A favorite client of mine came in the other day. His name is Pete; he's eighty-three years old and has Parkinson's. It's joyful for me to have him here. He's sharp as a tack, has a wicked sense of humor, and gives nice hugs. We enjoy our talks together immensely, he telling me stories of his boyhood and youth, and me telling him about my weird philosophies of life. Somehow, we just click. Soulmates come in all shapes, sizes and ages.
After his therapy session, we sat in our little room and had our usual chat. He asked me what I was up to, as of late, and I mentioned to him that I was coming into finals week at school. We talked about my studies, and then he asked me the big question.
"So, young lady, what are your goals?"
Of course I had a few humorous answers for him, which delighted both of us with peals of laughter. But finally I gave him the serious answer, which was that I had an eventual plan to attend one of the local seminaries for my Masters degree. He became silent; his brow furrowed, as it does when he's focused and paying attention. I explained that we have two schools in town, one being very conservative and the other being very liberal. In the first, you need to sign a specific faith statement, declaring yourself saved by "the Lord" and that the Holy Book is the only true word of God. In the latter, things are much more...flexible. Its more about finding "God" on your own terms. The thinking is more fluid, open to other interpretations and influences from other faiths. This, I told him, is much more my speed. I am a student of history and of world religions; this perspective allows me to move easily between ideas that others see as contradictory, such as, let's say, evolution vs. creationalism. It need not be one or the other...it can easily be both, in my world.
I explained to him that, to me, a religion is merely a language. We all long to speak to the Divine, so we pick a language. Perhaps my language is Christianity; I now know to address the Divine as "God" or "Jesus", and I have a working formula on how I expect the relationship to proceed, according to my own emotional needs and beliefs. I also then clearly tell the Divine how I wish it to speak to me. It now can teach me of faith through stories of Abraham, or help me get through my trials with tales of Job. It can lead me through temptation with stories of Christ in the desert. But it is a language, a way the Mystery and I can walk together within established terms and agreed upon images. It helps us communicate together.
The choice of religion, or of language, is a unique thing and is strictly between the individual and the Divine. How the communication is downloaded and received...whether through dreams, scripture, intuitions, songs on the radio, odd coincidences, etc., is an individual experience that can't be proven or quantified. It just happens, and when one is open to it, the intimacy between one and the Divine grows stronger. But one needs the languaging first; one must choose. Otherwise, the Divine hears us, but the communication is only one way. We must be able to hear and respond in order to continue the dance.
To me, it makes no matter which language you choose. My idea of evangelizing is to encourage someone to pick a language....ANY language...and to begin the conversation as soon as you can. I don't care if it's paganism, Islam, Buddhism...it doesn't matter. For some, its science; I know of self proclaimed atheists who become overwhelmed at the intricacies of a black hole, or amazed at the sublime beauty of String Theory. They may not believe in a God, per se, but they know that the Universe holds mysteries and possibilities beyond their comprehension, and they are complete in awe of it. And the Divine, in turn, communicates to them in mathematical equations of exquisite beauty and depth. They won't admit it, but to them, it's like seeing a piece of the face of God.
And so, I told my dear friend Pete, I am in search of further ways to expand my vocabulary. This is why the liberal seminary is a goal of mine. It is part of my own unfolding into my relationship with the Mystery.
Pete stared at me with great focus. Nervous that I had been far from articulate and instead resembled nothing more than a babbling fool, I asked him if I had made any sense.
"Yes, very much so," he answered softly. "But you will never find a man."
Not the answer I was expecting, I choked back my laughter and asked him why.
"Because, my dear, you are deep. You will never find anyone who you can talk to."
"Well, Pete," I chuckled, "then it's a shame for me that you're already a taken man."
His blue eyes twinkled in full mischief as the grin grew wide across his face. We sat there, he and I, in silent seconds, complete in our appreciation of each other. No words can describe my adoration for this man.
"Well," he finally said, "I best get back to the Warden."
The Warden is Dot, his wife. Patiently she was waiting in the lobby for his session to end. Before they had come in that morning, Pete had apparently pressed some of her buttons. She told him that he was coming home with her only if he rode in the trunk. Pete laughed hard; after close to fifty years of marriage, he knew his lovely bride well. There was no worry in his face. He probably would have willingly ridden in the trunk just for the joke of it.
I hugged my friend goodbye, grateful that we spoke the same language. To share in the same vernacular as others is a beautiful blessing, and one that should never be taken for granted.
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