Religious Commonalities

In talking about the place and impact of religion in our lives today, people most often focus on the differences among our many traditions.  It is this focus on our differences that regrettably leads to much of our cultural and religious difficulties.  But what is interesting is that when you set aside the specific religious texts used, the rituals observed, the religious laws and judgments proscribed, and the earthly politics of religious power, what remains is the core spiritual essence of each religion.  At that core level, there is far more commonality than one might choose to acknowledge.

I recently completed a review of over 50 historical “Creation Stories” from cultures and religions across the globe.  These stories were developed thousands of years ago by peoples living in isolated communities, unaware of the others inhabiting this planet.  Yet in spite of their extreme isolation from each other, each culture developed its own story of creation, expressed in the geography, language, and life symbols of its natural environment.  The name of the Creator changes; the role and form of the Creator’s helpers change; the position of nature and all its beings varies; but all of these elements are there.  And the plot lines follow remarkably similar construction.

Regardless of one’s ancestral lineage, there is a creation story to be told.  They are embedded in our collective and individual psyche, coming out in the way a core thought in our brain will manifest itself in a thousand different dream scenarios.  Different chapters of the same recurring story.

This commonality of the creation stories moves us to think about other shared commonalities in spiritual expression.  Our hands, palms touching and fingers pointing upwards, placed at chest level, are a near-universal sign of spiritual respect, union, and prayer.  Prayer, engaging in conversational dialog with a Creator, or simply with just “something” vastly different than ourselves, requesting intervention or just guidance in our daily lives, is foundational to spiritual practice.  Going off alone to contemplate in quiet is a practice that has long attracted mystic and layperson alike, even if the styles may take many different forms.  Advanced knowledge of science and architecture in primitive ancient minds allowed them to capture the first light of a solstice or other recurring cosmic event in the intricate design of their temples.

It is this timelessness, this commonality, that speaks to us when we stand in the ruins of a Machu Picchu or Stonehenge, or another ancient religious site.  That same voice calls to us in rituals handed down over thousands of years.  It is the voice of a common human desire to know God from whom our life, and all life, is derived.  We speak to that God in different words, languages and gestures.  But innately we share a common map of different paths to the One same destination.  The commonality at the core heart of our many religions is the commonality that transcends all of humankind and binds us together.

Lessons Of The Holidays

There are spiritual holidays and observances across our different religions that occur throughout the year.  But there is something about the winter holidays that seems to carry a special emphasis in our hearts.  The dramatic change in the sunlight; the chill in the air; for many, the snow on the ground; the warming glow in the fireplace; all seem to call for attention and reach into our most primordial being.  These primordial calls give us the opportunity to reflect over some of the lessons that various traditions offer up to us.

This is a time when the animal spirits are at rest with their kindred animal beings.  The souls of the animals and plants, and Nature herself, are quiet and at peace with the outer world.  And in their rest, they give peace to human souls.  They offer us a time of rest from our past heavy labors, and preparatory rest to strengthen us for our future labors.  There is a calm in the woods and the waters, a calm that begs us to reciprocate.

This is the time of the winter solstice.  It is the longest nighttime and the shortest daytime – an event of many possible interpretations.  The longest night can be our longest sleep; our time to be indoors with family and close friends; a time to be alone in lengthy private meditation and contemplation; a time with the least emphasis on our work.  It is a time when the tasks of the mind give way to the tasks of the soul.  It is also the time for a turning point in our lives.  It is the end of the regression of the light and warmth of the sun, and the beginning point of the sun’s return.  A renewed birth of the sun is also a time for a renewed birth of our lives.  As with all things in our lives, one moment is simultaneously an end and a beginning.  A finishing and turning loose of the old; a starting and embracing of the new.  The true New Year’s celebration.

This is the time of Hanukkah, when one celebrates the unceasing presence of the miracle of God in our lives.  The light of one candle burning continuously reminds us that God is with us in every moment.  It is we who forget to be similarly with God in all that we do, and must be reminded.  The other eight candles of the Hanukkah menorah, commemorating the one day’s supply of oil that miraculously burned instead for eight days, affirms for us that God’s illumination will be with us throughout whatever darkness may shadow our lives.

This is the time of Christmas, when we are reminded that great spirituality flows from the most humble of places.  A humility of the heart, not necessarily of place.  Riches of gold, frankincense, and myrrh may be the measure of wealth by humans.  But it is the wealth of the soul, enriched by God’s presence and surrounded by family and friends of whatever social status, that is our true measure.  Regardless of one’s circumstances, a home can be made for us out of the most basic of materials in the simplest of places.  Our spiritual birth requires only two spiritual “parents” as was taught to us: to love God with all our hearts in every moment; to love one another as equally as ourselves.

Let no person be disconnected from one another as we live each moment within God and with all of God’s creations.  Happy Holidays.

The Vastness Of God

Want to know how vast God is?  Stand outside on a cloudless night in August with no moon or city lights, and try to count the myriad stars splashed across the sky in all directions.  Stand on a mountain top and try to imagine how many more mountains rise up behind the few tops you can see.  Stand on a coastal beach and try to conceive of how many ocean waves there are between you and land on the other side.  That is the vastness of God.

Then look into the mirror.  There you will see God’s attention to detail, your unique component part of all that vastness.  It is one of the many mysteries about God – the unfathomable vastness of creation, yet the focus on each single unique detail that is You.  And all Others.  And all other Forms on this planet.

Therein lies the Lesson.  As we strive to think larger, on a much broader plane, far more inclusively – thinking as God thinks – and less on our individual self-centered wants, we need to remember God’s example.  It is in the details played out within the biggest picture, the paying attention to and taking care of each part, that combines together to create the totality of this Universe.  A painting requires myriad dots of color swept by perhaps thousands of brush strokes for the substance of the ultimate picture to come into full view.  So it also takes each individual coming together to create a human race.

God made the billions of us.  God made each of us.  With full attention to the details.  We need to respect, and seek to emulate, such careful attention to detail while never losing sight of the purpose of the resulting sum.  All of humanity matters.  But so do our details matter.

What Is Sacred

A Zen teacher recently stated that, “The whole world is sacred.  So everything that is in it is sacred.  How do we designate things as sacred?  Sacred is simply the act of declaring it so in our hearts.  Ideally to all things.”

Many of us might have difficulty accepting that all things are in fact sacred.  We are used to being far more discerning and selective about what we consider to be sacred.  Sacred is to give an object an added meaning and value well beyond its intrinsic function.  It can be applied to secular as well as religious objects.  Designating an object as sacred can cause us to focus and draw out our thoughts, energies and feelings in a responsive manner not otherwise possible.

So the religious person sees the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail as objects which embody the whole of that particular religious Founder himself.  A house of worship is defamed when attacked by warriors or vandals because one believes that is where God and humans come together.  The burning of a book of religious teachings instigates rioting by true believers in the words of the sacred Koran.

Secularly we designate as sacred those lands and buildings where great tragedies or suffering occurred, seeking through such a designation a way to somehow make sense, if not mentally reverse, what happened there.  So “Ground Zero” in New York City and the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City are memorialized as sacred places to try to compensate for the incomprehensible acts that happened there.  Similarly, the battlefields of Gettysburg, Normandy and countless other such sites, and the killing ovens at Auschwitz and numerous other places of slaughter, are given high sacredness in direct counterbalance to the lowliness of humans’ descent into inexplicable inhumanity.

Nationally, our patriotism gives an almost mystical cloak around one of the few remaining copies of our Declaration of Independence, or a tattered 200-year-old American flag flown at Fort McHenry.  Patriotic pilgrimages are made to the places of great events – Valley Forge, Appomattox, the USS Arizona – just as religious pilgrimages are made to the holiest of spiritual places the world over.  In each and every profession or art form, those objects that constitute the ultimate iconic achievements of those endeavors are treated as if godly themselves.

Meanwhile, on our Native-American reservations and in Buddhist meditation halls, sacredness is not subdivided into a selection of particular objects peculiar to the individual person.  All things are from the Great Spirit Creator, fulfilled through Nature’s Life Force, made universal in application by all forms of earthly life.  All life appreciates all other forms of life, and respects the inherent value and purpose in each.  Thereby, all that we see, touch and know is made sacred.  Even when we are called upon to interfere in an object’s natural course of being – as when we must terminate a life or mar the face of God’s earth – one does so with care and empathy.  Because the sacredness in us honors the sacredness in all other things.

So what is sacred to you?  And if it is not “everything,” what are you leaving out?

A Simple Blade Of Grass

Consider a simple blade of grass.  Consider how much humanity there is in that simple blade of grass.  And how much it can resemble, if not exceed, those of us with “higher intelligence.”

A simple blade of grass can be stubbornly determined enough to break through almost any obstacle in its way, including rock and concrete, seemingly defying physical impossibility.  It thrives when given a rich and nourishing environment and room to grow, but it will nevertheless develop to its best possible capacity regardless of the limiting conditions of its environment.  It requires little in order to survive, but will become unruly and die if over-fed or over-tended.  It grows best when it is periodically trimmed and sent back near to its roots; shorn of its excesses, it can begin a new cycle of growth having been reminded of and re-grounded in its original purpose.  There are endless varieties of grasses, but they can coexist together even if it means one opts to take a diminished role in order to accommodate the needs of a more dominant or needy one.  It knows that there is strength in numbers, requiring many other individual blades of grass in order to collectively create a lawn, a forest bed, or a great plain of waving grasses.

That blade of grass is virtually indestructible, so that even when it appears to have died it is merely lying dormant, ready to near-magically come back again if given proper attention.  It is clear in its original purpose for being, and so willingly gives of itself back to the ground or to other larger life forms so as to provide nourishment to others.  It does so knowing that it thereby contributes to the development and betterment of the whole of Life, causing a ripple of extended consequences beyond what it can see or know within a continuing cycle of sharing.  It can be shaped and regulated for a time by the whims and conventions of Man, fueling the illusion that man can “control” his/her environment.  But in reality it does just fine (if not better) following the higher conventions of Nature and drawing from the sustenance provided by God.  In the winter, it is wise enough to take time to pause and renew itself so that it is ready to take advantage of the next season for personal growth when that time presents itself.

Lacking the higher intelligence of human beings, that simple blade of grass has never declared war on anything.  It has never killed another life form simply to enjoy the act of killing or to prove anything to its peer grasses.  It has never needed to vote on a set of rules in order to control its capacity for evil conduct.  It never takes more than it needs nor steals what does not belong to it; it is content with what it has.  It cannot comprehend the idea that it “owns” the soil in which it resides, versus sharing it with others during its time.

We should think of that simple blade of grass often, for the many lessons it can teach us.  In its soul may be more humanity and intelligence than to be found in the entire human race.  It encourages us to pause and ask, what is the possibility that we could all grow up to be as wise as a simple blade of grass?

The Importance of Life

Your life is very, very important.
      So do not take it so seriously.

Your time is very short and limited.
      So relax.

Loosening The Bonds Of Church

Lately, I have listened to a number of people talk about the difficulties they are experiencing with their religious affiliation or specific church (or other religious group) connection.  Certainly it does seem that today most all organized religions seem to be in internal turmoil, and this institutional turmoil is leaving many people in personal turmoil over their personal faith.  This turmoil is often reflected in the continually diminishing number of occupants in the pews, the oft-stated worries about “the graying of the congregation” as young people turn away from church attendance, reduced financial support, and confusion about church mission and role.  Conversely we have the phenomena of the Evangelical mega-churches with their tens- and twenty-thousand members.  These numbers perhaps suggest a desire for “strength in numbers” as a defense again religious turmoil, rather than having to face the many challenges of direct human relationships that are encountered in smaller congregations.

Many people are struggling with what they have been given regarding their religious teachings and ritual, and the messages they hear inside their local church, versus what they see happening in the world and what their hearts and minds are saying to them.  Hypocrisy between spoken words and daily actions is all too frequent.  The religious teachings do not seem to fit today’s circumstances or reflect in personal conduct.

In sorting our way through this fog of spiritual doubt, it may be helpful to remember that God is all things spiritual, who thinks and acts on a plane far beyond our capability.  But religion is human, not God, and thereby inherently reflects all human limitations and shortcomings.  And our church is simply everyday people, no more nor less than the neighbors who live on our block, or the co-workers we meet each day at our job.  The church is its people, with all the people frailties that that entails.  So the church necessarily has limits on what it can accommodate and explain.  God has no such limits.

When we feel that we are in conflict with our religion or church, there is a basic question we need to reflect on: is our religion or church failing and needs us to remedy it?  Or is it we who have simply outgrown what it can offer to us?  A child must one day leave the teaching environment of its parents; we must similarly leave a job when it comes to limit, not nurture, our career.  So it is with our understanding of, and relationship with, God.  The difficult spiritual questions we ask are the tools that move us from being a spiritual child doing what we are told to do, versus becoming a spiritual adult.  An adult able to use God’s guidance and the lessons of the great Teachers to answer for ourselves our questions about how to live, how to be with others, and how to find fulfillment in this lifetime.  In the end, we are not the servant of the church; in all humility, the church is the servant to us.  Our focus and responsibility is, and should be, only to God.

Humans have a natural instinct and drive to want to “fix things” that are broken.  But sometimes what has been broken is simply the restrictive bonds that are tying us to that which is no longer supporting us.  In which case it is we that need to be fixed.  Fixed by leaving that known safety of our current religious house – be it our parents’ teachings, our church, our spiritual community.  Fixed by going out to make our own spiritual way through this abundantly rich yet often-frightening unknown vastness of Life.  If that time to grow comes upon us, we need to embrace it and go to that new place where we have been called.