Category Archives: Religion

Memories, Religion, Sexuality, Spiritual Development

Should I stay or should I go? Exploring a journal prompt from chapter 2 of “Changing Paths”

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[Content Warning: Mentions of suicidal ideation, religion trauma,]

Hello dear readers! It’s Friday morning so that means once again exploring a journal prompt from the wonderful book, Changing Paths by non-binary witch Yvonne Aburrow. This week’s prompt comes from chapter two, which is titled “Leaving Your Religion.”1 Today’s chosen prompt reads as follows:

Imagine yourself staying in your current situation, and fully inhabiting that choice. Fully experience all the emotions involved in that choice. Now imagine yourself leaving your current situation, and fully experience what that choice will be like. What feelings arise from that choice?

For this prompt, I’m going to hop into the wayback machine and share with you how I was feeling around the time I left Christianity, which was in early November 1998. I feel it’ll make for a far more interesting and instructive read that if I tried answering this question about my current religious path.

In the autumn of 1998, I was going through a bunch of emotional turmoil. I had come out as a gay man two and a half years ago and decided to accept that I was gay and that it was okay to pursue a romantic and sexual relationship with another man. I had even entered into such a relationship, which had just ended around this time due to a variety of reasons (which mostly boiled down to it was an unhealthy relationship and I probably wasn’t really ready for a relationship at the time.)

I had left my church in late August of that same year, but I still considered myself a Christian. I was still committed to Jesus, and thought he was the only way to heaven, though I was struggling with the thought that God would send some of my friends who I had recently come to rely on for support (I’ll talk more about them in a little bit) to hell just for not believing in Jesus.

I was also dealing with the religious trauma of growing up gay in a religious environment that told me gay people were bad little sinners who made God sad and/or angry as well as the emotional results of repressing my feelings for roughly a decade.2

I was also dealing with a lot of guilt at the time, and not just about being gay.3 I grew up in a church that really pushed the whole theology about people being sinners and unable to do anything for themselves about their retched state. So I had some serious self-esteem issues over my lack of perfection. So the fact that i had just watched my first relationship explode and watched the dissolution of dear friendship at the time — both of which I was largely responsible for — left me feeling extremely guilty and worthless. I also felt a great deal of guilt over the dissolution of my relationship because I was still operating under purity culture ideals, which told me that I should only ever have sex with one person (even if it was another guy), who would then be my lifetime partner. So I had failed in a great way in my mind and considered it a great moral failing.

This led to my second crisis and I realized that my feelings were slowly leading me to self-destruction. It became obvious to me that If I remained with the religion I was brought up, i wasn’t going to survive. So for the second time in my life, I chose survival over my religious indoctrination. I started looking at other religions.

So I found a religious tradition that saw me as inherently valuable rather than retched and in need of grace. I found a religion that looked at my flaws and told me that sure, I was flawed, but I could be so much better. Not only that, this new religion provided me motivation and the sense that such self-improvement was worthwhile rather than a hopelessly Sisyphean task.

As a result, I felt valued4 and hopeful. I felt freedom. I knew that this change was the right one for me. And I’ve never regretted it, no matter how difficult the transition and subsequent journey became.

Footnotes

  1. I would note that this chapter is not about how to leave your religion, but provides insights into the kinds of questions and ideas you might want to explore when trying to decide if it’s time to leave. It’s entirely possible you could read this chapter and come to the conclusion that you want to stick it out instead. ↩︎
  2. At one point, I realized that I did not emotionally feel like I was 24, which was my biological age at the time. When I considered how old I felt, I realized that I seemed to be emotionally fourteen trying to live in the adult world. I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but I’m glad my emotional development eventually caught up with my body. I now fully feel like a guy about to turn fifty. (How I feel about being about to turn fifty is a whole other conversation.) ↩︎
  3. To be honest, being gay was the one thing I didn’t feel guilty about. My coming out experience two and a half years prior had been its own crisis that almost did not end well. As a result, I don’t think I’ve ever looked back and wondered “what if I was right the first time and my feelings toward other guys are sinful. I will note, however, that there were other issues surrounding my sexuality. For example, see my reaction to the dissolution of my first relationship, which is describe later in this post. ↩︎
  4. There’s a reason one of my favorite personal slogans is “Jesus loved me. Freyja taught me to love myself.” ↩︎
Paganism, Religion, Spiritual Development, Witchcraft

Learning to love liturgy

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In my previous post, I talked about how I love liturgical elements in ritual. This was not always the case. I was raised in an American Baptist church, and Baptists have historically not been huge fans of liturgy. Well, at least not by that name.1

I grew up thinking of something stodgy and unnecessary that Catholics2 do. To be honest, it seemed kind of stodgy and overly complicated. When I got to college and got involved in the more spontaneous worship of the charismatic church a cafeteria worker introduced me to, that opinion only grew worse. In fact, at that point, I started seeing the Baptist churches services of my childhood and teenage years equally stodgy and boring.3

Once I started getting into Paganism, my understanding of liturgy began to change and I started to gain an appreciation for liturgy. I think the firs step in that journey began when I started trying to write about the concept of mystery in Wicca. This was at a time when I was exploring non-initiatory Wicca and remember Scott Cunningham talking about mysteries and mystery traditions in his book. At least I think it was Cunningham where I first encountered the concept.

To help crystalize the concept in my head — and because I was already starting to develop a desire to explain concepts in my new spiritual tradition to others.4 So I decided to do this by writing an article5 in which I described Christian baptism as a mystery rite. I quoted the passage in which Paul describes baptism as symbolic of “dying and rising again with Christ” and suggested ways in which the rite of baptism might be performed to really drive that symbolism home in an experiential way.

At some point, i decided to share the article with a friend who was studying to be an Orthodox priest. He smiled and pointed out to me that I had unwittingly described the way the Orthodox church views the rite of baptism. He also mentioned that in the Orthodox church, the sacraments are often referred to as mysteries.6

Around the same time, I also started exploring other Pagan traditions as I was starting to realize that non-initiatory Wicca wasn’t really for me.7 One of the first organizations I checked out was Ar nDraiocht Fein, a Druid organization founded by Isaac Bonewits. I started working my way through the organizations Dedicant Program. I particularly spent a lot of time learning about the ADF8 ritual structure. I came to understand the purpose of each part of the rite and started to learn that liturgical elements had deep meaning to be explored and experienced. And I could appreciate how my Christian friends who came from Episcopalian and Catholic backgrounds had liturgies that offered that same sense of deeper meaning.

And while I joke about Baptists having liturgy by a different name, I do question the accuracy of that joke. While there was a structure to church services I attended as a kid, that structure seemed utterly devoid of symbolism or meaning. It seems to me that a proper liturgy needs more to it than letting you know when you’re going to sing a song, read from the Bible, collect the weekly offering, and so on.

I feel like my spiritual life has been greatly improved by gaining an appreciation and desire for some liturgy. How about you? Has your perspective on liturgy changed over time? If so, how? Let me know in the comments.

Footnotes

  1. Christian blogger Fred Clark once pointed out that Baptists have some sense of structure to their worship services, but prefer to refer to it by terms like “the order of worship” rather than “liturgy.” ↩︎
  2. Growing up, I didn’t have nearly the exposure to or understanding of the various Christian traditions that I do today. I did not realize that Episcopalians — who I only knew existed because my family drove past an Episcopal church on the way to our own church every Sunday — were similarly liturgical in their practice. ↩︎
  3. Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. I always found the church services of my first church stodgy and boring. I just discovered church services didn’t have to be stodgy and boring when I started going to the charismatic church. ↩︎
  4. Have I ever mentioned that I wanted to be a minister when I was a young Christian? That desire to teach and help others survived the conversion process. In those early years, that was occasionally to my detriment, as I would occasionally think I knew more than I did. At the same time, I also got frequently frustrated at knowing I went to be a “Christian since I measured my age with single digits who had all the answers” to starting over from square one. Ah, the joys of realizing you really are a mediocre white man and not liking it. ↩︎
  5. Alas, my attempts to find a copy in recent years have failed so far. It’s a shame because as I recall, it was a pretty good article. But I think I wrote it for one of the online diary communities I was on and my accounts on those sites are long gone. ↩︎
  6. My friend also shared my article with his bishop at the time. He said the bishop responded by announcing that “I was Orthodox and just didn’t know it yet.” At the time, i was kind of flattered. As I’ve grown over the past decade or two, I still find the comment somewhat flattering, but also roll my eyes at the inherent Christian supremacy of it. ↩︎
  7. Years later, I encountered initiatory Wicca and explored that as well. I found it much more appealing and feel like there is a certain kinship between it and my own witchcraft practice. However, I never became a Wiccan initiate for a variety of reasons. I’ve recently considered whether I’d like to pursue that again. It’s an appealing thought, but I’ve also realized that my life circumstances just don’t make it a good choice. But I reserve the right to revisit that decision periodically. ↩︎
  8. To me, “ADF” will always stand for the Druid organization and not the Christian supremacist legal advocacy and training group (and SPLC-designated hate group) whose names also use the same initials. ↩︎
Paganism, Religion, Spiritual Development, Witchcraft

Ritual style preferences: Exploring a journal prompt from chapter 1 of “Changing Paths”

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Earlier this week, I decided to start reading Changing Paths by Wiccan author Yvonne Aburrow. I’ve decided that as part of my effort to get back into blogging, I’m going to take one or more journal prompt Yvonne asks at the end of each chapter every Friday and blog about it here. This week, I’ll be covering a blog prompt from chapter 1, which is titled “What is Religion?” Here’s the prompt I chose:

What type of ritual do you prefer? Formal or informal, structured or spontaneous? Are you drawn to liturgical, celebratory, or magical styles of ritual?

To explore this question, it’s helpful to briefly summarize the types of styles of ritual Yvonne mentions and what they’re characterized:

  • Liturgical rituals are communal rites that are often structured and formalized. Yvonne suggests that they are designed to “avoid outbursts of emotion or spontaneity.
  • Celebratory rituals tend to be informal and involved elements of spontaneity. They note that these tend to be intended to release or unleash power.
  • Magical rituals involve wielding power and directing it toward a desired end.
  • Ceremonial rituals are those in which power is honored and existing power structures are maintained.

As I think of these styles, I find all four styles — or at least elements from them — appealing. I certainly like the familiarity of certain liturgical elements whose symbolism and meanings I can fall upon. Yet I’m not big on “avoiding outbursts of emotion” or embracing a total lack of spontaneity. So I prefer repeating a ritual structure that has been carefully thought out and contains deep meaning for me, yet leaves space for moments from the heart and the interjection of Divine (or human) ecstasy into a particular rite as well.

Of course, it’s no surprise that I like magical rites. After all, magic and witchcraft goes hand in hand (especially if a witch like me who thinks that the very process of connecting with the Divine and/or other people is magical in itself). I also feel that the magical aspect of ritual is what moves me from a mere participant or servant of the Divine to a co-creator with other humans and event he Divine themselves.

Possibly the least ritual style I’m interested in is ceremonial ritual. I’m not a fan of honoring power and maintaining existing power structures. Perhaps it’s just the connotations I personally have with the phrasing Yvonne for it, but the description of ceremonial ritual screams authoritarianism and I tend to be staunchly anti-authoritarian.

And yet, I want to pause and explore my assumptions in my assessment. After all, there are structures that I do think are worth preserving and even necessary. The thing is, I think those structures aren’t authoritarian. And I realize that the idea of non-authoritarian and non-authoritarian structures often feels like an oxymoron, but I do think they exist. We just tend to refer to them by other terms, like “networks” and “communities.”

So could there be a ceremonial ritual that celebrates community and mutual commitment and is designed to strengthen community ties and bonds behind people. Or to put it in terms of Heathen practice, would a Sumble focused primarily and building bonds n the community be seen as ceremonial? Or would it fall under a different style? I’d love to hear people’s thoughts in the comments.

Magic/Magick, Religion, Witchcraft

Musings on significance and meaning

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“What is the significance of…”

“What does it mean when…”

Over the years, I’ve seen many questions that begin with each of those phrases. This is not surprising. It is a well established fact that many humans have an innate tendency to find significance, meaning, and even patterns where there actually are none. There’s even a term for this.

To give a more concrete example, I’d like to share something I posted on social media yesterday:

I’m reminded that a lot of people don’t realize that our calendar is entirely arbitrary. It’s useful, but arbitrary. So it makes it interesting to me when people try to find meaning in it. Things like “there are two blue moons this year! What does it mean?!” It means that an entirely arbitrary calendar lined up with the lunar cycles in a mildly peculiar way.

There’s nothing wrong with looking for significance or meaning, either. However, often there is neither until we imbue something with our own meaning and significance. This seems to be something some people don’t realize and maybe even be uncomfortable with. They seem to think that some external source — perhaps even some sort of authority — must declare that meaning and significance. Or maybe they’d prefer that such meaning and significance be an inherent property of the universe.

As someone who sees witchcraft as the act of creation (literally making us co-creators of the world we live in and are further building), I welcome the idea that we tend to imbue events and things with meaning and significance. It is essentially part of the creation process, where we imprint our own view of significance and meaning on the world around us, both as individuals and collectively. In fact, I’d say it’s an important part of defining and envisioning the kind of world we want to both create and live in.

Around The Blogosphere, Online Life, Paganism, Podcast, Religion

Thoughts on a podcast interview I gave bout death and grief in Paganism

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This morning, Kim Evans-Handy, aka The Mocha Widow, released the episode of her Grief Unleashed podcast where she interviewed me to get a Norse Pagan perspective about death, what might happen after we die, and the grieving process for surviving loved ones. I’d encourage you to check it out.

I greatly appreciate Kim for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts on this subject. (Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a shout-out to Mandy Capehart for making me aware of this opportunity and putting me in touch with Kim.) Kim was a delight to speak with, a great listener, and asked probing questions.

Overall, I’m extremely happy with the interview and the things I’ve said. However, as someone who sees life as an opportunity to constantly grow and improve, there are things I might have said or done differently in retrospect. For example, I might have cut the tangent about initiatory WIcca and what initiation is much shorter. I had originally only brought up the existence of the two “flavors” of Wicca because I was talking about reincarnation and wanted to point out that my own understanding of reincarnation (as near as I can tell as a non-initiate) tends to coincide more closely to the views of practitioners of initiatory of Wicca rather than those held by those practice non-initiatory Wicca. But Kim asked for a little details on what initiation was like (which would be a better question for those who have actually gone through it than me) and the rabbit that is my mind was off like a shot.

Similarly, I wish I would have taken more time to talk about the more common Norse Pagan view of the afterlife, involving people residing with one of the various Norse deities (with Odin in Valhalla or with Hel1 in her home are the two most commonly known possibilities.)

Shortly after I gave this interview on March 3, I found Essential Asatru in the Kindle Unlimited library and read it. The author, Diana L. Paxson spends a significant amount of time talking about the importance of honoring the ancestors in Asatru, and I wish I had thought to mention that as well during my interview. After all, some Heathens/Norse Pagans even believe it is possible to communicate with ancestors and even seek wisdom from them (which seems to be a pretty common view among many religions and cultures, to be honest). This seems pretty relevant to the topic we were discussing. But this is the problem one faces when one has a lot they can talk about an a limited amount of time to talk. If I had said everything I could possibly say, there’s a chance we’d still be recording.

As I said, I think it was a fantastic interview overall and I hope people find value in it. I just think that if I were to do it again, I might try to find ways to cut the parts where I was educating the audience about Paganism in general a little shorter and made more time to cover death and grief and Pagan perspectives on it. After all, that was the central theme of the interview and what was most aligned with the podcast’s intent.

Notes:

1In Essential Asatru, (which I mention in this post a little further down) Diana Paxson notes that some Asatru do believe in some sort of reincarnation and that certain readings of the lore support such a belief. So my tendency toward believing in reincarnation doesn’t make me a total outlier Heathens/Norse Pagans after all.

Gender and Sexuality, Religion, Sexuality

Thoughts about the first Content Warning Event

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Image from the event’s website.

This past weekend, I attended the 2024 Content Warning Event online. This was an event hosted and sponsored by the Thereafter and Go Home Bible You’re Drunk podcasts to discuss purity culture, the various ways it has harmed people, and ways to move beyond it. It was an excellent conference, consisting entirely of panel discussions and the panelists represented a diverse range of sexualities and racial backgrounds.

I loved the fact that the event consisted solely of panel discussions rather than including lectures or presentations given by solo speakers. It made it clear that the goal was dialogue rather than a one-way communication of ideas. Given who authoritarian purity culture and the larger Christian cultures that promote it tend to be, I thought that in itself was a nice act of resistance.

I also appreciated the diversity of topics and perspectives that the event tried to cover. This was not merely a conference about how purity culture demeans sex (which is a true statement) and creates guilt, but one that explored the white supremacy inherent in purity culture, the damage purity culture does to the way people understand their own gender, and how purity culture harms relationship — including non-romantic relationships. One of my favorite moments was when Dr. Tina Schermer Sellers gave her introduction during the first panel discussion and brought up how purity culture harms relationships between parents and children.

Some panel discussions interested me more than others. For example, I was not particularly engaged with the panel discussion about queer inclusion, since that focused primarily on queer inclusion within Christianity and I’m not interested in being included in Christianity. In fact, I appreciated Chrissy Stroop, who facilitated that particular panel discussion, for noting that she was happy to just avoid theology altogether. Chrissy and I differ in that I still enjoy theology, but we both have little use for Christian theology.

(I want to quickly note, that the above is a personal opinion. I understand that many queer folks are Christian and remain to be so. I’m sure they appreciated that particular panel discussion far more than I did. And not everything needs to be nor should be about me.)

While I’m talking about my own religious views, I will note that one thing I would love to see see more diversity of religious thought in the future. The panelists seemed to be mostly Christian, Christian adjacent, or non-religious. And while that probably reflects the demographics of most people who have escaped purity culture pretty well, a bit more representation of those of us who “are still religious, but not Christian anymore” would be nice. Plus I think that exploring the ways that other religions view sex and sexuality would be beneficial for everyone. For example, my own spiritual tradition has a lot to say about sex as sacred and even a religious rite.

Some of my favorite panels were the ones that looked beyond purity culture and talked about building new ways to see sexuality and even think about the morality of sex. These panels included discussions of sex work and porn consumption, non-monogamous relationships and sex, and decolonizing purity culture. I’d love to see more such panels in the future. I think “where do we go from here” is an important question to ask and there are plenty of ways to explore it.

I also appreciated that some panel discussions– most notably the one on decolonization — spoke to issues and ideas beyond purity culture. I think this is important because purity culture doesn’t exist in a vacuum, but is part of a much bigger system. I suspect that the whole system must be tackled and keeping that in mind even when discussing a particular sub-component or constituent part is important.

At the end of the event, they announced that the next event will be held next year over President’s Day weekend in Atlanta Georgia. It’s not clear to me if that one will also be focused on purity culture or if they might cover a (slightly) different topic. Either way, I look forward to it and hope it’s as delightful, uplifting, and educational as this one was.

Religion, Religious Discrimination, Sexuality

Let’s talk about that Christian radio host who lost his job for telling a woman to attend her grandson’s wedding to another man.

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The following is collected from a series of posts I made on Threads.

I finally decided to read about the Christian radio host who got fired because he talked about telling a woman she should attend her grandson’s wedding to another man. Can we talk about how phenomenally bad he man’s advice was? Before you get too riled up by that assertion, read on.

Yes, the man told the woman she should attend the ceremony. On the face of things, that seems like a good thing. But he only told her to do so after she affirmed that she did not approve and she thought her grandson’s “lifestyle” was sinful. Folks, if that’s your attitude, I don’t WANT you at my wedding. Attending a same sex marriage ceremony only after making it clear you think it’s a terrible thing is NOT loving.

And then you have the man’s reasons for giving the advice. He argues that the grandson is far less likely to “write his grandmother off as judgemental.” Not because she loves her grandson and wants to be there for any major moment in his life. No, simply because not doing so might “hurt her witness,” because that’s apparently the most important thing in this situation.

And to be frank, if you’ve already told me you think my relationship is sinful and wrong in the eyes of your god, I’ve already concluded you’re judgemental and bigoted. Showing up at my wedding after that isn’t going to change my mind. So the radio host’s advice and reasoning for that advice aren’t even liable to pan out.

Finally, what’s really going on here is that the host is banking on the grandson giving in to the societal pressure that “family is important no matter what.” He’s hoping the grandson will bend over backward to see his grandmother in the best possible light. And that’s manipulative.

Personal Development, Religion

Musings Leaving Christianity and Still Relating to Christians: Inspired by Trey Ferguson’s book.

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The following is a compilation of a Thread I posted. The book I mention can be found here.

So I had a few thoughts while reading Chapter 7 (“We Gotta Have a Talk about Deconstruction”) from @pastortrey05‘s book. It’s the chapter I got this quote from:

“Liberation lies in the community of testimonies. It is not in shouting down the stories of others that we become more whole. It is in putting those stories in conversation. Not debate. Actual conversations for the sake of learning about our neighbors, not convincing nor converting them.”

@pastortrey05, “Theologizin’ Bigger”

Note that this thread is not a direct response @pastortrey05 or specifically what he said. Instead, they are my own thoughts that came up while reading. But I felt that sharing those seemed very in line with the above quote and the book in general, so here we go.

I’m one of the people whose deconstruction (which started before most of us even knew that such a process would become commonly called “deconstruction”) led them out of Christianity completely. And I have to admit, i sometimes wonder why I spend so many books about theology in a religion I don’t follow anymore. But hey, some Christians have some interesting theologies (or theologizin’, if you prefer) that deserve a good look.

So here’s a glimpse into my perspective(s) on my exit from Christianity and my thoughts on the various Christianities out there as someone who has since become a total “outsider.”

I will note that the Christianity I left was specifically white evangelical Christianity. I was raised in an American Baptist (the denomination the SBC split off from) church. I’ll note that my congregation was still pretty conservative for that denomination. So theologically, we were still pretty close to the Southern Baptists.

In college, I got involved in a Full Gospel (basically charismatic or Pentecostal) church. So my journey from being a low-key cessationist to a tongues-speaking spiritual warrior type who did Jericho walks and prayed against literal demons would probably make an interesting thread in its own right. But for now, I just wanted to note that I had some exposure to a small diversity of Christian teachings even within white evangelicalism.

But I definitely stayed within white evangelicalism. Even when I first came out as gay, I spent a couple years trying to remain within my evangelical faith. Basically, I tried to keep everything else while saying it was okay if I dated and had sex with other men. I think a lot of LGBTQIA+ Christians from that background try that route for at least a while, to be honest. Some even seem to stick with it.

(See my criticisms of organizations like The Reformation Project that, in my opinion, merely seek to “the queer wing of the purity culture movement.”)In the long run, I couldn’t do it. In the long run, I realized that the Christianity I was raised in did not allow myself to see myself in a positive light. I decided then that if I wanted to be able to see myself as anything other than slime that relied on the grace of another to “love me in spite of myself,” I had to leave.

I will note that I didn’t know Christians like @josh_a_scott, @pastortrey05, @thequirkypastor back then. Had I known such Christians back then, I might have had access to Christianities that recognized the inherent dignity and worth (what I call the sacredness) of every human being just because each human being existed. I sometimes wonder how my story might differ if I had.

(I’ve similarly wondered how my story might have been different if I’d been surrounded by Jewish friends and acquaintances at that time of my life rather than atheists and Pagans. There’s much about Judaism I find admirable these days as well.)

But instead, I found myself among Wiccans and other Pagans, and that led me to my new and current spiritual home. It led to me to one of my favorite sayings:Jesus loved me. Freyja taught me to love myself.

That statement is central to my story. It’s also the central reason why I will probably be a witch and devotee of Freyja for the rest of my life. You just don’t walk away from that kind of gift. But even so, I can appreciate the stories (and yes, I’m falling into much the same language of @pastortrey05 here) of others who might have found a home in some new (to that person) Christianity.

I find a great deal to admire about how the Christians I mentioned up-thread interpret and share the stories of Jesus and other stories int he Bible. They’re just not MY stories anymore. But I appreciate that I share many values with these Christians even if we might express them through radically different stories.

In closing, I note that I think one of the things I find funny is that the biggest thing I and the Christians I mentioned might disagree with on is actually the nature of the Divine (for example, monotheism and a “Three O compliant” deity just don’t make sense to me anymore). But rather than spending a lot of time arguing over that, we can find shared values and common cause. And that’s something I love.

Magic/Magick, Religion, Spiritual Development

Musings on worship from a magical/ritual point of view.

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A topic that I’ve seen come up in many circles (most recently in a recent Meet and Greet for those of us who attend Gracepointe church services online) is the topic of worship. And a common question seems to be one over whether there is an actual Divine experience there or whether it’s a purely emotional experience. As a witch who has come to greatly appreciate religious and magical ritual alike, I suspect that worship involves — or at least can involve both of those things.

One of the things that I have learned as a witch is the importance of a ritual state of consciousness (and other altered states of consciousness). I’ve also come to understand that well-crafted rituals are designed to create various states of consciousness in the participants. And that includes evoking certain emotions.

I also don’t think that this is a bad thing. Evoking certain emotions and states of consciousness can be very useful and beneficial. (I’ll come back to that in a bit.) It’s okay that the worship music (or other aspects of some other ritual) are carefully selected to have a particular impact on participants, as long as participants are aware of what’s happening and they consent to it.

And I think it’s that if that creates the problem. I think a lot of people go into worship not understanding that they’re essentially participating in an activity that is designed to evoke these things. Instead, they’ve often be encouraged to think of them as something that “just happens” or that it’s a sure sign that their experience is “from God.” In my opinion, that’s dishonest and discourages those people from going into that experience and viewing it afterward through critical analysis and thought. But for those aware that they’re participating in an intentionally constructed experience, I think it can be both beneficial and illuminating.

This doesn’t mean I don’t think there’s no experience of the Divine in such experiences. As a matter of fact, as a witch who is heavily interested in theurgy (loosely defined as magic related to connecting/uniting with the divine1), I think that we go through these rituals that evoke these emotions and states of consciousness to aid and encourage an experience of the Divine. In that moment of emotionalism or ecstasy, we may gain a new insight which may cause us to see things in a new light. Hopefully it causes us to gain a renewed or deepened sense of compassion, a heightened desire to be a champion for justice, or some other positive outcome.2

To me, the important thing is to understand the difference between the intentionally generated emotions and the experience of the Divine (or other spiritual insight) that comes from it. I think far too many people have been encouraged to mistake the former for the latter and even completely ignore the latter altogether. Such people tend to think that the emotional trip is the end goal rather than a means to seek out something deeper. On the flip side, some people who realize that worship (and similar ritual activities) intentionally invokes emotions and respond by throwing the whole practice out altogether. I don’t think that’s necessary to do, though.

1I’m not entirely satisfied with this brief definition of theurgy because I believe we are always united with the Divine. Instead, I think we’re just often unawareness of that fact. So maybe theurgy would better be described as magical acts that raise our awareness of our connection to/union with the Divine.

2I am firmly convinced that the measure of any mystical experience should not be how “real” it is, but what effect it has on you and whether it makes you more inclined to want to make the world a better place.

Online Life, Religion

Musings on sharing and passing on prayer requests on social media.

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This blog post is adapted from a Twitter1 thread that I tweeted out on the same topic.

Yesterday, I learned that my mother is in the hospital for COVID. I tweeted the following out to my followers, looking for support:

I would like to note that I specifically directed this message to “friends who…” I would have thought that this would have made it clear that I wasn’t looking for every person who believed in prayer to jump on it.

And yet, three different people who do not follow me and have no followers in common with me decided to retweet my request to their followers. I’m not even sure how any of them found my tweet, to be honest. As I said, I don’t follow me, and I doubt my tweets get promoted, sine I refuse to send Musk any money.

I get it. it’s entirely possible that these people meant well. After all, I think there’s an impulse to get as many people praying as possible. And I think that usually comes from a good place. But as the song goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. More on that later.

But I think we as a society also need to balance that impulse against respecting people’s privacy and whether or not they want every prayer they can possibly get. There are probably some people I don’t want praying for my or my mother. Namely people who are going to pray for an outcome I don’t approve of. (My mother’s health crisis is neither your evangelistic opportunity nor a chance to pray for my “salvation.”)

I will note that all three people who retweeted my request are Christians. Not the same kind of Christian, mind you. One seemed like a pretty progressive type. Another was an obvious Christian supremacist. I’d be hard pressed to describe the third one with such certainty, but their bio and tweet history suggested that they were at least inclined toward some degree of Christian supremacy.

Now, I will note that a lot of people I don’t know — including Christians who probably found my prayer request through the overt Christian supremacist — left kind offers of prayer. I appreciated that. But then you have good ol’ Tom, who totally found me through that overt Christian supremacist. Here’s what Tom had to say:2

I would be happy to pray for you, Jarred, AFTER you remove “send positive energy” from your request. If I pray Only God will get the glory.

Because leave it to a Christian supremacist to turn a chance to pray for a sick woman into a religious pissing match.

Now I’d like to think that most people — including multitudes of people who fall somewhere in Christian supremacy — would be horrified by Tom’s behavior. And many of my friends took Tom to task for his behavior. (Much love to you.)

But the Christian supremacist who enabled Tom to find me through his retweet? As of late last night when I checked, he hasn’t said a peep. He hasn’t taken Tom to task. Nor has he expressed any regret for — whether intentionally or not — put me in Tom’s rhetorical crosshairs. For me that’s a problem.

So consider this post a reminder that maybe not every tweet should be retweeted and that maybe we should take more care in considering what the consequences of retweeting something deeply personal and sensitive to other people might be. Even if our hearts are in the right place and just want to make sure that a sick woman and her son get as much prayer as possible. Because remember, I was somewhat specific in who I was directing my prayer request to.

1I will never call it “X.” However, if someone pays me $20 per month, I’ll gladly start referring to it as “Close App Icon.”

2I will not link directly to Tom’s profile or tweet because Tom does not deserve the traffic. Also, I’d just as soon he not find this post through Google search if he’s the type to search his name. (In fairness, I search my name about every six months and don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with the practice.