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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