It is always at Christmas that I am so very relieved not to be going to church. With one notable exception, I have not set foot in one since June of 2017. But it is at Christmas that my love for the boycott is at its zenith of joy and peace.
One night after I left the Cathedral’s congregation, in the sleepy hours of the early morning I heard a voice. “Why, after 989 Daily Sips have I not mentioned this little event before? “you may ask. Well, I suppose it is because I do not trust people who say they hear God, or their ego masked as a god. And yet I heard this voice as if it were in my room. And another odd and slightly spooky thing is that Kai barked madly as I heard it. Hmm.
“What did it say?” inquiring minds may ponder? Was it like “On this day, in the city of David…” No.
It said, in the softest, kindest way possible, as if listening to softness and sugar plums, “If you stop worshiping me might we still be friends?” I was aghast. I felt like I was in a rerun of A Christmas Carol and was playing Scrooge. I immediately went on the Post-Church-CPTSD-defensive and said, out loud, “You don’t need worshipping.” and the voice said, quite simply, “truth.”
Then I became curious. A voice in the night is one thing, but a conversation in the night is something entirely different.
So I answered the question. “Yes, I have no idea what you are, but yes, I would very much like to be friends.”
Ever since that night Kai, and then Sugar, walked with me on deserts and beaches on Sunday mornings. I gave away my ornaments (glittering crosses, babies in mangers, wise men.) I shrunk the tree to 4 feet and populated it with birds, which seemed right for a tree. And now, on Christmas Eve, rather than the song of choirs and sparkle of candles in churches, I go for the songs of Seagulls, the surf, and the sparkle of stars. True, I am yet another victim of Cancel-Culture by bishops and clergy, but it beats the shit out of public burnings, ecclesial torture chambers, and heresy trials.
And so we walk. Me. My dog. This Voice, whatever it may be.
I guess I am getting too old and too tired to cling to a dogma based inside a mystery even though I had spent my life teaching a mystery as if I knew it was “the only way.” I’m becoming more tolerant of mystery, less frightened of patriarchy, and more welcoming of divine and canine gentleness.
