Jesus was an Alien & my Minister was an Atheist

by Giselle Renarde

My girlfriend believes that Jesus was an alien.

If you say to her, "Hey, Sweet, do you believe that Jesus was an alien?" she'll say no, no, no, not really. But you'll notice a glint in her eye, and if you know her as well as I do, you'll realize she's not being entirely honest with you.

She'll go on to say "for argument's sake" that it's entirely possible Jesus was an alien. "I mean, if someone from 200 years in the past were to see you using modern technology, they would think it was some kind of magic, right? Jesus is reputed to have performed all these miracles. Isn't it possible he just came from a more advanced civilization--whether that be from Earth's future, from another planet, or, more likely, from another dimension? From a race of beings that could adapt their physical forms to look human?"

Clearly, she's contemplated this topic quite a lot.

I haven't spent a great deal of my adult life thinking about Jesus, or religion in general. But when I was thirteen, religion was my bag, man! I loved reading about religion. Religions. I never read the Bible, but the Ramayana? Yup. The Bhagavad Gita? Check. I would peruse the shelf of sacred texts at the public library and read everything I could possibly understand.

And what did I understand as a thirteen-year-old? Excellent question. Probably more than I'd understand now. I feel like I've spent my entire adult life in an ever-quickening process of stupidification. I swear I used to be smarter than this.

But I digress.

There was a rule in my family, which came from a rule in my mom's family: kids go to the local United Church until they turn 14, at which point they can decide whether or not they want to continue attending.

That's why 13 was such a big year for me, religion-wise. This was a huge decision, something I took very seriously. Did I want to continue attending a Christian church? There were so many other religions in the world. Should I choose a different one?

My family wasn't churchy in the least. My father was too hung over to do much of anything on Sunday mornings. My mom "has always been a follower" (direct quote from my grandmother, there) so you could tell her pretty much anything and she'd buy into it. She only started taking me and my siblings to church in the first place because, when I was 6, I asked, "What is God?" and neither of my parents knew how to answer that question.

I don't remember my father's parents ever going to church, but I spent lots of time having deep philosophical conversations with my maternal grandparents: an atheist and an agnostic.

The only people in my family who really talked about God either questioned the existence of a divine entity, or staunchly disbelieved. (It was my grandfather's participation in WWII that convinced him God could not possibly exist, because a divine being would never allow the atrocities he witnessed to occur.)

As a kid, I was magnetically drawn to mysticism, and I really appreciate all the time my grandparents spent talking with me about this topic that seemed of vital and immediate importance. I didn't understand how all the other adults in my life could be so disinterested. If I asked my mom questions about God and spirituality and world religions, her eyes would glaze over and she'd tell me she never thought about those things. She wasn't interested in thinking about those things.

Now that I'm the age my mom would have been when I was asking all those questions, I get it. I experience spiritual joys, mostly interacting with the natural world, but spirituality is not something I actively think about or even attempt to process.

As a 13-year-old researching which religion was right for me, I ultimately decided... none. I felt that I was a spiritual entity, but I was just so put off by the massive corruption that seemed to accompany every organized religion I researched.

When I attended my childhood church later in my teens (I guess to keep an eye on the little ones or as a favour to my mother? I don't remember) there was a new minister, someone who has since become infamous as an author and atheist.

I remember her saying that Christianity wasn't the "right" religion. The United Church wasn't the "right" church. Different religions were right for different people, and any religion could be the right religion. It was up to the individual to use their religious beliefs to do good in the world, and not to use dogma as a tool of oppression.

Now I'm thinking: Right on! Sing it, sister!

But at the time, I thought... if my own minister doesn't believe this is the "right" religion, why should I?

When I turned fourteen, I decided to go it alone. One day I came across a word, "freethinker", and that sounded good to me. I wanted to be free to think and analyze and process the world against an internal sounding board, not a book or a building.

These days, if I'm asked to fill out demographic information, I check the box that says "No religious affiliations."

And that's fine. Authors are supposed to be all introspective and stuff, but I guess I've grown away from 13-year-old me. I just don't think about these things anymore.


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On another topic, can you believe I've written a novel's worth of blog posts here at The Grip over the past four years? That's a lot of words! So I've decided to package them up into themed ebooks for your reading pleasure (and the reading pleasure of people who don't tune in here). 

The first in the series is available now. It's free, but not forever, so if you've got friends who are committed to failure, tell them to grab a copy of How to Fail Miserably at Writing!

Maybe I Shouldn't...

by Giselle Renarde

Sometimes I have thoughts I probably shouldn't share.

Sometimes I have thoughts I keep to myself because other people would probably think I was a terrible human being if I fessed up.

Here's one:

A few years ago, I started thinking about homelessness among LGBT youths.  Statistics are pretty staggering, though don't ask me to cite them because I've got a mind like a sieve.  But you've probably seen these stats about the percentage of homeless youths who identify are queer, genderqueer, questioning, trans, gay, bi, lesbian.  It's a big chunk.

Then I started thinking about who, here in Toronto, provides shelter and assistance to young people who've been kicked out or left their homes. There are a lot of shelters in this city, but the go-to one that everyone knows about is a Catholic organization.

Now we come to the part I thought maybe I shouldn't say out loud, for fear of sounding anti-Christian or anti-Catholic or whatever.  I don't want to come off as a total jerkass.  That said, the Catholic church hasn't exactly been friendly to the LGBT population.

So if the biggest youth shelter in my city is a Catholic organization and a huge percentage of homeless youths identify across the LGBTQ spectrum... isn't that problematic?  Is it just me?

Last year I discovered that, no, it's not just me! Other people have these thoughts too! The article I read on this topic wasn't Canadian--wasn't even North American.  It was an article from Australia, voicing EXACTLY the same concerns I had! I am not alone! What's more, this appears to be a global phenomenon.

I wish I'd bookmarked the article I read, but I'm not that organized. I think it appeared on a gay news site, but I could be wrong. The reporter interviewed staff from Catholic shelters to ask whether they truly felt they could provide a safe and supportive environment to LGBT youths. Of course they could. "What a question! We never tell our clients they'll burn in hell for their wrong-headed groin sins! Never!" (<=these are not direct quotes, or even accurate paraphrasings)

And maybe some shelter workers can do that. Don't ask me! Anything's possible!

I have worked in the shelter system, though. As with any job, a big part of how well or poorly you do it depends on who you are as an individual. But, no matter who you are and what you believe, you're working within a framework. If your institution works within a religious framework with a long tradition of gay hate, is it ever really possible to provide responsible care to queer youths?

Here's a solid example, in case you think I'm just picking on the Catholic church because they chased my grandfather's Jehovah's Witness family out of Quebec (no hard feelings, honest! He converted to atheism shortly thereafter, so we're cool):

A bunch of really amazing high school students here in Ontario organized a bake sale at their school. They sold rainbow chip cupcakes and lots of other rainbow-themed goodies, and they raised money for a very deserving charity that serves LGBT youths.  All-round amazing! Good job, students!

But wait... story's not done... because these students attended a Catholic high school... and when the school's principal or a superintendent (can't remember which--sorry) got wind of this, they wouldn't allow the students to donate the money they'd raised to a gay charity. A Catholic board could not support an LGBT charity. Not even when the initiative was coming from inside the school. Not allowed.

I could give you other concrete examples of Ontario's Catholic school boards preventing students from showing support to the LGBT population, even among their own ranks. I could give you examples of boards attempting (with incredible determination) to alter legislation so they could legally prevent students from forming gay-straight alliances in schools (and failing, btw--it helps that our provincial premier is a lesbian). But if I got into the nitty gritty of all these instances, I'd bore you to tears OR make you as angry as I am, and I don't want you to be sad and angry.  You're not here to read about Ontario politics.

But it gives you an idea about working within a framework. Even if you're the most queer-friendly person in the world, is it ever truly possible to honour LGBT individuals from inside a religious organization that dishonours us so frequently and so loudly? 

You tell me.

--

Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, and contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies. She's written plenty of juicy books, including Anonymous, Nanny State, and Seven Kisses. Her words have been published by Cleis Press, Simon and Schuster, and Oxford University Press.

Religious Erotica

by Annabeth Leong

I'm religious. As in, I believe in God, I attend church regularly, and I have a shrine to Mary in my home. I pray, I have religious dreams, and my religion plays a role in my sense of morality. I particularly believe in my religious obligation to help the people around me and to share my belongings and resources with those who have less. Religion is a deep, important part of my identity.

I also have a complicated, insistent sense of my sexuality. I've explored my sexuality in many ways, including some that violate societal taboos. I write about sex because it fascinates me and turns me on, and because I believe in combating shame, supporting a variety of gender expressions and groupings, and enjoying the bodies we've got. Sexuality is a deep, important part of my identity.

In negotiating the terrain of sex and spirituality, I do what I always do with deep, important parts of my identity—I write about them. Religion is a major theme in my erotica, and I'm proud of the various ways I've explored it. I want to give a few examples because I don't think these issues are simple or one-sided.

1. Acknowledging Common Compromises

What I most often see is erotica, about characters who aren't religious at all and have no moral issues with sex, opposed to inspirational romance, about characters who are waiting for marriage. I'm really interested in subverting this because it doesn't reflect the reality I've observed at all. I know very few religious people who actually waited until marriage (I certainly didn't). And yet, many people who fornicate remain religious for other reasons (again, this is me).

The Ellora's Cave Branded line—which requires sexually active characters to be married to each other—was dubbed "inspirational erotica" by some and mocked for that. On the other hand, I think this is an interesting step toward putting sex and religion together, and I love acknowledging that sex and romance don't end when a couple gets married. I've written for this line (Get Laid) and am proud of that work.

Really, though, I like to go farther than that and write about characters who are living with the contradictions. In Run for Your Love, a book I wrote about the zombie apocalypse, my characters are practicing Roman Catholics. The Church also play an important role in providing for the people hurt by the chaos in the world. My characters sincerely believe in their religion and try to follow its morals (for example, the hero, Zach, is a pacifist because of his interpretation of Christianity). They're also fornicating. They discuss this and decide that it's not a priority for them to worry about that. I'm really proud of these characters and that scene as a true reflection of what I've seen and admire in life, but it was very uncomfortable to write. I know tons of Catholics who don't do exactly what the Church tells them to do, and yet I so rarely see that portrayed.

2. Portraying What Is Possible

I'm really excited about a story I have forthcoming from Storm Moon Press called "Never Not a Priest" (It will be in an anthology called Devout). It's about a gay priest whose life is changed by the legalization of same-sex marriage in his state. This isn't a character who dismisses worries about fornication—he believes in and wants to experience the sanctity of marriage, but has been suffering because he's been shut out of choosing it. A major issue in this story is the repair of the relationship he's been in, which has been damaged by being kept secret.

This is sort of the flip side to what I said above. It's possible to choose to ignore certain pronouncements of church and/or state, but what if you don't want to? I frequently see liberals suggesting that queer people suffering discrimination in the south should just move, but this is an inhuman demand. It's not a solution to order people to leave their homes and families (and the Human Rights Campaign recently made a very poignant video to this effect, interviewing many Southern queer people about why they don't want to leave). Similarly, people are sometimes told that they should just stop being religious.

I'm not willing to give up on religion. Changes have happened. For example, there is a general acceptance of divorce that was really not present just 50 years ago. The Anglican Church has torn itself apart dealing with issues including ordination of women and same-sex marriage, and I respect that struggle. I want to help it, not abandon it. That's my political motivation behind "Never Not a Priest"—I wanted to present a positive view of religion becoming more inclusive. I believe in the importance of showing visions of possibility.

3. Reveling in Transgression

I'd be a huge liar if I failed to acknowledge the enormous thrill of doing what I'm not supposed to do. Part of the fun of sexual exploration lies in being naughty, and religion can really juice that. I've done a lot of kinky things that play with this fact. I've put on Catholic schoolgirl skirts and played Christian wife and all the rest. It's hot. I do think that, as a person who sincerely believes in this religion, I get more excitement out of fucking with it than a nonbeliever would. I could participate in a kinky scene that screwed with, say, Hindu mores, but I doubt I'd get the full-body fear and pleasure effect of blasphemy from doing so. Also, I think I'd be uncomfortable with doing this. Since Christianity is my religion, for better and for worse, I feel okay about criticizing it or toying with it in a way that I don't when it comes to the religions of others.

As far as heresy and transgression, my magnum opus is "The Miracles of Dorothea of Andrine," which is forthcoming from Forbidden Fiction. I filled this story with authentic detail about how the Roman Catholic Church historically conducted investigations into miracles and potential beatification, and then I accompanied that with an equal helping of kinky acts (lactation fetish, self-penetration with large dildos, blasphemous phrases translated into Latin, etc). The main character is a bishop who thinks this is all terribly dirty—until he just can't resist participating.

While this story is mostly about transgression, I also adapted many authentic Marian prayers into celebrations of the divine feminine. By the end of the story, the characters have set up a heretical branch of the Church that changes the role of the Holy Mother to something much more sex-positive than what exists in mainstream Roman Catholicism. I generally can't help myself from including some of my political views, even when I'm out to be naughty.

4. Mining a Rich Tradition of Story

The recent story I'm most technically proud of is "The Good Brother," published in the Coming Together: By the Book series (sales benefit Darkness to Light, an organization working to end child sexual abuse). This is a contemporary retelling of the story of the rape of Tamar, and it's an exploration of the aftereffects of rape and incest (including more incest).

I'll never forget the first time I encountered the original story in the Book of Kings. I was pretty young, and I was generally interested in being "good." People frequently extolled the virtues of daily Bible reading, particularly the value of the Bible as a set of instructions for living. Well, at this point, I'm pretty sure that you can't describe the Bible that way if you've actually read it. It's full of contradiction and mystifying stories and it's short on clear instructions. But I didn't know better yet, so I was trying to read it every day. I was a bookish kid, so after a while I encountered the rape of Tamar. That story disturbed me and wouldn't let me go.

But this is actually key to the value I do find in the Bible. The story of the rape of Tamar is ugly and confusing. It raises questions, and it shows injustice clearly. I've since been in church while it was being read aloud, and I enjoy the discomfort it produces. We need that discomfort. We need to talk about these brutal, terrible things. We need to talk about sex that isn't sexy, and also sex that is sexy when it feels as if it shouldn't be.

When I write with a rich tradition of story behind me (whether that's Greek myth or Biblical lore), I often get a resonant effect. I'm proud of the language in "The Good Brother," and I'm proud of the sense of doom that will kick in for readers who are familiar with the King David cycle (because they, for example, know what becomes of Absalom). I disturbed myself writing it, but sometimes I need to go to that place, and religion can help me get there.

***

I'll cut this post off here because I've already gone quite long. But I expect to write much more religious-themed erotica over the course of my career, and I hope I explore even more aspects of the territory.

Meanwhile, in real life, I'm also negotiating the territory. I'm functionally Roman Catholic, but I attend a church with more politically liberal policies because I can't stomach any less. I go straight from church to kinky weekend events. I choose to hear particular Biblical passages as coded references to BDSM. I judiciously ignore some things and speak up about others. I wear sky-high heels to church and secretly get off on it. I worship, and I accept my confusion, and I live with the contradictions and the resonances.

Away in a Manger...the Baby Jesus got eaten by a lion.

(I wrote the original version of this post in 2003, long before I had children or even thought I would have children. Coming at this topic from a parental angle, I've expanded on my original thoughts.)

I am not particularly religious. I was raised vaguely Christian in an area of South Florida that was religiously diverse. I spent kindergarten through second grade attending a private Baptist school where the religious teachings, circa 1970s, suggested Jesus was a hippie and God was a benevolent grandpa. Funny how kids look at things. I memorized the books of both the Old and New Testaments at an early age (and can still recite them almost perfectly), but beyond that and learning about Noah and the ark and Jonah and the whale, I didn't retain much.

Now that I have children of my own, I find myself with the dilemma of what to teach them. I don't attend church and I don't have strong feelings about any particular religion. I have been called an atheist, but agnostic is probably a better fit. (Though the belief system I find myself most aligned with is Buddhism.) So what do I teach my kids? I suppose I will muddle through it as the situation arises, explaining what the Christmas represents and fielding questions about why we put up a Christmas tree. I do so love the pagan roots of the Christian traditions, so that part will be fun. But... what about the nativity? How do I explain the little dollhouse with Jesus and family? That is a dilemma.

One of my favorite childhood memories is setting up the nativity each year and hanging the angel named Gloria just so in front of the single lightbulb that illuminated the whole shebang. The stable had a straw-like roof, the wise men were appropriately ethnic (never mind that Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus were all peculiarly white) and everyone had a happy, reverential expression. I remember being disappointed there wasn't a little drummer boy, not realizing the song was written in 1958 (I just looked that up) and had nothing to do with the story of the original nativity.



I don't currently own a nativity set and have been searching for years for just the right one. Now that I have children, I'm more determined than ever to find a nativity that is reminiscent of the one I grew up with. These days, you can find a nativity scene of just about every flavor--including the Peanuts characters. But that's not the kind of nativity I want. Despite my lack of interest in most things Christian, I am picky about what I'm looking for in a nativity. What do I want?

I want a nativity scene that includes all the principles and isn't made out of plastic, fabric or cork. I want Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus to be made of an appropriate material and have real faces. I don't want them to be faceless art deco blown glass, burlap dolls bound with twine or abstract burnished metal silhouettes.

I want the three wise men with camels and the angel Gloria in all her blonde glory.

Speaking of stables, want a stable that looks like a stable and not a shoebox, a trailer or a Barbie Dream House. I want animals that belong in a nativity: cows, oxen, sheep and donkeys. Maybe a cat, but certainly not dogs, and definitely not a lion. I kid you not, I've seen a nativity with a lion.

It would be preferable if the baby Jesus were removable from the manger for those who wish to observe the tradition of leaving the him out of the nativity until Christmas day. I personally don't care, but it's a nice touch. It would be good if Gloria hung from the front of the stable and even better if there were a lightbulb behind her to cast a ethereal glow.

The Fontanini family comes closest to meeting my demands-- and they've been doing it for over a hundred years. They're expensive, but it's amazing what I'm willing to pay to have a baby Jesus who looks like a baby and not a Weeble. Of course, Patrick and Lucas won't care about my precious traditional nativity and will likely use the holy figures as drivers for their cars and trucks. Or as projectiles against each other. Hmm... maybe that Peanuts nativity isn't such a bad idea after all.

Custom is king

One of the first things we discussed in on my philosophy classes (an ethics class) was that custom is king. What we might see as common place and accepted, another culture might not. And vice versa.

I have always been fairly open-minded, and accepting, but I admit there are some things that I just can't find a way to understand.

I might not agree with it, but I can see where the idea of "no sex before marriage" would be beneficial in some ways, at some times. Having had my child (with my husband) six months before we married, I can safely say that I broke that rule. But then again, I have never felt it applied to me, because it is not part of my custom. I can accept that others view it as sacrosanct, and I can respect them for it. Even if I just don't understand it.

A young lady I used to work with dated her boyfriend for years, and never slept with him. He held off propsing to her, despite them loving each other so much it was obvious to anyone who saw them together, or even apart. She shined with love for him. But he had cancer, the kind that required a bone marow transplant, and he didn't want to be selfish and marry her, then die leaving her with only bills for comfort. So he held off proposing until he got the all clear.

The day he popped the question, there are truly no words to describe her appearence. She glowed. Her happiness was shimmering from the inside out. Unfortunatly, he fell ill again. Though it all, they never slept together. And sadly, he passed away a few months later. She refused to give up, refused to let him break off their engagement.

I tried not to judge. Goodness knows I tried. I bit my tongue when she mentioned wanting to be one with him, but knowing it would be a sin if she did. I bie my tongue when he fell ill again, to keep from telling her to grab what happiness she could, with what time they had. I bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him that his act of selflessness was the most selfish thing I had ever seen, because he denied her YEARS worth of possible good memories. Denied her so much.

They never had sex, and she will never know what it would have been like with him, because it was sinful in their eyes. I just don't understand that. I try, and I respect their belief, but I just can't wrap my mind around it. If something had happened to my husband before we got married, I would still have had the memories and the child we made together to cherish.

Another part of religion I can't understand is one that calls for female circumcision. I do not mean to start a flame war here, just express my own cluelessness. How can something so beautiful, the joy to be found in a spouse's arms as he is sliding into you, and holding you pressed tight against him, be denied to a woman? I understand wanting to remove temptation. If I could, I would ask every single attractive woman in the area to not wear skin tight jeans and belly shirts. Especially the redheads. Hubby loves redheads. But removing a woman's clit, and sentencing her to a lifetime of not just joyless, but in many cases painful sex, for something she MIGHT be tempted to do just doesn't make sense to me.

There are so many other instances where I truly want someone to make it make sense to me, that I could spend all day typing this post. But I am sure you don't want to read a novel on my cluelessness.

Just to make it clear, I have no problem with religon. I wasn't raised with one, but hubby is very faithful to his chosen path, we have many wiccan, other forms of pagan, christian, muslim, and even a few buddhist friends. I respect them all for their beliefs, and I respect their beliefs. Our daughter is currently seeking her path, and I am supportive of her questions, and respectful of her ideas as she searches for what feels right to her.

I just don't understand many religions. Especially when it comes to sex.

Myths, Monsters, and Morality

I do not presume to know if ghosts exist. I have no personal experience on which to base an opinion. (Though I always wanted to, darn it!) People I know and whose opinions I value tell me that they have experienced paranormal phenomena. So lacking evidence to the contrary, let's call me a reluctant skeptic. I certainly believe that there is a whole hell of a lot out there that we've yet to understand.

But genuine haunts and spirits aside, once upon a time, parents told children tales of the boogie man and other things that go bump in the night for a very specific reason. To keep them in bed where they belonged. It may seem cruel, but think about it—there was no electricity, so no night-lights. There were wild animals and open fires about. Staircases didn’t usually have hand rails. It was a safety thing. Also kept them out of mom & dad’s bed, which was quite possibly in the same room. Explained away all that grunting and bumping, too.

What boogie man tales did for the children, religion did for the grown-ups. Thinking about running around after dark? Watch out, the vampires might get you. Those shell fish that are making everyone sick? If GOD says they’re unclean, maybe the masses will stop eating them. In parts of Africa it is believed that evil spirits lurk in the corners of the house—so houses are built in circles. Also conserves the scarce wood supply, as a circle gives you the maximum area/perimeter ratio. In Thailand you build a high threshold to keep out the evil spirits that crawl along the floor. Also works on snakes. Handy, huh?

Now, again, I'm not saying that anything paranormal doesn't exist. I HONESTLY do not know. And I’m not saying that religion deliberately hoodwinks the populace for its own arbitrary or nefarious reasons. But in a pre-literate society, religion was one largely self-enforcing way for the educated minority to communicate messages to the masses, and to have them stick. A lot of the paranormal legends we’re familiar with today may have started off in just such a manner, along with the fact that every culture has a mythology, and as cultures moved and mingled, the legends spread, grew, evolved. Trolls mean one thing to one culture, something else entirely to another. Brownies, leprechauns, elves, pixies, faeries—the stories and differences are largely regional, but with a great deal of overlap. Some of these creatures featured in the teaching of pre-Christian beliefs, just as the djinn feature in Middle Eastern theology and demons in many of the Asian philosophies.

Now, if you want to know how I think these religious aspects, or even whether or not you believe in the existence of the paranormal, should relate to modern paranormal romance, you might be in for a shock.

I don’t.

Not one little, teeny, weeny bit.

I write FICTION. Stories. Faery tales if you will. They have nothing whatsoever to do with reality—especially politics or religion. I'm not confirming the existence of anything, or denying it. And as to religious beliefs, well, I try very hard not to mention religion at all, though now and again the context of a story forces it in. When it does, I try to be as vague as possible, and most importantly, not to offend any particular sect. Why? Because I don’t want to get into a religious debate. That’s simply not what my romantic fiction is about. If your beliefs have a problem with the existence of a werewolf, or a living gargoyle, or a half-dragon cop, that’s fine. I don’t believe in singing purple dinosaurs either, but I let my kids watch Barney, even though he bugged the crap out of me. Because even when they were two, they got the concept that THIS IS NOT REAL. Watching the show has no bearing on whether or not they believe in purple dinosaurs, just as reading one of my books should have no bearing on your belief in ghosts or djinnis, or sexy cowboys.

If however, you have a problem reading about magical creatures, you should probably not read my work. And that’s okay, too. I can recommend some wonderful authors who do bring their faith into their fiction—everything from Wiccan to Jewish to Catholic to Baptist to Buddhist.

But in my stuff? Whether it's about dragons or cowboys, it's all just fantasy. So kick back, forget reality for a while and have some fun.