This is serious.
Here it is again, ladies and gentlemen. Christmas Eve, the day before we celebrate the birth of the fellow named Jesus.
Nobody is exactly sure how Jesus came to be or what was so spectacular about him that he should, 2,000 years later, still have people wailing in the aisles, dedicating their lives to him and begging for his blessing.
It’s fair to assume that whatever he had/has was/is pretty special.
The world’s history is full of special people. How many saints and prophets are there? Hundreds? Thousands? How many throughout all religions, known and forgotten? How many gurus and sages and shamans and storytellers that could seem to make time bend and hold the fire’s ashes still in midair, spinning them into shapes that were eyes in the dark?
How many have there been…and where did they all go?
At this point in history, amidst the talk of consciousness shift, signs and prophecies, it’s fair to ask when the next round of world savers is going to show up?
Is it possible that the workings of our specied humanity have been churning out visionaries and seers steadily all along?
What if a person (people!) akin to Christ has come and gone and come again?
Who is that person, who are those people, and how would we know them?
I never much believed in religion, and still don’t. Nonetheless, the prospect of some savior something or other showing up to…um, save us…well, it’s been an interesting thing to consider. It’d be a welcome change.
In my estimation, it seems reasonable to think that Jesus was not a one-time show. If the principle mechanics of immanence, as I understand them, hold true, there are – as part of our species – people who are attuned to the divine, who teach us in tone and tome of voice clear and certain what exactly it may be that we are supposed to do as humans in this world.
In all the stories there some who are able to harness, commune with, and even conduct the forces of the multiverse in such a way that wonder is reborn and hearts are set afire in clarity, wounds healed by grace.
This isn’t new age. The world is full of miracles and old souls. Everyone knows this…rich people, poor people, the well-read and the illiterate.
Everybody, deep down, wants so badly to believe in something. Wanting to believe in something is one of the few shared human truths.
Several years ago, it dawned on me that the Church may not recognize the ones who come to save the day and show the way.
“They won’t know.” I thought with a slow chill. “Why do I care that they won’t know?”
I had never been religious. Why was it suddenly concerning to me that, in the event that God (by any name) did try to communicate with the masses through some storied voice, if God did work wonders to behold, well…they wouldn’t let it be so. The churches wouldn’t see it. They would likely deny it.
At first, my caring about this possible thwarting of the history of the future unfolding was rooted in an appalled outrage over the fascist audacity of privileged men to deny the world the workings of…God?
Oh, it nagged at me, this question of, “What if…?”
I knew what would happen if someone showed up ranting that they were Christ returned, or that they were Mary incarnate. They’d get a shot of haloperidol and a diagnosis of schizophrenia.
I knew what would happen if a person calmly claimed to have access to the pathways of light. They’d end up cloistered in some new age community, talking about pathways to light.
What would happen if there really was some person, or a great many people, that really were written by the hand of these forces we call God?
What if there were people who know the feelings and understood their workings, who hear the clear sense of the universe on the wind itself?
We know that there are these people. The world is full of them.
Why then won’t the Church consider the validity and meaning of these truths and indications?
Two years ago, I proved God and I told the Church and they didn’t even respond.
It was, admittedly, a bit mad. Such is life and such is the world.
My version of proving God was full of surrealist logic, meta-analytics, and cloud pictures. Those elements, however, were not the bulk of the truth.
The way I felt proved God to me.
I hadn’t been searching. I didn’t meditate to ascend or pray on a rosary. I was just sitting on my porch, writing and drawing, trying to keep my life from falling apart.
When I realized that the feeling I was feeling must be the feeling that people feel when they feel God, it occurred to me that, “Hey! I really should tell somebody about this!” The thought was made more urgent by what I had begun to see in the clouds and the realization that, “You know, if someone saw that 2000 years ago, feeling the way I feel now, they’d say it was God at work in the sky.”
What, exactly, do churches expect? Do they really think it’s going to happen just so? What makes them so sure that they will be privy in the knowing?
I actually wrote letters to churches, even in churches in Rome, and told them, “Hey! I’m not saying I’m anything, but I think you might want to pay attention.”
I even acknowledged that I knew it sounded crazy. I even asked them to pray for me.
Nobody ever wrote back, except one fellow, a Canadian who operates a website called Proof That God Exists.
He had asked someone to show him proof of the three in the world and I did. I sent him a picture of a cloud cut like birds’ wings with a thin perfect 3 carved out of cloud.
The man just told me that my soul was filthy.