A Religion By Any Other Name

“I don’t know about you, but I practice a disorganized religion. I belong to an unholy disorder. We call ourselves ‘Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment.’”
—Kurt Vonnegut

[Bird Dogs by Dana Hawk.]

When It Comes to Shameless Marketing Schemes, Even God Needs Them

The two churches up the hill from us have been promoting their Vacation Bible Schools (or “VBS” as one denomination refers to it) on banners.

“Pandamania! God Is Wild About You!”

That’s the headline on one, though the attention-getting factor on both banners is an illustration of a panda bear—one in cool shades, the other midst bamboo.

Influencing people to change or do something—switch brands, save the environment, patronize museums, pay higher taxes—requires marketing on some level. And the language of influence must appeal to the target audience.

Even animal shelters rely on experts like Seth Godin to help them “move product.” Godin once suggested that shelter dogs would be adopted more readily if they were labeled “Golden Retriever [the über family companion] Mix” or a “____________ Blend” (fill in the blank with whatever the breed du jour is). No matter that the pooch has a chocolate-hued Staffordshire Bull Terrier face. Well, probably especially if the pooch has a chocolate-hued Staffordshire Bull Terrier face. (I’ll address this kind of truth-bending in a future post.)

When I saw the banners, my first thought was the heavily advertised film Kung Fu Panda. What? God uses cinema tie-ins to entice youngsters into the fold? I guess it’s no different than a shelter full of Golden Retriever Mixes. Ideas for silly headlines started popping into my head: Panda-ing to Children, for instance.

However, on the banner touting “God Is Wild About You!” Psalm 139 was cited as the source of the “excerpt.” I don’t know what Bible edition this is from, but it’s a far cry from the old King James I had as a child. The quotation made me wonder about the choice of visuals on the banners—maybe it wasn’t a movie tie-in after all. Why was a panda used? Because children these days are naturally drawn to the look and cuddliness of wild pandas? Because children are concerned about conservation of the wild—which the panda represents?

I conducted a quick Web search on my phone for some answers. First I checked to see how many films involved pandas (thinking this was a trend I was clueless about), but horror of horrors! Google gave me panda movies, all right, but the first page of results was all porn. I didn’t look further. And I’m not going to.

Perhaps you can enlighten me about why porn flicks are panda movies and why pandas fascinate children and which Bible translation includes “God is wild about you.” Until then, I’m content to stay under this rock that’s apparently shielded me from recent culture shifts.

[Top pic from Animals Gallery; bottom pic by Bernard de Wetter for World Wildlife Fund.]

A First Impression of the Monks of New Skete

I know a couple of people who recently purchased German Shepherd pups from breeders. You can probably guess my reaction to this method of dog acquisition, but I bit my tongue in both cases. As a friend, in that moment, my responsibility was to express delight for the purchase.

Yesterday, I learned that a mutual friend had given a training book to one of the new puppy owners. It was a bestseller when it was first published and was written by the Monks of New Skete. My brain crinkled at this news; I vaguely remembered something unsavory about those monks, but because I couldn’t recall any details, I kept mum. “What a nice gift!” I think I managed to say.

Now this morning I’m reading an essay by J. C. Hallman that contains—insert drum roll—the Monks of New Skete. And though they may provide excellent training advice, based on this one anecdote about just one of their shepherds, I’m not interested in hearing it.

Hallman spent time at the monastery while working on a project about religious sects and William James. While there, he witnessed a young dog giving birth to her first litter. Here’s what I learned through Hallman:
• Breeding dogs is the main source of income for the monastery.
• According to an X-ray, the dog had only one pup, a rare number that posed a financial burden to the monks. It meant costly labor with little return (profit).
• When the dog’s birthing started to go awry, another monk stepped in to help. But not for long: Matins held priority over dog emergencies.
• Without a vet or anesthetic, the monks cut the dog in order to open up the birth canal for the emerging pup. (Perhaps this is the norm for all breeders, but isn’t there a less painful way to achieve the same results?)

The newborn turned out to be a stillbirth, so I don’t know how the monks would have treated him otherwise. As Hallman writes of the monks in “Becky Hungry Coyote” (part of the anthology WOOF! Writers on Dogs):

“They were eminently practical about their business… . Their females were ‘bitches,’ their litters were investments, and in general the monks were suspicious of the kind of canine fundamentalism that could result when the master-dog relationship served as a substitute for alienated relationships among people.”

Hrrmph. Between dogs as commodities and dogs as substitutes, what about dogs as dogs? Why can’t we recognize them simply as creatures with whom we share ourselves, just as we do with friends or family? Not canines as proxies, but canines in their own right. Here is where I believe the Monks of New Skete, like so many people, draw the line between humans and animals. It’s the same line that confounds me about a number of religions.

I’m open to hearing a perspective about the Monks of New Skete that will alter my first impression of them, but for now, I’m happy on my side of the line.

[Pics from 321Dogs.com and The Witness.]

A Second Impression
Hmmm. While choosing links and pics for this post, I happened upon Morgan Van Wyck’s article, “The Monks and Dogs of New Skete.” In it she reports that the monks try to live “a life without division.” They practice a discipline borrowed from Rilke known as “inseeing”—the crossroads of the contemplative mind with the natural world. As one monk puts it:

“Inseeing is being willing to look at another living thing in a way that allows for seeing it in and of itself. It is respecting this ‘other’ for what it is, without trying to change it or own it. In this struggle to deepen one’s understanding one is enriched, given life, no matter how limited one’s success in this endeavor.”

Well, that’s an alternative perspective, isn’t it? I suppose even monks can fall short of their philosophy and their better selves. I know I do.

Which Way Am I Headed?

"Are you going to Heaven or Hell?"

Call 773-_ _ _ - _ _ _ _ ."

That's what the back of the van said, in the spot where it usually reads "How's my driving?" The side of the van listed the kinds of work offered—something related to lawn care. I didn't pay much attention because I was looking to see if the Heaven/Hell number was the same as the company's number. It wasn't.

I wondered who answered the phone and how long it would take to hear a forecast of my future.

It reminds me of the summer when I was about 12 and acquiesced to spending the day with a girl I hardly knew.

"She wants you to go to camp with her, that's all. It'll be fun!" assured my mother.

Since mothers never lie, off to camp I went. But as soon as I got there, I knew it wasn't the camp I'd expected. It was Bible camp.

By the age of 12, I already had serious doubts about my religion; other religions, too, for that matter. I wanted PROOF about Noah's ark, Jesus's lineage, and Adam's rib.

So when the preacher looked out over the chapel filled with children and asked, "Who would like to meet Jesus?" I raised my hand high. Who wouldn't want to meet Jesus?

Apparently, every other kid but me. I was ushered away from everyone's view out into a dark hallway and put in the care of the church janitor. While "camp" continued in the chapel, the janitor and I continued standing where we'd been placed in the dark hallway.

For a moment, I thought it was a test of my biases, a test I could ace. It didn't surprise me that the Lord of Hosts would surface in the 20th century as a janitor.

It did surprise me, however, to discover that this janitor not only wasn't Jesus, but didn't even know Jesus. Hadn't even MET him.

I'd been boondoggled.

Fastforward into the 21st century, where I'm not so quick to take the bait. Will I be going to Heaven or Hell?

Only the janitor knows for sure.