The Knight and the Horse

     How do I explain the inexplicable power that has forced me to turn away from my church?   It's happened to me before.  Years ago, I felt something like a palpable weight, almost as heavy as the atmosphere before a thunderstorm, when I walked around the church I was then attending.  There was no inner voice, no vision, just a power that succeeded in pushing me out of that church's doors. 
      And when I got pushed out of that place I became a true seeker.  I studied with a Hindu monk and learned about Native American medicine.  The Hindu tradition fit me as well as a sari I once tried to dress in  -- too tight and hobbling!  The Native American medicine is one I still practice, but it has never totally satisfied me, either. 
      So, back to church once more, with the realization that gnosis wasn't to be found within the confines of a church, but at least I was part of my own tradition again. Then, the deeper break this past year, something on a profounder level than the first time, and it was announced by a dream:
      I was in the back of a church, which was shaped like a square.  It had no windows, the walls were made of panels of wood, and all the pews were arranged in long rows with no middle aisle.  An altar stood on a short platform in the front.  There were people in the pews in front of me.
    A knight in armor that was brilliant silver rode slowly up the left aisle on a magnificent white horse.  I could see the beautifully braided, tight curls of the horse's mane.  The mounted figure rode to the front of the altar, saluted it with its bright sword, and then turned the horse around to face the congregation.  It  slowly made a sign of the cross over the people, then slowly rode down the right aisle and left.  The congregation was agitated and said, "It's Claire!  It's Claire!"  "No," I thought.  "It's Joan of Arc."
     Later that same day came the first volley of that inexplicable power, when I witnessed something bad happen in the church.  As time progressed and the situation became nastier I felt that uncanny, weighty atmosphere returning to me, but now at an intensity many times stronger than the first time I felt it.  An inner process began, a painful one, in which all the attachment I felt to my church was brutally scraped away from my soul.  Even my love of the Eucharist, which sustained my life since my First Communion, was destroyed. 
     Oh, it was truly painful.  But now came a gift that was far rarer.  It was complete detachment from the forms, the sentiments, the wishful thinking and false comfort of a collective religion.  And prospective detachment from many other things that overlaid my soul. 
     What is that power?  I can only call it the Spirit of God, which is ruthless in its desire for us to be truly ourselves -- damn every earthly illusion and pretension!  Fierce and uncompromising, yet behind the fire and destruction is Love Itself creating something new.      

Cool Jesus Movie!

     Last Sunday I went with some friends to see Cecil B. DeMille's silent "King of Kings" at the Hollywood Theater in Portland, OR.  The movie had a live organ accompaniment.  The organist, Donna Parker, performed using her own original composition.  There was nary a hymn in it and it was great! 
    After the opening scene, which featured a vamp Mary Magdalene sporting with a leopard and being driven in a chariot pulled by zebras, I feared that the rest of the movie might be as campy.  But it was a pretty sober retelling, staying close to the Gospel stories.
     I had to suspend disbelief a bit about the actor playing Jesus, because he looked like a blond version of Abraham Lincoln in Biblical robes.   Otherwise, he played the role as a "Man of Sorrows" well, with teary eyes and rather languid body language.  Peter was a large, hot-headed but good-hearted fellow.  The apostle John was a non-entity.  Judas had a major role throughout, and was a handsome fellow!
     The Virgin Mary was incredibly beautiful, and she was wearing a wimple, rather nun-like.
     It was fun to compare this movie with the later "The Ten Commandments."  Pontius Pilate emoted on a throne similar to the Pharaoh's, and the wicked were swallowed up by the quaking earth at the Crucifixion, just like the unfaithful Israelites are in the later film.
     Another thing about the film which I found pleasing was the respect for Judaism in the film.  Yes, the High Priest was stereotypically Jewish in some ways, but there were large Torah scrolls with Hebrew writing on them displayed prominently in the Temple scenes.  At the beginning of the film the written description said that Palestine was under the brutal rule of the Romans, which is correct but usually not emphasized in Jesus films. 
     At the end, when a glorified Jesus commands that the Gospel is to be spread to all nations, he stands like a giant over cities and also a factory which sports a blast furnace!  I was glad to know that Jesus has a special place in his Sacred Heart for Pittsburgh!
   I am surprised that such a good film about Jesus Christ was not better known.  Part of it has to do, I suppose, with it being a silent and in black and white.  People are missing out on something worthwhile.

Trying Again

I finally decided to try to get my blog rolling again.  Voila!  I have changed the name and I think that my newer posts will be a bit more...philosophical in nature.  Viz:  I recently left my church and am in a strange transitional state of soul because of that. 
What next?  I really don't know.
A very dear lady I talked to about my decision said that I could be a Christian without a church.  Well, that is true.  I have found that Sundays are becoming just as spiritual and meaningful - maybe even more so -- than going to church. 
I think the Jews do their Sabbath correctly, unlike my own experiences of a churchly Sabbath.  There are no meetings or religious school on their Sabbath.  It's devoted to the worship of God and study of Scripture.  Why can't Christians do something similar? 
One thing I DO NOT MISS is the danged "Sign of Peace," a fiasco wherein everybody jumps up, shakes hands with each other like politicians working a room or, even worse, try to hug you even if they don't know you.  I used to run to the bathroom when this charade happened during the service, and peek through the glass windows in the doors leading to the sanctuary when I came back, to make sure the whole sorry process was over. 
Well, in any case I found the service meaningless, even communion, which was deeply shocking to me.  I had loved going to communion since my very first one, and to have that sacrament lose its mana was hard.