To be honest, I never would have thought that I would ever be writing on the subject of spirituality. For much of my life, this word has been largely synonymous with “religion.” And if you know me or you are somehow familiar with my typical Sunday morning routines of my adult years, you know that I am not a terribly religious man. I could even be described as a “slave to nonconformity,” which is not exactly conducive to attending a weekly service. Consequently, the superficial friendliness, the Windsor-knotted ties and rote adherence to the poorly understood rituals of a church service are, for the most part, usually just too much for me. Even were I to go simply for the music, I find that the day’s selected hymns are usually rather archaic with old English words and no harmony. The organ reminds me of weddings and funerals. It depresses me. (Give me a piano!)
So, when I reflect on my own spirituality, I realize it is not often evoked in a church where guilt is more often the message than true inspiration. Instead, it is something that emanates from a place inside of me. The closest I might come to formal religion is the feeling I get when hearing one of those good ol’ Baptist hymns from my childhood. Their sweet melodies and common sentiments reach me and fill me with emotions I must have inherited from my grandmother, simply by being around her joyful soul. I sing along in harmony, as my mother would do. “Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling.” This I can understand...this I can sing along with.
My spiritual experiences are not limited to Baptist hymns. The clever turn of a truthful lyric or a soaring musical crescendo reaches me just as deeply even though the subject is not god. It is a place in me that goes beyond my humanness. It is something I was born with and don’t even know that it’s there...until I feel it. At that second, I am aware in wordless ways that there is something bigger out there. I am aware that whatever my life gives or withholds from me is inconsequential.
Leaving work one day, I heard a bird singing. I looked up and saw him on a phone wire. Though I couldn’t tell what kind of bird he was, his calls were familiar. He seemed to be having one hell of a time there all by himself. One call after the other. Head up in the air, mouth open, just singing. It occurred to me how uninhibited he was.....as in, how many of us would sit outside near dusk and sing our hearts out. Anyway, while listening to him, I had “a moment.” I can’t describe it other than to say that the work I had just completed and the traffic I would soon be entering were irrelevant and that this lovely bird was having his own moment. He was speaking…singing….the truth.
I believe that all of this suggests that my spirituality is rooted in my aloneness. It is a way of connecting with myself. It might be evoked by something external such as music or nature, but the experience is internal. I believe there is a God, yet if I have to limit my spirituality to worshiping a god, I believe I would lose the depth and essence of that spirituality. If I assign power and responsibility for my spirituality to an external god, I would have to also deal with all the cruelty that happens to animals and humans. I would have to assume that this god would have little concern for our planet or us. I wouldn’t think he’s nice or forgiving. Should there be a “god’s plan”, it is one filled with sadism and thoughtlessness. No, if there were a singular god responsible for how we live and what happens to us, he would have failed to earn my worship.
When I think of God, I think of a place. I think that God is where we came from and where we go when we die. But I don’t think he’s watching out for my dogs, my house or me. I think it’s my job to do that. If I don’t watch out for my dogs, my house and myself, no one will. So I have to rely on myself and, to do that, I have to know myself. I have to be content with that person and enjoy his company. If my dogs are going to be healthy, that’s up to me, not God. God has a universe to oversee, not my simple, humble life.
That being said, I do believe in Jesus. Oh…my understanding is that he was actually born in the spring, not December. And the virgin birth? Maybe…but I have no problem thinking that Joseph and Mary got it on at least once and only then had a problem getting a room with a tv and a hair dryer. I just think Jesus snuck through some crack in the universe and came with a message…one that changed the world. Scriptures written centuries after the fact are probably metaphorical and mythical rather than pure fact. I don't care. God found a way to deliver him to us and, with him, the opportunity to evolve into reasonably good creatures. And so, Jesus gave it his best shot, one that ultimately killed him. I do believe he…as we all will do…left this earth to return to God's house having left a mark that could inspire us all…to sleep in heavenly peace. And so, on this Christmas morning, I worship his birth and treasure the lessons of his life. It's really that simple.
In the mean time, there is another way…one inspired by his birth, life, and death….one for those of us at the middle or peak of the faith curve if we so wish to reconsider. The other way is to be in touch with our insides. To enjoy being in there and to like whom we see. And, while inside, be able to “color outside the lines” a little....to know that all this didn’t happen accidentally. To know that, “softly and tenderly,” Jesus is calling out that we are, by nature, alone within ourselves....and that, with this shared truth, God's truth, we are not alone.
Coloring outside the lines. I know there are limits to respect and that my definition has some conditioned shape. But there is all that space inside and outside my shape. There is a vast universe of “not me” in me. The words I have not written, the pictures I have not drawn and the new pasta dish I have not yet concocted all lie out there. How will I write, draw or cook if it weren’t for all that space? And the inspiration comes from out there. My God comes from out there. The unfiltered greatness. The results arise from being a willingness to grasp the opportunity to understand me and my place in the world.
Spirituality. The fingerprints of God. The collective unconscious. Blind faith that there are more than just the mundane limits of everyday life. And having the courage and focus to go there....and return with something far more important than I am. Return with my place in life. Sit on my wire and sing.
