I teach the people I work with that after they have been hurt, they trust no one because they do not trust themselves; they do not trust that they will be able to tell who is safe and who is not safe. I tell them that when they begin to trust themselves, they will be able to trust their ability to determine who is safe and who is not. Only then will they will be able stop rejecting everyone in favor of only rejecting those who are unsafe or unhealthy people for them to be around.
Funny when a teacher needs to listen to her own teachings.
For me, it is a matter of trusting God. Or, trusting myself enough to be able to distinguish what is relationship to God and what is not. Interesting concept. I've been toying with it for weeks.
About a week ago, the thought occurred to me that I might be able to "experiment" with a spiritual practice similar to one I relied upon for years while I was a Mormon. It occurred to me that my style of prayer was different than the style I was taught in church. And so was my style of quieting myself so that I could "hear" spiritual communication. The experiment was that I could "try" renewing my spiritual practices for 30 days and see what happens.
I never started the experiment: lack of trust in my ability to discern, I think. Lots of fear that I could identify in myself; I've been duped. I don't trust my ability to keep from being duped again. How will I know if it is "God" or "my imagination"? So, I dropped the idea.
But once that book is open, it's hard to close it and as I've been exploring these things in myself, I'm also coming closer (I hope) to realizing where the root of the issue lies. For example, I'm beginning to doubt my own loyalty to Orthodox Christianity. I'm finding that whenever anyone outside of myself decides what I need to do or what I need to avoid in order to be right with God, I have suspicion.
In fact, my suspicion is raised regarding organized religion, in general. Because once an organization becomes "organized" enough to call itself that, it becomes a set of rules and regulations meant to maintain the organization. I interpret that this way . . . . . Maintaining the organization = controlling the "organized" people who are part of it. Then I think there is a blurring in the teachings between what is good for the people versus what is good for the church.
Of course, the church will say that what is good for the church is good for the people.
I rather doubt that.
I hear sermons with skepticism, doubting whether or not the speaker's generalized injunctions really have anything to do with me. Or whether or not I can become any more or less acceptable to God by following them. Instead, I find myself thinking that congregations are for scared people who want to believe the promises they hear in church. And the church says what the people need to hear to reduce their fears - to make them believe that the rules imposed by the church hold promise for the members. And I think the church throws things in the mix that serve to keep people in fear enough to maintain their faithfulness to the church.
A good example of this is a banner I read outside a church this morning. "Follow Jesus and He Will Make Your Dreams Come True." I don't think God works like that.
But there comes a point of tension where the discerning individual asks: "Does this really apply to me?"
An example I can think of comes from one of the few times I visited a local popular Christian church. I liked the people there. They served coffee during services (a plus in my book), but during my 3rd visit the pastor said something to the effect of if you are a "Good Christian" and if you "Love God" then you will support our walk-a-thon (by opening your wallets, of course). I supported the idea of walking, alright! By walking right out of that church and not going back!
It's a funny example, but there are many, many more. They exist in those moments when "church" is creating pressure and guilt toward one action or another while at the same time, the person with the struggle is honestly striving to live an upright life and that particular action doesn't "fit" at the moment. I may be wrong, but in my estimation saying "No" in church adds up somehow to "Not A Good Christian." Interpret that how you will . . . .
So all of this leaves me asking myself what I really believe.
My husband speaks of Jesus. He says I should just follow Jesus. But I ask, which one? "Jesus" looks and acts different from one sect to another. How do I choose to follow "Jesus" when "Jesus" is presented to me through the interpretation of "Men of The Church" - whichever church may be in question.
All of this struggle and questioning has led up to my relative ambivalence toward anything spiritual. A brand of ambivalence that leaves me doing nothing except hoping that *someday* I can punch a hole in the paper bag.
Until yesterday. I had a very interesting conversation with my manicurist. She asked me about my religious beliefs and I hinted at what I just described in this post. She responded by stating that she believes as she does because she had an experience that "no one else has." She went on to describe it to me and to state that this was proof that the church she was standing in when the "light came down on her and no one else" was her church home.
My reply? I've had LOTS of those experiences. I described a few to her. And I explained that I don't know what those experiences mean. I am certain they don't mean that the church I was in at the time was the sole custodian of God's Truth. Perhaps, it meant that God was aware of me and heard my prayers regardless of my membership in that church.
But after I told her about a few of my "nobody has those experiences" experiences, she said: "That's unusual." Everyone doesn't have that gift. It's something I've heard before. My response is that I'm not special. She responded as a few others have before: "Yes, you are. Other people don't have those gifts."
And it got me thinking. Wondering again. What would happen in I nurtured my spiritual side? What would happen if I trusted my own spiritual process? I started on that path once as I began reading a book called: Advanced Psychic Development. I stopped because someone else said: "You are not ready for that." Huh? Well, I believed I wasn't ready and stopped.
Maybe, I know some truth that is independent from organized religion. Maybe, it is independent from anyone or anything else, except what is purely spiritual. Maybe, I need to figure out what I believe. Something to think about.
Well, the night of my conversation with my manicurist, a shoulder injury was keeping me awake. I went to go to sleep on the couch so that my tossing and turning would not disrupt my beloved.
In the minutes while I tried to sleep, I started to think about the concept of a personal spirituality. And, common to all of my personal experiences that seemed to transcend anyone else's interpretation was the presence of Jesus. My Jesus. A secret Jesus that no one else has to describe or introduce to me. Not Jesus I read about. Jesus I have known on a personal level.
And in the moment before I feel asleep I said to myself. "I believe in Jesus."
What comes after that? It's my opportunity to explore . . . . .
Incessant Chatter
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
I've Been Thinking . . . .
A lot lately. Probably, some people would say I've been thinking too much. And right now as I write, I have so many thoughts running through my head at the same time.
Mostly, I'm thinking about the 1st Amendment.
The Bill of Rights prevents Congress from passing a law that restricts anyone from Freedom to Practice Religion as they will. Joe Smith even penned in his Articles of Faith that Mormons allow Non-Mormons to practice according to the dictates of their own Conscience.
But, in my experience, free expression is a Taboo. Just like Tattoo. Yeah. And by the way, I got 2 of them after I left Mormonism. :-p
Digressing here . . . . Let me get on to what I really want to say today:
On September 11, 2001 - The plane that flew into the Pentagon accomplished a direct hit to my favorite aunt, Rhonda Rasmussen. She was evaporated. They told us that the fuel from the jet burned so hot that there was nothing left . . . . no diamond from her ring . . . . no silver from her teeth. Nothing.
No more sparkling sense of humor. No more smile that brightened any room she walked into. No more honest intimacy. No more warmth. No heartbeat. No more hugs.
I remember being devastated and angry. The moment I saw the first televised pictures of the Pentagon in flames, I knew she was gone. I was alone. I fell to my couch and began to sob. Then, I realized that no one had told me she wasn't okay. Maybe, she was. I called my mom. She told me that her husband was okay, but no one had seen Rhonda yet. This was enough to confirm the loss for me. My sobs resumed. But then, I stopped crying by the time the rest of my family was in grief.
I remember feeling confused when a stranger who told me that he was a high military official was assigned to my family and that he was calling me to invite me to be flown with the rest of my family to Washington for the memorial services. I felt confused. It seemed intrusive. I didn't know how to respond and my not-so-sensitive husband at the time said: "You can't leave. You need to take care of our child." She was almost 8. Guess he didn't know how to take care of his own daughter . . . .
The long-story short, is that I never grieved. I was angry and confused when our family had a memorial service closer to home that featured the Purple Heart ceremony. I didn't understand how the Purple Heart was supposed to soothe anything. When my niece and nephews had to go the rest of their lives without their mom.
So, I never cried.
But every year on the anniversary, I felt a rise of confusion and anger once again. This year was no exception. The only difference is now I am married to a loving man with whom I am safe. This year, all of the T.V. references brought a tear to the surface. Casual conversations brought me back to discussing how strange it is to have people talking about something in a casual way that has personal relevance. People saying: "Where were you when it happened?" doesn't seem to compare to "Who do you love that was killed?"
My husband, sensitive enough to see it still troubled me too much, turned the channel or gently told people who might be too casual about the discussions around me that I lost my aunt that day. It seemed to work. Until Church . . . . .
The Priest announced that he was going to give the same homily he had given the Sunday of 9/11 10 years ago. I thought: "Oh no. This is going to get annoying." But, before I knew it, my eyes were brimming with tears. I left. I went outside and watched little butterflies sipping from the bougainvillea. But, in that quiet moment, I started thinking, for the first time since she died, about the 5 months when I lived with Rhonda and her family. I let myself remember conversations, impressions, fond moments. I thought about how 5 months is a significant amount of time to live with and interact with someone on a daily basis when you are 18. I thought about this being the reason that it's been hard for me to hear other people talking about 9/11 in a casual-I-remember-the-day manner.
Satisfied that I had taken my own little memorial moment, I went back into the church. Just in time for a list of names of the Orthodox Christians who had died on 9/11 to be read. And I was time-warped back to the moment I listened to the listing of the names of the 9/11 Victims for my aunt's name. I was brought back vividly to the moments when I listened for her name as proof that she existed and as some kind of validation to my loss. This time, I could hardly contain myself as I quickly left the church.
I found a spot between the cars where no one would find me in the parking lot and sobbed. Great loud sobs that had carried 10 years of unexpressed grief. I thought more about the way I had known my aunt because I had lived with her at such an important time in my personal development. I thought of the grief of my dad - she was his youngest sister. My grandmother - who is now gone. All of the people I could have grieved with, but I was too angry and confused. How I added to their loss by refusing to join with them in grief. How I caused myself to suffer more because I didn't join them.
I cried a long time. Until my nose was swollen and red. Until it didn't hurt quite as bad.
And later, I sent a text to my parents to tell them that I loved them and was thinking about them on this day. That I'm glad we still have each other.
Grief unexpressed for 10 years is too long.
Reflecting on that experience, I naturally began thinking about my grief unexpressed because of the loss of the belief system that had been such a huge part of my life as a Mormon. I had begun expressing it and exploring it on my blog. But then, my sister lashed out at me, saying I was "attacking" her because I was "attacking" her church. Mormons who lived local to my family began calling the local Mormon authorities, who called my parents to ask if they "knew what I was doing?"
So I stopped. Because I didn't want to hurt anyone.
But all of that unresolved grief about my Aunt Rhonda taught me something: It hurts too much to hold something in that I need to express.
And it only hurts people around me when I express my exploration and searching if they let it. I'm harming no one here. But, hopefully, this exploration will help me find what I'm looking for.
Believe me - if I could have easily stayed inside the Mormon Church in spite of what my guts were telling me, I would have. It would have been MUCH easier than what I'm doing now.
No, I didn't leave the Church to "justify my sins." Believe me, it would be easier to "repent" and seek "full fellowship" than to have to root-out erroneous beliefs and try to find what is Truth again.
I think I'm finding my path. And I won't apologize for doing it in public.
My aunt Rhonda taught me many things. And now, I can add a few more things to that list. Near the top of the list is that I will refuse to stifle myself for fear of how others might respond. 10 years is too long to refuse to acknowledge something that happened to change my life in an instant.
It's been 2 years since I left Mormonism. If I continue to stifle, I'll suffer for it the rest of my life. Lesson learned. I refuse to suffer in silence when my working through using my words is such a healthy process.
Amen. And, Amen.
Incessant Chatter
Another note: I posted this to my family members on FaceBook and within moments, I received communication from my cousin that Rhonda's husband - the father of her children - who was down the hall in his office when the plane hit the Pentagon on 9/11 died this morning. Complications of Diabetes. Seems, to me, that he never recovered from the loss we all feel when we think of our Beloved Rhonda.
Digressing here . . . . Let me get on to what I really want to say today:
No more sparkling sense of humor. No more smile that brightened any room she walked into. No more honest intimacy. No more warmth. No heartbeat. No more hugs.
I remember being devastated and angry. The moment I saw the first televised pictures of the Pentagon in flames, I knew she was gone. I was alone. I fell to my couch and began to sob. Then, I realized that no one had told me she wasn't okay. Maybe, she was. I called my mom. She told me that her husband was okay, but no one had seen Rhonda yet. This was enough to confirm the loss for me. My sobs resumed. But then, I stopped crying by the time the rest of my family was in grief.
I remember feeling confused when a stranger who told me that he was a high military official was assigned to my family and that he was calling me to invite me to be flown with the rest of my family to Washington for the memorial services. I felt confused. It seemed intrusive. I didn't know how to respond and my not-so-sensitive husband at the time said: "You can't leave. You need to take care of our child." She was almost 8. Guess he didn't know how to take care of his own daughter . . . .
The long-story short, is that I never grieved. I was angry and confused when our family had a memorial service closer to home that featured the Purple Heart ceremony. I didn't understand how the Purple Heart was supposed to soothe anything. When my niece and nephews had to go the rest of their lives without their mom.
So, I never cried.
But every year on the anniversary, I felt a rise of confusion and anger once again. This year was no exception. The only difference is now I am married to a loving man with whom I am safe. This year, all of the T.V. references brought a tear to the surface. Casual conversations brought me back to discussing how strange it is to have people talking about something in a casual way that has personal relevance. People saying: "Where were you when it happened?" doesn't seem to compare to "Who do you love that was killed?"
My husband, sensitive enough to see it still troubled me too much, turned the channel or gently told people who might be too casual about the discussions around me that I lost my aunt that day. It seemed to work. Until Church . . . . .
The Priest announced that he was going to give the same homily he had given the Sunday of 9/11 10 years ago. I thought: "Oh no. This is going to get annoying." But, before I knew it, my eyes were brimming with tears. I left. I went outside and watched little butterflies sipping from the bougainvillea. But, in that quiet moment, I started thinking, for the first time since she died, about the 5 months when I lived with Rhonda and her family. I let myself remember conversations, impressions, fond moments. I thought about how 5 months is a significant amount of time to live with and interact with someone on a daily basis when you are 18. I thought about this being the reason that it's been hard for me to hear other people talking about 9/11 in a casual-I-remember-the-day manner.
Satisfied that I had taken my own little memorial moment, I went back into the church. Just in time for a list of names of the Orthodox Christians who had died on 9/11 to be read. And I was time-warped back to the moment I listened to the listing of the names of the 9/11 Victims for my aunt's name. I was brought back vividly to the moments when I listened for her name as proof that she existed and as some kind of validation to my loss. This time, I could hardly contain myself as I quickly left the church.
I found a spot between the cars where no one would find me in the parking lot and sobbed. Great loud sobs that had carried 10 years of unexpressed grief. I thought more about the way I had known my aunt because I had lived with her at such an important time in my personal development. I thought of the grief of my dad - she was his youngest sister. My grandmother - who is now gone. All of the people I could have grieved with, but I was too angry and confused. How I added to their loss by refusing to join with them in grief. How I caused myself to suffer more because I didn't join them.
I cried a long time. Until my nose was swollen and red. Until it didn't hurt quite as bad.
And later, I sent a text to my parents to tell them that I loved them and was thinking about them on this day. That I'm glad we still have each other.
Grief unexpressed for 10 years is too long.
Reflecting on that experience, I naturally began thinking about my grief unexpressed because of the loss of the belief system that had been such a huge part of my life as a Mormon. I had begun expressing it and exploring it on my blog. But then, my sister lashed out at me, saying I was "attacking" her because I was "attacking" her church. Mormons who lived local to my family began calling the local Mormon authorities, who called my parents to ask if they "knew what I was doing?"
So I stopped. Because I didn't want to hurt anyone.
But all of that unresolved grief about my Aunt Rhonda taught me something: It hurts too much to hold something in that I need to express.
And it only hurts people around me when I express my exploration and searching if they let it. I'm harming no one here. But, hopefully, this exploration will help me find what I'm looking for.
Believe me - if I could have easily stayed inside the Mormon Church in spite of what my guts were telling me, I would have. It would have been MUCH easier than what I'm doing now.
No, I didn't leave the Church to "justify my sins." Believe me, it would be easier to "repent" and seek "full fellowship" than to have to root-out erroneous beliefs and try to find what is Truth again.
I think I'm finding my path. And I won't apologize for doing it in public.
My aunt Rhonda taught me many things. And now, I can add a few more things to that list. Near the top of the list is that I will refuse to stifle myself for fear of how others might respond. 10 years is too long to refuse to acknowledge something that happened to change my life in an instant.
It's been 2 years since I left Mormonism. If I continue to stifle, I'll suffer for it the rest of my life. Lesson learned. I refuse to suffer in silence when my working through using my words is such a healthy process.
Amen. And, Amen.
Incessant Chatter
Another note: I posted this to my family members on FaceBook and within moments, I received communication from my cousin that Rhonda's husband - the father of her children - who was down the hall in his office when the plane hit the Pentagon on 9/11 died this morning. Complications of Diabetes. Seems, to me, that he never recovered from the loss we all feel when we think of our Beloved Rhonda.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Significant Difference
I know, I know. Yesterday, I said that I wasn't going to write any more. Today, I started thinking about something and the difference it makes. I have to say something. In fact, the reason I didn't just take my blog down yesterday is because I realize this journey has ebbs and flows. What I write about today has personal relevance - but it isn't a personal experience of the nature I've decided to maintain only in my heart. So, here goes . . . .
I have thought a lot about - but only referred to it minimally - the concept that Mormonism adds too much "fluff" to what is Sacred and that the end result is a dilution of a seeker's experience of God. Recently, I've had personal experience with one of the most significant differences between Mormon teachings and direct communion with God.
It is Jesus.
According to Mormon Doctrine, Jesus is the "Firstborn" of all of "Heavenly Father's Spirit Children." As the story goes, God and his wife created a whole mess of children in spiritual form and then God created an earth to send his spirit children to the earth so their spiritual bodies could be housed in flesh and they could work out their salvation (and become Gods themselves, if they are successful).
Orthodox Christianity teaches that at the moment of conception, the human being is created: body and soul. Before that moment, the "spirit" doesn't exist. So, when Christ becomes God Incarnate in Mary's womb, HE becomes the Only Son of God.
Often, Mormons refer to Jesus as "Our Elder Brother." I find it interesting that my experience of Jesus has been so much more profound with the understanding that He is not my older brother, but the Only Begotten Son of God. Our Lord.
Again, a theme I've pointed to before. In our human way of being, a brother is fallible. A family-like relationship with God (in my outspoken opinion) makes for a too casual view of God.
If Jesus is Holy and the only relationship I have with Him is that by God's Grace, He took on the form of flesh to teach me that I can approach God by following Him, it changes things. At least, for me. As a Mormon, my thoughts about and approach to God were much more arrogant. Much more.
But then again, that is what was taught to me. After all, isn't it arrogant to disregard the Church Fathers who preserved the wisdom and rituals of Christ's Church as He established it in favor of saying that Christ's church had disappeared so you (I won't say who - J.S.) can create your own church and call it Christ's?
Isn't it arrogant to say that the Bible was incorrectly interpreted so you, J.S., can re-interpret at will? (Say nothing of the ancient writings of the Fathers who lived during and shortly after Jesus' mortal reign.)
Interesting, the ancient church has been very resistant to change. Orthodoxy requires the consent of the whole church following an ecumenical counsel. The Orthodox church has only recognized 7. But, you (J.S.) set up a system that changes regularly.
Also interesting - J.S. says that the Bible is correct only if translated appropriately. He used the idea that it had too many interpretations and that he gave the correct interpretation. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?
But I digress. I no longer see myself as Christ's little sister. I no longer look at God as my Heavenly Father.
I have no special mission to fulfill because of my "Divine Heritage."
Pure and simple, I am God's creation but the only import of that is that the Divine Spark in me that was implanted at my birth draws me to Him.
I have thought a lot about - but only referred to it minimally - the concept that Mormonism adds too much "fluff" to what is Sacred and that the end result is a dilution of a seeker's experience of God. Recently, I've had personal experience with one of the most significant differences between Mormon teachings and direct communion with God.
It is Jesus.
According to Mormon Doctrine, Jesus is the "Firstborn" of all of "Heavenly Father's Spirit Children." As the story goes, God and his wife created a whole mess of children in spiritual form and then God created an earth to send his spirit children to the earth so their spiritual bodies could be housed in flesh and they could work out their salvation (and become Gods themselves, if they are successful).
Orthodox Christianity teaches that at the moment of conception, the human being is created: body and soul. Before that moment, the "spirit" doesn't exist. So, when Christ becomes God Incarnate in Mary's womb, HE becomes the Only Son of God.
Often, Mormons refer to Jesus as "Our Elder Brother." I find it interesting that my experience of Jesus has been so much more profound with the understanding that He is not my older brother, but the Only Begotten Son of God. Our Lord.
Again, a theme I've pointed to before. In our human way of being, a brother is fallible. A family-like relationship with God (in my outspoken opinion) makes for a too casual view of God.
If Jesus is Holy and the only relationship I have with Him is that by God's Grace, He took on the form of flesh to teach me that I can approach God by following Him, it changes things. At least, for me. As a Mormon, my thoughts about and approach to God were much more arrogant. Much more.
But then again, that is what was taught to me. After all, isn't it arrogant to disregard the Church Fathers who preserved the wisdom and rituals of Christ's Church as He established it in favor of saying that Christ's church had disappeared so you (I won't say who - J.S.) can create your own church and call it Christ's?
Isn't it arrogant to say that the Bible was incorrectly interpreted so you, J.S., can re-interpret at will? (Say nothing of the ancient writings of the Fathers who lived during and shortly after Jesus' mortal reign.)
Interesting, the ancient church has been very resistant to change. Orthodoxy requires the consent of the whole church following an ecumenical counsel. The Orthodox church has only recognized 7. But, you (J.S.) set up a system that changes regularly.
Also interesting - J.S. says that the Bible is correct only if translated appropriately. He used the idea that it had too many interpretations and that he gave the correct interpretation. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?
But I digress. I no longer see myself as Christ's little sister. I no longer look at God as my Heavenly Father.
I have no special mission to fulfill because of my "Divine Heritage."
Pure and simple, I am God's creation but the only import of that is that the Divine Spark in me that was implanted at my birth draws me to Him.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
A Different Direction
I've been thinking a lot about sharing my spiritual journey and I'm coming to a point where I'm feeling more and more speechless. I'm finding that the things I'm learning defy linguistic description.
And, my journey is becoming intensely personal.
I attended my first High Mass on Sunday at St. Michael's Orthodox Church in Whittier.
I thought I would blog about it, but I really can't.
The only thing I will say is that the entire (1 1/2 hour service) focused on the Eucharist. It is the center of worship. It felt right to me. Like worship should be.
So, I'm going to stop sharing about my personal journey because it is becoming so much more personal.
Maybe, I'll write again in the future. But for now, I want to rely less on words and more on this experience in primary form.
And, my journey is becoming intensely personal.
I attended my first High Mass on Sunday at St. Michael's Orthodox Church in Whittier.
I thought I would blog about it, but I really can't.
The only thing I will say is that the entire (1 1/2 hour service) focused on the Eucharist. It is the center of worship. It felt right to me. Like worship should be.
So, I'm going to stop sharing about my personal journey because it is becoming so much more personal.
Maybe, I'll write again in the future. But for now, I want to rely less on words and more on this experience in primary form.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Nagging Questions
When I first left the Mormon church, there were many questions that I chose to leave unanswered for my family. I had known the "comfort" of believing I had all of the answers to this life and the next. I remember feeling "at peace" because the path to Salvation had been laid out for me in a neatly-wrapped package that is Mormon Doctrine. And, I remember how completely devastated I was when I realized that the church was not true. I believed there could be no life after Mormonism. I remember one conversation, in particular, when a loved one and I were talking about and making the decision that I would not share the "what I found" part of leaving the Church because it would shake my loved one's faith. Looking back on that, I wonder if I would have made a different decision if we had that same conversation today.
It's interesting, because one of the injunctions a "good Mormon" must apply to their lives is the promise to be a "Member Missionary" and share the Mormon version of the "Good News" with family and friends. I never felt good about doing that. I never shared. I never prayed for "Golden Opportunities" to present themselves into which I could step and share the word according to Mormons. I might even feel guilty about one of my friends joining the church under my influence, but she made it very clear that it wasn't me: she had been influenced by many Mormons before she joined.
For whatever that's worth.
So, I find myself sitting at my computer now and thinking about so many Nagging Questions. Not necessarily the questions I haven't answered for my loved ones. But, more so the Nagging Questions I burn to ask them.
Recently, I got married. One of my loved ones was so blinded by the fact that I write about my spiritual journey in a public way that, among other things that I won't mention here, that loved one openly attacked me regarding my wedding. Publicly. I have always been very careful not to be unkind, so I was surprised when I was accused of attacking that loved one. So, I asked: Tell me, specifically, how I attack or have attacked you. I truly wanted to know. The answer: "When you attack my Religion, you attack me!"
Ok. Interesting. I didn't even know how to respond to that. (I did respond in a not-so gracious response that has led to a schism between me and that family member. A schism I - in an un-Christian manner - don't want to heal.)Seems that my personal journey cannot occur in a public forum (where, I imagine, other post-mormons are exploring and looking for a shared spiritual experience) without being a direct attack on the people I love. It makes me sad.
But it also makes me want to ask my own nagging questions.
What would happen to you if you realized that the Church you built your life around was untrue?
Would it kill you?
I thought it might kill me. But, I landed on my feet. I've learned that God still loves me. I've learned that my relationship to God can grow stronger when I'm not saddled with copious amounts of false doctrine (heresy as it could be called in my current understanding).
What would life be like if you could just take a breath and realize that maybe, just maybe . . . . you could survive without the church?
I remember the free-fall I felt when I said goodbye to my Church membership. I lost an entire social support system. It meant I had to rely on myself. It meant I was alone for a while. Difficult, yes. Impossible, no.
I would say that it was less difficult than it would be to wake up on the other side only to find that the temple secrets I had guarded my whole life were invalid because God isn't a Mormon!
I know why you are afraid. I felt that fear. I was completely overcome by it when I realized the Truth - before I left the church.
But I would rather be awake and understand that I spent my whole life in a church that could not offer me salvation than to stay there because it is more convenient to pretend. Or to not ruffle the feathers of the people who are important to me.
I want to be right with God. That is why I left the Mormon Church.
My most nagging question is: Why can't you consider the possibility that to be right with God, you have to look at the whole picture?
In the deepest parts of my heart while I still lived as a Mormon, I hoped the church was true. Because if it wasn't my life was hypocricy.
Why are you afraid to find out for yourself? If you investigate everything available to you and find the church is true, you will be that much stronger, right?
But your church authorities don't want you to know the whole truth. They want you to keep believing their lies.
If someone were lying to me, I would want to know.
Another nagging question: Why don't you?
It's interesting, because one of the injunctions a "good Mormon" must apply to their lives is the promise to be a "Member Missionary" and share the Mormon version of the "Good News" with family and friends. I never felt good about doing that. I never shared. I never prayed for "Golden Opportunities" to present themselves into which I could step and share the word according to Mormons. I might even feel guilty about one of my friends joining the church under my influence, but she made it very clear that it wasn't me: she had been influenced by many Mormons before she joined.
For whatever that's worth.
So, I find myself sitting at my computer now and thinking about so many Nagging Questions. Not necessarily the questions I haven't answered for my loved ones. But, more so the Nagging Questions I burn to ask them.
Recently, I got married. One of my loved ones was so blinded by the fact that I write about my spiritual journey in a public way that, among other things that I won't mention here, that loved one openly attacked me regarding my wedding. Publicly. I have always been very careful not to be unkind, so I was surprised when I was accused of attacking that loved one. So, I asked: Tell me, specifically, how I attack or have attacked you. I truly wanted to know. The answer: "When you attack my Religion, you attack me!"
Ok. Interesting. I didn't even know how to respond to that. (I did respond in a not-so gracious response that has led to a schism between me and that family member. A schism I - in an un-Christian manner - don't want to heal.)Seems that my personal journey cannot occur in a public forum (where, I imagine, other post-mormons are exploring and looking for a shared spiritual experience) without being a direct attack on the people I love. It makes me sad.
But it also makes me want to ask my own nagging questions.
What would happen to you if you realized that the Church you built your life around was untrue?
Would it kill you?
I thought it might kill me. But, I landed on my feet. I've learned that God still loves me. I've learned that my relationship to God can grow stronger when I'm not saddled with copious amounts of false doctrine (heresy as it could be called in my current understanding).
What would life be like if you could just take a breath and realize that maybe, just maybe . . . . you could survive without the church?
I remember the free-fall I felt when I said goodbye to my Church membership. I lost an entire social support system. It meant I had to rely on myself. It meant I was alone for a while. Difficult, yes. Impossible, no.
I would say that it was less difficult than it would be to wake up on the other side only to find that the temple secrets I had guarded my whole life were invalid because God isn't a Mormon!
I know why you are afraid. I felt that fear. I was completely overcome by it when I realized the Truth - before I left the church.
But I would rather be awake and understand that I spent my whole life in a church that could not offer me salvation than to stay there because it is more convenient to pretend. Or to not ruffle the feathers of the people who are important to me.
I want to be right with God. That is why I left the Mormon Church.
My most nagging question is: Why can't you consider the possibility that to be right with God, you have to look at the whole picture?
In the deepest parts of my heart while I still lived as a Mormon, I hoped the church was true. Because if it wasn't my life was hypocricy.
Why are you afraid to find out for yourself? If you investigate everything available to you and find the church is true, you will be that much stronger, right?
But your church authorities don't want you to know the whole truth. They want you to keep believing their lies.
If someone were lying to me, I would want to know.
Another nagging question: Why don't you?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Where is Truth: In Antiquity or Modern Times?
In my search for meaning and understanding, I've found it most useful to read the writings of 2nd and 3rd century church fathers who spent their lives studying in their attempts to align themselves with God.
Today, when I see where I've been, it gives me pause. The more I learn, the more I think that contemporary religious movements designed through some sort of supposed divine guidance are merely attempts to create comfort for and to ensure conformity from the masses. They exist in sharp contrast to the process marked by the ancients: a path mainly involving meditation, contemplation and personal transformation. The spiritual path as a personal path rather than as a pied-piper path to wealth, popularity and power.
The more I study and explore, the more I am coming to appreciate the concepts associated with Catholicism. Not the Roman Catholicism that most of us assume to have a general idea about from an outside view, but a broader view of Catholicism.
From Wikipedia:
I am finding great interest in the idea of studying a universal religion of general interest that is liberal in its exploration of areas of mystery related to God. The thing I find most interesting about this school of thinking is that it allows me to study without reference to exclusionary doctrines.
It is freeing. Liberating. It carries a broad message through which people of many varied levels of belief and spiritual development can find growth, transformation and enlightenment. For some reason, I think this is the kind of religion God would intend for humankind.
As I write this, my mind goes to last Sunday morning's church experience. My husband provided the sermon for the Unity of the Crossroads Church in Riverside, California. His talk was decidedly Catholic (which I understood based upon my recent studies - very different from the sermons of the Unity slant - which I have listened to for much of the past year). I watched as the congregation were moved by the Spirit moving through my spouse. With a Catholic message. The congregation were united, uplifted and inspired. The message was broad and rich; while providing a specific call to action for personal and communal transformation. The concepts were beautiful. A Catholic message that appealed to a Unity congregation. Simply. Beautifully.
My Sunday morning experience provided a stark contrast to the experiences of my roots in Mormonism. Mormons often refer to Catholicism as the "great and abominable church" or the church of the devil. The basic assumption is that all churches or organizations that are designed to take men away from God comprise the church of the devil. Mormon scholars and lay scriptorians will point to the pageantry, rituals, symbolism and rites of Catholicism and accuse the oldest Christian religion of taking men from God. It's curious.
In my experience and opinion, the reading of the ancient fathers related to the Catholic belief have brought me closer to God. And, informed by ancient wisdom related to God and the Universe, Catholic rites feel rich, symbolic and nourishing. In so many ways, what I am learning is so much simpler, yet so much more rich than anything I've ever encountered in a religious forum before.
It brings me to conclude that in the attempt to make religion more accessible to the masses, modern men messed it up. I'm speaking of all of the Protestant sects that rebelled against the old ways. True, the Catholic institution may have become corrupted, but why throw out the old teachings and ritual ceremonies that carry so much spiritual power while rejecting more modern policies?
So, in rebellion, Protestant sects developed. Among them, Mormonism, with it's unique vision of God: as a man perfected. Why would Joseph Smith decide to proclaim that he had seen a vision wherein God and Jesus personally appeared to him in the form of men having flesh and blood?
I've written about this before. We can't help but place human definitions on God. But our definitions of God have nothing to do with the reality of God.
Let's listen to ancient wisdom (as explored by Clement in "The Roots of Christian Mysticism":
So, what would be the appeal of making God into a man (as Joseph Smith did)? For God's purposes, God became incarnate (in the person of Christ) so that through our physical experience, God could communicate to us in a way that we understand. So that God could lead us home. God speaking our language and using The Son as God's vehicle to create such a miracle.
But the story of Mormonism added so much more to the simple, beautiful story that still works when God is left to do it God's way. God, who is the origin of the Universe we know, the reason we breathe and the force that brings draws us to Divinity doesn't need man's help. In fact, I believe that reducing the Creator to a man does irreparable harm (see my previous post about this).
Today, I understand what non-Mormons saw as Joseph Smith worship - an idea that confused me while I still lived under the foggy-veil of the Mormon Church. God doesn't need Joseph Smith's help. Mormon folklore says that Joseph Smith has done more for mankind, save Jesus Christ himself, than any other man on the earth. I agree - more to pull God's creatures away from direct communion with God. But, why?
I think there were several things in play at the time. During Joseph Smith's youth, there was a great deal of energy and fervor regarding religious and spiritual things. Many men were recognizing that they could acquire a great deal of popularity and power by calling out their particular brand of doctrine and watching the masses follow them like so many lost flocks after shepherds who promised to know the way.
Joseph Smith, young and impressionable (yes, and uneducated as to the ancient spiritual fathers' teachings), got caught up in the fervor. Whether he was charlatan enough to make up the story of the first vision of God and Jesus before him - telling him no church was correct - or whether he was simply mentally off doesn't seem to matter. His hunger for power and/or delusionary states caught on and he got his own followers. Followers who still revere him today -
But, let's look at some of the ways Joseph's dogma differs from ancient wisdom.
The first is one I've explored here and in previous posts: Joseph Smith appealed to the human desire to understand God in human terms and proclaimed that God is simply an exalted human. Neatly packaged in terms easy for human beings to understand, we can use God for our own purposes. We can blame God when things don't go our way. We can shake our fists in the air at God as if God were just like the parent we have unresolved issues with. But, when we do those things, we are relating to an idol of our own creation - a human God. And, we limit ourselves. Unfortunately, Mormonism has this doctrine built in via Joseph's first vision. One of the first "testimonies" that a Mormon initiate must gain. (For a partial discussion of the nature of God, see the post I already referred to above.)
Another twist on ancient Truth involves Joseph Smith's assertions that the link of the priesthood was broken, so that Spiritual Gifts, Communion with God via the Holy Spirit and Priesthood authority could only be enjoyed through the authority supposedly granted him during his organization of the church. Mormons teach that a personal connection to God can only occur once one has been baptized a Mormon and confirmed a member of the Mormon church and been given the opportunity to Receive the Holy Ghost. While I was Mormon, I often wondered how other Christians could feel connected with God.
Now I know. This point makes me saddest for the Mormons. My connection with God has been intensified since I left the Mormon church. Communion with God is not an exclusive right of members of the "Only True and Correct Church on the Face of the Earth." No. In fact, Mormons would say that I am now relegated to the circle outside of the gifts of being touched by God's Spirit.
What I've found by personal experience is that I've been under God's influence in spite of my upbringing as a Mormon. Now that I've left Mormonism, I feel God more intensely. And I don't have to pray and pray and pray to feel it. I recognize that the spark that I feel inside of me is the Divinity that draws me to God. I'm moved by spiritual things much more easily than before. I have so much more joy in my life. My heart is open and changing. It is God's Grace like I've never felt before.
These are things I only hoped for and struggled to attain as a Mormon. They (the Mormons) make it too hard.
You don't have to be in the special Mormon club to connect with God. You don't need to hold the special Mormon priesthood to act in God's name. It makes me sad that they believe this way. That they have no idea of the joy that comes by stepping outside of the maze that is created by the Mormon Theology.
Another myth of the Mormon Theology is that the priesthood had to be restored because it was gone from the earth after the death of Our Lord. In my recent attendance at Catechism for the Orthodox Church, I learned otherwise. But it is unlikely that Mormons would get the history of the Old Church from the Old Church! They say that if you want to know about Mormonism, ask a Mormon - not someone else. But, they will "adjust" history to say that the Church was completely eliminated from the earth during the early centuries - to make way for the new Mormon Myth. It is simply untrue.
But, correctly packaged, a religion that takes people's focus away from the true nature of Spirituality makes the spiritual journey different. I wouldn't say easier or more fun, because I found Mormonism flat and unfulfilling during my last few years there. Too loaded with lists of things to do that kept me too busy and worried to correctly focus my daily life on God.
Yesterday, I attended my first High Mass in the Orthodox Church. It was beautiful and sacred. I'll write more about it and my thoughts about how that contrasts with my Protestant experience in a new post.
But, it suffices to say that since I left the Mormon church, I am experiencing a new level of awareness: that spirituality involves becoming increasingly open to personal, direct contact with God. And the dogma of protestant churches miss the point when they are doing things like splitting hairs of doctrine; that it is inner transformation that is the key. And there are powerful spiritual tools that have been available to us since the beginning of Christian history - but they require a different kind of discipline to acquire.
I want the meat. In my experience, the Protestant (specifically, the Mormon) way drowns the meat in a confusing casserole of story telling and silly rules that left me hungering for something more. A hunger that I am finding can be satisfied by partaking of the Truths preserved through antiquity.
*Just as an afterthought - In my journey, my husband points things out he thinks I'm missing. In this case, he keeps saying that the Orthodox have rules, too. Well, not like this!!! This article is tongue-in-cheek, but not far off the mark! Relief Society President Released After Confession
Today, when I see where I've been, it gives me pause. The more I learn, the more I think that contemporary religious movements designed through some sort of supposed divine guidance are merely attempts to create comfort for and to ensure conformity from the masses. They exist in sharp contrast to the process marked by the ancients: a path mainly involving meditation, contemplation and personal transformation. The spiritual path as a personal path rather than as a pied-piper path to wealth, popularity and power.
The more I study and explore, the more I am coming to appreciate the concepts associated with Catholicism. Not the Roman Catholicism that most of us assume to have a general idea about from an outside view, but a broader view of Catholicism.
From Wikipedia:
The word catholic (derived via Late Latin catholicus, from the Greek adjective καθολικός (katholikos), meaning "universal"[1][2]) comes from the Greek phrase καθόλου (kath'holou), meaning "on the whole," "according to the whole" or "in general", and is a combination of the Greek words κατά meaning "about" and όλος meaning "whole".[3][4] The word in English can mean either "including a wide variety of things; all-embracing" or "of the Roman Catholic faith." as "relating to the historic doctrine and practice of the Western Church."[5]
It was first used to describe the Christian Church in the early 2nd century to emphasize its universal scope [italics added]. In the context of Christian ecclesiology, it has a rich history and several usages. In non-ecclesiastical use, it derives its English meaning directly from its root, and is currently used to mean
* universal or of general interest; or
* liberal, having broad interests, or wide sympathies.[6]
I am finding great interest in the idea of studying a universal religion of general interest that is liberal in its exploration of areas of mystery related to God. The thing I find most interesting about this school of thinking is that it allows me to study without reference to exclusionary doctrines.
It is freeing. Liberating. It carries a broad message through which people of many varied levels of belief and spiritual development can find growth, transformation and enlightenment. For some reason, I think this is the kind of religion God would intend for humankind.
As I write this, my mind goes to last Sunday morning's church experience. My husband provided the sermon for the Unity of the Crossroads Church in Riverside, California. His talk was decidedly Catholic (which I understood based upon my recent studies - very different from the sermons of the Unity slant - which I have listened to for much of the past year). I watched as the congregation were moved by the Spirit moving through my spouse. With a Catholic message. The congregation were united, uplifted and inspired. The message was broad and rich; while providing a specific call to action for personal and communal transformation. The concepts were beautiful. A Catholic message that appealed to a Unity congregation. Simply. Beautifully.
My Sunday morning experience provided a stark contrast to the experiences of my roots in Mormonism. Mormons often refer to Catholicism as the "great and abominable church" or the church of the devil. The basic assumption is that all churches or organizations that are designed to take men away from God comprise the church of the devil. Mormon scholars and lay scriptorians will point to the pageantry, rituals, symbolism and rites of Catholicism and accuse the oldest Christian religion of taking men from God. It's curious.
In my experience and opinion, the reading of the ancient fathers related to the Catholic belief have brought me closer to God. And, informed by ancient wisdom related to God and the Universe, Catholic rites feel rich, symbolic and nourishing. In so many ways, what I am learning is so much simpler, yet so much more rich than anything I've ever encountered in a religious forum before.
It brings me to conclude that in the attempt to make religion more accessible to the masses, modern men messed it up. I'm speaking of all of the Protestant sects that rebelled against the old ways. True, the Catholic institution may have become corrupted, but why throw out the old teachings and ritual ceremonies that carry so much spiritual power while rejecting more modern policies?
So, in rebellion, Protestant sects developed. Among them, Mormonism, with it's unique vision of God: as a man perfected. Why would Joseph Smith decide to proclaim that he had seen a vision wherein God and Jesus personally appeared to him in the form of men having flesh and blood?
I've written about this before. We can't help but place human definitions on God. But our definitions of God have nothing to do with the reality of God.
Let's listen to ancient wisdom (as explored by Clement in "The Roots of Christian Mysticism":
"People never cease to project on to God their individual and collective obsessions, so that they can appropriate and make use of him. But they ought to understand that God cannot be apprehended from without, as if he were an object, for with him there is no outside, nor can the Creator be set side by side with the creature . . . . " Olivier Clement then quotes Clement of Alexandria "Most people are enclosed in their mortal bodies like a snail in its shell, curled up in their obsessions after the manner of hedgehogs. They form their notion of God's blessedness taking themselves for a model." And Theophilus of Antioch: "Seeds in a pomegranate cannot see objects outside its rind, because they are inside. Similarly human beings who are enclosed with all creation in the hand of God cannot see God . . . Friend, it is through him that you are speaking, it is he whom you breathe, and you do not know it! For your eye is blind, your heart hardened. But, if you wish, you can be cured. Entrust yourself to the doctor, and he will open the eyes of your soul and your heart. Who is the doctor? God, using his word and his wisdom . . . ." Finally, Gregory of Nyssa: "Every concept formed by the intellect in an attempt to comprehend and circumscribe the divine nature can succeed only in fashioning an idol, not in making God known."
So, what would be the appeal of making God into a man (as Joseph Smith did)? For God's purposes, God became incarnate (in the person of Christ) so that through our physical experience, God could communicate to us in a way that we understand. So that God could lead us home. God speaking our language and using The Son as God's vehicle to create such a miracle.
But the story of Mormonism added so much more to the simple, beautiful story that still works when God is left to do it God's way. God, who is the origin of the Universe we know, the reason we breathe and the force that brings draws us to Divinity doesn't need man's help. In fact, I believe that reducing the Creator to a man does irreparable harm (see my previous post about this).
Today, I understand what non-Mormons saw as Joseph Smith worship - an idea that confused me while I still lived under the foggy-veil of the Mormon Church. God doesn't need Joseph Smith's help. Mormon folklore says that Joseph Smith has done more for mankind, save Jesus Christ himself, than any other man on the earth. I agree - more to pull God's creatures away from direct communion with God. But, why?
I think there were several things in play at the time. During Joseph Smith's youth, there was a great deal of energy and fervor regarding religious and spiritual things. Many men were recognizing that they could acquire a great deal of popularity and power by calling out their particular brand of doctrine and watching the masses follow them like so many lost flocks after shepherds who promised to know the way.
Joseph Smith, young and impressionable (yes, and uneducated as to the ancient spiritual fathers' teachings), got caught up in the fervor. Whether he was charlatan enough to make up the story of the first vision of God and Jesus before him - telling him no church was correct - or whether he was simply mentally off doesn't seem to matter. His hunger for power and/or delusionary states caught on and he got his own followers. Followers who still revere him today -
But, let's look at some of the ways Joseph's dogma differs from ancient wisdom.
The first is one I've explored here and in previous posts: Joseph Smith appealed to the human desire to understand God in human terms and proclaimed that God is simply an exalted human. Neatly packaged in terms easy for human beings to understand, we can use God for our own purposes. We can blame God when things don't go our way. We can shake our fists in the air at God as if God were just like the parent we have unresolved issues with. But, when we do those things, we are relating to an idol of our own creation - a human God. And, we limit ourselves. Unfortunately, Mormonism has this doctrine built in via Joseph's first vision. One of the first "testimonies" that a Mormon initiate must gain. (For a partial discussion of the nature of God, see the post I already referred to above.)
Another twist on ancient Truth involves Joseph Smith's assertions that the link of the priesthood was broken, so that Spiritual Gifts, Communion with God via the Holy Spirit and Priesthood authority could only be enjoyed through the authority supposedly granted him during his organization of the church. Mormons teach that a personal connection to God can only occur once one has been baptized a Mormon and confirmed a member of the Mormon church and been given the opportunity to Receive the Holy Ghost. While I was Mormon, I often wondered how other Christians could feel connected with God.
Now I know. This point makes me saddest for the Mormons. My connection with God has been intensified since I left the Mormon church. Communion with God is not an exclusive right of members of the "Only True and Correct Church on the Face of the Earth." No. In fact, Mormons would say that I am now relegated to the circle outside of the gifts of being touched by God's Spirit.
What I've found by personal experience is that I've been under God's influence in spite of my upbringing as a Mormon. Now that I've left Mormonism, I feel God more intensely. And I don't have to pray and pray and pray to feel it. I recognize that the spark that I feel inside of me is the Divinity that draws me to God. I'm moved by spiritual things much more easily than before. I have so much more joy in my life. My heart is open and changing. It is God's Grace like I've never felt before.
These are things I only hoped for and struggled to attain as a Mormon. They (the Mormons) make it too hard.
You don't have to be in the special Mormon club to connect with God. You don't need to hold the special Mormon priesthood to act in God's name. It makes me sad that they believe this way. That they have no idea of the joy that comes by stepping outside of the maze that is created by the Mormon Theology.
Another myth of the Mormon Theology is that the priesthood had to be restored because it was gone from the earth after the death of Our Lord. In my recent attendance at Catechism for the Orthodox Church, I learned otherwise. But it is unlikely that Mormons would get the history of the Old Church from the Old Church! They say that if you want to know about Mormonism, ask a Mormon - not someone else. But, they will "adjust" history to say that the Church was completely eliminated from the earth during the early centuries - to make way for the new Mormon Myth. It is simply untrue.
But, correctly packaged, a religion that takes people's focus away from the true nature of Spirituality makes the spiritual journey different. I wouldn't say easier or more fun, because I found Mormonism flat and unfulfilling during my last few years there. Too loaded with lists of things to do that kept me too busy and worried to correctly focus my daily life on God.
Yesterday, I attended my first High Mass in the Orthodox Church. It was beautiful and sacred. I'll write more about it and my thoughts about how that contrasts with my Protestant experience in a new post.
But, it suffices to say that since I left the Mormon church, I am experiencing a new level of awareness: that spirituality involves becoming increasingly open to personal, direct contact with God. And the dogma of protestant churches miss the point when they are doing things like splitting hairs of doctrine; that it is inner transformation that is the key. And there are powerful spiritual tools that have been available to us since the beginning of Christian history - but they require a different kind of discipline to acquire.
I want the meat. In my experience, the Protestant (specifically, the Mormon) way drowns the meat in a confusing casserole of story telling and silly rules that left me hungering for something more. A hunger that I am finding can be satisfied by partaking of the Truths preserved through antiquity.
*Just as an afterthought - In my journey, my husband points things out he thinks I'm missing. In this case, he keeps saying that the Orthodox have rules, too. Well, not like this!!! This article is tongue-in-cheek, but not far off the mark! Relief Society President Released After Confession
Sunday, January 16, 2011
The Nature of God: Inspiration for Guilt or Source of Love?
I find that I'm in a very interesting place: for the first time in years, I feel an openness and a curiosity about spirituality and mysticism that drives in me a hunger to know more.
The first whisperings of this came when, as an active member of the Mormon church, I struggled to reconcile the contradictions between my intuitive awareness of God and what was right versus what I was being told. To be fair, I need to reveal that my angst centered around the religious dogma and the social customs surrounding the family. I had grown up believing that my highest calling was that of a mother. That to bear children through my loins was the most noble of actions: direct partnership with God. Mormons believe that family is the most direct, clear course to heaven. In fact, without marriage (performed in their temples as the only appropriate route to life with God after death), one can only be assigned the responsibility of a "Ministering Angel." (I find it interesting that in the general Christian parlance, angels are lower than humans. But Mormon's don't actually come out and tell their membership that without marriage, they will be lower than the creatures they were on earth. Wonder how the Mormon women who haven't found their Modern Day Moroni would feel about that?! Interesting side note . . . .)
But I digress. The reality was that I was infertile. Hence, my reproductive status relegated me to the fringes of Mormon society. Of course, there were signs that the Mormon culture had a desire to enclose me in the fold. For example, the official church magazine paid me a handsome $300 for an hour's work when I wrote a treatise to how I was, in fact, part of Jesus' flock even though I could not bear children. Yes, they published the article; so other outliers could, perhaps, be placated by my words and the "official" recognition of the problem of infertility (or as I would put it now, the problem of the Doctrine that speaks as if it's Universal while alienating so-called children of god). It was true that I received platitudes from well-meaning Mormons who feared thinking outside of the box with people like me (and single people, and gays, and blacks); well-wishers who comforted themselves by offering words like "You'll be a mother in the next life" or "There will be plenty of children who need a mother in heaven." (I can't imagine how "You won't be gay in the next life" would feel - or "Aren't you glad God finally accepted you and your black-skinned family and let you have a chance at Heaven?" Really?! Complete with a plate of cookies, no less! And I wonder how black families swallow the Mormon belief that as a people becomes more pure, their skin gets whiter. It's right in the Book of Mormon, folks!)
The subtext, even though it was denied each time I opened my mouth to speak of it directly, was that I was less than. Of course, they made concessions when I became the squeaky wheel in the style that I typically do. I helped bring about the change in the Mother's Day tradition in my local ward. Now, instead of requesting that all mothers stand up to receive a gift on Mother's Day, they ask all women, aged 18 and older, to stand and receive a wilted carnation and a baggie of chocolate-covered trail mix. People tried. But the reality was that my life experience fell outside of the net that provided answers Mormonism was supposed to provide.
Interestingly, when I convinced enough of the fact that Mormonism didn't work to actually state to my local authorities that I was withdrawing my membership in the church, the big pull was for me to stay; so that I could continue to provide comfort and hope to the other "outliers." Yeah, right . . . .
Once I was outside the church, I began to question the nature of God. Specifically, I knew that my Mormon upbringing had tainted my experience of God in some significant ways. For example, I had noticed, time and again, that no matter how hard I tried to follow all of the rules, I still felt guilt. Fundamental guilt. As if nothing I could do would ever please the Mormon God. Yes, the Evangelicals reading this would assert that of course, I can't please God. That's what grace is for. I know, I know . . . . That's not what I'm talking about here.
I'm speaking of having an internal sense of connection with God, but feeling wrong based on everything I had been taught - of which the example of infertility within a family-based church was just a small part.
Stepping outside the church offered pure refreshment. Recently, I'm discovering why.
My first discovery came when I was introduced to the writings of Richard Smoley in his book: "Inner Christianity: A Guide to the Esoteric Tradition." In it, he spoke of man's relationship to God. Specifically, addressing the "radical personhood of God," he states:
Interesting, the idea that God isn't personal. I found that it appealed to my sense of order. If God is a source, an energy that creates and organizes life - capable of communicating with humans in the way humans need to attain understanding of things Divine, then I no longer need to try to figure out why a personal God, who knows and understands my needs, would deny me those needs. I no longer would have to explain why an orphaned child whose ability to connect with other human beings was broken from spending her first two years untouched in an orphanage would, through no fault of her own, be relegated by a "loving God" to a life of misery because of her fundamental inability to create true human attachments. It no longer makes sense to shake my fist at the heavens screaming "Why Me" any more than it would make sense for those two blood cells to deride me for catching a cold. Shit just happens.
And if God isn't personal and specifically aware of my needs, desires, hopes and dreams, then I don't have to worry about His All-Seeing-Eye watching my every move, thought, misstep and "lascivious" desire. No. I no longer need feel guilt for existing and being a lusty, passionate, fully-alive woman. And, as I already said, I no longer need to hold anger or hostility when things don't go my way.
But good and beauty happens, too. And this is where we find God through a soul-craving that causes us to reach, to know more. The soul-craving that comes from the Source. From God.
In Olivier Clement's work "The Roots of Christian Mysticism," he quotes Hilary of Poitiers (born 3rd Century A.D.):
From these readings I draw several conclusions that present great comforts to me. Read closely, the above text illuminates the reality that ancient mystics understood that by nature of becoming flesh, God empowers us, in-the-flesh to reach the Divine once the spark of Divine is enlivened in us. It is the source that causes us breath. It is the source that draws us to the place where Divinity becomes alive within each of us who cares to take the inner journey.
It inspires an awakening, an enlivening, a growth process that leads to greater light.
It provides proof that God is Love. Not a loving, personal god, but the energy and force that we know to be love in it's purist form. Insomuch as we can know love at all.
I believe that in some sense, it is necessary for us, as humans, to use our language to define God. In order to talk about God. To understand God in our limited way. But I think that when we attempt to do that, we limit ourselves to a limited understanding of God. We tend to anthropomorphise God; even in the basic use of personal pronouns (He and/or She) to refer to God. But, if I apply human characteristics to God, I cannot help but apply maleficence to God's character when I believe God is allowing me to suffer. Reminds me of the reason we need books like: "When Bad Things Happen to Good People." I don't think it's possible to think of God in human terms and only apply loving characteristics to God because we are human. Our tendency is to apply the same characteristics and motivations to others that we experience ourselves. How can we keep God exempt in that practice? I don't think we can.
But if I think of God as the energy that gives me life. The Word. The Light. Beauty. Love. The Source. Then, I can tap into that Energy as part of my innate desire for growth and connection with the Divine. Then, it isn't personal. It's my choice to take part in the Energy and Power that is available to all.
If I follow the path led by the inspiration within me - that inner spark that causes me to have life and connects me with every beauty in creation - then I can experience and live a life of love. There is no room for guilt in that! Nor is there room for guilt in believing in a God that is love. The force. Not some jealous, nit-picky God of man's creating. God is outside of church definitions. Unless, of course, church is in the heart.
The first whisperings of this came when, as an active member of the Mormon church, I struggled to reconcile the contradictions between my intuitive awareness of God and what was right versus what I was being told. To be fair, I need to reveal that my angst centered around the religious dogma and the social customs surrounding the family. I had grown up believing that my highest calling was that of a mother. That to bear children through my loins was the most noble of actions: direct partnership with God. Mormons believe that family is the most direct, clear course to heaven. In fact, without marriage (performed in their temples as the only appropriate route to life with God after death), one can only be assigned the responsibility of a "Ministering Angel." (I find it interesting that in the general Christian parlance, angels are lower than humans. But Mormon's don't actually come out and tell their membership that without marriage, they will be lower than the creatures they were on earth. Wonder how the Mormon women who haven't found their Modern Day Moroni would feel about that?! Interesting side note . . . .)
But I digress. The reality was that I was infertile. Hence, my reproductive status relegated me to the fringes of Mormon society. Of course, there were signs that the Mormon culture had a desire to enclose me in the fold. For example, the official church magazine paid me a handsome $300 for an hour's work when I wrote a treatise to how I was, in fact, part of Jesus' flock even though I could not bear children. Yes, they published the article; so other outliers could, perhaps, be placated by my words and the "official" recognition of the problem of infertility (or as I would put it now, the problem of the Doctrine that speaks as if it's Universal while alienating so-called children of god). It was true that I received platitudes from well-meaning Mormons who feared thinking outside of the box with people like me (and single people, and gays, and blacks); well-wishers who comforted themselves by offering words like "You'll be a mother in the next life" or "There will be plenty of children who need a mother in heaven." (I can't imagine how "You won't be gay in the next life" would feel - or "Aren't you glad God finally accepted you and your black-skinned family and let you have a chance at Heaven?" Really?! Complete with a plate of cookies, no less! And I wonder how black families swallow the Mormon belief that as a people becomes more pure, their skin gets whiter. It's right in the Book of Mormon, folks!)
The subtext, even though it was denied each time I opened my mouth to speak of it directly, was that I was less than. Of course, they made concessions when I became the squeaky wheel in the style that I typically do. I helped bring about the change in the Mother's Day tradition in my local ward. Now, instead of requesting that all mothers stand up to receive a gift on Mother's Day, they ask all women, aged 18 and older, to stand and receive a wilted carnation and a baggie of chocolate-covered trail mix. People tried. But the reality was that my life experience fell outside of the net that provided answers Mormonism was supposed to provide.
Interestingly, when I convinced enough of the fact that Mormonism didn't work to actually state to my local authorities that I was withdrawing my membership in the church, the big pull was for me to stay; so that I could continue to provide comfort and hope to the other "outliers." Yeah, right . . . .
Once I was outside the church, I began to question the nature of God. Specifically, I knew that my Mormon upbringing had tainted my experience of God in some significant ways. For example, I had noticed, time and again, that no matter how hard I tried to follow all of the rules, I still felt guilt. Fundamental guilt. As if nothing I could do would ever please the Mormon God. Yes, the Evangelicals reading this would assert that of course, I can't please God. That's what grace is for. I know, I know . . . . That's not what I'm talking about here.
I'm speaking of having an internal sense of connection with God, but feeling wrong based on everything I had been taught - of which the example of infertility within a family-based church was just a small part.
Stepping outside the church offered pure refreshment. Recently, I'm discovering why.
My first discovery came when I was introduced to the writings of Richard Smoley in his book: "Inner Christianity: A Guide to the Esoteric Tradition." In it, he spoke of man's relationship to God. Specifically, addressing the "radical personhood of God," he states:
"Consider the following analogy. Suppose two cells in your bloodstream possess a certain measure of self-consciousness. They begin to reflect on the nature and purpose of their existence, and they dimly begin to suspect that they are part of a larger whole. What is this larger entity? they ask each other. Is it a living thing, a cell like themselves? Does it know of them, care about them, love them? Does it respond to their needs and hopes and wishes?
What could one say to them? How could two cells, no matter how precociously endowed, ever really understand the human organism that is their universe? Is this entity a cell like them? Yes and no. Like individual cells, a human organism has life and purpose and intention. But it is far more than a mere cell. On the other hand, the life force that courses through us is supremely conscious of each of these cells. It cares for them, feeds them, protects them, even if our conscious minds have no part in this process."
Interesting, the idea that God isn't personal. I found that it appealed to my sense of order. If God is a source, an energy that creates and organizes life - capable of communicating with humans in the way humans need to attain understanding of things Divine, then I no longer need to try to figure out why a personal God, who knows and understands my needs, would deny me those needs. I no longer would have to explain why an orphaned child whose ability to connect with other human beings was broken from spending her first two years untouched in an orphanage would, through no fault of her own, be relegated by a "loving God" to a life of misery because of her fundamental inability to create true human attachments. It no longer makes sense to shake my fist at the heavens screaming "Why Me" any more than it would make sense for those two blood cells to deride me for catching a cold. Shit just happens.
And if God isn't personal and specifically aware of my needs, desires, hopes and dreams, then I don't have to worry about His All-Seeing-Eye watching my every move, thought, misstep and "lascivious" desire. No. I no longer need feel guilt for existing and being a lusty, passionate, fully-alive woman. And, as I already said, I no longer need to hold anger or hostility when things don't go my way.
But good and beauty happens, too. And this is where we find God through a soul-craving that causes us to reach, to know more. The soul-craving that comes from the Source. From God.
In Olivier Clement's work "The Roots of Christian Mysticism," he quotes Hilary of Poitiers (born 3rd Century A.D.):
'For from the greatness and beauty of created things comes a corresponding perception of their Creator' (Wisdom 13:5).
The sky and the air are beautiful, the earth and the sea are beautiful By divine grace the universe was called by the Greeks 'cosmos', meaning 'ornament' . . . Surely the author of all created beauty must himself be the beauty in all beauty? . . . But if we are blessed with an intuition of God, what shall we gain from it if death does away with all feeling and puts an irrevocable end to a weary existence? . . . My mind was bewildered, trembling for itself and for its body. It was troubled at its fate and that of the body in which it was dwelling when, following on from the Law and the Prophets, I made the acquaintance of the teaching of the Gospel and of the apostles.
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and life was the light of men. The light shines in darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it . . . The true light that enlightens every man was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world knew him not . . . But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father' (John 1:1-14)
My intellect overstepped its limits at that point and I learnt more about God than I had expected. I understood that my Creator was God born of God. I learnt that the Word was God and was with him from the beginning. I came to know the light of the world . . . I understood that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us . . . Those who welcomed him became children of God, by a birth not in the flesh but in faith . . . This gift of God is offered to everyone . . . We can receive it because of our freedom which was given us expressly for this purpose. But this very power given to each person to be a child of God was bogged down in weak and hesitant faith. Our own difficulties make hope painful, our desire becomes infuriating and our faith grows weak. That is why the Word was made flesh: by means of the Word-made-flesh the flesh was enabled to raise itself up to the Word . . . Without surrendering his divinity God was made of our flesh . . . My soul joyfully received the revelation of this mystery. By means of my flesh I was drawing near to God, by means of my faith I was called to a new birth. I was able to receive this new birth from on high . . . I was assured that I could not be reduced to non-being.
From these readings I draw several conclusions that present great comforts to me. Read closely, the above text illuminates the reality that ancient mystics understood that by nature of becoming flesh, God empowers us, in-the-flesh to reach the Divine once the spark of Divine is enlivened in us. It is the source that causes us breath. It is the source that draws us to the place where Divinity becomes alive within each of us who cares to take the inner journey.
It inspires an awakening, an enlivening, a growth process that leads to greater light.
It provides proof that God is Love. Not a loving, personal god, but the energy and force that we know to be love in it's purist form. Insomuch as we can know love at all.
I believe that in some sense, it is necessary for us, as humans, to use our language to define God. In order to talk about God. To understand God in our limited way. But I think that when we attempt to do that, we limit ourselves to a limited understanding of God. We tend to anthropomorphise God; even in the basic use of personal pronouns (He and/or She) to refer to God. But, if I apply human characteristics to God, I cannot help but apply maleficence to God's character when I believe God is allowing me to suffer. Reminds me of the reason we need books like: "When Bad Things Happen to Good People." I don't think it's possible to think of God in human terms and only apply loving characteristics to God because we are human. Our tendency is to apply the same characteristics and motivations to others that we experience ourselves. How can we keep God exempt in that practice? I don't think we can.
But if I think of God as the energy that gives me life. The Word. The Light. Beauty. Love. The Source. Then, I can tap into that Energy as part of my innate desire for growth and connection with the Divine. Then, it isn't personal. It's my choice to take part in the Energy and Power that is available to all.
If I follow the path led by the inspiration within me - that inner spark that causes me to have life and connects me with every beauty in creation - then I can experience and live a life of love. There is no room for guilt in that! Nor is there room for guilt in believing in a God that is love. The force. Not some jealous, nit-picky God of man's creating. God is outside of church definitions. Unless, of course, church is in the heart.
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