Under the Banner of Heaven: A Review that turned into a reflection

“Your just gotta have faith” is what the old George Michale song tells us. Faith has always been a positive value within society. Within religious communities persons whose faith is the strongest are venerated and looked to as an example. The community essentially has faith in the person’s faith, trusting all along that the venerated speak words of truth and wisdom and that their connections with God are authentic. But what happens when faith is perverted—when one’s belief becomes an unmovable force and the voice of “god” ostensibly whispers in their ear to commit atrocious, violent actions in "his" name.

John Krakauer’s Under the Banner of Heaven is a mesmerizing and tantalizing read. By putting Mormon Fundamentalism under the microscope Krakauer launches a full-blown exploration into the dark fanatical underbelly of religion. Krakauer uses the violent murder of a mother and her child committed by Dan Lafferty as a launch pad for his exploration. Lafferty, a member of a fundamentalist Mormon sect, still believes to this day, some 20 years since the incident, that he was d0ing gods bidding when he slit the throats of his own brother's wife and her baby daughter.

This is disconcerting to say the least, especially for one who holds to a christian belief system; a system that allows for one to communicate directly with God. As a Christian it is not uncommon for me to hear a fellow believer say something to the extent of "I feel that God is telling me to do this or do that." I too have used this line myself, I hope with sincerity, to justify my actions--but so did the zealot/murderer Dan Lafferty who, incidentally, is not insane.

I believe most assuredly that the voice Lafferty was listening to was not God, however, Lafferty would vehemently disagree. Yes, he subscribes to a cookey brand of fundamentalism that places him narcissisticly as a central figure in Christ's second coming, but the question still must be asked, How do we know we are listening to the voice of God? I feel like all the indicators for what is and is not the voice of God are entirely subjective. The Holy Spirit? Theology? Both these things can be tweaked by listeners and hearers alike to line up with the voice. Problematic? Yes. Do I have any answers? NO.

All I can offer myself at this juncture is that I have to have faith in faith. I must believe in belief. One bad apple does not ruin the bunch right?

Anyway, the book is a quick read and is definitely worth a looksey

My Attitude Sucks Today

Today Blows. My apathetic self is back--if it was a living thing I would shoot it after I slit its throat and spit in its face. But it is not, so I can't--I kowtow to that SOB inside me every time. Today I am a failure--maybe tomorrow I will be the victor. I feel better any how after typing the above. 

Oatmeal: Yes it is Good!

Lately I have been hooked on breakfast sandwiches made with egg, cheddar cheese and tomato on an english muffin, they are delicious but I have been looking for something else to add to my breakfast repetuare. I found what I was looking for in old school Quaker Oats. Now, as most of you may agree, oatmeal by itself is gross and reminds me of Oliver Twist and the phrase "Please Sir . . . I'd like some more" comes to mind right after I gag on bland mush. 

Linz and I have discovered that if you want to enjoy oatmeal you got to dress it up a little. Here are some of our recent creations. 

But first some standard operations:

Never Cook in Microwave--always on the stove top!

Put the oats in with the cold milk before you start heating. Doing this gives good texture with out the oatmeal getting to goopy. Also at this point it is standard procedure for me to add a few drops of vanilla extract. I feel this rounds out the flavor and their is also the added benefit of the pleasant aroma when cooking.

Banana Oats

After oats are done cooking add sliced bananas, slivered almonds, cranberries, and brown sugar. 

Apple Oats

Throw in diced apple with cold milk and oats

While heating add nutmeg and cranberries 

When done stir in brown sugar (not to much or you will drown out the apple) and garnish with a dash cinnamon. 

Give it a try and tell me what you think.

Light

Is it just me, or does everything taste better this time of year. Coffee tastes better, wine tastes better, cookies taste better, kisses from my wife (these always feel magical, but none the less they feel extra good), all of it. My theory is that Christmas is magical. Duh--we all know this right, and if you don't think it is magical anymore . . . well, then perhaps you're heart has shrunk. I believe that Christmas owes a lot of it's magical feel to lights. Lights are a big deal, for they stir within the human nervous system a hypersensitivity to everything our little synapses can handle. It is so fitting that light should lead the charge in holiday spirit. Fitting because Christ was light to the world. Light in literature is always symbolic with hope, rejuvenation and life. This is true outside the realm of literature, not just in film and art, but in real life too. Light brings clarity, perspective, and most important, life (ask anyone who suffers from seasonal depression). Christ is light and Christ is life. 

My dad, when talking of his life before he was a Christian, says that Christmas always housed, for him, an inordinate amount of hope. Hope for what I am not sure, perhaps just hope for hopes sake, but none the less there is this intrinsic quality about Christmas--even with all the commercialization. It is a season that is shot through with a magical air of light, life, and hope. 

I should also mention that yesterday I saw, right around mile 13 of my 18 mile rain run, a vary large Bald Eagle perched high up in a tree over the river trail. It was massive, and majestic--it was a Christmas miracle. 

Anne of Avonlea

Ever since I have become a dad weird things have moved me at odd times. Particularly scenes in film. I have always been a sap when it comes to cinema, a sap because I have the unique ability to buy into most films 100 percent. My father also shares this quality but to a much greater degree then even I. The film becomes all to real and for us the mark of a good film is one that we literally live for at least three days after viewing. Not that we go around pretending to be some character (though I may have done this after seeing my first Jim Cary movie) but the film and its images are burned so deeply in our minds eye that they flash and replay over and over again. I don't know about my father, but I often dream the film. Dramas usually have the greatest impact. Thrust upon me is a whole gamut of human emotion. When I was younger it was almost unbearable.

Forest Gump, for example, was one of these films. I saw it in the theater when I was ten and from the war scene on bawled my eyes out. When lieutenant Dan was cursing God during the storm I walked out. I had never heard anyone talk to God that way and to my naive eyes and ears this was utter blasphemy. I returned to the theater and finished the film. When the feather floats out of the book at the end I lost it. I sobbed and sobbed, heaved for air, and sobbed some more. I sobbed violently for an hour.  

Bridge To Terabithia is another film. Both Linz and I found ourselves on a plane from California to Connecticut blubbering like babies to the best in-flight movie of all time. 

And now, to Anne of Avonlea. I did not sob like I had in the past, but I was moved at an unlikely scene. Catching only the last 30 minutes, I saw the part when Anne befriends Katharine, a firm Liberian type woman with a very large stick shoved way up her tukis, an unpleasant character. When Anne invites her to her house for the holidays Katherine, realizing she is loved by someone, is freed from her staunch self. Anne had the power to see potential and did not let anyone get away with wasting life. I shed a single tear but was holding back a river. Weird.