A Dying Spirit

I can’t say that I’m attached to any one church, because I’ve sung at various churches in my lifetime.

This weekend, a friend of mine visited me at one of these churches.  Our plan was for her to meet me at the church in time to hear me sing, and then we’d visit Mom in rehab and go out to dinner.

Our dinner conversation revolved around our afternoon’s activities — and she started to tell me about the nondenominational church she was attending.  At her church, there would be music and singing at the start, and then the minister would come in and start the “actual service.” 

She really doesn’t care for their music because it’s too loud for her taste, so she makes a point to slip in late — unseen — so, she can miss that part.

But she really, really likes the minister and how genuine and personable he is.  Even though she hasn’t been attending for very long and their congregation is HUGE, the minister greets her as if he has known her for all her life.

This welcoming nature of his makes her feel as if she’s a part of his family… as if he wants her there… as if this is her home and she belongs there.   This feeling makes her want to come back, week after week. 

She contrasted this warmth with the feeling she got from the church in which I sang.

To give you a bit of background:  The way the Mass is set up is that the songleader/choir (which is me for this particular service) will start off by leading the congregation in a gathering hymn, then the priest will lead the congregation in prayer, then the songleader/choir leads the congregation in community prayer/response and then hands the congregation’s attention back over to the priest… and we go back and forth like this throughout the service.

Singing is interspersed throughout the service and not just at the beginning.

My friend commented how she really enjoyed the music and the selections of songs.  She loved the way I sang, and how I lit up the place with my energy.  She enjoyed watching me interact with the congregation and the music director.  It made her happy to watch me because it was clear that I enjoyed what I was doing… and that I wanted to be there. 

She also pointed out that — without realizing it — that very energy spotlights what was lacking in the rest of the service.

Once a song was done and the 76-year-old priest took over, all the light and warmth went away — until I sang again. 

The priest’s monotone tone and mannerisms destroyed whatever was created before him.

He was just going through the motions… with no intent, no conviction… no joy...

It was apparent that he didn’t want to be there. 

Sadly, what she observed was true. 

 

When the presider shows up out of obligation — with no genuine spirit to share — it’s not surprising that the congregation is dwindling down to nothing. 

There’s no mystery why there are no young people in the congregation.  There’s no mystery why there are very few people in their 20s-30s-40s-50s attending. 

There’s no mystery. 

Once the pastor no longer supports his members’ spiritual growth, he loses his purpose and credibility.   Once his members no longer support his church, his church will no longer exist. 

A person with no spirit is nothing

More than a dark, abandoned shell of a person

Just like a church with no people is nothing

More than a dark, abandoned building

The two go hand-in-hand…

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Spirituality vs. Religion

An acquaintance, Shelly, asked me about our “progress” on the book.  I shared with her our search for someone who can understand and capture what we desire for our cover art.

Immediately, Shelly proceeded to list names of people her son knew who did artwork and web designs.  She offered to send me links to their websites and talk to her son about all of this…

I appreciated her enthusiasm, but we really needed someone who could understand and capture our vision… 

In trying to explain this, I used the word spiritual.

She stepped back, looking defeated.  Her eyes dimmed, and her confidence dissolved.  She shook her head and started to take back her offer because she, her son, and his friends are not churchgoers…

I stopped her there, because there is a big difference between being spiritual and going to church.   

Spirituality is not defined by whether you go to church or not.  

Spirituality is not defined by a particular religious dogma — or even whether you believe in a Supreme Being or not… whether you believe in life after death or not…

No, don’t confuse the two.  

Organized religion exists to help us achieve spirituality and is not the end in itself. 

Once a religion no longer supports our spiritual growth, it loses its purpose and credibility.  

Spirituality does not suffer that same fate, because it inspires us to be inclusive.  It doesn't create barriers nor restrict personal growth.

Spirituality cannot be contained in a church building… but thrives within the inner core of each person.

No… don’t confuse the two.

As I said this, Shelly’s smile came back… her confidence came back… her spirit came back… home.


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Retreating from Retreats

The women’s retreat that Katherine tricked me — I mean, invited me — to attend was this past weekend. 

I know, for most people, retreats are seen as good things.  These gatherings allow us to withdraw from our ordinary activities for several days, so we can refocus and rejuvenate. 

Spiritual retreats — which I would categorize this one to be — give the participants time to reflect and reconnect to their source of strength and inner “selves.”  They give us the opportunity to meet and commune with people of similar thoughts and beliefs. 

I know it sounds great on paper — and even as persuasive as Katherine was — nothing could prevent my insecurities from resurfacing.  Fears of rejection and not fitting in saturated my soul.  Memories of my first — which was to be my last — women’s retreat came flooding back.

That retreat was meant to be a spiritual retreat as well — one based on the religion in which I practiced.  Ironically, my choir director “back then” was the one who invited and sponsored me — just like Katherine (my current choir director) is sponsoring me, in this one…

In that past retreat, I had to surrender all control and freedoms.  That choir director and “sponsor” simply dropped me off at the retreat site and left me there.  I was not told what to expect (“Don’t anticipate.”).  I was not given an agenda or schedule.  I was not allowed to wear a watch or know what time it was.  I was placed in the hands of complete strangers with no way to escape.

We (the participants) were shuttled from one meeting room to another like sheep.  We were assigned bunk beds in a condemned building that had no air conditioning, minimal lights, and sparse toiletries.   [This retreat occurred during the muggy and steamy month of August in Florida.]

Discussion leaders were those who had participated in the last retreat.  It’s during their sessions that they shared their life stories — one miserable event after another and another and another.  Loneliness and abandonment resonated in every tale of woe. 

By the end of each meeting, I was convinced that God was trying to prepare me for some horrible event that was going to happen to me.  I was convinced that the wonderful life I had — up to this point — was going to be taken from me.  Why else was I dumped here, surrounded by such tales of misery and woe?!

Putting my paranoia aside, it was apparent that these gatherings were meaningful, supportive, and helpful to those who experienced similar misfortunes.  They, definitely, found what they were longing for in the arms of this structured and controlled environment that they created.  

I was happy for them, but I was not one of them — nor did I long to become one of them.  I wanted to “retreat” from this women’s retreat as quickly as I could, but I couldn’t.  I had no form of transportation to get away.  I was stuck for the entire 80-hour experience.

And they used every moment to work on me — to conform my thoughts and beliefs to theirs. 

Yep.  I was identified, quickly, as an outliner — someone in need of being saved.  It was their mission to transform me into someone who was as miserable, unhappy, and unworthy as they were… someone... more acceptable in their eyes.

It’s been 20+ years since that experience, yet all of it came flooding back to me once I agreed to attend this spiritual retreat with Katherine.  Ironically, I will be labeled as an outliner with this group as well — and for similar reasons as before.  I don’t conform to this group’s practices or beliefs, either. 

This group supports a very liberal and free-spirited lifestyle; I, on the other hand, live a quiet existence, void of excitement.  I am vanilla in their eyes — ordinary, bland, plain, dull… 

So, yeah…  I will be seen as an outliner in this group as well.  Katherine knows this, too — so, we came up with some escape routes for me.

First, I will have my own car, so I can leave whenever I wanted.

Second, Katherine will be attending.  Even though she knows that I will be fine — that I’ll fit in, that I will be welcomed into the group, and that I will not be forced to transform into someone I am not — she reassures me that she will act as my “protector.”  I can turn to her when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed… much like the parent who is there to fight off the unseen monsters under a frightened child’s bed.

So…. with this plan in hand, I agreed to go… and go I shall.

(to be continued…)

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The Self-Righteous Thief

I had one of my funny little dreams…

The dream begins with two detectives searching through my house.  I’m explaining to them that my cash, credit cards, identification, and jewelry have been stolen from me. 

They ask me a series of questions and I answer them the best I can…

• No, I wasn’t home at the time.  Whoever broke in must have known there was plenty of time.

• No.  I have no idea why the thief would spread religious prayer cards and pamphlets all around my place.

• No.  That’s not my bible.  Mine is on the bookshelf.  The thief must have left that one, along with all the other religious paraphernalia.

• No.  I have no idea why the thief would paint religious symbols all over the outdoor screens, windows, and glass door.

Shaking their heads in disbelief, the detectives bag all the prayer cards and bible as evidence — highly doubting that they will find fingerprints on the items.

They continue to take photos of the thief’s religious artwork, especially of the cross painted right next to the screen that was slashed open and the door that was busted in. 

One of the detectives points to the gaping hole in the screen and informs me that they believe that must be how the thief got in.  [Yes, Mr. Detective, I would have to agree…]

And that’s when I woke up.

**** 

It is easy to figure out from where the “inspiration” for this dream comes. 

 

It comes from a conversation I just had with my 86-year-old mother.  I called to see how she was doing and found her very upset.

She had just been visited by two of her sister-in-laws. 

I am sure that these two women meant well and were full of good intentions, but in their religious zealousness, they destroyed my mother’s self-worth, while heightening her guilt and anxieties.

Pray tell, how did they steal these precious things from her?

Ah… They did it by bringing over a number of prayer cards and pamphlets for my mother to read, digest, and recite now that she’s homebound.  

"After all," they inform my mother, "there is no greater service to mankind than to pray for the salvation of the world; and the elderly and homebound are the ones who have the time to do it."

When she’s assaulted in this manner, Mom tries to push back as much as she can but the guilt that fuels such pious rhetoric is difficult to fend off. 

How does one go about explaining that you don’t want to spend your days chanting prayers that hold no meaning to you?  How do you go about explaining that you’re not motivated by words that create only guilt and unworthiness within you? 

How do you explain these things to those who only hear their own self-righteous voice?

I consoled Mom the best I could by telling her that her sister-in-laws mean well, but they don’t realize that their way is not right for her.  If chanting prayers all day gives them purpose and a reason to get up each morning, then that is great for them — but that doesn’t give them the right to inflict their beliefs on her.  Just because they do those things do not make them “holier than thou.”

Mom:  Yes it does!


Me: No, it doesn’t.  They are only “holier than thou” because they are telling you that they are holier than you — and for no other reason than that. 


Mom:  Well, Beatrice goes to Daily Mass.


Me:  And Beatrice is a very social person.  With her husband passing away and her eight children being grown and out of the house, she finds going to Daily Mass a nice way of getting out, meeting her friends, and feeling useful.


Mom:    Well, I guess so… but she sits under a tree with a rosary and prays a special pray for each of the 50 states… and…


Me:  Mom, if those things give her purpose and meaning to her life, that great!  I’m happy for her, but that doesn’t give her the right to force her beliefs and routines on you or anyone else.  That doesn’t give her the right to judge you — or anyone else.

I thought I was making some headway, until Mom broke down in tears.  After the tears started flowing, there was no stopping them.

So, that’s how my aunts were able to take my mother’s self-worth, while heightening her guilt and anxieties — with religious prayer cards, pamphlets, and painting pictures of the religious devotion and piety… 

         … much like the self-righteous thief in my dream.

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