Heathens in the Missionary Position

Wow, very timely.

Yesterday morning I woke to a beautiful spring-like day. I sat on the stoop drinking the perfect cup of coffee, soaking in the rare, early sun. My SO was stirring in the other room.

I watched the people in the local ward heading into the church building just across the street from my apartment; they were dressed in suits and ties and layered dresses with leggings. Each wore a solemn, blank expression. Some ventured a look of pity as I greeted them in shorts, a-shirt and a steaming cup at my lips. One after another they wandered past me and into the building.

One young woman turned to her male companion and said “I wish I didn’t have to go in there on such a beautiful morning”. “Were doing the right thing” he said shooting me a sideways glance. For a second I thought she would bolt…

I felt an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. I could almost feel the knot of a tie against my Adams apple. I could smell sweaty, warm polyester and feel the stiffness of a starched cotton shirt rough against my skin. I felt my stomach sink and a sense of dismay creep over me at the thought of slinking into the bowels of a dark building on such a glorious morning. I wanted to yell “Look up! Look around! Can’t you see God? Don’t go in there. Stay here in the sun!” But I didn’t. I was lost in a cup of perfect coffee. Lost in a perfect ray of sun.

My SO emerged and said “what a beautiful morning, I can’t wait to go to church”.

My reaction was visceral. My meditation shattered. I couldn’t stay any longer. I dressed quickly, mumbled some excuse and headed out into the glorious sunlight. I found myself in a public park with beautiful fountains and ancient cottonwoods. It was bubbling with people lounging like lizards in the sun, reading, laughing, loving, and enjoying the radiance of nature and creation. A stream babbled and gushed. Birds were busy searching for crumbs. Dogs were sniffing about busily. Latin music played off in the distance lending carnival energy to the soft, warm breeze. People were happy, radiant, content. Their eyes greeted me with expressive welcome. Nods were exchanged. Understanding without words. Time disappeared into a single, prolonged, perfect moment.

I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sun. It was warm and comforting on my skin. I could feel God. God was everywhere. I was basking in it. The symphony of sounds around me melded with the creator in a very tangible, organic, animated sense of collective consciousness. I was part of this. I was not alone, could never be alone. I was filled with love for everyone around me. I WAS ONE with everyone around me. AT ONE MENT.

We sat and worshipped together. We reveled in creation.
We understood, if only on a subconscious level, the cycle of life and death as graphically displayed in this rare, warm anomalous morning forcing itself out between months of cold, dark and damp. Rebirth. Resurrection. Eternal life…beautifully and powerfully conveyed through creation itself. The voice of God speaking directly to our souls through warm limbs and grass-tickled flesh. God is here. Now. With us. We are swimming in it.

After several hours, I worked my way back to the apartment. My SO was home. She spoke about her church meeting, about the talks, the messages, the after mingle…her words alluded to vague, canonized concepts and descriptions of experiences conveyed from a pulpit in carefully practiced phrases. Joy, Fullness, Truth, Gospel, Testimony, Witness, Spirit….abstracts describing, in logos, the mythos of my earlier sacrament with deity but lacking the visceral, intimate interface.

I felt sorry for her. Sorry that she had missed the forest for the trees. Sorry that she had elected to seek the God of all nature in a manmade structure. Sorry that she had passed by and ignored the living, breathing, pulsing voice of God for a recording. Like electing to watch a movie about how one should best live instead of actually living. Sorry that her experience was intellectualized instead of interfaced. Sorry that she considered my experience as somehow less spiritual or less appropriate in the eyes of her God because, in her words, God requires a sacrifice and some discomfort, humility and lowliness as a prerequisite for receiving blessings…. Silly me. I had assumed the only requirements were appreciation and recognition that these blessings are all around us all of the time for the basking.

She ended her discourse with “I’m glad I have the gospel. I wish I could go to the park and tell all of those unfortunate people there about it.” At least she has the Gospel. At least she has a cohesive group to settle in to. At least she has that.

I chose to remain silent. I pictured her there among the nature worshipping masses, in their cathedral beneath the cottonwoods, basking in God…. maybe next time she will come and see what worship really means. Maybe not. Maybe some things are better kept sacred. Best kept safe.

At least I have that.