Another religious retreat has passed, and along with my usual “never again” complaints - as I learned the not-so-fine art of complaining from my dad so well - came another usual - the unusual. It was not only me who noticed, either – as usual. Call it what you will, but what caused this is called “spirit” in the religious world and it is a fickle thing, or at the very least, a creative thing. And that, this time, was the point.
First, to the testimonials, or rather, to a particular testimonial. Often these are stories of sin and redemption, of hitting the bottom one way or another before finding the light, and after a while, we might grow tired of these, for the plot and resolution are already known. This time, this testimonial, was different, however, which was made clear from the start. ”I was not the prodigal child. I never drank, smoked, or had affairs. I always went to church and said my prayers. I did not rebel against my parents or society and have always lived as I had been taught to live as a child.” There was no “but” here – no sudden, “and then I met Fernando” or “it started with taking pills for my back pain.” Instead, the speaker went to those special moments in life that each of us can have regardless of our choices.
“We (her young husband and she) were staying in a hotel in Madison when I woke up with an intense pain in my chest. I went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet and thought ‘so this is how I am going to die.’ Then, my attention lifted from my body and I hovered over it. There was no fear; instead, I looked down at that body and thought, ‘how alone she is. How difficult it is to live in that hard world.’ I was filled with the peace of being apart from that world when I suddenly found myself back in my body. It was then that I knew that we are more than our body – that spirit is real.”
She gave two other accounts of special spiritual moments; one was a feeling for the suffering of Jesus, and the other, a revelation in the garden: “I was in my garden happy with the day and with pruning and weeding, when I suddenly had the feeling of what Earth would be like if we all followed the law of God. It was paradise. I realized then that all of our pain and suffering comes from our own actions.”
Such was her testimonial, and it was the most powerful of the event. There were no tears, no “come to Jesus” moments of redemption, but rather a clear-headed account of how things are and could be. Different.
As was the feeling I had most of the time, which I and others expressed throughout the long, long 4 days. Towards the end, I summarized my own take on it this way: “I am a philosopher of sorts and I like to figure things out. I can barely change a spark plug, but I do a bit better with the abstract, and I had thought I had kind of figured out how “spirit” acts in a group like this. But no. This time, it has affected me in a way that I have not experience before, and cannot really explain. It is unique and not altogether comfortable. I am learning again that spirit cannot be figured out – that God (as spirit) already knows my thoughts and so I cannot out-think that which is beyond and behind my thoughts. It is impossible. I just have to accept the mystery.”
Others there who had gone through the same retreat experience before also spoke of something different. For me, it was not the flowering of power and goodness as it had been, but rather like a darker wind, one that came from a place that is unknown, and in that unknown, it was fearful. And in that fear came the echoes of gnashing of teeth, of disaster, of things gone horribly wrong – of things demonic. The spirit was coiled through it all, as if to say, “It’s not so easy, is it? Takes some work, doesn’t it?, and courage too. Courage to face the demons of your fears.” Although in actuality the spirit would never say such things. This spirit, this iteration, would never attempt to say anything, for words are hard and finite. This spirit, instead, let it be known that it is unknown and cannot be known. It is the source, beyond which we cannot reach. It is fear of it that brings us to learn of it if we wish to someday, maybe, lose our fears. Only in that way can joy be held and truly lived.
Or so it seemed to say. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, for the spirit is infinite creativity and cannot be placed in a box to be taken out now and then at our convenience. It comes when it will, and blows where it will. We cannot out-think it and cannot ever predict it. As my wife has said, “whatever we think heaven is, or after-death will be, we will all be surprised.” Still, we wish to know more, and for this we must face our fears, our demons, so that we might turn towards the unpredictable wind of spirit. Sometimes this requires that we fall so low that we have nowhere else to go. Sometimes this requires heroic courage. And for others, it requires only that they be open through faith in the (or a) right path. As our speaker said, she was never the rebel, always the good girl, and still it came. No lightning bolt on the road to Damascus, but rather that rare breeze of mystery that leads us on forever into what only the spirit knows. FK
First, to the testimonials, or rather, to a particular testimonial. Often these are stories of sin and redemption, of hitting the bottom one way or another before finding the light, and after a while, we might grow tired of these, for the plot and resolution are already known. This time, this testimonial, was different, however, which was made clear from the start. ”I was not the prodigal child. I never drank, smoked, or had affairs. I always went to church and said my prayers. I did not rebel against my parents or society and have always lived as I had been taught to live as a child.” There was no “but” here – no sudden, “and then I met Fernando” or “it started with taking pills for my back pain.” Instead, the speaker went to those special moments in life that each of us can have regardless of our choices.
“We (her young husband and she) were staying in a hotel in Madison when I woke up with an intense pain in my chest. I went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet and thought ‘so this is how I am going to die.’ Then, my attention lifted from my body and I hovered over it. There was no fear; instead, I looked down at that body and thought, ‘how alone she is. How difficult it is to live in that hard world.’ I was filled with the peace of being apart from that world when I suddenly found myself back in my body. It was then that I knew that we are more than our body – that spirit is real.”
She gave two other accounts of special spiritual moments; one was a feeling for the suffering of Jesus, and the other, a revelation in the garden: “I was in my garden happy with the day and with pruning and weeding, when I suddenly had the feeling of what Earth would be like if we all followed the law of God. It was paradise. I realized then that all of our pain and suffering comes from our own actions.”
Such was her testimonial, and it was the most powerful of the event. There were no tears, no “come to Jesus” moments of redemption, but rather a clear-headed account of how things are and could be. Different.
As was the feeling I had most of the time, which I and others expressed throughout the long, long 4 days. Towards the end, I summarized my own take on it this way: “I am a philosopher of sorts and I like to figure things out. I can barely change a spark plug, but I do a bit better with the abstract, and I had thought I had kind of figured out how “spirit” acts in a group like this. But no. This time, it has affected me in a way that I have not experience before, and cannot really explain. It is unique and not altogether comfortable. I am learning again that spirit cannot be figured out – that God (as spirit) already knows my thoughts and so I cannot out-think that which is beyond and behind my thoughts. It is impossible. I just have to accept the mystery.”
Others there who had gone through the same retreat experience before also spoke of something different. For me, it was not the flowering of power and goodness as it had been, but rather like a darker wind, one that came from a place that is unknown, and in that unknown, it was fearful. And in that fear came the echoes of gnashing of teeth, of disaster, of things gone horribly wrong – of things demonic. The spirit was coiled through it all, as if to say, “It’s not so easy, is it? Takes some work, doesn’t it?, and courage too. Courage to face the demons of your fears.” Although in actuality the spirit would never say such things. This spirit, this iteration, would never attempt to say anything, for words are hard and finite. This spirit, instead, let it be known that it is unknown and cannot be known. It is the source, beyond which we cannot reach. It is fear of it that brings us to learn of it if we wish to someday, maybe, lose our fears. Only in that way can joy be held and truly lived.
Or so it seemed to say. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, for the spirit is infinite creativity and cannot be placed in a box to be taken out now and then at our convenience. It comes when it will, and blows where it will. We cannot out-think it and cannot ever predict it. As my wife has said, “whatever we think heaven is, or after-death will be, we will all be surprised.” Still, we wish to know more, and for this we must face our fears, our demons, so that we might turn towards the unpredictable wind of spirit. Sometimes this requires that we fall so low that we have nowhere else to go. Sometimes this requires heroic courage. And for others, it requires only that they be open through faith in the (or a) right path. As our speaker said, she was never the rebel, always the good girl, and still it came. No lightning bolt on the road to Damascus, but rather that rare breeze of mystery that leads us on forever into what only the spirit knows. FK
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