A Tiny Religion

It’s not easy. But it’s simple.

I have to laugh at the way people complicate religion. It’s just as funny as the way I get all confused when I reorganize stuff: “Well, if I put that in there, then where will this go? And if I move these things, they’ll just get dirty. Besides, how often do I really use them, right? Oooh, I forgot I had that!”

But even though many people hasten to answer “None” when asked what their religious affiliation is, nearly all of them do have a religion of sorts, if you ask them the right questions. Usually it turns out they just need to organize it and get it back to the basics.

And that’s easier to do that you might think — much easier than cleaning out your garage, say, because the half-forgotten religious junk you have already dismissed just needs to be, well, completely forgotten and discarded. And you don’t really need that much to replace it with.

Religion isn’t easy. But it’s simple. Religion is how you relate with the Ultimate. But let that sink in a minute: that’s you, a tiny speck of protoplasm, “relating” somehow with Everything Else That Is Now, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be.

That’s why it’s hard, because Everything Else That Is Now, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be is terrifying. I don’t care who you are.

And somehow, we were made to do this, and we can’t help it. Since the beginning of us, we somehow have been connected with, or relating with, or trying to avoid getting found out by, the Everything Else That Is Now, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be. No other animal appears to do that. Just us. And possibly cats, but they don’t care.

We deal with this aspect of ourselves in lots of ways, and once you factor in the death feature, we can get downright touchy about it. Only a few sturdy souls with icewater in their veins seem to truly thrive with no religion at all — and they have often disingenuously substituted something else equally potent.

For the rest of us, here in the interregnum between the hegemony of the institutional churches and the next spiritual evolution of the species (which cannot come too soon if you ask me), I offer a stripped down, minimalist faith refresher, for your consideration.

Here’s the Q & A.

How can I identify a true religious feeling?

Here is a brief meditation: Imagine you are suddenly falling 20,000 feet through the air, to your certain death.

Then a parachute opens that you didn’t even know you were wearing.

Register that jolt of awe and terror and joy. That’s a roughly religious feeling.

It will be difficult to describe, and you don’t have to try. In fact, I recommend you keep it to yourself.

Do I have to believe in G*D?

You can if you want. Most people say they do (about 80% of Americans), but it’s a spurious finding, because there’s no way to know what people mean when they say “G*D.”

It’s different for everyone — could be the celebrity G*Ds whose names you know from the major world faiths, or simply a being they think of as Creator, or Infinite Mystery, or Higher Power, or Powerful Friend. But, really, nobody believes in an old-man/white-beard/throne god any more. That was Santa Claus. So let’s retire that trope, please.

Here are some fun things you can say if someone asks whether you believe in G*D and you don’t want to get into it (which you shouldn’t unless it’s a really good friend):

• “Well, I’m afraid I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
• “If I did believe in God, I would never admit it, because then there goes my leverage, right?”
• “Wait — did God ask you to ask me that?”
• Or, wistfully, “God only knows…”

What are G*D’s name and pronouns?

Everybody fights about this question all the time, and it’s usually the question that finally makes people tap out and say, “The hell with it; I’ll be an atheist.”

Really, all the thousands of conflicting names and attributes everyone gives G*D — complete with wigs and disguises and origin stories and things G*D supposedly can and cannot do — are all too silly, once you see them all together. But the expenditure of time and effort and angst is monumental, since there will always be diehards who keep the institutions doing by insisting they know what G*D should be called, and what G*D is like, and who G*D likes the best, and the like.

I will save you a lot of time by assuring you that you can’t find G*D, or please G*D, or get a damned thing from G*D, just by knowing the secret G*D nickname.

Because the map is not the territory.

Do I have to go anywhere special to worship G*D?

No. G*D doesn’t give a rat’s ass where you go to think about G*D. But do go find a religious community if you like, by all means, for the lovely experiences, learning, shared mission and like-minded friends, which I hope you will not mistake for networking.

But aren’t religious communities full of hypocrites?

So’s the gym. So’s Starbuck’s. What’s your point?

Don’t go, if you don’t want to. Just don’t blame the hypocrites. It’s hypocritical.

Can’t I just be “spiritual” and not “religious”?

Sure, and perhaps at the end of the line it will be your spirit that really matters.

But the difference between being spiritual and being religious is a little like the difference between being intelligent and being educated. Our native intelligence is the gift we were born with, and our education is the knowledge we obtain to feed it and let it grow. Likewise, my religion is the knowledge I feed my spirit.

That’s why being proudly “spiritual but not religious” is like being proudly “smart but ignorant.” Religious freedom in this country means that no one is compelled to “learn religion” to avoid going to jail (or, I believe, to hell). Instead, we have the luxury of carefully curating our own religious studies and practices to shape our heart and soul.

So we can take our tiny religion and build on it as time allows. We don’t need to create an entire new systematic theology; we don’t need to reinvent the wheel. We’re just teaching ourselves our tiny, minimalist religion.

How should I pray to achieve enlightenment, or grace, or peace, or happiness, or holiness?

First, relax — prayer doesn’t have many rules and you don’t get graded.

As a note, prayer is not just a way to get G*D to do things for you, or to give you peace or success or happiness or stuff. Again, that would be Santa Claus.

Prayer is your work, not G*D’s. Religious people typically pray or meditate as a discipline for their minds and spirits so that they can keep living a good life. Mystical religious people pray as a way to sort of open a channel of communication between themselves and their Ultimate Other.

In my experience, prayer is not a goal-oriented activity. Once you set a goal for prayer, it’s no longer prayer; it’s solicitation or whining or something.

Your experience may be different; who am I to say? But I promised you a streamlined religious practice, and this is a key feature: prayer with no outcomes in mind.

Just be quiet for a hot minute.

Then see what happens.

Sometimes, when you pray, nothing happens — and that’s on a good day.

So what is your tiny religion, Sparky?

My tiny religion is simple: There is a G*D, and I’m not it.

That’s all. Oh, yes, I believe in the G*D within and all that. I sometimes feel as if I’ve got CAT-5 cable wired right from my little soul directly to the Everything Else That Is Now, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be, along with all the other zillions of souls in creation. It’s a little disruptive for an earthling and sometimes blows one of my fuses.

But I am only part of the Everything Else That Is Now, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be. I am certainly not the sum total of the Everything Else That Is Now, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be. So I’m not G*D.

And I’m damned glad, because otherwise, all this mess would be my fault.

So that’s my tiny religion, and you may certainly try it on it you like. Or you may find your own. Last question coming up.

How will I know I have successfully become religious?

You will love the unlovable, you will desire a purpose, you will see into the infinite once in a while, and you will gradually become less of a self-centered assclown.

And the compassion you feel for the world will pierce your heart.

I told you it was hard.

I’m still working on it.

But it’s worth it, because there might be a parachute when you need it. You never know.