Finding "God" All Over the Place
I’m grateful for chances to work hard. I’m grateful for seeing what’s really important to me. I’m grateful for the dogs I see on the way to the subway. I’m grateful for little baby smiles. I’m grateful for a sunny morning. I’m grateful to be sober today.
song of the week:
I’m pretty sure this has been a song of the week before, and I probably spun out some treacly thing about something that was intended to be meaningful that loosely tied into the “Learn to Fly,” theme. I’m kind of hoping that’s not what we do here today.
If you’ve listened to the podcast, or met me IRL, or read these pages the last couple of weeks, you know that I enjoy talking about superpowers. A lot of people, when asked what superpower they’d like, answer with a resounding, “I’d like to fly.” Of course, the necessary follow-up is “Superman-style, arms outstretched vs. Wonder Woman Invisible Jet.1
I’ve never wanted that. First, I think it’s way windier and colder up there than people think, so not sure it would be a pleasant experience. But also, where am I flying to? Or where am I flying from? I think the superpower question almost always reveals deeply held fears, and while the desire for flight is maybe connected to places people want to go, I think it’s more often about escape. I think the idea of personal flight is more connected to the thought, “wouldn’t it be nice to get away from it all , to float aimlessly above the world, free of care and worries,” as opposed to “Wow, I could get to the office so fast!”
I’m going to own up to some unusual pursuits. One of the many benefits of occupying my stage of life is the abundant amount of freedom available, and I do try to take advantage of that freedom, except in maybe strange ways.2 For example, one thing I now very much enjoy doing is going to random church services on Sundays.
As you may know, I grew up in a pretty Lutheran-centric household. We not only went every Sunday for the 8am service, but we were there for the potlucks, the coffees, all of the lenten services, all of the advent services. We went on Maundy Thursday and my Mom would often take us out of school on Good Friday. This also included a very heavy commitment to Sunday School, which for me was just too much. The straw that broke the Camel’s proverbial back.
Around the 4th grade, my resentment boiled over and my friend Brett and I would sneak from the church to John’s Grocery, about a block away. We would excitedly tear open the mini-envelopes, pull out the 50 cents or maybe the dollar our parents had given us for the Sunday School offering, and then, well, we’d spend that money on candy. We would then repair back to the church, we would hide out on the balcony for a few more minutes while we scarfed down the candy and then saunter into the Sunday School classroom a fashionable 15-20 minutes late.3
I had mistakenly determined there was no real enforcement of Sunday School attendance or conduct policies. In any event, the next year, the people teaching Sunday School, some young couple in their 30’s who had been pressured into doing this and had no idea what dealing with 11 year-old boys was like. After a few challenging Sundays, from a curriculum perspective, they came up with a pretty brilliant Plan B.
We would visit other churches.
That’s what we did, every Sunday we’d go to a different church, if they were cool with that. The Mormons and the Christian Scientists were not really cool with “observers,” but that left plenty of others. We went to Methodist, Congregational, Unitarian and Presbyterian churches and a bunch of others. I have always loved field trips and I was so excited about this series of adventures, I even started putting my candy money in the offering plate. I learned that among the various Christian sects, things are pretty similar when you move between the denominations. Even the structure of worship in a Synagogue is fundamentally pretty similar. I learned that maybe there weren’t as many differences between us all, as people thought. I think I got the idea in my head that it was kind of cool that God was in all of these places, being worshipped in all of these ways. I think I appreciated the fact that there was a certain amount of freedom in defining God, that you could fill in the blank spaces in our understanding in a lot of different ways.
Of course, that’s the fundamental thinking of Alcoholics Anonymous. That there is a “God,” that can be personal to each of us, help each of us find what we need to find, help us see what we need to see and help us go where we need to be. A “God” or a Higher Power that can help each of us to be restored to sanity.
I started this new pursuit a few months ago, began going to church services in random churches. I do very much like the big beautiful churches along 5th Avenue. I went to St. Thomas, a very anglican, very Episcopalian church for Easter. These folks do it up very right—-they’re not stingy with the incense, the ushers wear formal morning coats and everyone has a British accent. I loved it and I do very much love singing the Easter hymns. The service was very, very long—clocking in at around two hours. I didn’t mind. I settled back in the pew with the thought that all I had to do was be here now, for this moment, and the feeling that washed over me was freedom.
The freedom from expectations, from schedules, from needing to please other people, from striving for things that simply aren’t meant for me, from hanging onto things that no longer serve me. Sitting in that pew in that jam-packed church on Easter Sunday, literally feeling the organ hurl sonic waves that went right through me—the deep bass notes almost like explosions. I felt free.
I look around, wonder what other people are thinking, what other people are believing—and then I realize it doesn’t really matter. The way they connect, the things they believe, don’t have to be shared by me. I think that’s the real message of the New Testament—that God is not imposed on us, God is not a force that punishes us or judges us, “God” lives within us. “God” can be a beacon, a guide, a trailhead, or “God” can be much more specific. I believe that’s up to each of us.
One thing I’m learning is how it feels when I follow my heart. When I stop thinking about the options for the next, right thing and start letting myself feel what is the next right thing. It turns out I pretty much always know when I’m on the right path. It’s not because of what I see or hear or things I recognize or because other people are telling me I’m on the path.
It’s because I feel it
I’ve talked about this being my “Caterpillar Year,” I’ve stripped away a lot of what doesn’t serve me and it is a bit frightening to let go. But it’s exhilarating to feel what’s inside me kick into gear when I do. Going to church was something I did for many, many years out of a sense of obligation, now I find myself wanting to go. I’m not sure entirely what it’s all about, but I know how it feels. It feels meaningful, it makes me feel connected, it fills me with a sense of purpose, fills me with the sense that there are things I’m meant to do and that doing them will produce profound meaning and even more chances to learn.
When the British surrendered at Yorktown, to end the American Revolutionary War, the pipers played “The World Turned Upside Down.” That’s exactly what happened to me. When I ended the war, the world turned upside down. The things I had been chasing, no longer seemed worthwhile; the things that opened my heart, even when that hurt, were what I craved. They were the experiences I began seeking out.
Religion is such a tricky issue in recovery and way too many people have such reflexive and negative views on the topic, that they just can’t get past the words in the first few Steps. Those words do not require any particular beliefs; those words simply grant the alcoholic/addict the permission to create their own deity, to decide for themselves what to worship. The only requirement is that this “God” needs to be able to restore sanity in a life that is bereft of that.
I ended up in a church way up by the Central Park Reservoir last Sunday. After communion, I had pulled out the kneeling cushion when I returned to my pew and was engaged in silent meditation, just letting my mind go where it needed to. I guess you could call this prayer. The people I love ran through my mind and I felt the most amazing sense of peace, and then, a feeling of complete stillness. I felt connected and seen—even though I didn’t know another person in that church. I knew there was no place else I needed to be.
My kids think this is another eccentric pursuit and they’re right. They ask me why I do this and I give some glib answer about “God” being everywhere, but that’s not actually what’s going on. As I move through the world with an open heart and an open mind, when I’m able to just “be” for this moment, I find peace and meaning. And if I don’t let that happen, well, it ends up knocking on the door eventually. I realize that my Sunday travels are not about trying to find “God” in any particular place, and also that my sobriety doesn’t have to do with going to any particular place. What helped me get sober, what helped me find peace, what sets me free and produces joy even in difficult circumstances?
Finding that “God” lives within me, that “God” was there the whole time.
Those moments of peace and joy and contentment come from being attuned to the right frequency, singing in the right key and letting the next right thing happen and then judging the results only with my heart.
Happy Friday.
I know what I’d choose, but shouldn’t this be about you being you?
One of the downsides is near-constant knee pain.
These envelopes were serialized so as to allow for the tracking of donations. My Dad was the Church Treasurer for a long time and he eventually noticed the zero attached to my Sunday School offering number.