This chapter from A Freethinker’s Gospel (2018) begins and ends with a lesson from some wild and woolly neighbors.

“Startling Spirituality”

The words we use to describe our most profound, significant experiences in life can end up being helpful or harmful. What we do with our startling moments, what we think and say, forms our worldview and our attitude toward Nature and others.

I had to yell this morning, and I hate loud sounds, especially before I’ve had my Earl Grey. I not only yelled; I clapped my hands over and over while hollering, “Hey-Hey! Ha! Hey There!” and stomped my feet. Was I mad because Carol forgot to buy my favorite tea? No; and no, I wasn’t angry at all. I was startled and a bit unnerved.

Walking up our hill at an early hour I saw dark shapes by a garbage can. As I got closer, the blobs focused into a good-size mama black bear pulling a full garbage bag out of an overturned bin. At my racket, three smaller dark shapes scurried up a maple. Someone asked me later if I took any photos. My phone was in my pocket, but I found myself shaking my wallet at the bruin family. I wouldn’t recommend it.

The mama sized me up and I imagined she had a moment thinking, “THAT might taste better than this garbage” but she ran across the road toward the woods, stopping to turn her head, plastic trash bag in her jaws, as the furry cubs scurried down and scampered off for their morning “breakfast.”

A startling start to the day.

Some years back I made a list of lessons that best described my view of “natural spirituality” (Nature-centered faith). On the list were “Be curious”; “Respect”; “See the small things”; “Simplify”; “Slow down”; “Pay attention”; “Appreciate Beauty” and some other observations. At the top of the list was “Be Startled.” Though startling moments or encounters can be quite frightening, even dangerous, at times, they can also throw open the doors and windows of our senses and perceptions. Being startled is an opportunity to be fully human and fully alive.

I wrote an essay I titled, “The End of Spirituality.” You may find that startling. I did too, when I came to the conclusion that what most people mean by “spirituality” (and what I was thinking when I used the word) is, sorry to say, rather meaningless—it can actually be the greatest distraction to the most startling moments of our lives. This deserves an explanation.

We learned way back in seminary Hebrew and Greek language courses that the common word “spirit” originally meant “wind or breath” (Heb: ruach; Gk: pneuma).
Astronomer Carl Sagan, a confirmed agnostic, had no problem identifying “spirituality” with the very natural act of breathing:

“I remind you of the elementary fact that we breathe the waste products of plants and plants breathe the waste products of humans. A very intimate relationship if you think about it” (The Varieties of Scientific Experience: A Personal View of the Search for God, 1985 Gifford Lectures).

It may be that those of us who seek an intimacy with “something greater” are only convinced that Greatness is present when we “do something spiritual” like pray or praise, meditate or murmur a scripture verse. It seems that some people just can’t see something amazing like a bird in flight or an awe-inspiring mountain, forest or ocean without making it all about God and faith. I know the feeling, but now that seems rather sad to me. They seem to be missing what’s really there. Why can’t people just be quiet, take a deep breath and simply stand startled to silence?

Most all the world’s religious traditions have an embedded practice of spirituality, and some have very detailed descriptions of exactly what or who “Spirit” is. Father, Son and Holy Spirit is the most well-known for us. Three “Persons,” one of whom is an invisible presence of the divine (though none is visible). In my Pentecostal years I experienced the Holy Ghost as something that took over my body as I let my mind go. The Spirit would speak through me to speak in “tongues,” sing praises and “prophesy” (God speaking directly through me). This couldn’t go to my head very much, since many of my friends were doing the same thing. It got more strange when the heavenly language was pure gibberish and the “word of prophecy” conflicted with other messages from God.

Most people move on from these confusing emotional dramas. In my ministry years I came to feel that “being spiritual” was more or less being aware, awake and present to others, especially among those in greatest need. It was no longer about “Me and God” proved by how “full of the Spirit” I was. To be spiritually sensitive was to be open to full and often messy humanity—to be compassionately responsive and prepared to be startled.

When I hear someone say they are “spiritual” on a continual quest for “spirituality,” I smile, sip my tea and wonder where the bears are today.