Until a few days ago, I had never heard of a CNN program called “Believer – with Reza Aslan.”  But a headline about the show was so startling that I read the article and did a little research.

The headline:  Reza Aslan eats human brain on new CNN show ‘Believer’.

I’m not making this up; it is a real show and the “reporter” really ate human brain.  This begs the question of how far a reporter will go for a story, how much must a reporter experience to share with readers or viewers the “truth.”

I’m sure it isn’t as far as eating someone’s brain, in this case with an obscure sect of supposed Hindus.  (Hindus have universally condemned the report – except I presume the small group of brain-eaters who Aslan visited.)

I wondered why anyone would pursue such a story, so I visited the program’s website.  And there I found the answer:  “In this new spiritual adventure series, renowned author and religious scholar Reza Aslan immerses himself in the world’s most fascinating faith-based groups to experience life as a true believer.”

Frankly, looking at the stories listed on the site, a better description would be:  “A guy who wrote a controversial book looks for the most obscure, shocking and disgusting sects on earth and hangs out with them doing weird things that will shock you.”

I doubt you need to be a scholar to hang with cannibals.  You really need to have really bad taste and a demagnetized moral compass.  And I can think of only two reasons to do it.

First, you just want to shock everyone and boost ratings for a television show.  I guess promising to dive into bazaar spiritual practices could generate an uptick in ratings.

Second, you subscribe to the journalistic perversion that to really report on a subject, you must immerse yourself in it.  This can be reasonable, as when a reporter spends a day as a substitute teacher to learn what it is like to be in front of 30 teenagers.  But few would suggest that to do a story on drug addiction a reporter should take heroin.  Few would suggest a crime reporter should take up robbery to better understand the criminal mind.

Perhaps Reza Aslan can only learn by doing.  But I think I could learn everything I would ever want to know about cannibalism without being a full participant.

In the case of the show “Believer,” I believe I can learn everything I need to know about the program without actually watching it.  I’d rather watch The Food Network.

Pilate asked the question.  Christ was the answer.  He still is.  And as it has been for more than 2000 years, some find the answer and many do not.

In daily life, I have always believed that truth was a beautiful combination of faith, hope, love and doing the next right thing.  The next right thing is what is honest and in many cases – simply what must be done.

I guess I’m pretty much a black-and-white kind of guy.  If everyone followed the Golden Rule and the 10 Commandments, the world would be a caring, safe place.

We live under a democratic form of government.  For such a government to work, people need common values and a common sense of right and wrong.  People have to agree on truth.

Agreement eludes us.  We find exceptions to each of the 10 Commandments.  Certainly, the law against murder shouldn’t apply to an unborn child or an elderly person not enjoying a proper quality of life.  Certainly, the law against adultery shouldn’t apply when your spouse gains 40 pounds or suffers a disabling injury.  The government isn’t really stealing when it raises your taxes or takes your property for its own purposes.

And what of lying?  It seems that lying is acceptable if you get away with it – or it supports a “greater good.”  This was the thinking behind the Hitler/Goebbels use of the “Big Lie.”  If you are going to say something untrue about your opponent, make it a whopper. People will think there is no way you would make up such a thing – and the mere scale of it requires vetting.

The news media are horrible suckers for the big lie.  So we get days or even weeks of reports that a goofy film caused the destruction of an American embassy, the Russians manipulated our election results and the Pope isn’t strongly pro-life.

We’ve slithered into a post-truth world where facts are less important than allegations, where the ends justify the means, where you say anything to further your agenda.  Reality is what works, not what is real.

Among the various professions that affect our lives, nurses and doctors poll the highest for honesty and ethical behavior.  The lowest scores go to members of congress.  Ironically, the people we trust the least will determine the future of the people we trust the most.  That’s what happens in a culture where truth has lost the power to persuade and the biggest lie carries the day.

We must do better than Pilate.

Among the many emails I receive each day is a news digest from lifenews.com.  I don’t read all the articles, but skim the headlines and click on the ones that pique my interest.

A couple days ago, each of the first two articles involved an attractive young women commenting on issues of life.  The headlines suggested their views were miles apart, and the proximity of the two stories enhanced what, to me, was considerable irony.

Woman number one, Barbara Pierce Bush, is the daughter of former President George W. Bush and granddaughter of former President George H. W. Bush.  While I’m sure being a first daughter has its downsides, anyone who spends many of her formative years living in the White House has to have lived a rather charmed life.  Having Secret Service protection, servants, a limousine and a seat on Air Force One would be a real kick.  She attended Yale and has been involved in various charitable efforts.

Woman number two, Adriana Lima, is among the highest-paid supermodels in the world.  She is one of the stars of the Victoria’s Secret promotions, which involves lots of running about in fancy underwear.  She is Brazilian, married a Serbian basketball star, had a couple kids, then got divorced.

As I said, one of the women is pro-life – the other pro-abortion.  But you might not immediately guess which is which.

Barbara Bush spoke to Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas last week.  She has been an advocate for abortion and same-sex marriage.  She told the Texas group:  “To me, Planned Parenthood is a one-stop shop for everything that has to do with women’s health and all social problems that don’t have to do with women’s health.  I hope you all realize the incredible investment that you’re making for both women and also their kids, their kids’ education and their income level.”

I think you can read between the lines of this rather said quote.

Adriana Lima is openly Roman Catholic and says she remained virgin until her marriage.  She says abortion is a crime, sex is for after marriage and that is something men must respect.  And she says her children inspire her.

I believe a live child is more inspiring than one who has been aborted.

So…we have a pro-life model and a pro-abortion descendent of Presidents.  Common sense and faith can show up where least expected.  And privilege never ensures decency.

 

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, a time of penance leading up to Easter.

Catholics go to Mass, then have ashes placed on their foreheads.  The Priest applying the ashes says, “Remember, Man is dust, and unto dust you shall return.” This tends to diminish pride and increase humility, which is appropriate at the start of Lent.

However, some churches are innovating with their ashes this year.  Some are adding glitter to their ashes as a sign of solidarity with the LGBTQ community.

No, I’m not kidding.  And my first reaction was total disgust.  But then my inner entrepreneurial spirit wafted up from somewhere and I realized there might be opportunity in ashes.

All these years as a Catholic convert I was thinking ashes were a sign of penance, a serious sacramental to remind me of how little I truly am.  But now I realize that ashes are an opportunity for self-expression and political action.

Let’s not limit this to glitter ashes to offer a nod to the LGBTQ folks.  Ashes could come in many varieties:

• Red for Republicans
• Blue for Democrats
• Pink for breast-cancer survivors
• Tiger stripped for car lovers
• Dalmatian spotted for dog lovers
• Green for tree huggers

School could raise money by selling ashes with their school colors.  Companies might work deals to have their logos centered in ashes worn by their employees.  The possibilities are nearly endless.  And the more ornate the ashes, the more you could charge for their application.

This could be the next big thing, right up there with the pet rock and chia Obama.  And the design theme could carry on throughout Lent and into Easter.

Maybe I’ve been too narrow-minded all these years, thinking the ashes had religious significance.  And I’m likely even more narrow-minded about the crucifix.

A crucifix always has Jesus on it.  But if we are flexible about ashes, why not loosen up a bit with the crucifix.  I’m thinking the same folks who would like, say, green ashes for the environment, would like a green Jesus on a green cross.  And the folks who like glitter ashes might want a figure on the cross who is, well, androgynous.

As with ashes, the marketing possibilities for crucifixes with various combinations of colors and figures is virtually endless.  Why not a “plant” crucifix to show solidarity with nature?  Why not a whale crucifix to show solidarity with the beasts of the sea?

I know.  I know.  This is ridiculous.  But I believe if we become sacrilegious in little things, we’ll soon be sacrilegious in bigger things. If we forget the meaning of ashes on the forehead, what guarantees we’ll remember the meaning of a corpus on a cross?

This year and every year until I return to ashes, I’ll be opting for the standard black ashes on my forehead, the product of burned palms from Palm Sunday a year ago.

Glitter doesn’t go with penance.  Penance is no time for politics.

Common sense means living in the world as it is today; but creative people are people who don’t want the world as it is today but want to make another world. – Abraham Maslow

 I’ve been thinking about Abraham Maslow and bathrooms of late.

Maslow didn’t have much to do with bathrooms, but I think his psychological theories might help explain huge plumbing gaps that exists in the world today.

Maslow developed the “hierarchy of needs.”  Of course, he based it on years of research and a zillion pages of analysis, but you can sum it up with a five-tiered pyramid.

At the base are basic needs, things like enough food and water to survive, simple shelter and, perhaps, the ability to outrun a tiger before it eats you.

At the peak is achieving one’s full potential and doing really creative things.  Painting the Sistine Chapel would fit here.

But it was the great bathroom gap that got me thinking about the hierarchy of needs.

In the less-developed parts of the world, folks still struggle to meet basic needs, like a place to go to the bathroom.  India is a big country with a billion or so people and a major bathroom shortage.  That means a lot of basic needs poorly met.

Something like 40 percent of Indian’s households lack a bathroom.  I’m not talking about missing out on an adjustable shower and whirlpool, I’m talking no place to conduct basic bodily elimination.  The government is working on what it calls a goal of ODF.  That means creating an “open-defecation free” society.

I’m not saying India lack advanced culture and creativity – but lots of folks are just hoping to have a better place to relieve themselves than the middle of the street or behind the nearest tree.  Bathrooms are at the base of the Maslow hierarchy and I can’t blame India to want to move up the pyramid.

Here in the USA, we’re at a different place in the hierarchy when it comes to bathrooms.  We have more than enough bathrooms to meet basic human needs.  Our bathrooms have become tools of self-expression, self-fulfillment and self-actualization.  They are the battlegrounds in the wars of gender fluidity.

Indians are hoping for something better than a hole in the ground to use as a bathroom; we’re fighting over who can use which bathroom, depending on which of the multiple genders they identify with on a particular day.

I don’t spent much time thinking about bathrooms.  I’ve always been a boy and always used the boys’ bathroom.  That makes my choices simple and I consider the bathroom to be pretty far down the pyramid in Maslow’s hierarchy.  I don’t think of a bathroom as an important expression of self.

It I ever get to the top of the pyramid, bathrooms won’t be on my mind.  But I might do a Sistine Chapel.

I doubt Barronelle Stutzman ever expected she would be appealing a case to the US Supreme Court.

Barronelle isn’t a terrorist, political activist or criminal.  She is a Christian and a florist. In Richland, Washington.

When I picture a Christian/florist, I can’t immediately think of a likely reason for such a person to wind up in front of the nation’s highest court.  But the crime of violating political correctness can pop up in the most innocent of places.

This florist’s life of crime unfolded in 2013, when she declined to provide floral services for a same-sex wedding.  Ironically, the customer who complained was a long-time customer who obviously had been served in Barronelle’s shop on numerous occasions.  But the Christian florist wasn’t comfortable serving a ceremony that violated her beliefs.

The State of Washington (which charged her with discrimination), Federal Government, American Civil Liberties Union, Alliance Defending Freedom and, of course, one persecuted florist have spent millions debating who you have to sell flowers to.  Looks like the case is headed to the Supreme Court.

What a horrible waste of time, energy and resources.

In a sane society, we wouldn’t be having this debate. There would be no such thing as a same-sex marriage. If someone decided to hold a same-sex ceremony, they certainly wouldn’t expect people of other beliefs to participate.

In this case, there were plenty of options around Richland for someone to get wedding flowers.  It wasn’t as if Barronelle controlled the last supply of water in Washington and allowed the gay community to die of dehydration.

We’re talking a dispute over wedding flowers – all the way to the Supreme Court.

For some reason, this brought to mind a scene from my childhood…I suppose I was about 12 years old.  I wandered down to my local barbershop on a Saturday morning for a trim.

While I was waiting, a guy with a bushy head of hair got his turn in the big chair and announced he wanted a Mohawk.  The barber laughed and replied that he didn’t do haircuts like that, so the customer would have to go elsewhere.

The customer argued a bit, the barber held his ground and after a minute, the customer was out the door to look for a Mohawk-friendly barber.  End of story.

Of course, that was 40 years ago.  Today, the barber would either do the Mohawk or be hauled into court.  I’m not sure what the charge would be, something like discriminating against plume-preferring hairy men – I’m sure they are a “protected” class.  That would not be progress.  It would be ridiculous.  And it is where we are headed.

The Catholic Church inspires some of the world’s most beautiful music.

The Catholic Church inspires some of the world’s most banal music.

Yes, both of these statements are true.  And when I go to an unfamiliar parish, I never know whether I’ll encounter the beautiful or the banal – or a stumbling compromise between the two.

Last Sunday, we heard both extremes within the same Mass.

It wasn’t our parish, but one we attend occasionally when our Sunday schedule gets fractured by family logistical challenges. (Our own parish is a bit of a drive and this one is closer.)

I steeled my nerves after settling into the pew and noticing guitars being shouldered to the right of the altar.  Soon they were strumming away, sounding like a bad marriage between Bob Dylan and a garage band.  They weren’t the worst modern group I’ve heard at a Mass – but they were in the running for the title.

A young priest entered, took his place and started the Mass – singing Gregorian Chant in a perfectly beautiful, masculine voice.  He chanted all the Mass parts, including the Eucharistic Prayer. It was surprising, unexpected and breathtaking

Sadly, the hymns were “performed” by the garage band.  I felt like I was watching a concert with Willy Nelson and Pavarotti alternating songs.  The big difference was the band was performing and the priest was praising, worshipping, glorifying God.  The band was self-absorbed and the priest with other-absorbed.

I love many genres of music.  About the only type of music I can’t stomach is rap, but that is a topic for another time.

When it comes to Church music, I’m more of a traditionalist.  Not only do I find that it fits the occasion better, but poorly played “contemporary” choir music usually sounds worse than poorly played traditional music.  Frankly, most parishes are musically challenged.

I’ve gone full circle on the traditional versus contemporary music debate.  I grew up a Methodist in a large church with absolutely glorious music.  After converting to Catholicism, my first musical experience was in a contemporary choir, from which I’m still in recovery.  Since then, my choral experience has been VERY traditional.

I sought out the chanting priest after Mass and thanked him for the beauty of his celebration.  He smiled and replied, humbly, “Thanks be to God.”

 

Traditional culture has encountered a few shocks in recent times.

First, we’ve had a huge debate over who can use which toilets.  When I grew up it was simple; girls used the girl’s toilet and boys used the boy’s toilet.  Today, regardless of the biology, the individual uses the toilet they most identify with, which could be different from what physical evidence might suggest.

Second, in the past few days the Boy Scouts have changed their membership requirements so someone joining doesn’t have to be a boy, but identify as a boy.  In other words, a girl who thinks of herself as a boy.  This should make for some interesting camping trips.  Frankly, I wasn’t much of a camper, which means I wasn’t terribly successful as a Boy Scout.  But in those ancient times I’m pretty sure we only had boys who were really boys in our tents.

Third, and most shocking, we learned earlier this week of something that stretches the diversity-inclusion-political correctness trend to the breaking point.  (Anyone with a sensitive heart should turn away now)

I’m astonished to report that The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show will, horror of horrors, now include (shudder the thought) CATS.  Yes, we’re talking felines.

Read all about it in Town and Country Magazine.  (This likely will be the only time in my life I cite this publication.)

Now don’t worry, the cats won’t be parading around the center ring and demonstrating their obedience skills.  After all, cats are cats.  So…there will simply be informational booths with various types of cats.

I’m puzzled.  Why would someone coming to a dog show want to learn about cats?  I don’t have anything against cats, but if I went to a dog show, I would expect to see dogs.  If I wanted to see cats, I’d go to a cat show – or the humane society.

Will the dog show progress from cats to guinea pigs to hamsters to gold fish to parrots reptiles?  No snakes, please; they gave me the creeps ever since I read what happened to Adam and Eve.  The dog show could become a zoo.

I’m so confused.  Boys aren’t boys.  Girls aren’t girls.  Cats are going to dog shows.

This can’t be God’s plan; I really miss normal.

Really smart scientists at a couple big research universities are mixing people and pigs.

I have no doubt that their intentions are laudable.  They want to save lives.  They want to make the world a better place.

Read all about it in the National Geographic, which takes both people and pigs very seriously.

The science involved is likely beyond the reach of a liberal arts major like me.  But the concept seems fairly simple.  You remove a pig embryo from a sow, put in in a petri dish, inject it with some human cells, put it back in the sow and let it grow into a sort of hybrid pig (called a chimera) that has organs that can be harvested and transplanted into people.

You are probably as confused reading that last paragraph as I was writing it.  The idea is that, for example, people and pigs have similar hearts.  And with a little genetic manipulation, we can create human-ready pig hearts, which would be good news for people who need a heart transplant.

As a token nod to animal rights activists, I admit that this process isn’t as positive for the pig.  But it isn’t any worse than being made into bacon or footballs.

It might not surprise you that despite some encouraging test results, scientists are a long way from producing organs in pigs that they can plug into humans.  It is a challenge to get human cells to thrive in a pig – and the human body doesn’t naturally welcome a part-pig organ.

While scientists are excited by all this, some people of more ethical orientation aren’t sure mixing the genes of people and pigs is such a great idea.  No, I don’t think we’ll suddenly have people walking around with curly tails or pigs learning to play video games.

But I’m thinking we might be on the edge of a slippery slope.  If this organ-growing scheme works with pigs, why not chimps?  What happens if you actually produce a conscious creature that isn’t entirely human?

Ridiculous?  Perhaps.  But a few years ago, putting a pig heart in a human was unthinkable.  Now we want to create an assembly line.

We had a tradition in our family when the kids were little of going to Ringling Brothers Circus each year on the day after Thanksgiving.

Believe me, it was more fun than Black Friday shopping, for mom and dad as well as the kids.

Even in those days – more than a decade ago – the circus was a bit politically incorrect.  Animals performed tricks.  And there were elephants, lots of elephants, doing stunts no elephant would do in the wild.

The idea of trained elephants rumbling around the United Center in Chicago was more than some activists could stomach, so they protested and petitioned and eventually pressured the circus to retire the elephants.

Absent its elephants and with kids more interested in video games than tightrope walkers working without a net, Ringling Brothers is folding its tent after 146 years.

I will miss the circus.

It was remarkable combination of hokum, fantasy and skill.  The price of admission was low enough for families, especially with the “special discount coupons” that seem to be available everywhere.

Of course, like the $1.00 movie shows with the $6.95 popcorn, you had to watch out for the $8.95 snow cone that included the souvenir tiger-head cup.  And each year there was a special gizmo that every kid had to have; life would be meaningless without it even through it likely would break before you got home.

The actual show was a mixture of animals, clowns, gymnastics, dancing, singing and music.  There really were three rings, which meant that sometimes you weren’t sure what to watch.  I always tried to convince myself I could keep an eye on everything, but I was fooling myself.

Just when you thought things were getting predictable, a demonstration of the amazing capabilities of the human being would burst forth:  trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, people balancing to avoid a fall that could maim or kill, perhaps someone shot from a cannon.

It was corny, sometimes silly, old-fashioned and blustering.  But people – and animals – did amazing things.

Perhaps the do-gooders are right and it isn’t kind to keep an elephant in a circus.  It wasn’t like they were given a choice.  However, I always figured the circus treated the animals pretty well, if for no other reason than it costs a fortune to get a new elephant if something happens to the one you have.

If I’m blessed to have grandchildren, there likely will come a day when one of them asks if I ever saw a live elephant.  I’ll tell them about the circus and they may wonder why they can’t see the elephants on parade.

I will miss the circus.