Sunday is the Sabbath—for Catholics (I almost wrote “for us Catholics” but I’m not a part of “us” anymore), it’s a time to celebrate Mass. Growing up, it was also a time to “alter boy.” When old enough to be working on the farm, during summers, it marked the time when the morning shift of irrigation was completed in time to get home, shower, dress, and get to church for 8am mass. If something disrupted that timing, we’d get to Fr. McGrath’s 9:30AM service. Unless of course we were scheduled to serve as alter boys—my brother Trevor and I. Then irrigation was adjusted for that. We’d have to show up at Church at least 20 minutes early.
It’s been a couple decades since I attended mass as a practicing, faithful Catholic—nowadays, it’s only on the occasional, yet becoming more common, funeral or even rarer wedding when I’ll sit in pews and kneel on kneelers. There, I’ll still make the sign of the cross and recite the prayers remembered from habit, but no longer done or said anywhere else, any more. I no longer practice the religion that was of my parents’—well, mostly my mom’s. The God I grew up learning about and knowing is not the God of the Universe I now have come to discover and have faith in. I sometimes wonder where I’d be in regards to a religious faith had I been been taught about this God. But it doesn’t matter—I’m here now. Exactly where this new God is always found. Now.
Though I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I am glad I had all those experiences growing up—even the nervous and totally freaked out ones alone in the quiet and dark confessional with that weird almost translucent plastic screen between me and the priest as I tried to make up sins that I needed to confess even though I had no idea what kind of sins a nine year old farm-boy could have that required confessing in order to get my absolution and my penance of five Our Fathers, and six Hail Marys—and then get the hell (um, “heck”) outta there. Each were a part of Alchemizing me. And so many of those Catholic experiences make for great stories and memories to be shared when my brothers and I get together.
The Catholic God grew to be someone I could no longer believe in—especially as that teaching passed through a few priests, hours of CCD classes, AND my mother—and an entire world-wide Church struggling to find penance for sins too unspeakable to say aloud even when it is only in the honest telling of them that healing can occur.
And yes, I was taught to envision God as a being—and actual “being” (well, MAN really: old man, long white hair, long white beard), who lived somewhere, up where there were clouds, cool and soft harp music, easy-breasy white cotton robes; where everyone smiled and hugged all the time; a being who knew everything about me, and every move I made, and every thought I had, and the same for every single other Catholic (if not person, but if they weren’t Catholic, we weren’t supposed to worry about their Souls—damned by default as they were), because He (yes HE) had access to some kind of Omniscientvision. And a moment after I died, I was going to stand at some kind of ornate wall with an ornate gate (if you’re up there already, why they gotta have a gate? What?…, the “head man” ain’t powerful enough to keep bad people out of the border? Oh… don’t answer that); make it a pearly gate, gilded in gold, and then be judged by someone else, say Saint Peter (as if that was his “reward” for being Apostle #1–talk about serving penance!), in order to determine if I were worthy of entering heaven—as if God didn’t already know. (Why include a middle man? And why a judgment day?). When you think about it all, it’s just too outrageous of a belief system to believe. When you think about it at all, God wouldn’t have invented any of it. Only a man would have. Come to think of it, only men did!
And don’t you dare get me started on Limbo and Purgatory. I was raised believing both—now, apparently, only one, Purgatory, remains a part of the Catechism, but barely. Men got rid of Limbo, the place babies, whose only sin possible was that of original sin before their baptisms, were sent:
Limbo was a theory proposed as "a state which includes the souls of infants who die subject to original sin and without baptism, and who, therefore, neither merit the beatific vision [heaven], nor yet are subjected to any punishment, because they are not guilty of any personal sin.” (Source: CatholicCompany.com)
Little babies weren’t deemed worthy y’all. THE most innocent among us, not worthy.
Yeah, when you think about IT ALL, it’s just too outrageous of a belief system to believe.
After a period of atheistic withdrawal from the church, and my spiritual path diverted onto a much different plane, I’m discovering and learning about an entirely different form of God-consciousness that resonates strongly—so strongly in fact, it feels like the Truth. And in every, EVERY spiritual tradition and practice I’m studying now (eg Zen, Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, Shamanism, Indigenous and Aboriginal traditions, ecology) this new (to me) God is everywhere. And She’s always been.
Philosopher Alan Watts used to tell a story about an astronaut who was asked upon his return from a space expedition whether he had seen God.
“Yes,” he replied, and after a pause, he added: “and She is black.”
Amen.
To be honest, once I realized I was not committing a mortal sin by leaving the church, I went so far in that direction that I stopped talking, thinking, naming, and praying to and about God—I stopped using the name because that concept of God doesn’t exist for me anymore (still!) and it is the concept most people still have in their minds. So, an atheistic-leaning agnosticism was and remains my true path—the path that resonates strongly with my logical and scientifically-based mind. Einstein’s God, if you will.
But that doesn’t mean I DON’T believe in God.
I think it was the great geneticist/philosopher Richard Dawkins who said, when he was debating with a Christian the existence of God: “We’re all atheists, I just go one God further.” There are gods for everyone to not believe in. And though most believers don’t know it, no one has a corner on the God market. So, if you might still be a believer—meaning there’s likely only one god you pray to but a vast number you are atheist to—you and I are closer than you realize. I just go one God further.
I am still very uncomfortable naming this God concept, God. So I rarely use that word aloud. When I do , I still get a picture in my mind of an old white dude with a white beard wearing a robe and pointing a finger toward the finger of Adam (yeah, Adam. Now don’t get me started on THAT GUY!).
A number of years ago now, I had the GREAT privilege of standing in the middle of the Sistine Chapel to look up and see Michelangelo’s depiction. We often get our conceptions of concepts like God from great art—even though Michelangelo had just as much access to the Truth, then, as I do, now. Still, the art is AH-MAZING!
When I feel I have to use a name or label, I am more comfortable using concepts like Source, or Boundless Eternal Silence, or Tao, or Vibration, or Universe, or Intention, or Consciousness, or Being, or even Soul. But as is said in zen “ the finger that points to the moon is not the moon.” Names and labels can never describe What Is. Words and labels are human creations—“What Is” is beyond that comprehension.
Had I been brought up acquainted with THIS God-concept, I never could have been a Catholic. And I would have had different parents. This, it’s important to note, is not something I regret. I don’t live with regret. Like I said above, I am made of my past experiences so had I been brought up differently, I, this me, would not exist. And I’ve kinda grown accustomed to existing as this me.
My current priests and nuns no longer wear “the Collar” or the Habit—though some still do (I REALLY dig Pope Francis; and I was caught up in the charisma of the early years of Pope John Paul II—so much so, because of him, I briefly entertained thoughts of joining the Seminary. But then I met my future wife when we both were undergrads at the same time, and all those bets were off rather quickly!). My priests and nuns now are poets, and elders, and hospice patients, and kids. They are grocery clerks and janitors and parents and doctors. They are compassionate CEOs who value service more than their bank accounts or their celebrity rocket-ship trips into space; and small business owners eking out a way of being in service to their community. They are retirees and the person on the corner with the sign that says “Hungry. Bless you.” They are the guy that cut me off on I-5 the other day and the “Karen” who yelled at the tired young waitress for not delivering more coffee sooner. They are even, GULP, politicians—on all sides of the man-made, false aisles. I am blessed by and learn from them all—each vital to my Alchemy. I was given another mantra the other day that has been extremely meaningful: “Everyone and everything leans towards me to bless me.” Every. Single. One.
Every. Single. Thing.
(As a Catholic, I felt I was set up to negatively judge Every. Single. Thing.)
It took me quite a while to feel comfortable not going to church Sunday mornings. I found myself waiting for some inevitable Cosmic, God-thrown bolt of lightning to strike. Maybe I felt that initially as a void, a vacuum; you know, the thing nature abhors. The universe abhors voids so something else rushes in to backfill. It took me quite a while to evolve into a person who knew with what I could use as backfill. I no longer “honor the Sabbath Day,” in the ways I was brought up; but I still think Sundays are Sacred. Because I now know the Sacredness that is every day. I no longer pray the Catholic way, but I still pray—every word and act given in gratitude and with reverence, every moment of stillness and silence, every thank you and act of compassion and service, every devotion devoted to all the great spirits and ancestors of this sacred place, is now a prayer. I just have to remember.
Many believe today is THE Sabbath. Like THE SABBATH OF ALL SABBATHS, THE SUPER-BOWL OF SUNDAY SABBATHS: EASTER! Me too, still. But no mass or Eucharist anymore. No more seeing people in the pews you never saw at any other time of year. No more empty caves with the boulder pushed to the side with an angel saying “He is no longer here. He is risen.” I believe it all, now, only as the myth it is—a myth similar to other creation and resurrection stories in many other man-made religions (pronoun intentional again!). Humans need stories; humans need myths.
To celebrate today, we’ll have family over so that we can experience the God within each of us—especially the kids! Though we won’t say such things aloud. We’ll just BE. We’ll eat a vegan brunch (sparing my porcine friends and their Easter spiral hams—from Costco, or not—but with an AH-MAZING vegan casserole and AH-MAZING hacked vegan cinnamon rolls). We’ll have an egg hunt—not the expensive kind from the chickens in the supermarkets, but the plastic kinds filled with candy that we reuse every year (the eggs, not the candy). We’ll have fun; when family is together, it is always fun. And just like when I was a practicing Catholic, we still won’t talk about Jesus’ resurrection during our Easter feast; in fact, we won’t talk about it again until next Easter, at Church—we would have left all that at Church that morning, back in the pews filled with people we never knew were Catholic (except for Easter and Christmas of course).
Every child has known God.
Not the God of names,
Not the God of don’ts,
Not the God who ever does anything weird.
But the God who only knows
Four words.
And keeps repeating them, saying:
“Come dance with me.”
Come.
Dance.
~ Hafez (Persian lyric poet of the thirteenth century)
That’s the God I think I practice now. The God with only four words: “Come dance with me.” That’s what this life is—a dance. The Lila. The music of this dance is composed of the songs within each of our hearts—projected outward, silently, by the better angels of our True Natures. Turning everything, through resonance, into this Dance that is the Universe allows grace to enter between each of us, between the mystical chords of our shared choreography. We are each other’s dance partners; we are each other’s chorus.
How do we, together and in relationship, turn our shared experiences of action and interaction, into something beautiful, sans Easter?
We dance.
Do you dance?
Always and Ubuntu,
~ k
🙏🏼
PS: I want to give Hafez the last word—the final benediction and blessing to end this Sunday “Not-So” Short and to send us all off to our collective weeks:
“Ever since Happiness heard your name, it’s been running down the street trying to find you.”
Wow! And then remember to look within yourself; Happiness found you there—may you find it there too, in return.
Love this my friend. As someone with a similar background in Catholicism your words resonate with me. I am still trying to figure out my path but kindness and generosity are at the heart of it. Seeking the path of the dance seems a pretty good path to me.
I resonate with so much of this post, Kert. Except, of course, "the altar boys", but all three of my brothers were. I used to say I was a recovering Catholic, but then one day it didn't land right inside of me. It felt offensive, even though I was no longer a practicing Catholic. I decided to hold onto what felt truly genuine about the faith and let the rest go.
I appreciate the Lila reference that life is a play and a dance, and finding our dance partners is essential for our well-being and living in this world.
Love this my friend. As someone with a similar background in Catholicism your words resonate with me. I am still trying to figure out my path but kindness and generosity are at the heart of it. Seeking the path of the dance seems a pretty good path to me.
I resonate with so much of this post, Kert. Except, of course, "the altar boys", but all three of my brothers were. I used to say I was a recovering Catholic, but then one day it didn't land right inside of me. It felt offensive, even though I was no longer a practicing Catholic. I decided to hold onto what felt truly genuine about the faith and let the rest go.
I appreciate the Lila reference that life is a play and a dance, and finding our dance partners is essential for our well-being and living in this world.