Of Demons and Angels

"We were so worried about our dad on Saturday.  He was thrashing about and yelling things.  Totally not like himself.  He was possessed.  But then someone from our church came and prayed.  And the demons tormenting him left.  So we've kept up the prayers and he's been okay." 

I had never personally heard demons discussed in a literal manner before.  Metaphorical ones, sure.  And many friends believe that angels watch over them, especially deceased love ones.  But real demons?  No.  And my logical, rational mind kept thinking, "It's not unusual for dying people to have terrors and outbursts.  And then, with medications, they do settle down."  Just Google end-of-life anxiety.  It doesn't happen to everyone, but it happens, in varying degrees, some much more powerful than others. 

I think I underestimate the number of people who believe the supernatural world is as common as the natural one.  For me, it's just entertainment on television, our favorite series "Supernatural" about ghosts, werewolves, vampires, angels, demons.  Like "X-Files" and "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer" with two handsome brothers kicking butt with heart and humor each week.  But these two sisters as hospice truly believed a demon had inhabited their father on the way to hospice and had made him act out until the special prayers exorcised the demons.

And they weren't even Catholic!  I had only thought of exorcisms with respect to the Roman Catholic Church (when I wasn't thinking of the 1970s movie or our tv show.)  I checked in with our chaplain, the priest, who said there was a huge belief in demons in the evangelical church.  These Christians believe in deliverance (yep, I hear banjos and I haven't even seen that movie!), the idea of being delivered from demons via prayers and such and of needing to actively avoid being contaminated by demons.  This is why you hear that Harry Potter, Halloween costumes, rock and roll, yoga, etc., are tools of the devil.  There are even lists, like the one that appeared in my inbox recently:

I think I can tick off more than a few of those, including Eastern Religions, Meditation, Vegetarianism, Postmodernism, LOTR, Video Games, Harry Potter, Halloween, Fornication, Rock Music, and, yes, I've even seen Twilight!  And I have experienced, at least once, Palmistry, Tarot, Ouija, Wicca, Earth Worship, Divination, Dungeons and Dragons, too.  But I've never been a vampire or a werewolf (Lycanthropy.)  

I must admit to some cultural and spiritual prejudice--I really never believed people actually thought music invited the devil.  It's like a superstition out of the dark ages. Yes, the kids have friends who can't celebrate Halloween because it's satanic, but I figured that was a one-off.  How wrong I am, how small my world sometimes.  

And I don't really know what to do with it all.  I don't believe in demons, just like I don't believe in hell.  To be fair, I don't just reject the negative; I don't believe in angels or heaven either.  My world is decidedly not supernatural.  

But what if the supernatural is just the natural we haven't come to understand yet?  What invisible forces exist that we don't understand, like Chi or Chakras?  We've only recently come to understand x-rays, bacteria, atoms, radio waves, microwaves, Wi-Fi; and yet, we do not give them a second thought.  I'm still not saying I believe in demons or heaven.  But what don't we know?

Just this week, the NYTimes published an article about the Placebo Effect and how there might actually be bio-chemical processes unrelated to prescribed medicine or surgeries that can result in healing.

And how do I explain my own healing?  I've written (here and here) about how my physical therapist used alternative treatments to heal my back injury when a variety of specialists in the tri-state area couldn't.  I did benefit from what she would call spiritual healing--a combo of accupressure, chakra alignment, Integrative Manual Therapy.  It won't surprise you that she believes in angels and demons.  I suppose I could call it the Placebo Effect, but I really can't explain it and am often uncomfortable reflecting on it, or more importantly, the implications of it.  If I can sit and walk because of energy healing, do I need to believe in angels and demons?  I can't make that leap.

But to push against my beliefs and expand my experiences, I recently attended a Reiki workshop at hospice.  Reiki is a type of energy meditation and healing that is frequently used by various caregivers in hospitals and hospices.  One of the chaplains at my old hospice used to offer it.  And yes, my PT has been trained in Reiki, too.  I know and believe in the benefits of Buddhist meditation so I thought I would learn more about Reiki, which does include chakra cleansing (chakras believed to be energy wheels in the body, represented by the colors of the rainbow, backwards, purple to red), which is beyond my usual rationalism.  It was an intriguing day, not only for the instruction, but also to hear from my fellow students--who believe not only in spiritual healing and energy work, but also angels, demons, ghosts, past-life regression, auras, Tarot, psychics, and mediums.  My mind couldn't wrap around those things.  BUT then I had a Reiki session from one of my classmates and she was drawn to my lower abdomen--completely without knowing of my multiple abdominal surgeries and three recent trips to the ER for severe abdominal pain.  Coincidence?  Educated guess?  And then, when I received attunement--yep, the instructor tuned me towards the chi--I saw these amazing flashes of deep blues, greens, and purples quite unexpectedly. 

Our teacher repeatedly said that Reiki was not dualistic, i.e. not good and bad, it just was, based on chi, the Chinese theory on energy in the body ("ki" is the Japanese spelling.)  She assured us that we could only do good things with Reiki, not hurt anyone.  Which is akin to believing in angels but not demons.  How does that work?  If Reiki can be used to help or heal, how come it can't be used to hurt?  Especially since it is isn't specifically considered a good force, just a natural one?  Nature causes hurt, depending on your perspective, but in itself is a neutral, balanced force--I watched a beautiful Cooper's Hawk devour one of our yard squirrels yesterday; neither good nor bad, in sum, just natural (certainly, from either the hawk or squirrel's vantage point, it would have been a good dinner or a bad evening!)  I think I'm overthinking it all.

But it does seem to keep popping up for me, even with regards to our upcoming trip to Thailand.  I've been reading about the animism that flows through Thai life, in addition to Buddhism and Hinduism, a belief in spirits everywhere.  We have even watched two Thai movies recently, Pee Mak and Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, which heavily featured ghosts.  A belief in spirits participating in everyday life is so common that, I read, taxi drivers put icons or altars on their dashboards and trust in spirits, to the point of not wearing seatbelts.  Que sera, sera. I checked in again with our Catholic chaplain, who does wear his seatbelt (and has also officiated at an exorcism, which was a force of evil like nothing he'd ever seen, certainly beyond any psychological issues that people bring to him regularly, he told me.  He doesn't see demons appearing regularly in the world, and certainly not because of yoga or music), and he said that God expects us to help ourselves.  Which reminds me of that story of the man dangling from the side of the cliff and praying to God for help, but refusing the climber and then helicopter that comes to his aid, saying he's waiting for God; when the man gets to heaven and confronts God, God said, "I sent you a climber and a helicopter!"  Or a seatbelt.  

Whew.  That's a lot.  And it's all been swirling around in my head.  Still, I tend to see the world as more natural than supernatural.  And I'm really more concerned about the human community in our world than anything else (both how we fare as people and what we do to the Earth and each other); that's the work in front of me.  But that human community includes people who believe in a whole range of forces.   I don't have a tidy way to sum it all up beyond this poor paraphrase:  there is more in the world and in people's beliefs than is dreamt of in my imaginings.  

Our Palm Sunday

Yesterday, for Palm Sunday, our RE class attended service at an AME (African Methodist Episcopal) church nearby (AME is a predominantly African-American Protestant church; it broke off from traditional Methodism because of racism and discrimination.)  And the kids didn't know what to do with themselves!

I had attended an AME service during college, as part of a religion-in-America class and so I knew it would be a long service, with a fluidity between song and sermon and lots of tangible worship.  By this I mean obvious physical and verbal means of praise--clapping, standing, dancing, raising hands in the air, calling out "amen" and the like.  This is the part the kids were unsure of.  As UUs, we don't tend to praise or worship anything--as there are as many concepts (or not) of the divine as there are congregants--much less make noise or move during service, unless it's a particularly rousing hymn (and then, really, it's only some of our more extroverted members.)  So to praise God, call out worship of Jesus, raise hands, stand up when moved was new.  Such organized UU kids--they were disturbed that they couldn't even figure out where we were in the order of service because of the fluidity between music and sermon.  They seemed uncomfortable with the emotional and passionate style, quite opposed to our UU intellectual and reflective services.  But I liked it.  Whether you call it holy or divine, or not, there was clearly a spirit in that church.  A community coming together in joy.  For some parts of it, I could just allow myself to be moved by that spirit, instead of analyzing what was happening.

But of course I did observe and analyze.  I had told the kiddos that people would be dressed up more than at our church (and so I wouldn't let them wear t-shirts) and, though there were some who were not, there were a few rows of older church ladies in hats with fans; most of the men were in suits.  I noticed the various oratorical methods (and here) used to engage the congregation--pauses, repetition, call and response, experiential preaching.  There was even that noticeable expulsion of breath after some words and phrases--the appending of "ah" such as "Jesus-ah"--when the preacher became really impassioned.  I pointed out to Sis and Bud next to me that this was the black preaching style that Martin Luther King, Jr came out of and then influenced.  I could also see the clear connections between the Gospel music and more secular pop, particularly when one of the deacons sang "Way Maker," interspersed with his own words and stories.  I think that song went on for 15+ minutes and couldn't even just be called a song--it was more of an interactive experience.  (Same with "It Could've Been Me.")  It reminded me of line singing, with the next verse called out, a tradition leftover from a time of greater illiteracy and a lack of hymnals (though, actual line singing is a more sorrowful tradition from white Appalachian churches.) There was also a guest musician, Alaina Rose, who is launching and sang a beautiful song and had the church's full support.

As for the message, the service, "ministry of words" I think it was called in the bulletin, it was nothing like the slow, word-for-word exegesis of the Presbyterians we visited. (The only part that felt like other Christian services was the recitation of the Apostle's Creed.)  There was a guest "shepherd of the house," Rev. Figueroa, who apologized for not focusing on the Word, so caught up in the Spirit was he.  He said sometimes you need to praise with your feet--and he began to dance.  The scripture of the day was Mathew 21:2, when Jesus told two disciples to go fetch a donkey that was tied up and bring him forth to be used; and if anyone were to ask them what they were doing, they were doing His work.  Now, I would never have thought you could do a whole sermon on the phrase about "untie and let loose" but he did.  The "tied up" part was the issues and difficulties all people have (he mentioned poverty, illness, drugs, the ghetto, he said, drawing from the song, "It's not just that it could've been me.  It should've been me.")   He preached that it's these issues that make you worthy to be chosen to do God's work.  And so he encouraged the tied-up congregation to let loose.  And oh what praise there was.  In fact, he kept saying the crowd had him worked up and he wasn't going to end on time for the next service (which he barely did!)

So much was unfamiliar to our kids, beginning with the palm fronds passed out.  They weren't even sure what Palm Sunday was, much less the tradition of the palms. I tried to whisper info to them throughout the whole service.  Another unfamiliar part to UUs was the altar call, when certain people feel the call to be saved and go to the front of the church.  One young man did this and was welcomed by several deacons.  UUs don't convert like that--they attend a newcomer's class and might sign the membership book during service. The offertory was at least recognizable by the kids--except that the whole congregation rises and circulates to deposit their envelopes in a basket up front.

When we spoke to the pastor afterwards, the kids had questions—typical UU questions about history.  How old was the building?  How old was that pipe organ?  They learned that this congregation was founded by ex-slaves in 1818; it's the second-oldest AME church in the world.  Booker T Washington once spoke from pulpit.  The current location is not far from a spot believed to be a lookout for the Underground Railroad.    I asked the pastor what he would have the kids take away about his faith and his church.  He said that even with a rich history, we must always look ahead. 

My kids were exhausted by the whole experience and didn't have much to say about it on the way home.  Which was the exact opposite of me--I had been touched by the worship and wanted to discuss the whole thing.  This isn't to say I want to convert to AME--beyond not being a Christian, I clearly noticed the absence of the hallmarks of progressive churches, like rainbow flags and calls to social justice around issues like immigration and gun control.  I'm pretty certain they don't support same-sex marriage.  But I liked the music and the joy.  It was a beautiful morning and I appreciated the experience of their community spirit, which, for just awhile, I was a part of.

------
About appending "-ah" at ends of phrases (from straightdope.com):
It's caused by failure to breathe properly while orating. Preachers who end up sounding that way usually start out ordinary enough, but as their adrenaline begins to flow and they talk faster and longer and louder, their diaphragms start squeezing hard to empty their old breath so they will breathe new air. What you hear is this expulsion of breath through the preacher's vocal chords.

It's been a phenomenon for a long time. C. H. Spurgeon wrote for the July, 1875 Sword and Trowel, "Hints on the Voice For Young Preachers" (http://www.spurgeon.org/s_and_t/voice.htm):

It is an infliction, not to be endured twice, to hear a brother, who mistakes perspiration for inspiration, tear along like a wild horse with a hornet in its ear till he has no more wind, and must needs pause to pump his lungs full again; a repetition of this indecency several times in a sermon is not uncommon, but is most painful. Pause soon enough to prevent that "hough, hough," which rather creates pity for the breathless orator than sympathy with the subject in hand. Your audience ought not to know that you breathe at all—the process of respiration should be as unobserved as the circulation of the blood. It is indecent to let the mere animal function of breathing cause any hiatus in your discourse.

In Honor

Last week, I had a conversation with a hospice patient that touched me deeply.  He was an African American man born in the South in the 1920s.  And as he told it, he had seen so much violence and hatred in his lifetime--in fact, he said that when he was a young man, he would have been killed for talking to me alone as we were.  What was it all for, he wanted to know.  And where was religion?  Did I think that the world was a better place because of a belief in God?  He was thinking not only of our present challenges--terrorists in the name of Islam, Catholic priests who molest children--but of all the white preachers who supported racism especially in the Civil Rights era.  He was incredulous, saddened, at the anger and hatred.  He said he believes that God is love and wishes more people knew that, acted like it. I said that I vacilate in my thoughts on religion--that there has been much violence and prejudice and hatred in the name of God and belief systems, but that I had also seen many people trying to help their fellow humans and the world--feeding the hungry at our local soup kitchens and food pantries, collecting clothes and coats for those in need, housing the homeless in our churches during the winter, working for non-violence and social justice and the like.  He asked me if I had any good news.  I told him that I had hope for the future, paraphrasing King, that the moral arc of the universe bends towards justice. That while we couldn't have talked like this in his childhood, we can now and I teach my children so that they recognize the inherent worth and dignity of all people and work for justice and equality.  He seemed to agree. We said goodbye soon after.  I hope I get to talk to him again.

Lots of Little Things

I haven't made any final decision on the blog and, since I have a few stories, I'll post them.

Yesterday, at the drive-thru, the woman on the intercom greeted me in Spanish.  She apologized and switched to English.  When I pulled up to the window, she apologized again, profusely.  I asked, "Are you apologizing to me for greeting me in Spanish?"  Yes, she said; sometimes she gets confused switching back and forth.  I asked if she were bilingual and, when she said yes, I told her that was wonderful and she never needed to apologize.  I said I would have answered in Spanish if mine were any good.  But as I left, I said "gracias."

Last night, our Cadette troop helped out at the local food pantry.  When we arrived, more than an hour before it opened, there was already a line of 20+ people.  Inside, there were six rows of shelves, with a a few selections per aisle, and unlimited produce while it lasted.  A family of four could get some dried fruit, some canned fruit, 2 boxes of pasta, one box of cereal, two cans of tomato sauce, a jar of cocktail sauce, peanut butter, some meat or cheese or eggs, and a bag of day-old bread.  For a week.  Not much food, not much choice, no real brands.  And some of the clients were homeless, which means they only really could take food that didn't need to be cooked--apples, raisins, cereal, peanut butter, bread.  Others, were confused--I had to explain cocktail sauce to numerous clients--what were they going to do, run out and buy shrimp??  These weren't exactly foods that you could make a lot of different meals with--a family of four could perhaps make cereal breakfast, two spaghetti dinners, and perhaps chicken drumsticks with cocktail sauce.  We ran low on pretty much everything as the evening progressed, so that the only fresh vegetable was onions--and some took 20 or more, I'm guessing for soup.  Meat and eggs ran out, too.  The people at the end of the session had almost no choice.

I know that many of the clients work (and maybe that's why they came at the end of the evening); food insecurity hits more than just people who are unemployed or homeless.  Many brought small children.  Most were minorities (African American or Latinx), most were women, young and older.  There were a few white people, who had clear signs of mental health issues and learning disabilities.  As Sis noted, several clients smelled like cigarettes; I smelled urine, too.

It was very eye-opening for the troop and for the adults.  The girls were mostly sad--sad that people were hungry, sad that people were poor, sad that there was so little.   I was surprised at how little food they got, especially given that they only came once a week. And the quality was very low.  I know my family is privileged--I think I didn't realize how much.  I'm sure we waste more food than these 115 or so clients and their families get.  And, in the current political climate, there will probably be less rather than more.  I mentioned to one of the moms that I would have loved if some of the dads--many of the dads are Republicans, though married to Democrats--had been there, though I can just hear the racism and classism ("I work to take care of my family," etc.)  And then if the GOP takes away healthcare too . . . . The girls were very mature, very hardworking (they carried bags and helped  clients figure out what they could take)--the volunteer coordinator couldn't believe they were seventh graders.  They were pretty quiet as they left after two hours of work, but dedicated to coming back to help at the pantry and later cook dinner at the soup kitchen.  And I think I'll be making more deliveries to the food pantry (though, they said cash is best so they can buy in bulk.)

Otherwise, I've been taking it slowly this week, mainly because I twisted my knee last Friday at hospice.  I thought it would stop hurting with some rest and wearing the little brace I have--I do this about every five years or so--but it's gotten harder to walk and I've even canceled going to hospice tomorrow.    I have an appointment to see my ortho next week and am still taking it easy.  Blah.  I'm pretty sure it's just a muscle thing but better to check.

It might as well be this week because I'm spending a lot of time online doing my Chaplaincy Care Volunteer training class, through Healthcare Chaplaincy and the Spiritual Care Network.  It's an online, introductory course for some continuing education credits; though I've been a hospice volunteer for five years, I'm taking the class to learn more of the theoretical underpinings of hospice and to explore the organization before I apply to do their Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) unit
(which is much more involved--about 400 CPE hours vs. 18 ce credit hours) in the spring.  So, I've spent every morning this week doing the readings, watching the videos, and doing the assignments.  Not surprisingly, many of the assignments are reflective not the regurgitation of information.  And I've found it fascinating.

For instance, the discussion of spiritual distress clarified for me that I experienced such distress after my emergency abdominal surgery, which was a reminder of mortality. And my secular humanist, Buddhist-inspired Unitarian Universalism is not all that comforting about the afterlife.  I don't believe in heaven (or hell); I do not believe in an omnipotent, omnipresence authoritarian godhead.  Pretty much, when I die, I'm dead. And that's not all that comforting.  So for awhile after surgery, I wondered if I could change my beliefs to something with more of an afterlife, and, in the end, I just can't.  I go back and forth about the divine light inside of each of us, which rejoins the universe after death (because energy cannot be destroyed, accoring to our current understanding of physics), but it's not me.  And it's not my life.  As a parent with relatively young children, I find it very difficult to think of leaving them permanently now (even just thinking about it, much less being faced with it really), hence the distress.  How did I overcome it?  Hospice work helps and distance from the precipitating event allows me to go back to ignoring it on such a visceral level.  I'm hoping as the kids get older, as I get older, or if something forces my hand, that I will become better at thinking of leaving this life.  It's a practice.

About that little divine light within each of us; I'm thinking of it metaphorically.  It's been called our spirit, our soul, "this little light of mine." That which enlivens us, differentiates us.  Namaste. "The light in me recognizes the light in you." In me, it flares up at the smiles of my family, a beautiful sunset or view, the national anthem or other pageantry (like the Olympics), when I sing a touching song, when my cats purr.  It draws me to community, to service, to compassion, to love.  When I'm angry or sad or regretful or guilty, it darkens.  Yep, all those tried and true light vs dark metaphors (though as a white woman, I reognize the trouble in associating light with goodness, hope, etc., and darkness with the opposite.)  When my UU RE class visited the local synagogue this Sunday and spoke with the rabbi, he spoke of the divine light that Jews believe is present in them, first breathed into us by God with Adam.  There is no hell; when someone dies, the spark rejoins the divine.  The rabbi mentioned that this interest in a divine spark, an internal, eternal light, comes from the East and in that way is similar to Buddhism, Hinduism, etc.  (BTW, I personally got teary on that field trip when a young woman from the synagogue practiced her bat mitzvah portion on the synagogue's 450-year-old scroll that survived the Holocaust.  This Torah now helps initiate a new generation of young Jews.)

I'm also reading a book by John Pavolitz, the progressive Christian preacher who is active on social media in excorciating #45, the GOP, and religious extremists who hate on LGBTQ, feminists, and others.  I grew up in a family that was, at best, disinterested in Christianity (and all religions), if not somewhat hostile.  Even at a young age, I saw a lot of hypocrisy in the Southern Baptists I knew.  As I grew older, I saw more--people were religious but didn't seem to live out the values of mercy, charity, faith, love, etc exemplified by Christ.  Certainly, now that I'm an out lesbian, I see even more hypocrisy and quite often wonder then, why do people bother to be Christians then?  Except reading Pavolitz's new book, Building a Bigger Table, I'm starting to understand the appeal of Christianity, at least as Pavolitz describes it--a table with legs of radical hospitality, divesity, beloved community, and  . .. oh, I'm forgetting the last leg.  Still, those are all wonderful things.  Now I don't know much about Jesus--and I don't believe in a supreme being, much less his holy incarnation on earth and so I won't become a Christian--but I can appreicate the core values as Pavolitz sees it.  He also talks about the light inside of us, which reaches out to others.

And today is Diwali, the Indian festival of lights . . . and the chalice is the symbol of Unitarian Universalism . . . so I have light on my mind.

What else?  I learned about reminiscence therapy, where you guide older people, especially those with memory loss, through significant life events, like school or marriage, using objects (e.g. a wedding veil), music (wedding song), scent (fresh flowers), etc.  I actually had the opportunity to try it with one of my hospice patients that afternoon, as she had a letter about a family member's recent wedding.  So, we talked about her wedding, back in the 1940s, after the war.  A chuppah, breaking the glass, a white dress, and how it all started the family that loves and surrounds her today.  Also, one of the videos, this time on prejudice and professional, featured a therapist who said there are no first impressions--every time we meet someone new we are reminded of people we've met before or lessons we learned from our family and/or culture (such as racism) and so we have prejudices that are very hardwired and hard to overcome; as professionals, it would be our job to see these thoughts and then just set them aside. (As we say in Buddhism, don't believe everything you think.)  My first thoughts weren't about my own prejudices with regards to other people but how such prejudices affect how I see myself--how much I berate myself for being overweight, for instance.  I have a very strong, very negative inner voice that rarely quits (especially this week with my knee hurting), even when I can examine the thoughts and try to let them go.  I am much nicer and more understanding, for instance, about everyone else's body issues; just not mine.  As for prejudices I might carry with me to hospice, ironically, I used to be anxious about talking to elderly people because I couldn't understand them (on, say, Girl Scout visits to nursing homes) and would avoid it; I would rather have spent time with children with special needs, say (like when I worked at various camps.)  Well, now I spend a lot of time with sometimes very hard to understand elderly people!  Of course, the most obvious prejudice is racial.  I carry that baggage, too, but consider myself, to use the parlance, newly "woke." Or, perhaps, awakening.  I try to stay aware of my privilege and the challenges of non-white or non-privileged people, based on race, ability, income, gender etc.  I hope it doesn't affect my hospice work.  For instance, I do become very aware of racial issues (and am a bit uncomfortable) when I'm singing Harry Belafonte songs with Carribean patois lyrics to my white patient who loves those songs, in front of her Jamaican personal health aide, who sometimes sings and dances along!  But I will enter any room where I'm welcomed and treat the person in the bed and the friends and family around with all respect and dignity.

Whew! I think that's probably enough for today.

Good News

After nearly five years of volunteering for a for-profit hospice organization, I am taking the next step in my path to becoming a hospice chaplain.

Last week, I met with the volunteer director of a local free-standing hospice provider and she invited me to meet with the chaplain about joining the pastoral care team.  I spoke with him on the phone and then met him today . . . and I'm in!  I'll be a volunteer with the pastoral care team, a big step on my way to being a hospice chaplain.  I'll have more information about everything I'll be doing later, but it will run the gambit from visiting, conversation, funerals, even the odd wedding.  Altogether, though, it's about sitting with patients and families to give them space and a listening ear to explore the journey they're on.  I worried that I wouldn't pass muster with a senior chaplain because of my "knowledge gap" in theology (while I have a passing familiarity with various Christian denominations and their differences, I haven't read the whole Bible.  I know most of the stories through art.)  But, even after five years of volunteering elsewhere, I've never had a theological discussion with anyone who was dying; most want to talk about their families, relive memories, even those surrounded by Bibles, Christian hymns, prayer cards, and rosaries.   Closet I've come is singing "Amazing Grace" and reciting the Lord's Prayer.  Still, I know I have a lot to learn and I'm looking forward to companions on my own journey.  And if I'm not cut out for hospice chaplaincy, it's good to know before I go get anoter degree! (Yep, to be a real chaplain--accredited and all--I need a Masters of Divinity.)  If it is the right place for me, well, I'm excited to find that out.

It'll be rigorous, though.  At my initial interview, I was asked if I'd experienced a momentous death.  I never thought losing my dear Aunt Sis would come up in an interview, but I was able to talk about her death--how it was highly medicalized, with hospice only at the end, but that seemed to be her preference.  Of course, then later, my uncle and cousin died.

Then, in a cold call (which I never should have answered, being sick and half asleep on the couch), the chaplain (a Christian) asked me how I had been called to spiritual care.  Of course, I don't think of it as a divine "calling," not being called by anything but my own spirit.  Which I explained, along with my own path to Unitarian Universalism and hospice (Do you know what you call an atheist with children?  Unitarian.  Plus, there are my leanings to Buddhism.  And my own experience with pain and isolation.)  But I should've known that chaplains have seen it all.    These are not the questions I've had on other interviews. But I answered and was honest and it went well.

Still, I was glad to have practiced with Mama the night before--running through questions on strengths (comfort with people from different faiths and backgrounds; I've been told I'm a good listener) and weaknesses (that theology gap! also sometimes a tendency to avoid conflict and confrontation, though I'm better if I'm advocating for a patient.)  Also, what I want from my new organization--a mentor, a community of hospice workers, experience in a facility dedicated to hospice, more skills in sitting with people.  I could talk about my relevant experience--hospice volunteering, lay ministry at church, community service, mindfulness practice, non-violent communication (NVC) training--and my own practices such as Zentangle, Yoga Dance, meditation, reading poetry and history, even crocheting prayer shawls.  And, of course, clarifying my own beliefs--I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, the interconnection of all beings, the importance of a variety of sacred teachers and wisdom sources, each person's responsible search for truth.  Yep, those are the UU principles.  Nothing about heaven, hell, or even God.  I'm focused on the world I know.  I do not know beyond that, though I tend to believe there is a spark of life but no divine plan, no cosmic engineer controlling fate and destinty.  Religions are created by humans to help them understand and cope with the Mystery; as humans are flawed, so are religions.  I don't think we come close to comprehending the world around us (just look at how wrong we've been about margarine!)--there are things we do not understand or can explain--I don't think the Mystery will ever be fully known--though, moments of grace show us glimpses.  So, for me compassion is the guide through our experiences; some call it Love.  And that is what I want to bring to people as they or their loved ones are dying; just as I hope I am surrounded by love, compassion, and family when I die.

And NONE of that came up today!  It was a quick discussion--he was comfortable with me and must have seen something he could work with--and I clean up nicely, in new clothes approrpriate for the place.  So there we go.  I have some HIPPA hoops to jump  through and then I'm on my way.  Soon. (I'll do the TB test and have my photo taken in two weeks; they're also checking references and doing a background check.)  I can't wait.

Last note:  I was meditating yesterday in preparation for today, and came up with the metta meditation I could use with hospice patients (the whole safe-happy-healthy-live in peace progression isn't quite right), or really with anyone:

May all beings know joy.May all beings know hope.May all beings know comfort.May all beings know peace.

Peace and the Interconnected Web

I forgot that I was the lead teacher in religious education (RE) this week until about 15 minutes before we had to leave, late, for church.

Spirit Play is not the kind of curriculum that you can pull off last minute.

Except I sorta did.

I brainstormed on peace in light of recent worldwide events, namely Paris, but also Kenya, Beirut, and so on.

This led to the story of Sadako Sasaki and the thousand peace cranes, which is a touching story about war, loss, children, action, hope, and, above all, peace.  And origami is a great project with all ages.

That led to the idea of the interconnected web of all beings, our seventh principle.  A yarn web.  This is a standard Unitarian Universalist (and also Girl Scout) bonding activity, as it's a metaphor for connection, interdependence, teamwork, and the like.  Plus, it's beautiful.

So, we started class with our usual chalice lighting, which happens to be Gandhi's prayer for peace:

Gandhi's Prayer for Peace
I offer you peace.
I offer you love.
I offer you friendship.
I see your beauty.
I hear your need.
I feel your feelings.
My wisdom flows from the highest source.
I salute that source in you.
Let us work together.
For unity and peace. 

Mahatma Gandhi

We shared our class Joys and Concerns.  We followed this with a brief metta meditation for the safety, health, happiness, and ease of all living beings.

I introduced our topics of peace and interconnection, lightly, with gentle references to world events because we have very young pre-K kids and more mature 7th graders, and a few in-between.

Then we did the yarn web.  We pulled it, loosened bits of it, stretched it, admired it, and finally dropped it.  Not stressing the metaphor too much.

I retold the story of Sadako and her one thousand cranes.  And they all opted to do origami as their class work, though I also had materials for Tibetan prayer flags.

We all sat around the table with a pile of origami paper and a few books.  Bud and the seventh-grader attempted the actual peace crane, which is a complicated fold.  The littlest girl did several flapping butterflies, really getting the hang of the pattern by the end.  Sis and another classmate folded pinwheels, while my co-teacher folded a tiny pinwheel, impressing us all.

 We talked of origami and other things, enjoying our joint activity.

By the end, both Bud and Sis had vowed to make 1000 of each of their designs, just like Sadako.

And tonight, they were still working on their projects.

Now, that's what I call a successful class--it stayed with them.  Whew!

So UU

I had a wonderful time at RE class (Unitarian Universalist Sunday school) this weekend, where we discussed the story of Joseph.  And it was so funny how UU the kids were, because

• they all knew Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat; 
• they were more interested in the fact that the story we read lists all of Joseph's brothers' names and then leaves the sister unnamed, which really got the kids riled up (it's Dinah, actually.)

Pondering Halloween

The rain held off so that it was a dark but not stormy night.  In fact, it was quite temperate for a New England Halloween and the kids didn't even need jackets or long sleeves as they wandered out into the night.  They trick or treated alone this year, in that they didn't join any neighbor groups but went door to door together as we stood at the curb.  They did all the neighborhood houses--including the three near us that have been dark and candyless for the decade we've lived in Connecticut but are now inhabited by young families and Halloween participants--after first driving to a special chosen few.  Interestingly, few people tonight, or last night at Mama's office Halloween party for kids, recognized Sis's Quidditch robes or Bud's Camp Half-Blood shirt as belonging to Harry Potter and Percy Jackson respectively.  The few who did know, however, were appropriately excited.  Sis and Bud in turn were excited to see a colleague of Mama's in a T.A.R.D.I.S. shirt and Sis proudly told him that she was going to be the Doctor next year, the Tenth Doctor.  He approved.

Of course, their favorite part, both last night and tonight, isn't so much the gathering of candy, which is merely a means to an end, namely the eating of candy.  First, they sort their haul by type, then they engage in the all-important swap whereby one gives all of his Hershey bars in exchange for all of her Skittles and the other gives up all of  her mini-Crunch bars for all of his Whoppers.  It is a family ritual.  So is giving all of the nutty candies--Snickers, Almond Joys, peanut M&Ms, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups--to Mama and me.  We let them eat til they'd had their fill tonight and will be generous with the eating of candy for the next few days, until Mama does a candy buy-back program this weekend, another ritual.

I asked the kids about family rituals and traditions, as I was cutting out rounds of Soul Cakes this evening.  The spiced cookies were pretty good, actually, thicker and more tender than shortbread with a lot more spice (plus we used balsamic vinegar instead of white wine vinegar, which we didn't have.)  Anyway, I realized that oftentimes I don't repeat activities like Soul Cakes.  This year it's Soul Cakes (we played the song all afternoon); a few years ago it was roasted pumpkin seeds.  Next year, who knows?  Sis said she liked that we did new things each year as long as we kept some of the same traditions, like the great candy swap and drawing their costume for the year on their trick or treat bags and hanging up "Ghostie" in our tree.  For Thanksgiving, she said, we had to have turkey and gravy but she didn't feel like we had to do the same gratitude activity every year.  Christmas, among many other things, means the sock Advent calendar.  I'm glad we're all on the same page about holidays, with something old and something new.

Today during my (awful) school tour (I wasn't awful; the kids were crazed, as I expected them to be--my own Sis was, in her own words, "hysterically happy" about Halloween and Bud was dancing everywhere), I realized (again) how even a relatively widely celebrated holiday like Halloween can be controversial.  We were talking about fall and its holidays when a girl raised her hand and said, "Halloween is the Devil's birthday.  Christmas is God's birthday."  Gulp.  Of course, both personally and intellectually, I believe this is completely unfounded (see our research on Samhain here) and untrue.  But school tours are no place for theological discussions, especially with eight-year-olds, so I merely said that I understood that some people believe that but that the people who lived in the house in the colonial times wouldn't have believed that and nor would they have celebrated either one.  (No wonder our kids can't wear Halloween costumes to school!)  And then, true to form, I asked Sis and Bud what they thought of that later.  Sis said outright that she didn't believe in the Devil.  So I asked her how she would talk to a friend who said such things (and there are a few who would, as they are not allowed to celebrate Halloween because it's not in the Bible.)  "I have a different religion," she decided.  I told her that sometimes it was hard to disagree with friends, but she raised her hand for a high-five and said, "I'm a strong girl."  We also talked about how you can agree to disagree, how different people can believe different things.  And that belief and truth are not always the same thing, not by a long shot, regardless of how firmly someone (including us) believes something to be true.

On a lighter note, another girl on the tour asked if I would wear my colonial costume that night to trick or treat.  No, I said, these were my work clothes.  And she looked at me incredulously and asked, "This is your job?"  She was so shocked, so earnest, even though I'd already answered the question of how I'd learned all this stuff (years and years in school and then more studying afterwards!)  I do feel lucky to dress up in costumes for my day "job."  And in truth, my colonial outfit does make a great costume, but I leave the trick or treating to the kids.

Tomorrow is All Saints' Day and then All Souls' Day for some, Samhain for others.  And we'll be eating Soul Cakes and candy, singing a song used for both All Souls' and Christmas, planning our rituals and traditions (to express our beliefs, to overburden this wrap-up!) as we get ready for the trio of big winter holidays.  I love this time of year.

Happy Halloween!

The Sinner and the Sin, Or National Coming Out Day

I don't often post about being a lesbian.  It's no secret, of course, and I'm not ashamed or uncomfortable.  It just doesn't come up as a subject in ways that make interesting posts, at least compared with life with twins or the craziness that was our summer.  I can only tell you for the umpteenth time that Mama was mistaken for my son--happened at the Ren Faire on Monday when a booth staffer tried to get my young fella to try his hand at a tomato-throwing game--or that I had to correct someone about the kids having two moms and not a dad--happened recently when a cashier remarked that the kids should tell their dad.

And I can only rage about the homophobia of the Boy Scouts so many times.  (Though, I could tell you about the young man who realized he was gay and came out, only to be denied his earned Eagle Scout award!  Or about the Greenwich, CT den mom who was kicked out when news got out of her den that she was a lesbian!  It's a discriminatory organization--if you support it, you support and encourage its discrimination against me. Period.  Don't tell me it's convenient or a tradition or your den isn't like that.  Because that doesn't change that the Boy Scouts have fought all the way to the Supreme Court to be able to discriminate against me.)

But I've recently been confronted with a new kind of challenge:  love the sinner, not the sin.

Yep, I have a Mormon friend.

I don't want to go into it too much, as we have a delicate friendship built on mutual interests and tolerance, but will say that  my friend absolutely believes and agrees with her church's stance against same-sex relationships and also practices the LDS stance of tolerating--but not condoning, accepting, or approving--LGBTQ people--you know, that whole love the sinner, not the sin teaching.  I guess I do something of the same--tolerate her faith while recognizing her own inherent worth and dignity (UU principle #1)--just like I love my friends even though their sons are Scouts.   I should say that, while I knew she was a Latter Day Saint, until recently I figured she might be like my Catholic friends who are fairly "cafeteria" in their selection of the Vatican's (happy 50th anniversary, Vatican II, by the way!) teachings, supporting women priests, married priests, same-sex marriage, birth control, and abortion while still taking communion and sending their kids to CCD.   Or like the liberal Mormon feminist Joanna Brooks, author of the Book of Mormon Girl, which I am reading for insight into the faith and its followers and those who have trouble following some of it (see her blog here.)

It all reminds me of the recent NYTimes Op-Ed, "We're Here, We're Queer, Y'all!, which made me mad, or sad, or a combo of the two.  Essentially, the author, Karen L. Cox, said that being LGBTQ in the rural South was okay . . . because  they don't beat you or burn your house down.

They only call adults by silly terms like "Uncle Poodle" to denote their "light in the loafer"-ness.

And refuse to openly or publicly acknowledge your relationships by calling your long-time partner just your "friend."

And disagree vehemently with the concept of same-sex marriage.

And think your homosexuality is an abomination.

I'm pretty sure I could not live somewhere (read Texas) that the majority of people felt like that about me.  It's challenging enough to have one person in my life that I know feels like that (my in-laws are a complicated, different story), though I can't articulate why or why I do it.  And I think I feel guilty, hypocritical, surprised, upset, incredulous.  It's very personal.  Which, as we all know, is very political.

Maybe, beyond the ordinary pleasures of friendship, I had hoped that I could facilitate some kind of teachable moment.

Is that how LGBTQ people in the South feel, how they get through it?  There just aren't many easy answers.

Sometimes, coming out is the easy part.

LovetheKindness

May I be comforted.


May I be at ease.

I've been working on my metta, or lovingkindness, meditation resolves, the phrases I repeat for myself and others, trying to find three or four that really fit for me.  This meditation, more than counting my breath or the body scan or the similar tonglen, speaks to me now, as do the words of the metta sutta, or Buddha's instructions on lovingkindness (particularly the part about loving everyone as a mother loves her only child).  I first read about it in Toni Bernhard's How to Be Sick and have since then read several books by Sylvie Boorstein which include her own metta practice.  Just yesterday, I received Sharon Salzberg's Lovingkindness, which delves deeply into the practice, and Real Happiness, which includes a CD with a guided meditation.  And today, I've just read a wonderful explanatory post by Bernhard over at her blog, "Turning Straw into Gold," on Psychology Today--this is a great place to start if you'd like to learn more and give it a try.  (I'd love to study meditation more formally, with a sangha or on a retreat, such as the Insight Meditation Society in MA co-founded by Salzberg, but current circumstance dictate I do it mostly on my own right now.  Thankfully, there are so many wonderful resources, such as the above, to study.)

I find myself repeating my resolves, and others that I'm trying out, not only during formal meditation periods but almost as prayers, when I hear an ambulance go by ("May they be at ease") or hear about an illness or death ("May they be comforted") or even when I panic or feel discomfort ("May I be at ease.")  I've even led the children through the phrases as we wish health and ease and comfort through expanding concentric circles from ourselves through our friends and family to teachers and doctors and on through people (and penguins and bunnies) we don't know, ending with wishing things for the whole world.  They like it so much that they request it.  I know that's not the formal practice, but I've been trying to integrate my meditation practices and my study of Buddhism into our family life.  We've read Moody Cow Meditates and have our swirling glitter jar to help us quiet our minds when anger arises.  But I wanted something . . . more connected, more kind, more loving.

I think I've found it.

My Epiphany

It's fitting that I post this today, being the Feast of the Epiphany and all, but I've had some personal spiritual insights recently that I want to share.  I don't have answers, but I'm asking new questions.

I believe in something.

I'm open to the possibility that there is more going on than I understand, than anyone understands.  I'm not talking about God specifically.  Just . . . something.

Sounds simple, sounds easy, sounds obvious.  But it isn't.  And it's been a long time coming.  Sort of.

So this is going to be something of a spiritual biography, starting at the beginning. Because in reflecting on where I've been, I realize that I've been searching for and seeking this "something" for a long time, even if I would have said that I hadn't been (incorrectly remembering just monolithic doubt) . . . because I would have said there was nothing to find.

I've been told that when my grandmother Bammie died, one of the first things I said was that when I died I wanted to come back as a dog. I was four.  They had no idea where I picked up that notion.  We weren't a religious family.  At all.  No church.  No religious affiliations (both of my parents had been raised Methodists but that's as far as it went).  No spiritual beliefs.  Which I'm guessing is why I didn't plan to go to heaven when I died.  We celebrated Christmas and Easter but secularly.  Except my dad insisted on the reading of the biblical Christmas story each year before we could open presents.

In childhood, I was much more interested in the Greek gods than the Christian one.  I read all the mythology books I could get my hands on.  Once I even built a temple to Poseidon on the beach.  My Aunt J, the only churchgoer in my extended family that I knew of, asked if I really believed in mythology.  Being precocious, I told her I found it as likely as anything else and that the Greeks didn't think their stories were untrue myths. In fact, the Greek gods made sense to me--each one in charge of a few facets of life, with their own very human personalities and stories.  Just larger than life.  I especially identified with Athena, goddess of wisdom.

I was also fascinated with the paranormal, always getting books on ghosts, ESP, or unexplained mysteries from the book club or watching similar shows on Atlantis, Easter Island, and Stonehenge on tv.  I also watched that HBO special on Nostradamus (which terrified me).  I had the whole Time-Life book series Mysteries of the Unknown.  And I remember believing it all.

And I went to church some in elementary school.  If I spent the night with a friend, I'd go to church with the family on Sunday, didn't matter where.  Methodist.  Presbyterian.  Catholic.  Southern Baptist. When I spent the weekend with my great-grandmother, we went to her church, a small, small-town congregation of, well, I can't recall if it was Lutheran or Presbyterian or Methodist.  I do remember one service though, a fiery, hellfire and damnation, "come to Jesus" sermon at which I was almost moved to go up to the altar, save for one thought:  my parents would burn in hell and we would be separate.  At ten-ish years of age, that was scarier than brimstone and so I stayed put.  I actually attended a Southern Baptist church for about a year, again around 5th grade, enjoying the instant camaraderie of classmates who went there and liking the school-like atmosphere (I loved school!)--I went to Saturday retreats, a daughter-father dinner, Vacation Bible School, and even sang in the choir's production of Come, Messiah, Come (ask me, I can still remember the songs!).  I loved the weekly bulletins and had a white zippered Bible I thought was pretty.  It wasn't about God for me, really, but about community.  At some point I quit going.  I don't remember why, especially as I think I came very close to being baptized.  I was instantly ignored by all my "friends."  That was the end of church for me for a long time.

Then in high school, I joined the Atheists of America and was fascinated with Madeleine Murray O'Hare and the court case against school prayer.  Especially because by this time I refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance because of the "Under God" part.  I became fervent in my atheism.

In college, I went to chapel once, for the Christmas Eve service, because I thought you had to attend it to go to the all-school holiday reception afterwards.  By sophomore year, I knew you could skip it.  And so I did. I took a history of religion in America course to meet a requirement and enjoyed learning about the waves of religiosity in American history.  I even enjoyed visiting services as part of my coursework--a Catholic mass in Spanish, a reformed Jewish shabbat, and a three-hour evangelical (but unaffiliated) service of a predominantly African-American congregation.  Also, some LDS missionaries and a Wiccan visited class.  I was the only atheist and didn't talk much in class.  But I still got an A. I was more interested in religion as history or art or theological differences or culture.  Not as spirituality or belief. Otherwise, the only churches I went to were in Rome during my summer abroad (in 1992, where I met Lambeth, who was in the same program, along with his wife--20 years ago!)--I loved visiting churches there to enjoy the art work and architecture.  I would sometimes even pretend to pray so I could visit the special side chapels reserved for that purpose.  I noticed that Italians had a very pragmatic approach to mass--many would show up just in time for communion, standing in back by the door, and leave right after, so it "counted."  I was even blessed by Pope John Paul II three times (once in an audience and twice in St. Peter's Square) and have some rose rosary beads from the Vatican gift shop.  I was strangely drawn to the Vatican, to all things Catholic that summer, but not in a spiritual way,  I was especially fascinated by all the nuns in their various robes.  My mom laughed that I would probably become a nun because I liked costumes and I liked joining groups! (Coincidentally, one of my cousins, also non-religious in his upbringing, did become a Catholic monk in France.  And that side of the family wasn't even Catholic!)

The decade or so that followed college is spiritually empty, with no church, no exploration, only the continued belief that there was nothing else out there, nothing paranormal or metaphysical or spiritual.  And that when you died, you were dead.  This last bit occasionally saddened me--I would have liked to have believed in something more and was sometimes disappointed that I didn't believe.  I couldn't fake faith, though, and so had none.

Mama had a more traditionally religious upbringing, in the Catholic church and 12 years of Catholic school, encouraged by her Buddhist parents who saw Catholicism as just another variation of a spiritual path.  Mama liked talking about religion with her friends, who were often Orthodox Jewish women.  After coming out, however, she left the Church but without giving up what she characterizes now as her Chinese ancestor-worship/Buddhist polytheism.  But being casual in her beliefs, she didn't mind my lacking any.

As a member of a tight-knit lesbian community in Chicago in the later 1990s, I met people of a variety of faiths--some Unity, some Metropolitan Community Church, and several Wiccans.  I was a member of a chorus and we sang several Earth Mother songs and I began to read about paganism--Starhawk, Diane Stein, Z Budapest, and others.  Mama and I experimented (oooh, that sounds like Christine O'Donnell) with observing the sabbaths in our own way and tried some rituals but never really felt comfortable with spells or potions.  It was my first adult attempt at engaging in spiritual practices and I liked the connection to the earth, nature, the seasons, and history.  I think you could mark this as the beginning of my spiritual journey as an adult.  But, imbued with feminism and a tinge of lesbian separatism (still popular with my friends in Chicago who were activists in the 1970s), it was still decidedly anti-church and anti-God.

Five years later found us in Connecticut at a Unitarian Universalist church, the suggestion of a lifelong UU friend, though I honestly don't remember how she came to suggest it and us to listen in the first place.  This was pre-children (though I don't remember if it was pre-thinking about children.  I mean there is that joke, "Show me a UU and I'll show you an atheist with children."). I vaguely recalled that my mom had once said I might like Unitarians, because they read the Giving Tree and didn't talk about God.  And she was right, I loved UU.   I've posted here several times about how meaningful the principles are to me, how important the community. And as my church has faltered, I've been bereft.   But for me, spirituality wasn't really a part of church, which was securely secular humanist in nature.

Eventually, through UU, I came to learn about meditation and finally happened upon Buddhism (this might be a family tradition--I understand my paternal grandfather became very interested in Buddhism), which has provided me great insight into life.  Of course, Buddhism can be studied philosophically--there are books about atheism and Buddha and Buddhism without Beliefs.  And that's how it started for me . . . .

Until recently. Until after this 18-month journey of injury, pain, and disability.   I had been meditating and praying, more as a personal practice.  I was adapting and redefining spiritual language to fit my liberal religious UU faith.  I was becoming more comfortable with so-called "God talk." And then this whole PT thing started, with healing energies and actual profound changes.  Nothing the allopathic doctors have done has helped; there is something about my mystical, magical PT and her various techniques--osteopathic manipulations, cranio-sacral, IMT (Integrative Manual Technique of Sharon Weiselfish), chakra healing, acupressure--that I can actually feel--her slightest pressure literally sends shockwaves coursing through my legs.  Qi. Chakras.  Diaphragms. It's not rational, explainable, quantifiable, scientific, but it does happen  And it does help, the only thing that has.  She says I don't have to believe for it to work.  If I am healed  through energy, do these energies exist?  Or, put more dramatically, "If my back gets better, is there a God?"   Everything came together, a lifetime of vague wanderings coalesced.  And people who have had spiritual experiences witnessed to me and I listened with an open heart and non-judgment instead of my usual cynicism and rational explanations.  And I realized I liked thinking about believing in something, even something as vague as energy or connection.  It has promise and possibility. I've obviously been looking for something for a long time.

Sure, I worry that I am gullible and vulnerable, grasping at straws to get better.  Sure, I imagine this could all be explained more rationally.  Sure, it might be in my mind, a placebo effect.  Sure, the spontaneous healing could be the result of 18 months of other treatments coming together.    I'm not joining a cult or shaving my head.  I'm just entertaining some adjustments to my worldview, refining what I believe in, a mind-body-spirit paradigm shift, if you will.  These ideas are not harmful or dangerous to me or anyone else.  Whether or not they are true probably doesn't matter much (isn't that what Karen Armstrong says in The Case for God?  I haven't read that one yet).  I think they call that faith.

Does this mean I believe in God?  No.  Still no. Not in the traditional sense. I don't believe there is a omnipotent creator with power over us all.  I do however sense more of a connection between us, perhaps what Buddhists call the universal consciousness, or some people call source energy.  In telling a few people (mainly my spiritual friends) in the last couple of days (it actually only came together for me late Tuesday night!), I compared this experience to being a new kitten or a rosebud--fragile, new, a beginning, beautiful.  I can't really find the words to express what I'm not sure I'm talking about.  I'm still not sure what it all means.  What I believe.  What effect it will have.  What I'm going to tell the kids.  Even what I'm telling you . . . and mind you, "coming out" with even this bare minimum of belief is more challenging for me than being a lesbian because it speaks more to my core identity of being secular than being straight ever did.  Especially because I doubted and yes, laughed at and denigrated the other side frequently enough.  I'm ashamed of that now.  Maybe a little fearful of being in that position myself.  But not enough not to say something.

And so I keep walking this very meandering path that I have been walking all my life, just taking another turn and seeing some new scenery.  It's a lovely journey.  And it feels great.

God, the "God Particle," and Me

I've just completed a UU course in prayer, participating in inner and outer prayer practices such as meditation, using a finger labyrinth, a universal rosary, and guided imagery, as well as discussing readings and our own experiences.

And so, with this in mind, I've been talking with many of my spiritual friends, asking, particularly, "How do you think prayer works?"

One believed in a universal consciousness, with energies directed through prayer that could directly reach their intended recipient.  Another believed in an intercessory God but also said that the prayers were as much for her own mental and emotional focus than for direct effect.

As I've mentioned several times before, I don't believe in an intercessory, omnipotent, omnipresent deity.  And so I can't conceive of prayer as being directed to God like a phone call is routed through a telecommunications satellite, but I'm learning that you don't necessarily need a deity to pray.  My friend, the one who believes in the universal mind, believes my skepticism is a childhood trauma, something that I need to heal from, an energy blockage that needs to be worked out.  And so I ask her--in all seriousness--how that energy works, how prayer energy and spiritual blockages work, what part of the body makes that energy?  It doesn't work that way, she said patiently, mentioning qi and other metaphysical ideas about spiritual energy.  But I asked for evidence, proof, scientific explanation and she said it can't be tested that way.

Just because it can't be tested by traditional scientific means doesn't mean it doesn't exist, she says.

That would be faith.

I take certain things on faith, things I don't understand but can accept, knowing that other people have the answers.  Like a car engine.  Or particle physics.

Except I'm beginning to understand that, as scientists dig deeper at the far reaches of our knowledge, the questions and answers are as murky as theology and the nature of prayer.  I recently read, though I recall not where, that biologists looking at cells in the human body now believe that mitochondria function like viruses, which surprised them.

And then there is the so-called "God particle," or the Higgs boson, that may or may not exist but is central to the Standard Model of understanding the Big Bang and how particles of energy gain mass.  (Okay, remember, I'm not a scientist, so I only think I have that correctly).  I've been reading several articles about the announcement this week that physicists have tantalizing evidence but no real proof of the Higgs.  In one article, which I cannot locate now, a scientist quoted the "unknown principle" in physics--sometimes things happen for reasons we don't understand, in ways and at times we don't understand.

That sounds a lot like prayer.

Oddly, I'm also a skeptic about science sometimes, feeling that science often labels events and systems without actually understanding it.  They can call it the Higgs boson without knowing if it is real, how big it is, and where to look for it.  Naming something, though, gives you a sense of power over it. (I've long wondered that we can put a man on the moon but can't tell if a woman is pregnant for weeks and weeks after conception.)  Still, as Mama points out, science focuses on quantifiable, predictable, reproducible theories.

Prayer is none of those.

My religious friends acknowledge that there is no 1:1 correlation between prayer and outcome.  There is always an effect, though, either on themselves or on those for whom they pray, the latter usually being as amorphous as "what is best."  In other words, if I pray for a sick friend and the friend dies, some people would say that was the best outcome, even if I don't like it, or that it's part of a larger picture.  But if you draw the effects of prayer so broadly and randomly, it seems to water down the power, no?  Clearly, prayer doesn't follow scientific principles, even if science has started to study it.  There is an oft-referred to study that shows people who are prayed for heal faster, with lower mortality rates, even when they are unaware of the prayers.  (Though, a recent article in Woman's Day, given to me by Mommy Goose, says a Harvard study recently refuted that.)  There again, I'm focusing too much on proof and evidence and control and rationality.

If I can allow myself to accept the murkiness of biology and physics and to be comfortable with my not knowing the intricacies of said disciplines, why not prayer?  Is it possible that spiritual energies exist but that we can't understand how they work?  Is prayer the Higgs of the spiritual universe, giving mass to our deepest joys and concerns?  Why do I need the proof?  Or do I have proof?  Lots of people from a variety of religious backgrounds--New Age, Judaism, Baptist, Catholic, LDS, Buddhist, UU--have prayed for me.  True, I haven't had a remarkable, miraculous healing, but I am better and it could be worse.  Has prayer worked on me?  I know it helped me emotionally to know that people were keeping me in their thoughts and so there is a demonstrable effect.  And when I pray for others, or even myself, I know that at the very least I remember to do things for them, check in, make a meal, or treat them or myself kindly and compassionately, and so there is an effect, even if it isn't miraculous or divine.

I guess I'm like those physicists looking for the Higgs--I've got tantalizing information about prayer but I need more time to think on and study it.