Rusty's Armory

Wandering about religion … even when it isn’t called religion.

Posted on April 29, 2016

I read a blogpost this afternoon about belief, and it got me to thinking. That is usually trouble enough, but what the hey! I push forward anyway.

I am never sure at any given moment where I am in the debate. I drift between agnosticism and belief like a dandelion seed in a May zephyr. I go to prayer at the slightest provocation, but I don’t spend a lot of time with petitions to God. Less and less, I ask for things, and more and more I admit my personal flaws.

Most people today would be surprised at my humiliating background, given my propensity to go off half-cocked with people. I don’t talk about the particulars a lot. Maybe I just got tired of being judged one morning, and started pushing back. I dunno. But I made damned sure that anyone who had something against me went behind my back to say it. I still have some of that chip left on my shoulder, but most of the people I defy to knock it off have the bad result coming to them for their asinine arrogance. But that is another tale for another day.

Oddly, my weaknesses and indignities grew into my strength today, both in my relationships, and my religion. One truly doesn’t know what they believe until that belief is tested. On the outer fringes of theists and atheists is a whole lot of loudmouths who bray like jackasses, revealing the emptiness of their vapid souls to anyone who takes the time to carefully match their words to their life. You can tell their beliefs have never been tested, and more, they will never be until that final day when Charon comes for them, and they don’t even have the cheap coin to pay their way to the other side.

But I usually don’t truck with either of them. I have no time for their ideals nor their politics, and they are usually dispensed with very quickly when they seek to ‘enlighten’ me. Militant fanatics are not the deep thinkers they like to portray themselves as, and their miserable lives and friendships generally prove their poverty of spirit. Whole nations lie devastated by their jingoisms and false intellectualism, and I’ll not be part of it.

It is the mushy middle that drives me crazy. You know the ones. They have withdrawn from the battle before it even began. They are foot-shooting casualties who fantasize about spiritual things than make them feel good, but provide no sustenance for their souls or family. But they are always going on about spiritual things, angelic wings and magic crystals. Ancient runes decorate their homes, yet they comprehend them not. I cannot find it in my heart to even question them, lest I break them. They are the true wounded of untested religion.

Then there are those who actually have stood in the fire, yet were not consumed. You know them because they don’t preach, and they truly don’t judge.  You usually won’t find them at the higher levels of academia, and you don’t find them begging on street corners. The only way you ever find out that they are givers is when you actually see them give. Sometimes they are church goers, but certainly not all of them. Their families are well ordered, and a sense of honor envelopes them.

I don’t think any of them blog, either, so I am not one of them. But I sure want to be.