Tread lightly on the things of earth

[Entry title plays on the incongruity of venerating, maybe even worshipping, the Roman god of war in an almost church-like context.]

I intended to watch some of this week’s Republican National Convention on C-SPAN in an attempt at “fairness,” since I watched much of the Democratic one in July. But turns out it’s too uncomfortable to actually do at length.

There’s a cult-like quality to the proceedings I have seen (via Olbermann, some Hardball, and of course, The Daily Show) that feels to me too much like I’ve stepped uninvited into a worship service at the red, white, and blue Church of Saint Mars. What I see is a people afflicted, I think, conflicted for sure — an almost-monochromatic culture (hence, insufficiently representative) fettered by fear, anger, and deceit, bearing too often a nationalistic self-righteousness that has effectively made unending war its god.

Uruk, aye. When I turn my spiritual eyes to what has become of the U.S. Republican Party and the people therein — many of them decent people, otherwise, I’m sure — the image I see of the people themselves becomes almost transparent, and behind them I see orcs as far as the eye can see into the darkness <shudder>: the U.S. electorate as a spiritual Helm’s Deep.

Think again. To enjoy a movie, one often has to suspend disbelief. To participate in today’s Republican Party, one often has to suspend critical thinking skills, AFAICT. A worldview that holds together only in an environment of secrecy, ignorance, and lies, that comes unglued in the face of daylight, facts, and reasonable thinking, is not one fit to pass on to our children.

Signs of trouble. More concretely, when I look at these proceedings I see that which I have studied, worked, thought, and prayed about for decades to stop being. I care deeply about living out honor, integrity, and respect, about thinking clearly, telling the truth, and working for peace and social justice; IOW, being diligent about following Jesus as I understand him instead of raising a banner with the letters C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N-I-T-Y on it and then doing whatever the hell I want, most notably manifesting an eerie willingness to unleash derision and violence on anyone who disagrees with me.

Baal out. In today’s haywire GOP, I detect too few of these qualities I care about, qualities whose usual widespead appeal I attribute to God’s image in us, the imago Dei. Why should I vote to further this poverty of spirit? It is not us; it’s neither who we are nor who we hope to become in any of our overlapping roles as Americans, world citizens, and healthy human beings.

Josh sums up well the Republican Convention proceedings through Wednesday night:

This whole confab has been built around militarism, the seductions of the mentality of seige and insecurity both from without and within, and the sort of no-rules-win-at-all-costs-lie-if-it-works mentality that will lead this nation to grief.

Andrew, with whom I often disagree but never give up on because he thinks — whom I applaud for daring to “decouple the notion of being a conservative from being a Republican” — assesses Zell Miller’s Wednesday night speech that I didn’t have the stomach to watch. Very interesting take from someone who was once vociferously pro-Bush. (I don’t get the right-wing disdain for Big Mike, though; I haven’t met anyone yet who still ridicules F9/11 after they’ve actually seen it.)

I am struck by the confluence today of

• a man speaking tonight whose movement presented its destructive capacity to my mind’s eye in December 2000 as a hurricane

• a monster hurricane bearing down on my U.S. brothers and sisters in Florida, a state governed by said man’s brother

• this hurricane named Frances, a name derived from the country and people said movement’s supporters ridiculed for questioning said man’s reasons for war

• said brother said three weeks ago of another hurricane, “This is God’s way of telling us that he’s almighty and we’re mortal” (maybe this is the god that said to attack Iraq?)

Far more important, I am struck by the call to pray for protection for all Floridians in Frances’ path.

From all these whirlwinds,
Good Lord, deliver us.

2004-09-07 update:
Molly Ivins, in her inimitable, incisively funny style, sums up the Republican National Convention.