So Help Me God - Or Not...

I have a crush on the Dalai Lama. I love his smile, and his occasional giggle. I love the twinkle in his eye. I love his insight, his intelligence, and his honesty. In a recent interview I heard him talk about his gall bladder surgery, adding, "See? Some people think I have healing powers. It isn't true. I'm just a man. Not special. If I could heal, I would have healed myself without the surgery." And he laughed.

I love what he represents -- thousands of years of spirituality that predates and is reflected in Christianity. Although my major in school was psychology, I also studied all the major religions, and wrote my PhD thesis on the psychology of religion and its influence on the self-help movement. I was left with a lasting impression of the commonalities between religions -- Christianity and Buddhism, for example -- despite the fact that their differences are usually at the core of most discussions.

I don't believe in packaging religion and selling it like breakfast cereal -- "This one meets all your needs, and is far superior to anything else on the market. See the pretty picture on the box? And all it costs you is what you are willing to drop in the basket every Sunday morning, or the check you are willing to write to prove your love of God. " I don't think this is what either Buddha or Jesus quite had in mind for us.

When my daughter was young a friend invited her to church. She accepted, and later went to church camp with her friend. When she came home and told us she wanted to attend services regularly, we supported her, and went with her every week, even breaking into various discussion groups after the services. At one such time a couple was asked for a progress report on their efforts to convert their neighbors from their current denomination to this one. "We're working on it. I think they're coming along," we were told. Sorry, but that made me uncomfortable. It seemed to me like a group of brunettes trying to talk some blonds into dying their hair, as though dark brown is somehow superior to yellow. Hello? And people who are bald headed? Well, they may just be beyond saving, I suppose.

When we stopped attending that church, however, it was because the minister spent valuable pulpit time beseeching his flock to "give more generously" so that the church could purchase a new and glorious pipe organ that would outshine all others in our area. Excuse me? Give more generously so that we can feed more hungry families maybe, but bigger, shinier pipes, for Pete's sake? Puh-leese...

Years later I tried going back to the church where I had been baptized as a child. The current pastor was one of the worst speakers I've ever endured, and spent most of his sermon complaining about membership falling off so dramatically. "Bring in the sheep," he told the congregation! "If you can't convince someone to join us, let me know and I'll visit them personally. Maybe I can convince them!" Needless to say, this did not inspire me.

Still, there's something about a church that just... feels good. Especially if you can find one with stained glass windows and without TV monitors mounted at various locations for sharper viewing of the rock band up front and/or easier reading of the lyrics to contemporary songs that somehow seem shallow if you're... my age. I would say I've been spoiled by the Native American Sweat lodge ceremony, which hasn't changed in centuries except to substitute heavy carpeting for animal skins to cover the birch branch frames -- but over the years I've seen even that form of worship besmirched. Not only have non-native wannabes stripped it of its spiritual ambiance, but many Native Americans have also taken it in the wrong direction. Twenty-five years ago I had to earn the right to participate (by chopping and stacking firewood, and pulling weeds). The last time I considered revisiting the old stomping grounds I phoned ahead and was told, "Sure. $20 per person."

What this all boils down to is, I believe if we can't find inspiration inside ourselves, we're not going to find it outside ourselves either. If we can find it inside ourselves, we need to take it with us wherever we go -- because it's not gonna be there waiting for us.

Fortunately, every time I see the Dalai Lama, mine bubbles to the surface. That's why I have his picture framed and hanging on my wall.