace. And it often does change my routine, if only for a few days.

Or until one of the four toddlers surrounding me on the plane begins to scream.

“Please God, let me not kill small children.”

Sometimes it’s the little things: the sun rising over Lake Michigan, a poignant song, a selfless act of kindness. They tell us how small we are — that there must be something bigger. But sometimes it’s the big things — the ones that hit you right in the face.

… Like a spontaneous baptism(?)

Some friends and I were hanging out a few weekends ago in the LP, and after having a casual discussion on faith, one of them decided she wanted to get baptized. So, we walked over to a church, and she did.

It was simple and easy and beautiful. A random turn of events? Yes, but beautiful all the same.

It reminds you that faith doesn’t have to be this huge production with dimmed lights and emotional music streaming in the background. It’s not necessarily stadiums full of people with hands raised high and eyes closed while you sheepishly play along despite the fact that you may not actually be feeling it. It doesn’t have to be a somber act that is rooted in nothing for you but your family’s tradition. Certainly each of these things can reflect your faith. But there’s no formula.

For some, it can look like sitting around a deck in workout clothes after playing volleyball all day at North Avenue Beach and talking with friends over some beers. It can mean realizing the faith exists somewhere in you and deciding to respond.

My favorite part about the whole experience came weeks after. I Facebooked (yes, it’s a verb) my friend to make sure she was OK with me stealing her life for a blog post. And her response: “That's part of our responsibility, right? Sharing the story?”

Her answer was yet another one of those little things that reminds me of my faith.

A group of crazy Texans (aka, college buddies) invaded Chicago this holiday weekend. We made some of the obligatory sightseeing trips--Uno's deep dish, Lincoln Park Zoo, The Bean. Our one real expense of time and money was a trip up to the Skydeck at the Sears Tower.

I typically keep to the Hancock and pay for a drink at the lounge instead of the same amount to go two floors up. But from the view from 1,343 feet off the ground, I did more than scan the horizon a mile north to find my house.

I noticed the ridiculous number of churches dotting the landscape-huge, gorgeous, historic churches.

I understand this isn't a stunning realization. I knew these churches, if only by name, through research when I started covering religion in Chicago. But to see them all laid out like little neighborhood hubs was a beautiful sight. They weren't shielded by steel and glass towers, and they weren't constructed like sports arenas so as to pack in as many people as possible.

I wonder if anyone remembers the days when church steeples reached into the sky higher than any office building. You could look out across the scene to see crosses and bell towers inching above rooftops like fingers pointing upward.

Seeing it instills a certain nostalgia. There was a time when the church was the center of a neighborhood. It offered community and fellowship and help to those in need. Certainly today's churches offer the same, but times have changed and so have people.

So many just want to be entertained, and they want churches that live up to their ideas of current and contemporary. But often they forget how awe-inspiring it can be to sit in a cathedral with sunlight spilling through stained glass windows, bells ringing them into the service.

That said, I realize traditional is not for everyone. But I would highly recommend touring some of these architectural marvels, if only to experience how much care and consideration designers put into making their churches jewels of the neighborhood.

The Chicago Cultural Society occasionally offers tours of three city churches, starting with Second Presbyterian Church. Or plot your own path with the help of the City of Chicago's Web site.

Some of my favorites that aren't on the list include St. Francis of Assisi across from University of Illinois Chicago, St. James Lutheran Church in Lincoln Park (full disclosure: this is my church), St. Pauls United Church of Christ in Lincoln Park and, of course, Holy Name Cathedral downtown.

Happy touring!

Religion can be so inflexible.

And no, I'm not alluding to remembering the Sabbath or the whole chastity thing.

The way society forces us to choose a one-word definition to characterize our faith often leaves many to use the terms Catholic or Methodist to encompass a far more intricate truth. Each of our belief systems is complicated beyond the scope of a simple denomination.

Enter Facebook ... duh.

We now have an unlimited amount of space, or at least all we can fit beside "Religious Views," to give the world a detailed history of our nuanced beliefs. I scanned my friends' answers to the loaded question.

"Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster" gave me a good chuckle.

"I went to Catholic school for 12 years, so it's hard to say," hit a little close to home.

But joking aside, the words "Christ follower," "believer" and "my heart belongs to HIM alone" are far more telling than simply typing in Baptist or Mormon. It implies devotion in a way that a title cannot.

One of the responses I found was so honest that it speaks to a whole generation's stance on the idea of religion: "Cafeteria Catholic/Pick ‘n' Chooser." Another one, "currently building a new one," imparts a similar sentiment.

This generation of the faithful doesn't want the rigid constraints that don't allow room to breathe. They don't want to align themselves with a particular denomination when they disagree with half of the tenants.

A Pew Forum study published in February pointed out that very fact. The group that has seen the largest increase in "members" is the unaffiliated. Much of that group is comprised of people who say religion is important to them-just not organized religion. And Bible churches, non-denominational and "mega-churches" (a la Willow Creek) have capitalized on the younger generation's disenchantment with doctrine.

But if everyone really can pick and choose the attractive attributes from each faith to best fit his ideals or, worse, his personality, what does that leave us with? Congregants unwilling to challenge the status quo or question doctrine fleeing the church in search of a more appealing alternative? Churches left to those rigid in practice, loath to change?

If we only lean toward the faith of the feel-good, what does that really mean for our spiritual lives? Perhaps it's youthful rebellion or experimentation and not a generational characteristic. It's possible the "unaffiliated" will find a more established path.

Until then, we can peruse our friend lists to find interesting options.

And what does my Facebook profile say, you might ask? "Lutheranish." But that's a whole other story.