Category: Religion/Spirituality

Most religions, especially those considered major or “world religions,” seem to have a love-hate relationship with the idea of unity. They all reflect the philosophical and psychological tension between “the one and the many,”

Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism all promote the idea of ultimate unity–with God or Divinity (however named and understood) and even with other humans. Confucianism, although included in World Religions textbooks, is really a philosophy rather than a transcendental religion. Yet Confucius also aims toward unity, to be attained by “li”– a word meaning proper conduct, propriety or ritual. Beyond that Confucianism is really a human-centered rather than a God-centered philosophy.

Yet, despite commitments to ultimate unity, most religions carve out their own spaces in the spiritual firmament with practices and beliefs that tend to separate rather than unify.

The western religions–Judaism, Islam, and Christianity all claim to worship the same (one and only) God, but do so in ways that pit them against each other like angry siblings. And there is nothing more difficult to resolve than a fight among angry siblings.

Like me, if you claim to be Christian, you have probably seen the term “prayer warrior” a lot in the past year or so—in church bulletins and newsletters, articles in religious publications, print or digital. I recently came across the term “spiritual warrior” in a story I was reading.

Although “spiritual warrior” doesn’t bother me quite as much as “prayer warrior,” I find both of these terms jarring and offensive.

How has prayer become about fighting and killing enemies?  Yes, I know there is much of that in the Old Testament.  I also know that American culture today has become all about fighting and dividing ourselves into good and evil camps with righteous and militant soldiers in each.

I also know that Christianity has been “militarized” for a long time.  As a teenager, I sang a high energy song with the words “Onward, Christian Soldiers, marching as to war, with the Cross of Jesus going on before.”

Holy militarized liturgy, Batman! What does this language say about our image of God or even the teachings of Jesus?  Remember Matt 26:52 in which Jesus said to Peter: “Put away your sword. . . Those who use the sword will die by the sword?” Then there is all that “love your enemies” and the “least shall be first” stuff in the gospels as well.

Sure, the “prayer warriors” will tell you that the term doesn’t refer to real killing, but only to “storming” (another military term) Heaven with our prayers.  Well, without questioning your good intentions, I would humbly submit to you that language matters!

When we ask God to help us fight our enemies (which is what prayer warriors do, I assume), we are once again, as we do so often, worshipping—if only in the language we use—a god of our own invention. And that is idolatry. God is a lover, not a fighter. Hence, the Cross, which we transform into a sword all too often.

So let’s take our “prayer warriors” off the front lines of conflict and return then to home and field, where they can say their prayers more lovingly without their uniforms on—and perhaps beat those swords into plowshares on the weekend.

Jesus would like that.

Recently I read the following quotation in a book of daily spiritual readings: “The activity of God is like light touching darkness. It does not do anything whatsoever to darkness; it does not heal it, correct it, change it or remove it. It just reveals that there is none.”

This comment by Joel S. Goldsmith, an early twentieth-century spiritual teacher, initially struck me as interesting, even an exciting insight. After all, if creation, including humans, is good and not “fallen” (my current theological position), then it might be true that evil is an illusion created by us to explain “the bad things that happen to good people.”

But then my cerebral skepticism kicked in and my enthusiasm for this potential new insight began to fade. If darkness doesn’t exist, why does “the activity of God” need to “touch” it? And why are we so preoccupied with bad things if they don’t really exist?

It reminds me of a rhyme that my mother recited when I was young.  It went something like this: “I saw him sitting on the stair, the little man who wasn’t there.  He wasn’t there again today. Gee, I wish he’d go away.”

Of course, as a “progressive” or incarnational Christian, I do believe that God exists in everything and everything exists (somehow) in God, that is, contains some divinity. [See my post entitled “Imagining a New Way to be Christian”].  

Richard Rohr, my favorite practical mystic and spiritual teacher, along with many mystical thinkers before him, sees the unity of creation as the ultimate reality. He deplores our dualistic, “either-or” way of looking at things, a western way of thought useful in science and engineering, but detrimental (and judgmental) when applied to things of the spirit.)

Rohr and others would see the activity of God expressed through us humans as that which transforms the darkness (or evil or sin) of all kinds into Light. We are most likely to see and have the ability to effect such a transformation only after we have experienced either great joy or great suffering. Only those experiences, Rohr would say, allow to let go of the ego forces that too often leads us into the darkness. 

Rohr might even say that Joel Goldsmith is not exactly wrong; his view of this process is just incomplete.

And this reminds me of another rhyme on this subject (author unknown) that goes like this: “In the black, there is some white. In the wrong, there is some right. In the dark there is some light, In the blind there is some sight.”

How’s that for a glimpse of unity?

Scriptures:     Luke 17:20-21          2 Peter 1:4              John 14:12

COVID-19 has challenged Americans more than most of us have ever been challenged before.  We have been hurt financially, psychologically, and spiritually.  Whether we have contracted the corona virus or not, our lives have been dramatically changed.

Many of us have not been able to see our extended families, or socialize with friends, or attend church or engage in our normal forms of recreation or work.  This has caused many more than usual to feel depressed, and this feeling is often expressed as anger, and a need to find someone or something to blame, something not hard to do in our society, which was polarized politically before the disease struck.

We are simply overwhelmed by our inability to feel certain about anything in the future, even life itself.

The follow words come from a sermon preached at the First Presbyterian Church in Hinton, West Virginia. My friend Ann Wells, who lives in both Hinton and Murray, KY (though not at the same time) shared this with me.  It suggests a way for us to live incarnationally.

“Eternal life can be experienced, here and now. In the Gospel of Luke 17: 20-21, there is a conversation between the Pharisees and Jesus. The Pharisees ask Jesus, ‘when the kingdom of God would come.’ Jesus replied, ‘The Kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, nor will people say, ‘Here it is,’ or ‘There it is,’ because the kingdom of God is within you.’ . . . The word ‘kingdom; in Greek is ‘basileia’ and it means rule, reign, or dominion. When we believe in Jesus as our Savior and Lord, God’s rule and God’s reign starts in us. And if we are under God’s reign, we can experience eternal life, here and now. We are not able to fully experience eternal life in our earthly lives because our sinful nature remains in us and is constantly blocking us from having an intimate fellowship with God. But we can still enjoy and experience eternal life on earth when we haves a personal relationship with God because we are united with Christ through faith and Christ lives in us.”

To this I would only add that “personal relationship” is only evident to ourselves and to others when we live incarnationally (draw upon the divinity within us) to reach out to and love others—all others, without exception—even those we don’t like.

The highpoint of the “sacrifice of the Mass” during my Catholic youth was the point at which the priest would raise the consecrated Host (now deemed mystically the body of Christ) three times pronouncing (in Latin) that “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again!”  As an altar boy I would ring the bell next to me as I knelt on the lower step below the altar each time the Host was raised. Members of the congregation would bow silently at this solemn moment.

Now, during my Presbyterian late maturity, I have a pastor who has made the same proclamation during the “Prayer of Thanksgiving” as part of our monthly communion service.  This time it is in English and without any bell ringing. It is still a significant moment.