It’s a sense that there is a sacredness to life

It’s the Christmas season, and that means I’m looking forward to going to church. On its own, that might not sound too surprising: Half of Americans plan to do the same this holiday season. But in my case, it might seem a little strange. While I still know all the prayers and when to sit and stand, from my days as an altar boy, I left my faith and churchgoing behind long ago. As a scientist, I wouldn’t be hubristic enough to claim that God doesn’t exist; that’s a question science can’t definitively answer. But neither can I find any objective evidence for God’s fingerprints in this world. So for me, church has lost its luster—except, that is, at Christmas.

When late December rolls around, I want to go to church, even though I don’t believe in much of the creed. And if recent surveys about Americans’ holiday plans are accurate, I’m not alone. Many people who don’t set foot in a church through most of the year show up at Yuletide, including 10% of nonbelieving atheists and agnostics. Why? That’s a question to which I think I’ve finally found an answer.

The Christmas mass isn’t just an entertaining thing to do, like going to see Radio City’s Christmas Spectacular. Nor is it a simple reminder of cherished family holiday traditions. For me, and I suspect many others, going to church at Christmas offers a different kind of experience, one that’s spiritual if not religious.

That might sound like an oxymoron, but in practice it’s not. Following a religion means embracing a theology and often an institution. There’s a set of beliefs laying out what God is and what God wants, and also a list of rules to follow. Spirituality, on the other hand, tends to be more experiential than cerebral. It’s a sense that there is a sacredness to life, something ineffable but not necessarily divine, that we can catch glimpses of or even commune with at times. Religion and spirituality aren’t mutually exclusive; one can often lead to the other. But they are separable.

Continue reading “It’s a sense that there is a sacredness to life”

Sunday Morning

 

Your dad, Lia asked, was he good?

He swallowed. Her eyes fixed on his Adam’s apple. It slid up his throat and back down as if propelling his answer out; Not really. Not for most of his life. I think he became good, though. Eventually…

So what changed? she asked.

On my eleventh birthday, he came into my room trembling.

Why?

He said he’d seen something, felt something. An experience.

Of what? Lia asked.

God.

Lia held her breath…

Have you had one? he asked. She wondered why this seemed suddenly like the most intimate question anyone had ever asked her. Why something was squirming and flipping and tangling within her like a silver fish caught slyly in the coarse nylon of a net. For she had hoped very privately all her life for a dazzling numinous moment – because how easy it would be to believe, she thought, when given a sign like that.

I don’t know, she said, honestly. Either I’ve had thousands or none…

There was a silence.

— Maddie Mortimer, Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies (Picador; March 31, 2022)


Notes:

  • Photo by DK @ Daybreak. 6:00 a.m. 68° F. September 11, 2022. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.  See more photos from this morning where I’ve either had thousands or nonehere.

Sunday Morning

A clear blue sky was hard to take. Marek saw it as emptiness, a place with no heaven in it. He preferred the clouds because he could imagine paradise behind them. He could stare up and focus his eyes on shapes in the clouds, wonder if that was God’s face or God’s hand making an impression, or if God was spying down at him through the gauzy mist. Maybe, maybe.

Ottessa Moshfegh, Lapvona (Penguin Press, June 21, 2022)


DK Photo @ Daybreak. 5:12 am, July 16, 2022. 65° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.  More photos from yesterday here.

Walking. With: “You thought I was worth saving…”

334 consecutive days. Like in a row. Cove Island Park morning walk.  Dark Sky app reports 93% cloud cover. Hmmmm. 37° F, winds down. Well, that’s Something.

I inhale, hamstring biting. I ease into the front seat. There was a day, not so long ago, that getting into the front seat of the car was an unconscious act. Today, not so much.  Melissa Febos: What If The Pain Never Ends? “I understand that it will return, in one form or another, and that I will need the care of others, and I am determined, when that time comes, to meet it with gratitude and grace.”

Cr*p. No. I highly doubt that Me will show up. That Me ain’t here Today.

I snap a few shots at Cove Island (to keep the streak alive), and head to Calf Pasture Beach Park in Norwalk. The new Inspiration Point.

I pull into the park parking lot, normally empty. A small crowd building under a large tent. What’s This? Crowding into my time and space?  Ahhh, yes, Easter Service.

I steer wide of the gathering parishioners, like I might be sucked into an unstoppable power of God-vortex and his Believers. Continue reading “Walking. With: “You thought I was worth saving…””

Sunday Morning

In a May 1952 paper for her religion class, “Religion as I See It,” Plath laid out her “basic tenets”: man was “born without purpose in a neutral universe,” without inherent morals, and was responsible for his own destiny. There was no afterlife. “His mind may live on, as it were, in books, his flesh may continue in his children. That is all.” God was not to blame for man’s evils or triumphs. Plath claimed that she could “never find my faith through the avenue of manmade institutions,” and called herself an “agnostic humanist.” She happily admitted she was a pantheist at heart: “For my security, I resort not to the church, but to the earth. The impersonal world of sun, rocks, sea and sky gives me a strange courage.” For her, the vital world was earthly and present.

— Heather Clark, Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath (Knopf; October 27, 2020)


Notes:

  • Plath was 19 years old in May 1952.
  • Photographs: DK @ Daybreak. Jan 10, 2021. 6:43 to 7:20 am. 28° F, feels like 18° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford CT. More photos from this morning here.