From the Editor: This is an excerpt, copied with permission, from the spiritual memoir, “Dancing Naked Under the Moon, Uncovering the Wisdom Within,” by Mary Bea Sullivan. Copies of the book are available at www.marybeasullivan.com.
Malcolm pulled the car into a parking space far away from the entrance to the United Church of Chapel Hill. The spot was the closest one available. We held hands walking through the parking lot. I read the bumper stickers along the way, “Peace is patriotic,” and “To believe is to care, to care is to do.” After years of meeting interesting people who belonged to this church, I finally decided to visit.
The sunlit sanctuary was contemporary, yet the pews and the massive, glowing, light-colored wood cross added warmth. Seating was theater style; each row was slightly higher than the one before. Most inviting was the large bank of clear windows overlooking woods and a walking path.
Listening to the pianist while waiting for the service to begin, I felt comfortable. Seated around us in the pews were people whose diversity reflected the Chapel Hill community. There were men in tweeds and women in flowing “earth mother” skirts or Doncaster suits. Some teen girls were in dresses, others in baggy jeans. I noticed that if we attended here, Brendan and Kiki could worship in a place where traditional families joined families with two moms, step-moms, or no moms. Yin and yang were interwoven in co-pastors Richard and Jill Edens. Since Malcolm had been a United Church of Christ minister in Connecticut, this style of worship was familiar for him.
It had been nearly two years since Lama Norlha said, “You were raised a Christian; perhaps it is time you should go home,” and I still hadn’t found a spiritual community. Even though Divine Presence had always been a part of my world, my awareness of it expanded in this new life. I was confident of the connection, but still felt frustratingly confused about how to define the relationship.
We continued to visit UCCH whenever we were in Chapel Hill. After a few visits alone and some with Malcolm, I decided to include Brendan and Kiki. At first they resisted. They were normal pre-teens and we had been out of the church routine for a few years. Each week there were more familiar faces to greet me, but I wanted to take time before joining.
On a rare kid-free, Malcolm-less Sunday, I slipped into a pew halfway down the sanctuary. Leaning against the hard, unforgiving wood, a wave of exhaustion moved through my body. Absently, I touched my right hand to my left breast, acknowledging a dull pain in my heart.
Staring at the cross hanging behind the altar, I wondered whether I had over-extended myself again. Contrary to my initial understanding, I was now required to travel frequently for my job. Between travel for work and romance, my green suitcase constantly remained in my bedroom on “high alert.” My cell phone bills were so high that Verizon could have named a tower in my honor. When I was in North Carolina I would spend hours on the phone with Malcolm in Alabama. When I was in Alabama, I would call home to catch up with Brendan and Kiki. When I was traveling for work, I called them all. I was leaving fragments of myself all over the Southeast, pieces of broken glass.
Tilting my head back, I felt the warmth from the sun wash over me as clouds gave way outside and the sun broke free, extending her fingers through the sanctuary’s long, rectangular windows. As the light danced around the church, waving her wand of illumination pew by pew, I reflected on recent disturbing conversations with my boss. I had allowed myself to be intimidated and the stress was taking its toll. My stomach was constantly in knots-literally. The pain was so great I was scheduled for a colonoscopy and endoscopy the next week. Worst of all, I no longer trusted my boss or believed the company could succeed under his leadership. I was being asked to say and do things that felt dishonest, yet I was afraid to speak my mind. Staring out the window, I wondered, how am I going to keep paying my bills, caring for my family, and maintain my integrity at the same time?
An audible sigh escaped from my lips as I turned my thoughts from work to Kiki. She still seemed unhappy in our new home. I was concerned that she was spiraling into a dark, sad place. Overwhelmed, my mind was racing with these disturbing thoughts. I sat in the pew visibly agitated, fidgeting with my skirt and the bulletin, crossing and uncrossing my legs. Eventually I settled in and looked up at the front of the church and listened to the young woman reading scripture.
When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum. It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were terrified. But he said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.” Then they wanted to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going.
-John 6:16-21 NRSV Bible
I had heard this passage many times before. This time, I felt out of control and afraid. Unable to maintain my normal level of decorum, I began to sob. The young woman read the second reading.
For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love.
-Ephesians 3:14-17
I tried to stifle my sobs so that I wouldn’t disturb the other worshipers - people I barely knew. I cast my eyes downward hoping that no one would see the unceasing flow of tears.
I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
-Ephesians 3:18-19
I could not for the life of me figure out what had hit me so hard. Tasting the salt of my unnamed grief, I felt an unbearably powerful desire to leave. I fumbled in my purse and found a tissue to blow my nose. The reading continued.
Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.
-Ephesians 3:20-21
Although every muscle in my body twitched as if ready dash out of the church, I stayed. I was being pulled, as if by an invisible magnet, down into the pew. I stayed because the part of me that is stronger than my impulses, wiser than my thoughts, wouldn’t let me leave. I knew there was more. I knew I needed to hear Richard’s sermon.
Wiping my eyes and nose with a tissue and exhaling deeply, I watched Richard step to the podium and place his notes on the lectern. Richard looked boyish at fifty years old. Speaking with the distinctive accent of his North Carolina roots, Richard’s commanding voice and message unleashed a new wave of emotions. Weary, yet alert, I listened as his words called forth even more tears. My vision blurred, I grabbed a pencil from the pew and began to write notes on the cream-colored bulletin. I scribbled the lines that most impacted me from Richard’s sermon.
“Embracing unwanted change is one of life’s greatest challenges.”
“You can welcome Jesus into the boat.”
“At the point of succumbing to our darkest fears, the dawn breaks.”
And the one that pulled at me the most, “Do we trust that we will gain our lives in losing our lives?”
Shit! There was that trust thing again! Hadn’t I trusted enough? Hadn’t I changed enough? What could there possibly be left for me to lose? Was this primal reaction to the scripture and Richard’s words an indicator that there was more to come? Was my unconscious response a “knowing” that it was time for me to take yet another look at my priorities, my lifestyle, and my faith? As if there was a boa constrictor in my gut, the knots of “knowing” tightened in my stomach-I wasn’t done losing. There was something else I needed to let go of.
During communion, healing prayer was offered by Jill and the parish nurse, Aly. Desperate for help, I mustered the courage to walk over to the baptismal font and approach Jill and Aly. I looked into Jill’s eyes, mascara smeared on my face.
“I would like for us to pray for healing for me and my daughter, Kiki. My stomach’s in such pain I’m going to UNC for tests. My prayer for me is for clarity about the source of this pain and for healing. For Kiki, emotional healing.” I stopped a moment, trying to collect myself. “She’s so sad since my divorce and unhappy in our new home. I’m worried about her. I just wish I knew what I could do to help her.”
Jill and Aly nodded their heads and Jill read from a small prayer book. The two women and I formed a human circle, with our arms locked around each other. Tears flowing, I allowed my fellow mothers to encircle me with their prayers. I felt safe with these women I didn’t know, relieved to have finally called for help.
The next day I wrote in my journal, “What moved me so deeply? Words cheapen the experience…hard to explain. I believe there was some gift of grace that I don’t completely understand. It’s like I want to approach my faith in a whole new light. Thank you, God, for this gift, even though I don’t quite understand it.”
I continued later in my journal. “When Richard spoke of unwanted change, I thought of Kiki and how she has struggled with the change from the neighborhood that she loved to this new one. If I let Jesus into my boat, won’t that help the kids let him into theirs? I’ll bet there is a way I can follow this path and honor and incorporate other traditions. Why has it been so hard for me to commit to a way? To this way? Christ is a coming home for me. But can I really let Jesus in the boat?”
Staring out the window, I watched a squirrel devouring sunflower seeds from the bird feeder. Normally, I would send Daisy out to chase the squirrel away. Resigned to the intruder, I continued to write.
“If I let Jesus in, I need to know that everyone is welcome on this boat. Would Jesus throw Buddha, Mohammed, or a gay man overboard? My guess is he would catch some fish, give thanks for it, and eat it with them-the same way he ate with Gentiles, sinners, and tax collectors. I’ll bet he would engage in respectful, serious debate; the same way he debated with the priests in the temple. Imagine Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, and Mohammed drifting in a boat off of the Sea of Capernaum. I’ll bet they would find they had much in common. I’ll bet they would agree to disagree respectfully. I would love to be rowing that boat.
“If I finally let Jesus in my boat, wouldn’t I be following Lama Norlha’s advice to choose a path and follow it devoutly, wholeheartedly? I can’t deny the power of my experience yesterday. Couldn’t I create a Christian path that embraced the Divine Feminine? One that welcomed all to the table? One that honored social activism? Are the stirrings in my heart really contrary to the teachings of Christ? Or are they contrary to the doctrines of true Christian teaching? This new path will require courage.”
I stopped writing and simply sat cross-legged on the carpet in my bedroom and reread one of the passages in the Tao Te Ching that I had read years before on Mt. Diablo, “Do you have the patience to wait till your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving till the right action arises by itself?”
The mud in my soul was so stirred up that it would take a lot of waiting for me to experience clarity. I leaned against the foot of my bed, the mattress pressing into my back, and resumed my writing. “I feel so weary. I’m willing to surrender this desire for a less busy life to God, Spirit-whatever your name is. You know who you are. I’m not doing such a great job on my own; I’m ready to hand it over to you. I trust and know that there are possibilities that I cannot imagine.”
I took a few deep breaths and put my journal and pen on the floor next to me. Slowly, I leaned back and lowered myself into the yoga pose for surrender, sirvasana. Sprawled out spread-eagle on my back, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, remembering the words of a former yoga teacher, “breathing in love and support…breathing out fear and pain…breathing in love and support…breathing out fear and pain….”
Melting into the carpet, gradually the tension released from my head, neck, back, arms, legs, and feet. “Breathing in love and support…breathing out fear and pain….” My breaths deepened; a sense of calm washed over me. “Breathing in love and support…breathing out fear and pain…”
Over the next few days I moved differently. Sometimes I left dishes in the sink. Sometimes I didn’t respond to emails right away. Sometimes I watched my cell phone ring incessantly like a ranting toddler, and didn’t answer. Slowly, the mud began to settle. When I expressed my emotional and somewhat confusing reaction to the “Let Jesus in the Boat” sermon to a good friend, she recommended that I read Marcus Borg’s book, Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time.
“That might be a Jesus you could let in your boat,” she intimated.
She was right. Borg introduced me to a Jesus I wanted to learn from, maybe even follow. Not a condemning, judging Jesus, but a radical, compassionate, social justice Jesus. Borg was the switch that turned on a light inside of me. I wanted to learn more about my Christian roots. Surprisingly I found Jesus as interesting and insightful as I had found Buddha and Lao-Tzu - only with one great difference. The stories of Jesus were the stories of my growing up, the stories of my family. Borg’s perspective on Jesus helped me see that the Christian I wanted to be was not only alright, but actually closely aligned with the raw teachings of Jesus.
Certain passages in Borg’s book were so different from anything I had read before that I had to return to them over and over again. I wanted to follow “the way that leads to life” that Borg described.
“The narrow way, the way less traveled is the alternative wisdom of Jesus. It has two closely related dimensions. First it is an invitation to see God as gracious and womblike rather than as the source and enforcer of the requirements, boundaries, and divisions of conventional wisdom. Second, it is an invitation to a path that leads away from the life of conventional wisdom to a life that is more and more centered in God.”