El Gringoqueño

Yes, I know. Atheists are offended by that. Let me taunt you again. If you disagree with that statement, you are NOT an atheist.

Let me set you up with a bit of background. Perhaps we can agree on this, no? Would you say that as an atheist, God is no more "real" than say, Zeus, or Odin, or the Flying Spagetti Monster? Yes, you say?

Okay good. We shall continue.

Would you also say that religion, belief in an afterlife, or plain old "fear of God" stuff is just right out. Let’s face it, as an atheist, you don’t believe in that crap. Life is biological. When you’re gone, you’re gone. There is no higher calling than living your life to the fullest, not like a jerk, but fullest, being a good and productive human. It just makes good sense.

You also hate it when people say that without religion there would be no morals. Why not, you ask?

You reply, leaping forth from the fuente of Kantian thought, only that which can be applied universally is truly moral. You understand that the concept of universal morality and the golden rule are practical and lead to a good and solid foundation. Without this practical morality your own lifetime would have been marred with warring and fighting and disease and misery. Pay if forward, you say. Morals make good sense. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Now there’s a moral framework you can get behind.

One more thing, and this is important, so pay attention. You say that life is more precious for you than it is for a "believer," because, to an atheist, there is nothing after. Life is the greatest gift, the only gift you will truly ever receive. Life is all that you will ever have, and death takes away EVERYTHING.

Are you still with me? Do I have it mostly nailed down? I don’t want a straw man here. I want an atheist that can stand up and take it. But you know the strangest thing?

I agree with you.

But I still say there are no atheists in foxholes.

What?! Haven’t I been listening? Bear with me here, I’m going to spell it out. Here it is:

If life is all that you have and all that you will ever have, what the hell are you doing dying in a foxhole? I ask you, atheist, what is so important that you would be willing to give your life for it? I’m baffled. You profess to no god. You patently disavow any sort of celestial reward. You cast off the yoke of religious dogma, superstition, and tradition. For what do you die? Are you stupid? Crazy? Crazy like a foxhole, maybe. I’m on to you though.

A steadfastly rational practical atheist might reply that he is risking his life for a stable future, for enlightenment, for an end to suffering. I shoot back, but YOU aren’t going to be around?  What would the point be?

Maybe he will talk to me of acceptable risk and potential reward.  Sometimes it just doesn’t work out, he would say. Don’t kid yourself. There is no acceptable risk in war. Why sacrifice yourself for oblivion then?

Nobody will live this life as well as you, for you are you and no one else. No one else will enjoy it like you. No one will smell it, taste it, touch it like you. No one can live it as you live it, experience consciousness as you experience it. This fact is not selfish, it is reality, the only reality you will ever know.

But why do you die in this foxhole, atheist? May I dare offer an explanation?

Perhaps, there are no atheists in foxholes, because by the very fact that you are willing to die for something you believe in, something bigger than yourself, you nullify your atheism.

You’ve already proven yourself a practical maverick thinker, not prone to group-think. You’ve shown yourself to be a rational being of the first order. You have seen through all the veils the world has pulled over the eyes of your brothers. You’re the only one that actually sees the truth.

Why are you in the foxhole, then? Perhaps you are not only NOT an atheist, but the most pious of us all. By giving your life in a foxhole, you are faithful to your fellows. You make a commitment knowing the outcome is uncertain. That is faith, my friend. You have faith. Perhaps "true-believers" are not even fit to tie your sandal strap. You are such the atheist that you may as well wrap around and come out the other side transfigured and clothed in divine white.

So I ask you:

Do you believe in justice? Is absolute justice worth dying for? Do you believe in love? Is absolute love worth dying for? Ultimate empathy? I submit, dear atheist, that you are nothing of the sort. Not only are you not an atheist, but you are as the righteous of history, a hero of the first order, a savior of mankind.

Amen I say to you, brother.

I bag on Puerto Rico a lot, but there is one reason why I am still here. There are lots of things for an American to dislike, but one thing continues to stand out and surprise me in pleasant ways.

I was pedaling my bicycle up the hill from my house to buy groceries, as I do every morning. At the foot of the hill there is a junkyard, rusted and hidden by bamboo and vegetation. From time to time, a dog from the area takes it upon himself to assume authority over all in his domain. Little packs of them charge and bark with all that their little yippy lungs can muster. They are an annoyance, but not much trouble.

Today, however, was different.

This time the dogs were big. Huge. They were not the little yippy dogs that bark from the safety of their porches, but big ass rottweiler or pit-bull muts, a couple of big 80+ lbs dogs, furiously barking at me and racing up in my blind spot.

I did what I usually do, dismounted my bicycle, put it in between myself and the dogs and slowly moved toward them, hissing and seething at them. I find that the hissing freaks them out and I’ve never failed to cow a dog with this technique. I felt relatively safe with my bike as a shield, and the dogs tucked their tails and took off. Whew.

Unfortunately, as soon as I turned my back on them, mounted my bike and started pedaling again, they regained their courage and came roaring back. Sigh. I’m going to have to open up a can on these asshats. I had to let them know I meant business. Perhaps I should pursue them farther, stand my ground for longer.

At that moment a little Suzuki Gran Vitara bounced up the hill, and first, I got the friendly advice^TM:

"Necesitas un palo (you need a stick)." The person yelled.

Step two after the friendly advice was the actual help, as my new friend proceeded to weave all over the road and shoulder chasing after the dogs, yelling, ye-ah ye-ah! I smiled. "¡Gracias!" I yelled.

Yes, I thought, this is why I am still in Puerto Rico.

Tomorrow: Same hill, different story.

I was building a rack mount pizza box server (1-U), and I needed some mounting screws for the fans. "Javier, want to go the store with Daddy?"

"Oh!!!! I get my shoes." And off he ran to get his shoes. "Oh Daddy, we go the the store. Yeay! Here are my shoes, Daddy. Here are my Diego shoes."

"All right, little man, let’s go." I strapped on his little sandals and opened the front gate to our house. He bounded out, dancing down the sidewalk towards the Chevy Lumina. He stopped, paused.

"Daddy, we go in da You-mama?" That was the first time he had called the car by its model. You-mama. I was so tickled, I busted up laughing at the cute sound of You-mama. He thought he had said something funny, so he repeated it and smiled. "Da You-mama!"

And off we went. "Daddy, we go the bike store?" I usually take him with me to the bike store and he tries out all the little bikes.

"No, Javier, not this time, we’re going to the hardware store to buy screws. Tornillos. Can you say that? Tornillos."

"nee-yoes," he repeated carefully.

"Screws - tornillos." I said again.

"Scqews - nee-yoes," Javier said with a grin.

"Yeah, we’re going to get some screws for the computer, not the bicycle."

"Not the bicycle? Oh."

"Hey Javier? Say Lumina."

"You-mama."

Jesus: Mother Teresa was a great lady. She was a great and wonderful person. I say this because it makes me sad to see she was not happy.

I guess I knew it. I’d heard her cries in the darkness. She was tortured.

She was tortured by what though? What was it that was eating her up inside?

Host: Audience? I see that Jesus is pausing for us to ponder his question. What do you say, audience? What was Mother Teresa tortured by?

*audience member struggles to his feet*

Yes, you, hold on, here I come.

Audience Member: *out of breath* Yes, I think she was tortured by her doubt. She had lost her belief and was trying to gain it back.

Jesus: Well, that’s what she writes in her letters. But let me ask you… *smiles* because I like asking these questions. In what had she lost her faith? What was this "belief" she was trying to get back? Belief in what?

Audience Member: Ummm

Host: Let’s ask someone else. You there -

Audience Member 2: *grabbing microphone* I, um, think she had lost her faith in you? She wasn’t sure if she believed in God? Maybe she lost her belief in prayer? Maybe Satan had gotten to her.

Jesus: Maybe we’re getting closer, but we’re still a long way off. Let me do my best to answer this question. From what I can tell, all Mother Teresa lost was her belief in orthodoxy. Since orthodoxy was the foundation of her spiritual life, she found that when she lost her way with regard to the objectification of her faith as put forth by the Catholic Church… sure enough, she lost her faith, her belief in the way. It all got tossed by the wayside because she had never stripped it down enough to recognize it in its nakedness.

Orthodoxy is like paint. Sometimes it’s pretty, serves a function and works well enough. But sometimes it covers up some deep rust, scars in the structure and foundations. When we can’t strip away the paint and check out the undercarriage, give it some maintenance, we’re doomed to catastrophic failure. ‘Cause paint, although nice, doesn’t keep the ship from sinking.

I like to be certain about the root of things.

You like to be certain, right?

Audience: *in unison* Yes Lord!

Jesus: *laughing* That just reminded me of a movie. Sorry *stifles guffaw*. Where were we?

Certainty.

An older priest went on a sabbatical to spend some time with the Missionaries of Charity. He had been in a spiritual crisis, and upon meeting Mother Teresa, asked her to pray for his clarity. She laughed at him and walked away, refusing with a flip of her hand. Baffled and confused, the priest asked her why? Why wouldn’t she pray for him. He sought clarity.

I know what she thought. She thought to herself, "clarity is a pipe dream, honey. There is no clarity. Don’t you think if anybody had clarity, I’d have it? Clarity is something I’ve sought my whole life. And it has eluded me."

That is just so sad, my friends. You complicate everything. You complicate and sour those very things that should bring you joy. You codify and organize and arrange - until you’re left with these tasteless, joyless morsels. Ughggg who can eat that stuff.

God = Love

Equal as in the same. What is love, but empathy, caring. Love is not mimickry. Love is not rules. Love is not "going through the motions" out of stubborn devotion, out of some misguided duty to ME. Men, how would it make you feel if you found out your wives were faking orgasms?

Not too good, huh.

Well, I don’t feel very good when you do the same. Do you bear the stench of the homeless old man, because he is Jesus, putting up with him for your chits in heaven. Slog your way through the unpleasantness to get to the creamy filling.

*sarcasm* Lovely.

Personally, it doesn’t do a thing for me, and it shouldn’t for you either. It’s a waste. It wastes my time, and it wastes yours.

Love is empathy. Empathy is projecting yourselves, getting outside of your mortal shell and into the hearts of others. I don’t want you to help the dirty, miserable, craven, pathetic, misguided, or criminal. I want you to LOVE them. What does love mean. Love compels you to help them.  You should be passionate about that.  Love is acceptance. Love doesn’t judge. Love isn’t proud. Love doesn’t despair. Love is a force multiplier. Love is infectious. Love is sincere. Love is binding.

In that connection, that connection of love, within its tendrils as they intertwine amongst you all, between rich and poor, between self-righteous and humble, between the smug and the doubtful is where I dwell.

Let me tell you what you will do, people. Here it is. You will do this because it will make you happy. It will bring you joy.

Connect with each other. Reach out to your enemies and love them, especially those that would hurt you, fear you. Love them more, because they need it. Love them not as a sacrifice, but as a joy. Don’t worry about the outcome. Outcomes will take care of themselves and beside you don’t love for the outcome of it, do you?

And if you’re looking for me, know that I am Love, that it is in your true and sincere devotion to one another that I exist.

And if you fake it, it doesn’t work.

I will still love you though.