Skeptical Faith

Google Image The people with whom I worked as a priest in the altiplano of Bolivia in the 1970s were 98 percent indigenous. Subsistence farmers, they grew mostly potatoes, plus some quinoa and barley. “Subsistence” means that most of their crops were consumed by them and their families, adding vulnerability to the well-known risks of farming. Although they worked hard, they were extremely poor. They lived in one- or two-room adobe houses. A few had bicycles and a very few had motorcycles. Virtually none had cars or trucks and none that I knew had electricity or indoor plumbing. They were also treated like non-citizens in a country where their ancestors long predated the Spanish colonists. They had little access to health care or dental care where tuberculosis killed children in almost every family. They were treated like children by the courts, and police protection was almost non-existent.    At an altitude of 12,000 feet above sea level, average daytime temperatures

Google Image My father, Pat Carney, who died in 1995 at age 94, was in a nursing home his final couple of years. During that period, I spent a lot of time there. At first, it was shocking. He had little privacy, having “strangers” assist him in the bathroom and in the shower, coming into his room at all hours and in some instances, restricting his freedom. Happily, the place had no persistent foul odor, was nice physically, and the staff was cordial and accommodating. But many residents sat around as in a coma, sleeping or staring into space. Obviously, some care facilities are not so nice and in my opinion, we Americans fall far short in taking care of our elderly. But regarding nursing-home care in general, my attitude is tempered by expectations. Usually, I’ve noticed, by the time you need nursing services, your expectations are pretty low. Evidence of the Latest Meal You have mental or physical disabilities that invariably come with aging. You can’t do many basic thi

Google Image My friend Bob, a retired lawyer, is a lifelong Christian and regular church-goer. But like me, he considers himself a skeptic. That may be why he’s a regular reader of this blog, one of whose principle aims is to assert that skepticism and faith are not mutually exclusive. We meet regularly over coffee and discuss mostly religion and politics, society’s two most taboo subjects. We’ve often discussed the subject of God’s intervention in our lives: Does he/she or doesn’t he/she? We agree that God doesn’t do so often, if at all. Bob leans firmly toward the “not at all,” saying he’d like to believe otherwise but his interpretation of history and the facts prevents him from doing so. He believes God hasn’t intervened in human history since the death of Jesus. I believe that God has intervened and, on occasion, still does. God-With-Us The whole premise of Christianity, after all, is that God definitively intervened in the person of Jesus – whose other name, “Emma

Google Image Speeches by Miss Universe candidates drip with peace wishes. Popes pray for peace in their Christmas messages. The United Nations exists to maintain and promote peace. The Peace Corps attempts to establish peace through projects. We hope to “sleep peacefully” – except when that phrase refers to death. Peace is a brand of boots and a type of message therapy. There are “peace gifts,” “peace tea, “peace” flower arrangements and, I’ve recently discovered, peace aromatherapy. You get the point. “Peace” is all around us. But has its ubiquity, like “love,” dulled and befuddled its meaning? What exactly do we mean by “peace?” Is it real, and is it significant for people searching for God? Remarkable Treasure of Insights Regarding its meaning, many think of peace as a passive state, a lack of violence or war. And that is one of its meanings for sure. But one of the goals of this blog is to invite readers searching for God to open the remarkable treasure of insights f

Google Image Bob McCahill has been writing an annual Christmas letter to the National Catholic Reporter every year since 1984. This year, his letter provided vignettes on his long-time mission in Bangladesh. “Occasionally,” he wrote, “a child will run his or her hand along my reddish, sun-burned forearms and through a fascinating thicket of white hairs. I do not deliberately invite such stroking, but I do realize it is a normal reaction for Bangladeshi children (but not only for children). They feel the need to explore and examine every puzzle.” Before the worldwide revelations of clergy abuse of minors, McCahill, a priest of the missionary order called Maryknoll, would probably not have felt the need to write the sentence beginning, “I do not deliberately invite such stroking….” An Unknown Duration The damage done by the clergy-abuse scandal, however - and the abuse of children that is endemic in society - has not only affected its victims in numerous ways and for an unknow