It was a brilliantly gorgeous day, unusual for Portland, Oregon, where it rains most of the time, except when summer finally arrives on the doorstep in June to stay firmly planted until October when the rains take over again. It's almost as if the rain genie gives over his duties to the sun god for four months. It's pure heaven, almost worth suffering through those long endlessly dreary months of perpetual rain to get to summer.
Out of such glorious radiance I stepped into the old church, dark inside, womb-like. I was on a spiritual quest and hadn't stepped foot in a church in awhile and yet fully aware that the Church now resided in me. But something in me longed for an external physical visual expression of what was inside me.
I was surprised the church was open. A recent rash of criminal activity had led residents to put decorative bars in front of windows and doors and churches seemed to be the first to lock up, sadly, even ironically. Rather than cast wide their doors, turn on their lights and invite
I quietly stepped down the long, cold polished cobbled center aisle to the front of the church. Before me hung a larger-than-life crucifix, carefully carved in a beautiful ebony wood. Behind me, above the choir loft was a rose stained glass window, reminiscent of the magnificent one in the gothic Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris, France. I felt embraced in a way, between Spirit and God, surrounded by the ancient images from one man's passionate odyssey which inspired many to follow, to understand, to go where he went, to do what he did. Today, that's what I was seeking, a deeper knowledge, a greater personal experience of the Holy, an infusion of His Spirit in my life's mission.
The Church was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. The sun shone through the bright blue, gold, green, red hues of the stained glass windows, each marking a poignant step on the way of his sacred walk. What was I seeking? What message did I come to hear in this place?
I knelt at the altar rail as I had for hundreds of Sundays since my youth, looked up at the Crucifix and felt my heart open again, perhaps larger, perhaps wedged open more than it was before. I felt humbled, honored to be alone with the Master for a few moments. How could I be a better disciple? How could I do what I so dearly wanted to do? And, then, I recalled, strangely, the words of St. Francis that a friend of mine lives by, "rebuild my church." Are you kidding me, I thought. You can't be serious. Feeding the poor, loving the broken, oppressed, homeless are his rebuilding effort. We each have a unique expression of that missive.
The world is in the greatest peril of its history. There is only one hope. On that hope rests all of humanity's survival. And, it is NOT to get more people to church or increase their giving or prostelize the church's teachings, which are not entirely the whole message. It is to teach them all what he was trying to say by dying (or actually NOT dying) on Passover.
"Yes. I get it," I heard myself acknowledge. Several years ago, I had a revelation, a fuller understanding at the passion at that time. Recently, that wonderful deeper understanding returned to me during a long walk on another beautiful Portland afternoon, a kind of walking meditation, Thomas Merton-style.
Passover is old news. Or, is it? As in any act of the holy in our world, there are layers and layers of deepening meaning, speaking to us throughout the ages at every level of our spiritual maturation process at every stage of our development, evolution, toward our ultimate place as divinely self-realized beings of light.
Was there a deeper reason for dying on a cross on Passover? Was it because none of the disciples really fully understand his message to the world. Yes, we know now there was the gorgeous life-giving mysticism Thomas understood and shared in his Gospel, and John, Philip and the Apostle to the Apostles, Mary, as well as many others. Maybe James understood, maybe Paul got it later. But, today, the world may be partially in the mess it's in because the more profound, overarching message the Master wanted to impart to us, to humanity for all time, has been overlooked in the details.
As God sent the Angel of Death on Passover, the children of Israel the night before they were to embark on their long sojourn toward the Promised Land were spared. They were spared and then led out of captivity, through 40 years in a desert, on their quest to the Promised Land of freedom and prosperity. Master Jesus was speaking to the world's people through the archetype of that story. He was saying, perhaps, or at least I think, that the Passover is extended to all people. He was showing us something that maybe he trusted would be shared, told, even if none of the disciples would survive to write it and teach it.
Again, this is not rocket science, rather poetry. There is no death. Period. We do not and cannot die. If in our essential nature we are in union with God, creator, and our Creator is eternal, endless, so are we. Jesus is showing us the way to abundant living because he is removing the heaviest burden humanity could carry and that is the fear of death. His message lifts that burden and shows us that Passover is a given, it is a sacred, unending liberation from fear and death. He shows us the way and passage into that eternal life. It is UNCONDITIONAL. It is a given, just like your birth was a given. It is real. It happens. If you could accept it, live into the freedom and joy that awareness brings, your burden here in this life would be significantly reduced, even eliminated.
Yes, the body will die as all matter eventually does, but the spirit does not. You are not your body. YOU are WHO lives in your body. That one single fundamental thought is the cornerstone to our entire existence. Without that awareness, we live in fear, manipulated by those who think they have the right to negotiate and broker our salvation.
Also, one more thing, he didn't come to start a new religion or increase membership in an old one. He came to free us ALL from anything that has a lien on our personal spiritual property - our own souls. The way to abundant life - is through the awareness, consciousness, that we are now, here, and everywhere, always have been already living our eternal lives. This will become abundantly clear when you die because then you will realize that you never stopped living - except when you lived in darkness, steeped in fear being controlled by those dark powers during your time on Earth who kept you imprisoned in your fear. We will wrestle with the angel of death until we finally step through those old familiar (dis)comfort zones where we were burdened and bounded by others' control over us. Then, finally, we set our own spirits free of whomever, whatever - absolutely whatever - controls us, including and especially some of the religious authorities.
Once free, our Spirits seem to know exactly what to do. When you give the keys to your spirit to the ultimate Spirit, it seems to know exactly what to do. You are free of the burden of determining your destiny. The great, Holy, Spirit will always lead you to the deepest joy, the greatest love you could ever experience. What happens then, is beyond awesome. It also is an unconditional gift, most authentic experience you could ever realize. It is the truth, the way and THE life.
There in the deep recesses of the inner sanctum of that old church, I had been reminded again of that very simple message, which is - and always has been - open to all people of all faiths, of all nationalities, all cultures, all races. It was seeded in us from the beginning, but the heaviness and darkness of this world has blocked its view. We all need to remove the fear that darkens its door, blocks its radiance.
I got up, bowed, thanked Him again, turned, glanced up at the gracious rose window glowing in pink tones, lovingly, that afternoon. Feeling bathed in radiance, I stepped back up the aisle, pulled open the heavy oak doors and slipped out into the warm sunshine. A dome of light seemed all around me, wrapped in a blanket of rich quiet. Nothing in me stirred, no thought, no idea, no words. Silently, I walked down the street to my car.
Top photo:
The North window of Notre Dame de Paris.
The magnificent roses of the transepts at Notre Dame date to 1250-60. Unlike most of the glass in Paris, and much of France, these two contain nearly all of their original elements. The ravages of time and war destroyed a majority of the great glass works of the Middle Ages, though human arrogance also took its toll. By the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the distaste for Medieval styles was prevalent across Europe. In efforts to modernize the churches and cathedrals, windows were callously smashed out and replaced with a lightly tinted glass called grisaille. In the nineteenth century some of these works were restored. Sadly, there no longer existed an extant tradition which supported the same degree of craft evident in such masterpieces as the roses of Notre Dame de Paris and Chartres.
Image: Rhey Cedron
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