Just when I think I know more than than I do, I'm knocked down to my humble beginnings: a curious, creative child with more questions than answers and a flare for the fanciful. Oh, how grateful I am that I'm still invited back to my innocence. In reality, I probably know more than I think I know (grin), but I love to learn things again and again, like a favorite picture book or a well-worn sweatshirt. Each time, I hope to take away something fresh, to consume the knowledge more carefully, to embrace it more fully. The things I know best, I know in my bones: my faith skeleton. The rest flies by. I grab what I can, thanking God for it in the rush.
A couple years ago, a book was recommended to me by an Episcopal Sister who I had the pleasure to meet during EfM (Education for Ministry). The members of the group took turns leading prayers to start our sessions together. Several offerings came from the collection, "God has no Religion," about blending traditions for prayer, by Francis Sheridan Goulart. I fell in love with the book.
Perhaps because I spent many years in the classroom as a teaching artist, using a vast array of photos, poems, music, props, books, paintings and more, I have a deep need for options (grin). Many things inspire me. Many things touch my heart, open my eyes, expand my vision. There is profound benefit to an eclectic approach when exploring challenging ideas. Access to multiple perspectives is likely to deepen one's understanding, reveal more layers of meaning, even broaden personal backgrounds. Children are often the truest responders. Typically, they will pick their favorites without dismissing other ideas. A variety of opinions is okay. In drama, students could show multiple conclusions in small group work, creative compromise in whole group time and honest assessment in reflection. More than one thing can be true for a child. There can be different ends to a story. Maybe that's why my inner child has a standing invitation as my spirit takes nourishment.
What we know, how we gather it, our wildly diverse frames of reference, our individual "faith skeletons," these are some of the ways we differ. Beautiful differences, these. Even more engaging: the ways we're similar. How fascinating it is to find the places where our paths cross. How painfully beautiful it can be when sorrow bonds us. I imagine a bright energy that streams through our collective Soul*ar System, giving each and every human a share of the Truth, through our own unique filters. What a brilliant way to have us learn from each other! My naming convention: God.
Compassion is a joining force, a Holy tool for the whole family of Truth. If we're all hunting and gathering, best to have a passion for being in common: an active acknowledgement of the other. Love is the way we get anywhere and it manifests in oh-so-many different ways. Treating people compassionately is the quintessential manifestation of Love. It reminds us that, even with our multitude of differences, we always have something in common.
I stand behind the notion that God has no religion, although it seems completely right that human beings crave knowledge, seek answers, look to like minds for solace; as long as we remember that unlike minds, vastly different experiences, and seemingly opposite interpretations need not divide us. Rather, these things can grow us and enrich our yearning for a clear vision of our share of the Truth.
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