Author: Andy Uyboco

I saw a bumper sticker that said, “Forgiven and Free.” In that phrase lies the appeal of Christianity that has survived throughout the centuries.

As a young child, I had already been indoctrinated with the idea that I was a sinful being worthy of being roasted in the fires of hell. This was all because of Adam’s sin, I was told. I was quite upset with that and thought it rather unfair that I should suffer for his stupidity.

“It’s not like that,” my teacher said. “We’re not paying for something he has done. Rather, his fallen nature has transferred to his descendants. We are therefore paying for our own sins. I mean, you’ve committed some sins, haven’t you? You’ve lied, or disobeyed your parents, or fought with your classmates? We can’t help it because no matter how much we try to be good, our fallen nature pulls us down.”

I thought about that for a moment. It seemed to make some sense. So I nodded my head.

“That is why,” the teacher continued, “God showed his love for us by sending his only son Jesus, to die for our sins. Can you imagine that? That is why the Bible says that ‘whoever believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life.’”

At that time, I didn’t think about how God could have had a son when he didn’t have a wife, and if he did, why wasn’t she a Goddess ruling beside him? I didn’t think about the irony of God’s son being himself and the self-imposed sacrifice he penalized himself with for a situation he could have prevented easily by not putting that godforsaken tree in the middle of the garden. I didn’t think about how hollow such a sacrifice was. I mean, even I would go through 3 days of hell if I knew at the end of it that I would be resurrected and raised to the highest throne above all creation. Excruciating pain and suffering for a few hours and death for 3 days in exchange for an eternity of glory and all of creation worshipping me? Where do I sign up?

But like I said, I didn’t think about any of that. I just thought, “Yeah, he’s right. I’m a turd worthy of being flushed down into the fiery abyss, but thank you Lord for saving me.”

This is the doctrine of depravity — that we are born depraved, broken, shameful, enslaved and condemned — and out of all the religions that play this game, Christianity has played it very well. First, it convinces us that depravity is a fact. As illustrated by my Sunday School example above, it often starts at childhood when adult Christians show children that they are inherently sinful because they cannot control their undesirable impulses and actions. And then, contrary to other religions where you need to work yourself out of that situation (by doing good works, thinking good thoughts, constantly improving yourself, etc.), Christianity offers a relatively easy way out — have faith in Jesus and you are already saved.

But doesn’t make one free to do evil things after one has believed in Jesus’ redemptory sacrifice? Not at all, because now they say that you “prove” your belief is real by your actions. If your actions are contrary to Christian teachings, then that only shows your belief is simply lip service and God will not be fooled that easily.

Finally, it puts the fulfillment of salvation just beyond your reach — after death — where no one can  demonstrably verify the truth of its claims about heaven or hell, of being united again with your departed loved ones, or of mansions and rewards and meeting Jesus face-to-face. So one goes through life constantly nurturing this hope, afraid to doubt and let go of belief because the cost of that is too high — one might lose the golden ticket and be turned away at the pearly gates for lack of faith.

It is a stroke of genius, really. It is easy to get in the door, yet hard to leave because the perceived rewards are too great to give up, or the perceived punishment for doing so is too gruesome to contemplate. That is why a preacher remarked that if he cannot get a person interested in the beauty of heaven, then the next strategy was to put the fear of hell into him.

Yet it all hinges on one accepting that initial premise — that one is broken and depraved and the only solution to that is Jesus.

It is a worldview I no longer accept. Humans aren’t broken. We simply go through stages in life, learning along the way, making mistakes as we grow and adapt to our environment. This is true all throughout nature. Seeds become seedlings, then saplings, before becoming full-grown trees. There is no talk of seeds being imperfect trees, or tadpoles being imperfect frogs.

Yes, it is the nature of children to be rude, selfish and petty, but that is not due to the inborn stain of original sin — as if it was a manufacturing defect — that is simply how children are. Then we learn how to become social beings. We learn how to act unselfishly and relate to others in a friendly manner. We learn how to forgive others and ourselves. We learn how to love others and ourselves.

Loving and forgiving ourselves is actually more difficult than it sounds. If there is anything that children are burdened with, it is the illusory guilt of not being good enough, of not knowing enough, of being “just” kids. We grow up with this guilt and feeling of inadequacy, and this is where Christianity’s vast appeal comes in. It is our nature to value other people’s approval and validation, and what could be more appealing than having the approval and acceptance of the creator of the universe, the ultimate father figure?

I believe this is just a subconscious projection. When we think we have been forgiven by God himself, we are actually giving ourselves permission to forgive ourselves in a way that circumvents the feeling of being self-serving when we just forgive ourselves anyway.

But it is possible to truly love and forgive ourselves. That is all we really need. Because when we learn to see ourselves for who we really are, and learn to accept that, we realize there is nothing to forgive, and we have always been free.

Originally published in Sunstar Davao.

Email me at andy@freethinking.me. View previous articles at www.freethinking.me.

One of the more interesting classes I took in college was Literary Theory. It was not part of my curriculum but I had heard a lot about the teacher, Dr. Edna Zapanta-Manlapaz, and I decided wasn’t about to graduate without taking one or two of her classes. So I asked her permission if I could sit in her class (I found out about it two or three weeks into the semester so it was too late to officially enroll). She was gracious though and granted me permission to be in her class, as long as I complied with the work like any other regular student. I thought that was as good a deal as any so I took it.

There were two lectures from that class that I still draw lessons from up to this day.

In the first one, the teacher came into class and handed out sheets of paper containing a short poem of around 10 lines. She gave us a few minutes to read the poem, then asked someone to read it aloud, then asked us what it meant. The discussion that ensued went this way and that, as it was quite a vague poem. When one student tried to justify his answer with a certain line, the teacher would use another line to counter that argument. When another used a certain word as a symbol or metaphor, the teacher would use another word to show that didn’t quite make sense. The discussion became heated and polarized and soon there were two or three factions in class espousing one idea over another.

When it seemed that the issue was unresolvable, the teacher gave away the secret.

The “poem” was not an actual poem. She had taken the first two lines from one poem, the next two from another, and so on and so forth. What we were reading was actually a mash-up of several poems. It wasn’t any wonder then, why we couldn’t agree on the meaning.

And then she introduced us to the concept of “gestalt” and explained it as the natural inclination of our minds to create or infer meaning from seemingly unrelated pieces of data. It’s like when we are faced with pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, we assume that they will somehow come together and form a coherent picture. In fact, some try very hard to force the pieces together because it just needs to mean something, somehow. It cannot be utterly meaningless.

That is very much how it is with many people in life. When bad things happen, like when one loses a job, then “God must be telling me something” or “when God closes a door, he opens a window.” When a loved one dies in a freak accident, then it’s “God has a plan” or “God must have needed another angel” or “this is punishment for me playing that awful prank on my classmate many years ago.” When good things happen, like a sudden upturn in business or a promotion, then it’s “all things work together for those who love God” or “I must have done something good in my past life.”

Events and circumstances are rarely seen as they are but are always interpreted against the backdrop of what one thinks life’s meaning should be. In our part of the world, that usually means how one fits into the Divine plan, or to one’s place in the karmic wheel. Stella, my editor-in-chief, believes herself as the spoiled brat of the universe and touts that as the reason why her flights often arrive ahead of schedule, or how she can get through Manila traffic in record time.

On the other end of the spectrum, there are the New Atheists who claim that there is no God or universal force, that everything happens by chance and that any meaning we derive from life comes from whatever meaning we ourselves put into it. That sounds all well and good at first, but if you think about it, it can also paint a pretty bleak picture because, well, what’s the point of it all then?

While I definitely do not subscribe to the idea that we are chess pieces moved to and fro by some divine hand who has a mysterious plan for us, I also find it disheartening to think that all the energy we expend on living and loving really has no ultimate point at all as humanity hurtles towards oblivion and obliteration.

Perhaps there is something that started this all, that nudges us along in our day-to-day living, that provides us with inspiration to create beauty, to celebrate with friends, or to find joy and peace amidst despair and turmoil. It is not a strict schoolteacher watching your every mistake and looking to give you an F (or sending you to hell). It is instead a loving parent or a wise old friend, gracious and understanding of your shortcomings, always encouraging you to pick up the pieces and move on and move forward.

Or perhaps this is just me trying to force pieces of the puzzle together. Perhaps there is no puzzle after all. Who knows?

(I mentioned two lectures, but only had space for one today. Perhaps I will tackle the other lecture next week. Who knows?)

Originally published in Sunstar Davao.

Email me at andy@freethinking.me. View previous articles at www.freethinking.me.

I watched Finding Dory with my wife and kids last Sunday. It was a fun sequel to Pixar’s 2003 hit, Finding Nemo. This time, the focus was on their quirky, dorky companion with short-term memory loss named Dory (who incidentally is not a Dory fish but a Pacific Regal Blue Tang).

Because of her condition, Dory would often get herself in trouble. When her short-term memory loss kicked in, she would totally forget what she was supposed to do that moment, be distracted by something else and then get sidetracked, lost, or in danger. She was the anti-thesis of Nemo’s father, Marlin, who was always pragmatic, organized and liked to plan things carefully. Marlin was obviously not a fan of Dory’s spontaneity and impulsiveness.

At one point in the story, Marlin and Nemo found themselves seemingly trapped in a certain situation. They needed to get out and they needed to do it fast. For all of Marlin’s practicality, he could not find a way out.

And then Nemo asked, “What would Dory do?”

That question let them see the problem in a new light, and they suddenly saw a solution. It was risky and dangerous, but it was exactly the thing Dory would have done. So they took the risk and were able to extract themselves out of their current predicament. Over the course of the movie, they would find themselves in other traps, but always, asking “What would Dory do?” would see them through.

My wife, the more level-headed of us two, worried about what kind of lesson this movie was imparting to the kids. Should we then throw planning and thinking ahead out of the window? Well, that’s taking it to the extreme and I wouldn’t go that far.

I think that careful planning as well as creative spontaneity each have their place in one’s life. Too much of either can make you too boring or too unpredictable or too crazy. There has to be some sort of balance between the two.

When I was a high school teacher, I would drive my supervisors up the wall because I didn’t want to do lesson plans. The lesson plan format that DepEd had recommended was too rigid and  too cookie-cutter-like for my tastes. For me, educating kids has never been about making “standard-issue” products like those that come out of a factory. It has always been about making them think, think and think. Think out of the box. Think creatively. Think stupidly. Think funnily. Think.

So I had like a general plan and goal in my head of what I would like to achieve, but I didn’t want to plan out the specifics because I wanted to dynamically adjust to the class, to see what they were ready for and what direction the learning would take. Sadly, that didn’t quite fit with what DepEd thought was a “proper” lesson plan.

I was fortunate to have a very forward-thinking boss early in my teaching career, Ms. Franelli Pableo, who now serves as Director of Davao Christian High School V. Mapa Campus. She was then the High School Principal. I would often hang out in her office, sometimes to vent out my frustrations, and sometimes just to share a funny story or two about the students. But she knew what I thought about lesson plans and she would just tell me, “Don’t worry too much about it. I’ve seen you in class and I know you know what you’re doing.” So I ended up enjoying some creative freedom without being completely tied down to the rigidity of lesson plans.

I had a “What would Dory do” moment when one summer she asked me, “Would you like to teach world history?”

Me? Teach history? I was a Computer Science major teaching English literature so I guess the idea didn’t sound so strange. But I had a natural love affair with literature that I didn’t have for history. I said, “But I don’t know anything about world history.”

And she said, “I have the textbook here. Just pick it up and start reading. Come on, help me out here. It’s almost school opening time, the previous teacher just resigned and I haven’t found a suitable replacement. If you accept, I know the kids will at least be in good hands.”

And that’s how I ended up with one year in my resume where I taught history. It was a wild and wacky experience for me and some of my kids thought so too, as it was probably the only history class they had where all tests and quizzes were open books and notes. I also managed to have them watch Schindler’s List, Stephen Spielberg’s award-winning movie about the holocaust. It was R-rated and I let a bunch of 14-year olds watch it. Processing it afterwards was fun as well.

Yeah, it was something Dory would have done.

Originally published in Sunstar Davao.

Email me at andy@freethinking.me. View previous articles at www.freethinking.me.

 

At around 2AM last Sunday morning in Orlando, Florida, 29-year old Omar Mateen went inside the Pulse nightclub (a known gay bar) and shot and killed 49 people. He reportedly called 911 during the attack to pledge his allegiance to ISIS.

In an interview with his father, the elder Mateen recalls an earlier incident when his son became so enraged after seeing two men kiss in front of his wife and child, but he had no idea that it would come to this.

Most of the mainstream Christian articles I read called for prayers, mourning, and respect for the LGBT. They highlighted their concern for the well-being of the people of Orlando. They called for help and counselling to the survivors as well as to the family members of the deceased. I saw the hashtag #PrayForOrlando on several of my friends’ walls.

There were a number of responses though that were on the opposite end of the spectrum, like these ones:

1. Florida gay pulse club attacked. I’m so happy someone decided to shoot perverts instead of innocent people.
2. The only good thing about the Orlando shooting is that it was a gay club. So less gays in the world today.
3. I wake up to some dude shooting up a gay nightclub. Isn’t that weird. Homosexuality is condemned by God so that’s why he let that happen, people.
4. God opened his armory to deal with proud fag America.
5. That is the right target for such shootings. Gays should be shot for disrespecting the natural order.
6. Ok…at least it was only gays. Not like they add anything to mankind: Except disease — a bit of non-story, really.
7. The shooter is my hero. The cops should be sued for killing a hero who was doing social justice. I mean, since 80% of Americans no longer have brains to know that homosexuality is a great sin against God and every natural human law. Let those who know please buy guns and kill off any gay, lesbian, transgender and their likes, including Bruce Jenner or whatever he calls himself now…FYI I am a Christian, not a Muslim and my religion strongly condemns any act of homosexuality.
8. Why should I pray for Orlando? In the first place, Orlando rejected God. They had it coming.
9. This was God’s hand, and he will pluck them away one by one. I have no judgement in what others do but God does.
10. It seems that so many Christians today are sympathizing with the sodomites who were destroyed in this nightclub shooting, in this terror attack. Why would we sympathize with, or feel bad for them? Well, frankly, I’m not sad about it at all.I don’t condone violence, I never have… but I’m not gonna sit here and cry about it and say it’s a tragedy, because it’s not.

From the outside looking in, it is easy to condemn these people for being judgmental and hypocritical to the Christian values of love and forgiveness they so espouse. However, my experience in the inside also allows me some insight into this kind of thinking. The Bible — the supposed inspired Word of God — after all condemns homosexuality in both the Old and New Testaments.

These people are trying to be “right” in God’s eyes by showing they approve of what he wrote and said (or at least, what they believe he said) — never mind that it’s unpopular or that they would be seen as unkind — what is important is that they remain faithful to the Word. And yet, here is Jesus, telling them to love the unlovable — the least of the people.

Oh how difficult it was for me to be a Christian, to never know where the boundaries lie, to resolve the many contradictions that hound this or that doctrine.

And yet now that I have left Christianity, I think I have a better idea on how to be a good Christian. Distancing oneself tends to put a fresh perspective on how you see things.

Christians can be better Christians if they always err on the side of kindness and compassion. Gandhi could not have said it better when he proclaimed, “I like your Christ, but I do not like you Christians,” because he saw through the pompousness and self-righteous posturing that many do in the name of Christ.

After all, Jesus was often depicted as hanging out with common people, even drunks, taxpayers and whores. He ignored regulations and healed people on the Sabbath. He ignored social conventions and talked to the Samaritan woman, and even refused to condemn the woman others wanted to stone for her sin of adultery.

If you were to just look at these examples of how he lived his life and how he treated others, you would understand that being a true follower of Christ doesn’t mean that you follow every stroke of the law, or that you know your doctrine like the back of your hand, but that you are able to transcend these and see the greater value of compassion, love and acceptance.

Frank Schaeffer, son of a well-known protestant minister and author, Francis Schaeffer, wrote a book called Why I Am An Atheist Who Believes in God. In the fourth chapter, he shares a little bit about his parents: “Dad and Mom had a lesbian couple living in our chalet for several years in the early 1970s. One was Dad’s secretary, the other Mom’s helper. They shared a room. Fortunately, my parents were hypocritical and acted as if, no matter their official religious absolutes, the higher call was to ignore what the Bible said in favor of what they hoped it meant. Thus, without ever saying it, it seems to me my parents were affirming that the Bible should be read as if Jesus was the only lens through which to see God. The result was that Francis and Edith Schaeffer were nicer than their official theology.”

Yes, I think the world would be a better place if more people were nicer than their official theology.

Originally published in Sunstar Davao.

Email me at andy@freethinking.me. View previous articles at www.freethinking.me.

I am trying to understand this brouhaha over Duterte’s whistling at reporter Mariz Umali.

On the one hand, we have those who decry it as foul, as encouraging catcalling and rape culture, and seeing it as demeaning to women. On the other hand, we have those who say there’s nothing wrong with it, with some women even saying they are not bothered, or even enjoy being catcalled.

Those who know me know that I have friends on both sides of the fence (heck, I have all sorts of friends across all sorts of fences), so you can imagine what my facebook wall looks like when debates of this sort occur. I sometimes have to step in their arguments (when they do it on my wall) and remind them to be civil because they are both my friends, after all.

Once again, I am caught in between trying to find some sort of balance between the two (and my astrology-believing friend would point out to me once more it’s because I’m a Libra). This is not because I’m a Duterte-supporter and am trying to find some way to justify his actions, but because I have long been in the middle regarding the issue of catcalling.

I have read stories of women recounting their own horrible experiences of being catcalled (or worse) hence I understand their hatred of it in any form. And yet, I also understand Gabriela representative Luz Ilagan (also a friend and fellow Toastmaster), when she said that Duterte’s whistling was not sexual harassment (though I disagree that it’s “Bisaya culture”).

I watched the video again to understand the circumstances when the incident took place. The press conference had been going on for about 30 minutes, with reporters jostling with one another to ask their questions. Duterte hears a question and is trying to find the speaker who says, “Sir, I’m over here.” Duterte sees her and has an expression on his face of mild, pleasant surprise, and then smiles says “Talagang nagpapapansin ka sa akin ha.” Then he whistles and sings, “Malayo ang tingin…” Mariz is caught by the camera to be also smiling but gently and firmly insisting that her question be answered, which Duterte does, and the presscon then proceeds normally.

The way I see it, it is simply comic-relief, a short break from 30 minutes of seriousness. That is simply how Duterte is. Talking to the press is like talking to his barkada. He does not hide behind a cloak of formality or politeness (which is both good and bad for him, so it seems). I don’t know if it’s just me but that sort of informality does not bother me. Using romantic overtures for humor is something Filipinos commonly do. I remember presentations in high school — when a fellow student was singing onstage, some guy or girl would go up the stage and pretend to wipe the performer’s sweat — whistles and shrill giggles would abound. When a student teacher sat in our classes to observe, and we teased her romantically with our teacher, he would sometimes oblige by making some remark addressed to the observer. Even when I was a teacher, I would sometimes ride with my students teasings, either for a humorous interlude, to establish better rapport, or simply to lighten the mood.

From where I sit, that was all Duterte was doing. There was no intent of disrespecting or demeaning women, or even of making sexual innuendos or advances.

An interesting observation though of those most vocal on my facebook feed: Those who are vehemently against Duterte’s whistling seem to be on the younger side — those in their thirties or below. While those who are saying it’s ok tend to be in their forties, fifties or above. So perhaps it may not be a Bisaya thing, as Luz Ilagan says, but more of a cultural-age thing. Perhaps those of us who are more advanced in years (dang, I’m in this category already!) are simply more used to this kind of humor. After all, we grew up where teasing one another as “bayot” was not the social faux pas that it is today.

I found it slightly strange, though, that many of those who found Duterte’s whistling offensive were the same ones laughing at and sharing the #rp69fanfic stories that became popular during the election season. For those who are not aware of what it is, there was this person who started some short dialogues between Baste Duterte and Sandro Marcos that had homosexual overtones mixed with election references. For example:

Sandro: I thought we were going to do Du30 rounds.
Baste: Why? How many have we done?
Sandro: I don’t know. We need to do a recount.

This may seem like harmless fun but I know people who were offended by this as well.

I also wonder, what if it was a woman politician being interviewed by a handsome male reporter, and that woman whistled in the same way that Duterte did, would she get the same flak? What if it was a gay or female transgender politician doing the same to a reporter of the opposite sex? Just some things to think about. Who decides what is offensive and what is not?

And just in case you think I am being a bit naughty with the title of my piece, it is actually a reference to a 1974 song by Kenny Rankin called Pussywillows Cattails, both of which are kinds of flowers. I grew up at a time when ‘pussy’ referred only to cats, when ‘cocks’ only meant roosters, when ‘gay’ only meant happy and when ‘queer’ only meant strange.

Originally published in Sunstar Davao.

Email me at andy@freethinking.me. View previous articles at www.freethinking.me.