I have decided to start a new religion. There are several
reasons this seems like a good idea. My wife will tell you (as she
does me) that I love to hear myself talk and that I talk too much.
This, it seems to me, is the number one qualification for becoming
a preacher.
I have decided to start a new religion. There are several reasons this seems like a good idea. My wife will tell you (as she does me) that I love to hear myself talk and that I talk too much. This, it seems to me, is the number one qualification for becoming a preacher. On top of that, my father-in-law tells me religion is the perfect business; there’s no product and you are exempt from taxes. Both of these arguments are pretty convincing.
In addition, if you approach the profession like Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker, you will have all the money and women of a rock and roll star without having to lug around a lot of heavy equipment.
While I will enjoy all of these perquisites, I do have a message. A church serves many purposes, but a religion should serve only one: connecting each of us as directly as possible with the transcendent, the Great Spirit, God, whatever you choose to call it. Though some will say there is only one true channel, there are really a number of channels on the dial that will get you through to the source.
The channel that gives me the best reception is nicely described by John Muir: ”I used to envy the father of our race, dwelling as he did in contact with the new-made fields and plants of Eden. But I do so no more, because I have discovered that I also live in ‘creation’s dawn.’ The morning stars still sing together, and the world, not yet half made, becomes more beautiful every day.” In 1869, overwhelmed by the view atop Cathedral Peak, Muir said that this was the first time he had been in church in California.
The connection with something universal resonated deeply in John Muir when viewing nature’s handiwork. For him, this was a direct connection, not an interpretation of a translation of a heavily edited book written by people who weren’t there. Through the trees, the rocks, the birds – every part of the natural world – Muir heard and spoke to the infinite being.
Our reception will not be as clear as John Muir’s, but I believe this is where God speaks to us most clearly and the most directly. Right in front of us, he continues his work, building the world. The processes of nature can be partly explained by the sciences, but only a barren soul would not recognize an artistry that transcends the physical. I hear the Great Spirit more clearly on a hilltop, than in a pew.
I fear we have forgotten how to make the direct connection available to us in wild quiet places. Instead, we honor big houses, Hummers and Escalades. The man in the White House, who claims to get his instructions from God, has done everything possible to undo 100 years of environmental progress dating back to Theodore Roosevelt. We want wealth. Period. Damn the consequences to us and to the world.
It is hard to be optimistic about a reversal of this trend. How will the sound of wind through a foxtail pine ever compete with ”The Matrix Reloaded?” Real effects aren’t as exciting as special effects. But I hope that beneath our fascination with pizzazz, our dormant essence longs to re-establish this natural connection – that one day, instead of empty razzle-dazzle, we will prefer to lay down in a field and feel the earth turn, the grass grow, and connect with all that has been before and all that is yet to be.
My idea for a religion won’t work though. You don’t need an interpreter when you have a direct connection. All that the Great Spirit has to say, you can hear for yourself. Just listen.
