The L Word

I feel compelled to talk about the L word.

No, not the popular cable series about lesbians and love (which I really must Netflix someday). No, not linguini or lassitude or luminous or lice – although any of those topics might make good blog fodder some day. (I have had my run-ins with lice).

I’m talking about the word Lord.

I've noticed this jump-on-the-bandwagon-meme thing happening on Facebook lately – “Jesus is Lord! If you agree please click ‘like.’” When you do so, it shows up in your list of “likes” and as an announcement on your page so that your friends can see it.

I am a Christian practicing within the Catholic tradition, a follower of Christ – though perhaps a quirky “liminal” one – and I’m pretty certain that all of my friends in Cyberia and in meet-space know this. But -- though I appreciate the sentiments of my FB friends who have done so -- I am not clicking on “Jesus is Lord.”

Why?

Because my Facebook friends are a virtual interspiritual conglomeration. When I look at my list of friends, I see Buddhists, Jews, Agnostics, Atheists, Panentheists, Pagans, Yogis, Swamis, Shamans, Waking Downers, Self-Realizers, Bellydancers, Methodists, Metaphysicists, Mormons, Lutherans, Quakers, Ex-Catholics, Advaitans, Vegans, Humanists, Environmentalists, Episcopalians, Non-Denominationalists, Taoists, Sufis, Zen Meditators, Integralists, and variously shifting intersections and mixtures thereof. 

I have a great respect for this proliferation of spiritual paths, for the irrepressible magnanimity of the sacred and the secular. It fills me with awe to behold it, and to be held within it. Such a radiantly flowering Mystery it is! And within this wild Mystery, I journey and love and pray as a part of the body of Christ with no need or desire to proclaim my path as “Lord”  in the company of those born or beckoned into any other of the world’s wisdoms.

If you’ve ever attended a well-planned interreligious gathering, you probably know what it feels like to be quickened and deepened through a mutual multifaith sharing of questions and stories and silences. Every once in a blue moon, I get a chance to attend an interfaith contemplative service or meditative sit. My good friend Kathy C. and I attended a contemplative interfaith weekend at La Casa de Maria in Santa Barbara several years ago, an event sponsored by the Spiritual Paths Institute. Teachers and celebrants included Father Thomas Keating, Rabbi Rami Shapiro, Kabir and Camille Helminski -- a Sufi couple, and Venerable Tenzin Priyadarshi -- a Buddhist chaplain. The closing ceremony was a profound experience of alternating silences, chant, sharing, and prayer – at one point we were swept up in a choral round and vocal tapestry incorporating elements of all four traditions at once – a shimmering moment that left many of us in tears.

And now I’ll say the obvious: you never close such communal celebrations with the prayer, “through Jesus Christ, our Lord, Amen.” Instead, you invoke the One Who Cannot Be Named, the Great Mystery, Source, Being, Not-One and Not-Two. You allow Whatever or Whomever you are referring to as God or Eternal or Presence to be much larger than any one culture’s or tradition’s experience of the All-in-all. And you recognize yet again – perhaps with a welcome rush of wonder and gratitude – that no single tradition holds the corner on truth.

In light of that recognition, I do not click “like” on the meme “Jesus is Lord.”

But – but !! – check out this different yet related insight I encountered while reading Joseph Prabhu’s article about “interreligious apostle” Raimon Panikkar, who, rest his soul, died just last month. In The Hidden Christ of the Hindus, Prabhu explains, Panikkar offered the notion that “Christ and his teaching are not … the monopoly or exclusive property of Christianity seen as a historical religion. Rather, Christ is the universal symbol of divine-human unity, the human face of God. Christianity approaches Christ in a particular and unique way, informed by its own history and spiritual evolution. But Christ vastly transcends Christianity. Panikkar calls the name ‘Christ’ the ‘Supername,’ in line with St. Paul's ‘name above every name’ (Phil 2:9), because it is a name that can and must assume other names, like Rama or Krishna or Ishvara.” Furthermore, as Panikkar once remarked, “To the third Christian millennium is reserved the task of overcoming a tribal Christology by a Christophany which allows Christians to see the work of Christ everywhere, without assuming that they have a better grasp or a monopoly of that Mystery, which has been revealed to them in a unique way." If more folks, (Christian or otherwise) voiced this kind of perspective on Christ or felt that the Christian tradition was not the Only Sole Ultimate Truth About All Things Spiritual, I might feel less touchy about public declarations of “Christ as Lord.”

Maybe.

Anyway – okay, there’s more -- I might just trip you out now! – I also want to talk about my sweet sweet love of the L word.

After I slowly emerged from my antireligious phase (for me between the ages of 15 and 35), I encountered an interesting conundrum: objections to the prayerful, in-church use of the word “Lord” (or any other “male” name for God) among some religious folks.

The feminist theologian Kathleen Fischer, for example, decries of the use of exclusively male terms to denote God, asserting that patriarchal images of the Divine can restrict women’s (and men’s) religious experiences. She is right to point out that confusing a particular symbol of God for the actuality of God is a form of idolatry –  and that when we (perhaps unwittingly) do this we “box God in,” squeeze the boundless Mystery into a temporal, human-made form, limiting our own potential for spiritual growth and transformation. I get that, and I agree.

Then, in church, I came across some religious progressives who fervently condemned the use of “Lord” as a word for the Divine. In their opinion, the L word implies that God is some kind of cruel feudal master whom we servile peon-subjects must obey – or else. Truly, I do understand the need to personally jettison the word “Lord” when it holds this kind of oppressive connotation. But for many African-American (and other!) Christians, “Lord” remains both a tender and reverent name for God and/or Jesus – it (ironically, perhaps!) has no “master-slave” overtones. My childhood experience (prior to my antireligious phase) attests to this. In the churches of my girlhood, I recall the Lord as a great lover of our oppressed ancestors, walking with and grieving in our sorrows, finding so many ways to tend to our wounds – and, perhaps most significantly, joyfully liberating and empowering us! In the homes of my friends, it often seemed that Lord was simply God’s first name, and thus a friendlier, informal term for God – tu rather than vous. Lord even became an affectionate nickname at times, akin to “Sweetie” or “Honey.” Common exclamations in my neighborhood included “Good Lord!” “Do, Lord!” and “Lordie Be!” While you could utter the word “God” in vain, such was not the case with the phrases like “Oh Lord,” because, apparently, once you were on a first-name basis, the Lord had a humungously understanding heart and a grand sense of humor. The Lord, then, was simultaneously protector and confidant,  liberator and nurturer, friend and path-walker, powerful and merciful, gentle fire and bold imprinter of the Word in our hearts, and – we must not forget-- sacred instigator of fish frys.*

What some folks see as oppressive language is experienced by other folks as liberating and empowering and consoling. So, yes: we should avoid turning symbols into idols, as Fischer suggests; yet also: we should not censor or suppress any particular image of or name for God that arises out of our lived experiences.

One of the changes that happened to me, when I tip-toed into meditation and prayer back in the 1990s, is that I overcame my allergy to words signifying the second-person of the Divine, words like “Lord,” “God,” “Thou,” and even “Father.” It didn’t happen all at once – it took time, and silence, and patience, and sitting with feelings of absurdity and ridiculousness – and grace, of course. But when I was able to open my heart to the great Other, to unashamed relationship with Spirit, the tenderness and intimacy with God that I had known as a girl resurfaced, and “Lord” once again became a name for Love, for this Mystery embracing us all.

At the same time, I know I live in a world where the phrase “Jesus is Lord” is not always an invitation to love and compassion. Sometimes it is a threat, a bludgeon, or a precursor to burning the sacred texts or buildings or bodies of our brothers and sisters. So, out of love and concern, I am careful about my use of the L word.

My ramblings here offer just one example of what it is to be a liminal Christian: living what seems to be a paradox in which one simultaneously avoids and embraces the L word. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on a razor’s edge. But as the old(er) folks still say, the Lord loves fools and babies… and lazy lice-encounterers too, I suppose. I trust Her to catch me when I fall.



*

The Liminal Christian

I just received a new book (Amazon.com is my downfall!): The Big Book of Christian Mysticism: The Essential Guide to Contemplative Spirituality by Carl McColman. Too many of my favorite writer-speaker-teachers (Richard Rohr, Caroline Myss, Cynthia Bourgeault, Kenneth Leech) praised it for me to pass it up. 

I flipped through it -- you know how it is when you have a new book, you have to hold it, smooth your thirsty fingers across the cover, and then make the pages go swissshh -- I flipped through it and "landed" on a little section entitled "The Liminal Christian." And I simply have to share some of it here:

"Throughout history, many great mystics lived on the margins of the church -- sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically. The Desert Fathers and Mothers lived on the edge that separated civilization from the wilderness. Many great monastic orders chose remote locations for their homes, settling on the margins between church and society on the one hand, and the untamed forests, mountains, or even swamps on the other. Francis of Assisi rejected a posh life as an affluent merchant's son, choosing instead to live on the fine line that separated respectable religion from a life of poverty.

Julian of Norwich lived literally on the edge -- in a cell where she enjoyed solitude, but attached to a parish church where she participated in communal worship and provided spiritual direction to those who sought her guidance. Simone Weil, a Jewish philosopher who embraced Christian spirituality but refused to be baptized, never even fully entered the church, at least not sacramentally. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, as a paleontologist, inhabited the frontier between religion and science, while Thomas Merton, Bede Griffiths, and Swami Abhishiktananda were all called to live out their faith in the gray area between Christianity and the wisdom traditions of Buddhism or Hinduism . . . .

The fancy, Latin-based word that describes this place of 'inbetweenness' is 'liminal,' which means 'of the threshold.' I believe that the great mystics often lurked on the thresholds between institutional religion and the real (or figurative) wild places of the world. As liminal figures, they were in the best position to drink deeply from the well of Christian tradition, but also to express their relationship with God in a completely authentic way. They respected the sacraments and the graces of the church, but also truly loved and befriended those who, for whatever reason, remained outside the boundaries of organized religion. 

It is not easy to live authentically in these liminal spaces . . . .

Many who feel a profound desire for God and hunger for the gifts of silence and solitude have ambivalent feelings toward the unexciting business of mainstream religion, with its endless committee meetings and pledge drives and cleaning days. Worse yet, they become frustrated with the often profound indifference (or suspicion) that many devout Christians show toward mysticism and contemplation. But these feelings don't release them from their need for a community in which to ground their contemplative journey. The call to contemplation includes an invitation to relate to organized religion in creative and unusual ways. You must discern -- through prayer and conversation with your soul friends or spiritual director -- what that means in your own spiritual life.

Your interest in mysticism and contemplation will not magically make membership in a faith community easier. In fact, it may even be a source of frustration as you try to relate spiritually to those whose religious values seem at odds with your own. For all its challenges and problems, however, the church provides a vital ingredient in the life of Christian mystical spirituality. Find the church that is right for you, and stick with it. Don't be limited by the church, but don't settle for any notion that religion and spirituality must somehow be at odds. Learning to navigate the tension between religion and spirituality, even if only within yourself, can be a crucial element in opening your mind and heart to the splendor of God's grace and presence" (151-153).

I'll share some thoughts on this later, in another post.

Toothbrushing Yoga

(Another Gaia blog oldie) --

Today I cleaned my teeth using a small, soft-bristled traveling toothbrush and Tom's of Maine toothpaste. My "regular" toothbrush needs replacing, as I can see brownish crud forming at the bottom of its bristles - and since my traveling toothbrush is relatively new, it's definitely cleaner.

I concentrate on the back teeth, brushing near the gum line, using circular motions as well as up-and-down and across-the-surface-of the teeth strokes. These are the teeth that will eventually give me the most trouble, the dental hygienist tersely warns me. For the last several years, I have been fighting periodontal disease, and I've been told that I (along with a majority of adults my age) have got problematic "pockets." Pockets occur when the gum itself starts receding from the surface of the tooth, creating a space where bacteria and plaque and tartar can gather and "eat" further away at the gum, thereby deepening the pockets. Pockets that are one or two millimeters deep are normal, threes are okay but need to be watched, fours are in the warning zone, and fives and beyond mean you're heading into a more serious case of gum disease. My front teeth are at the two or three level, but the back teeth have lots of fours and fives. Flossing helps to slow down the progression of the disease, and allegedly, good home care can keep everything at bay.

So what is good home care? Brushing twice a day - for at least four minutes each time - and, of course, flossing. Additional home exercises include using a dental stimulator along the gumline, to prevent plaque from gathering. But seeing as it took me nearly 40 years before I started flossing properly and consistently, the dental stimulator trick will have to wait a while. At the moment I'm concentrating on the consistency of four minutes in the morning and evening, plus flossing.

I've gotten to the point where I need to have a deep cleaning performed by a hygienist every 3 months (most folks need a regular cleaning every 6 months). A deep cleaning includes scaling and root planing - mild forms of torture involving sharp metal pointy instruments digging the bacterial crud away from the bottom of the gum pockets. When I've been neglectful, novocaine will be required for me to be able to tolerate the stabbing of my gums and the scraping of my enamel. But when I've been good, I can get by with just a minor amount of blood and gore and no novocaine.

I always leave the hygienist appointment with the best of intentions. I've got an electric toothbrush that brushes for two minutes at a time, then I do a thorough flossing. I top it all off with two minutes (timed with an egg timer) of brushing with a regular toothbrush, and end it with a fluoride rinse. All of this, twice a day.

For perhaps the first two weeks after the deep cleaning, I'm impeccable about all of this. I tell myself that it's part of my spiritual practice - it's an act of tender loving care for my changing, aging body. By practicing the yoga of brushing twice a day, I enhance my chances for overall health, meaning that I will be more available to help create the conditions that lead to health for others. Loving myself for the benefit of the greater Self: God and neighbor.

But eventually my cleansing enthusiasm begins to wane. I simply start forgetting to do it twice a day - or I begin to have busy days where I feel like I just don't have the time to take 10 minutes out of my life to improve my dental health. I start to rationalize: I have the deep cleanings every three months anyway, right? Certainly those should cover the days when I don't do the twice-daily brushing, or the evenings when I'm too tired to floss. And before I know it, I'm down to brushing my teeth once a day for about two minutes, followed by a rushed flossing.

I'm telling you: this worries me. Do I feel I'm not good enough to take just 10 minutes every day to improve my health? It's such a small act of love, a tiny simple thing to do, a very caring and non-taxing exercise. And doesn't love really manifest itself in repeated actions and in persistent cycles? The turning of the earth, which brings needed sunlight to us daily. The plants that die even as they release seeds, which will sprout and grow and provide beauty or nectar or food for insects, animals, and humans. The mother who consistently answers the child's cries for milk or caresses or warmth. The body's daily surrender to sleep, and the awakening and energy that follows rest. The beating of the heart. The inhalation and the exhalation, each breath necessary, all a part of a cycle that often takes place without our being aware of it. Such is love: the very rhythms of life, the neverending dance, the unstoppable outreaching and stretching and circling of the cosmos.

But love, for humans, also emerges as an act of the will, a choice. And therein lies my problem. I want my toothbrushing to be as seemingly effortless as the rising of the sun and the changing of the seasons. I want it to just "happen," for it to be so embedded in the routines of my day that I don't even have to remind myself to do it. But not everything is as easy and instinctual as breathing. Certain repeated acts require conscious persistence, method, discipline, tiny movements of the will. Over the course of time, they can become relatively automatic, not requiring much effort or self-conscious action. But at the beginning of any choice for love, be it the brushing of teeth, voting, feeding one's family, being present to a downtrodden friend, taking time to pray, visiting the dying - the will must make and act on a certain decision, again and again and again.

Spirit ever patient, strengthen my will. Grant me the grace to keep making that choice for love - even in the smallest and most innocuous routines of my daily life. For I suspect that these miniscule "love exercises" generate spiritual vigor - and eventually enable us to manifest your Love with greater frequency and less hesitation. May the flow of your Love not be blocked by the weakness or laziness of my sluggish will, Eternal One. And as always, lend me patience with my failures! Such is also a lesson in love...

(Oh--and when You have the time and inclination, maybe zing some creative chemist out there with some inspiration towards some wintergreen-flavored fluoride rinse. M'kay? Muchas gracias!)

--December 30, 2006 Gaia blog

Greatest Hits: Getting Lost

As I count down to my 50th birthday [mid-September -- yep, I'm a Virgo], I thought this would be a good time to post some "greatest hits" from a previous blog. To those peeking in here who might be new to my bloggarisms: for a few years I had a blog of sorts at Gaia (formerly Zaadz) -- a website for those yearning to foster spiritually and environmentally conscious community. Between 2005 and 2010, Gaia hosted a network of online discussion forums, and each member of Gaia also had personal blogspace if they so desired. But this past May, Gaiam, the corporation that underwrote Gaia, pulled the plug on all those forum and blog discussions by shutting the website down. I won't go into all the speculations as to why this happened . . . At any rate, the Gaia community now has a new home on the Ning network. But it's just not the same, and the blog set-up there is downright confusing. 

So here I am, in the big wild world of Blogspot.

I wrote the following post in response to one of Gaia's "daily Q & A" threads. This one invited people to answer the question: "When was the last time you got lost? What happened?" 

------------------------------------------------------------

The last time I got lost was when I "lost it."

Lost my cool while driving, that is.

I currently live in southern California, land of hot, howling, horrific traffic. I know that there are places in the world where it is worse -- Tijuana, Mexico, for example, can be a frightening place just to be a pedestrian. I have visited there on occasion, but it's not where I live and drive.

I've actually become rather spoiled now because I work out of my home, with stores and grub and supplies nearby, and don't need to drive that much. Years ago, when I had to be at an office at eight in the morning five days a week, I could never tell how long it would take me to get to work. What was normally a twenty-minute drive (under relatively gridlock-free conditions) could turn into a two-hour journey through hell if it had rained (southern Californians simply cannot handle rainy roads) or if there had been fender-benders. Eventually I took to listening to cassettes and CDs of good music, or lectures, and was able to savor the hours spent in the car that way. And sometimes I would practice a kind of "traffic tonglen," breathing in my own irritation as well as the frustration and anger of my fellow drivers, and "sending out" the warm sunlight on my forearms, the smell of good coffee, the remnants of the previous night's joyful dream, the radiant inner stillness that contemplative practice had allowed me to touch.

I prided myself on how good a driver it made me: ahhh ... so calm and so gentle, so smooth and serene, always giving people the benefit of the doubt, allowing access to my lane, not taking it personally if someone cut me off or tailed me. After all, we Cali drivers were really all in this together, right? The great majority of our highway frustrations were only temporary experiences, nothing to write home about, certainly nothing to remember on our deathbeds.

A couple of months ago, however -- after being spoiled by not having to drive daily, I was returning home from church, of all places, on a late Sunday morning. I was on the freeway, getting ready to pass an onramp. A line of cars was merging onto the freeway. Following the rules of sane and courteous traffic, each freeway driver was letting one person merge in front of them: freeway car, merger, freeway car, merger -- you, then me, then you, then me. It's what fair and proper and decent.

And then a man in a pickup truck decided to break this rule. In front of me, on this pleasant balmy Sunday.

I had done the right thing: let one car merge into the space in front of me. This man in the truck decided he needed to be in front of me too. He wanted to break into the line, when what he was supposed to do was pull in behind me -- where there was actually plenty of space, because there were no cars directly behind me.

And the race was on.

I sped up and moved closer to the car in front of me to block him out. He also sped up, and actually started driving on the shoulder of the freeway, determined to get in front of me. He managed to edge over and so I had to let him in -- unless I planned on letting him sideswipe me. Okay asshole, go ahead, get in there if you goddammed have to.

And then he gave me the finger. And worse, he did that thing that drivers do when they rarin' to seriously piss off the people driving behind them. He slowed down -- way, way down. I watched him as he kept checking his rearview mirror, wanting to get a reaction out of me. I wouldn't stoop to giving him the satisfaction of honking or flipping him a return-bird. Instead I drove with a smooth poker face, right up on his tail, as he continued his slow drive, trying his hardest to piss me off. And I certainly was angry -- but beyond driving about three inches from his tailpipe, I wasn't going to let him see it in my face or in my gestures. Motherfucker, I am in the right, I am better than you and holier than you and cooler than you, and I am going to teach you a lesson. You don't deserve to be driving within a mile of me, you prick. Yeah, shithead, keep on looking in your rearview mirror and swearing. Make my day.

So we drove like this, me right up in his junky-truck ass at about forty miles-per-hour, for the next mile or so, until my exit came up.

What had happened to my traffic tonglen? What had happened to The Peaceful Driver? I really cannot say. She'd "gotten lost," somehow ...

But to honor those wonderful drivers out there who manage to not get lost in irritation over annoying but ultimately inconsequential actions by other drivers, I offer this 1996 song of gratitude by Geggy Tah, entitled "Whoever You Are."

(You were still a jerk, though, Mr.Truckbutt who pushed in front of me. I'm sorry but it's true.)

--May 5, 2007 Gaia blog

Zen and True Love

 One of my "Daily Readers" is a little book by Franciscan Fr. Jude Winkler entitled Daily Meditations with the Holy Spirit.  A couple of days ago, just before heading out to see a movie, I peeked at the day's entry for August 11. It begins with a scrap of scripture from Galatians: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity . . ." Noticing that love was italicized, I went on to read Fr. Jude's reflection:

"True love is a willingness to live and even die for one another. It is not a feeling or an emotion. True love is a choice that will ultimately bring one to the Cross. None of us has the strength to do this on our own. It is the Spirit who gives us the grace we need."

The brief prayer following the reflection was: Spirit of Love, teach me the true meaning of love.

The movie I went to see, with my friend Jane, was Zen. Based on the novel Life of Dogen by Tetsu Otani, this film (here's a good review) is a cinematic hagiography of the founder of the Soto school of Zen in Japan. I later described it to my husband as a kind of Brother Sun Sister Moon of the Zen lineage -- but it's not quite that romantic or cinematographically lavish. While it depicts the central character as committed, deeply compassionate, and unswervingly humble, it's a quieter, more spacious film that opens and blooms more slowly -- simultaneously unassuming and expansive.

There is one scene near the end [spoiler alert] depicting a tense interaction between Dogen and a shogun who is being persistently and disturbingly haunted by the ghosts of dead warriors. Dogen's suggestion that these ghosts are the immaterial products of a tortured imagination enrages the shogun, who threatens to kill Dogen if he does not retract his statement. But Dogen, who had made a special trip to minister to this anguished man, is fully prepared to die. Gathering himself, he sits down in a zazen pose and lowers his hood -- leaving his neck exposed -- as the shogun lifts his sword. The shogun pauses, then, in a powerful moment of clarity and contrition, is overcome. He throws aside his sword, sits down next to Dogen, and joins him in meditation.

Given my background, I could not help but see the similarities between this depiction of Dogen and the biblical Jesus: powerful stories about strong, humble masters who walk the talk of radical nonattachment and profound compassion. The Bodhisattvic and Incarnational Love that is ready to give everything, even its own be-ing, for the awakening and blooming of another.

So I've been letting this synchronicity -- reading Fr. Jude's reflection on true love and then viewing that dramatic moment in Zen -- sink in to my heart.

Am I able to love in this way? I would like to think that if and when the moment presents itself, I would readily die for another (or others), freely offer this ultimate expression of love. But in all honesty -- I am a long way from being so radically kenotic. That's for the best, I suppose. Or else I'd be all too willing to take the credit for this wild gift of the Spirit . . .

Odetta

In one of her last public appearances, Odetta sings "Glory Hallelujah" at Satyagraha: Gandhi's "Truth Force" in the Age of Climate Change, presented by the Garrison Institute on April 13, 2008, at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York City. Come lay your burden down in her song.

Imaging God

From a 2007 weekly reflection paper I wrote for an introductory course in spiritual direction --

All of these readings on imaging God were wonderful, but I especially appreciate the Wilkie Au and Noreen Cannon Au selections from The Discerning Heart. Their consideration of how our our images of God affect our entire approach to life, relationships, and the sacred journey, as well as the impact of developmental influences and the need for balance between immanent and transcendent images of God -- really hit home for me.

It is painful to observe the effect that distorted images of God can have. I know quite a few people who have a deep--and quite justified--resentment toward "God" and [panen]theistic religion because they've acquired an image of an angry, vengeful deity who is ready to send people to eternal hell if they are unpleasing to him. I rejected the existence of God in my teens because it did not make sense to me that an all-powerful, "all-loving" Creator would bring humans into being only to damn them to unending torment if they did not accept Jesus as Lord. If this were the case, most of humanity would end up in the place of infinite torment, and the cosmos would be an essentially cruel place. Why create sentient life in the first place if most of it ends up in never-ending torture? I wondered. Is God simply a sadist? [An aside -- Richard Rohr once mused that " ...Most people I know would never torture another human being under any conditions. Yet people believe in a god who not only tortures, but tortures for all eternity. That is bitter vengeance by anyone's definition. Why would anyone want to be alone with such a testy and temperamental god? Why would anyone go on the great mystical journey into divine intimacy with such an unsafe lover? Why would anyone trust such a god to know how to love those who really need it?  I personally know many people who are much more generous and imaginative than this god is. We have ended up being ourselves more loving, or at least trying to be, than the god we profess to believe! Such a religion is in deep trouble - at its core . . ."]

So I concluded that "God" was a human-created myth intended to frighten people into being good, and that there was no true God. In rejecting this distorted image of God, I (for a time, at least), rejected all notions of God, because I assumed that they were pointing to this narrow, vengeful, fire-and-brimstone deity. While I think it's a healthy step to reject distorted images of the Divine, it's also unfortunate when people become alienated from the riches of a tradition because the inoperable God-images got in the way.

Conversely, many people unwittingly cling to a distorted image of God in a way that may keep them "stuck" at a certain level on the spiritual journey. I think of a friend who was raised by abusive parents, and who seems to believe that God is sending her harsh trials and tests that she must "pass" if she wants to avoid punishment. It's painful to see her struggle with this -- I think she recognizes that she is operating out of a skewed view of God, yet she's also unconsciously motivated by that view . . .

In the section  . . . about professed and operative images of God, Au notes that "Sometimes the image we verbally profess is not really the image that holds sway." This gives me plenty to ponder as I examine my own God-images. On the one hand, I profess a kind of multi-perspectival, kaleidoscopic image of God: I relate to God as the ground of being, as the cosmic Source, as a tenderly embracing Mother and Father, as a deeply loving Thou, as the hidden holiness within everything, as the agapic connecting link between all beings, as incarnate love-in-action, merciful and infinitely patient, as great Silence, and as incomprehensible Mystery. Yet when I consider my own early development, I recognize that I am probably still living with some distorted images. If the object relations theorists are correct that "one's God-image, as well as one's image of self and others [is connected] to the infant's earliest interaction with its primary caregiver," then a buried part of me may see God as alternately rejecting and loving--and therefore as somewhat untrustworthy. I was given up at birth, after which I lived in a home for infants for fourteen months prior to my adoption. Such homes no longer exist, as psychologists came to see that many infants did not fare well in institutional settings and that more individualized foster-care situations were the better route. At any rate, I do not know what kind of care I received -- it may have actually been quite good, given the circumstances. But I also may have been impacted by the initial separation from my birth mother, which was followed up a little more than a year later by a separation from the caregivers in the home. Being pre-rational and pre-verbal, there was no way I could have understood the "reason" for these separations, and I probably experienced them as a profound rejection and a loss of security and love, even though none of that was intended. I recognize that there is a part of me that still perceives God as a bit indifferent -- which in turn leads to the thought that I am someone who doesn't really matter much, and that whatever I have to offer -- even my very being itself -- may be rejected or persistently ignored. That may be what under-girds this lingering need to seek "approval" from God and from others, as if I need to earn the love that S/he would never hold back.

--written on October 3, 2007