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By Markos Zouridakis

By Markos Zouridakis

Faitheist serves as an example to Pagans, polytheists, Witches, Druids and Heathens (I think it’s time we get our own LGBTQAI abbreve, no?) of the impact and power that storytelling can have on furthering our ideals.

Browse the bookshelf at a local metaphysical bookstore, and you will find book after book which explains the hows of our different systems. You may find a title or two that dives deeper into the why, but you will be hard pressed to find many books which unpack the personal stories of the author. We don’t do memoir very often, and I’m not sure why.

As I was reading to the end of the first chapter of Make Magic of Your Life by T. Thorn Coyle, the March BITG Book Club title (which I am enjoying very much, and which I encourage you all to start reading), I was struck with a sense of longing to know more about Thorn’s life. I was curious about what had transpired that led to these deep and expansive awarenesses.

Last week, in response to a blog comment that asked something to the effect of, “How does love permeate a hostile universe?,” Thorn quoted an old blog post of hers to illustrate her point about love’s presence:

“This week, while cleaning the old sixteen burner stove at the house of hospitality, pressing the rough green scrubber against the tough metal “I love you” rose unbidden to my thoughts. This was not some practice of connecting to the stove, this was connection to the stove. The divine presence was there.”

This.

This is what I mean. This is what I was longing for.

To be fair, I’m only in the introductory portion of Make Magic of Your Life, and I’m not criticizing Thorn or the book. I just found myself, having moved from Chris’s memoir to what I suppose you might call an empowerment guidebook, wanting to be reading Thorn’s memoir so that I could better understand her (and, in turn, so that I might better understand myself).

Stories do that for me. I think they do that for all of us.

Stories provide context that instruction does not. Parables get at meaning in ways that user manuals do not. Our stories are what make us who we are, and the telling of our stories is what affirms our interconnectedness, our sameness, our differences, and the sacredness that weaves it all together.

A good memoir (which I believe Faitheist to be) weaves the messages and teachings that are important to the author directly into the narrative. My copy of Chris’s book has a couple dozen dog-eared pages, and the statements I underlined were (I think) the meat of Chris’s message:

“[Our world needs] people of all different stripes and convictions coming together to deal with things that matter, announcing our differences without fear, enthusiastically embracing our commonalities, and intentionally seeking out points of mutuality and understanding in the face of vastly different metaphysical commitments.”

Or,

“A bit of intellectual humility and self-awareness goes a long way; a quick perusal of human history shows that when one person’s idea of “rationality” trumps basic human decency for others, we all suffer.”

Or,

“To build a strong society, my Humanistic ethics encourage me to engage. This is much more than mere atheism, which is only a statment about what I don’t believe in. After years of witnessing the ugliness that arises when rejection-based beliefs lead to the rejection of people, I now seek out ties that will bind us together.”

These are messages that our community — that every community — needs desperately to hear.

Chris could have written a book that explained how to be a Humanist, but he didn’t. And I’m glad that he didn’t. I don’t think it would have made the profound impact that it is making on our culture. His messages would have read as platitudes, and we would be missing the valuable context.

Context is key.

I would like to see a Pagan Memoir section at Isis Books or online, and I’d like to read the stories of our teachers, leaders, magick workers, priests and priestesses. I would like to know what all of this spiritual and religious work has meant in their lives. I’d like to know when they felt doubt, or when they encountered something transformative. I’d like to read their lives and not just their instructions. I think it would be revelatory, really. (I’m putting In the Center of the Fire on my reading list.)

Chris told stories, and then stepped back to allow the conversation to begin.

And that’s what I’d like to happen here.

What story in Faitheist resonated most with you? Was there any one piece of Chris’s narrative that led you to a new awareness about interfaith work? About religious pluralism?

How did Chris’s storytelling affect you, personally?

Welcome to the first Bishop In The Grove book club discussion about our February book, Faitheist, by Chris Stedman!

Let’s get something out on the table: I have never done a book club before. As such, I’m kind of winging it. My hope is that it can be informal, conversational, and ongoing; I envision there being multiple BITG book club posts about Faitheist. This one is simply designed to get the ball rolling.

Let’s get started!

FaitheistFirst, reading this book made me wish I could give Chris Stedman a huge hug. I kinda love this guy. His willingness to tell his personal story, a very vulnerable act, is nothing short of inspiring. Think what you will about atheism, Christianity, or interfaith dialogue, but you cannot deny the courage it takes for a person to tell their story to the world. And more than that, Chris frames his story as an introduction into a deeper conversation about the identity of others. He’s looking for dialogue — real dialogue — and offering himself up in an attempt to initiate that dialogue.

Chris may not be a Christian anymore, but there is a selfless, sacrificial-like quality to his approach that reminds me very much of the Jesus I admired as a young man. When speaking to atheists, Chris asks the potent and controversial question: “Do we simply want to eradicate religion, or do we want to improve the world?” One should not underestimate the gravity of that question in the circles that he moves through.

There’s also something bardic in the telling of his story. There is a message, a meaning, that transcends the book-jacket subtitle: “How an Atheist Found Common Ground with the Religious.” Chris, I believe, in his quest to form connections with the religious, is trying to inspire us all to recognize our common humanity, and to acknowledge that that is enough to justify our striving toward peaceful interaction. Our shared humanity is the universal base from which we can construct all kinds of meaningful and sustainable communities.

About mid-way through the book, I came across a passage in Chapter 5 (Unholier Than Thou: Saying Goodbye to God) that caused me to put the book down for a few days; it affected me quite deeply. Chris tells the story of making his way to El Salvador on a pilgrimage of sorts to the site of Monsignor Óscar Romero’s assassination. Chris documents a series of connected events that occurred; events the include a discussion he had with a fellow student about a tattooed Bible verse on his leg, the emotional impact of being in the church where Romero was killed, and the revelation that the verse which he’d discussed earlier — a verse which he regretted having made permanent on his skin — was the very verse that Romero had preached about on the morning of his assassination.

It was Chris’ evaluation of the events that gave me pause.

Chris writes:

“I don’t know why I felt I needed that episode to be intentionally orchestrated in order to cull significance from it — it was significant on its own merit. I imagine that a desire for purpose is innate for many of us. We presuppose that learning occurs within larger, cosmic narrative structures. Things matter because there is an implicit reason behind their occurrence, and it is our job to discern the organic meaning within. Constellating and creating our own sense of meaning from such moments can feel insufficient; discovering some preordained answer seems more compelling. In that moment I wanted to be handed a fate, not fashion my own.”(93)

The conclusion that Chris reaches here is, itself, insufficient for me for several reasons.

First, this rationality still feels like an extension of Christo-centric thought. I read this and think, Who said anything about intentional orchestration? That concept is born straight out of a Christian paradigm. One needn’t believe in a god that is authoring your life in order for you to see the meaning inherent in a series of events…. or even to recognize that there is some kind of authorship taking place.

When Chris says that “things matter because there is an implicit reason behind their occurrence, and it is our job to discern the organic meaning within,” I shout YES! But I also recognize that this story — a story that he, himself, told by unpacking events that were strangely, clearly connected — was, in a way, a story being told to him.

It might not have been God doing the telling, but it was certainly not a story that he wrote all on his own. I wanted for Chris to see was that the people on the bus, the tour guide, and even the memory of his fallen idol were themselves the ones telling and authoring this story to Chris, about Chris.

(That’s the making of a mystery in my book.)

For some, this might be the moment when they say, “It’s God,” or “It’s the Goddess,” or “It’s _______ who made this happen,” and I — like Chris — think that’s missing the point. It is awe inspiring because it is happening, not because it was orchestrated. And I’m a believer that awe, wonder, and reverence even, are natural and fitting responses to events like the one he had in El Salvador… even if you don’t ascribe them to a deity.

You see – I’m trying to get at a kind of transpersonal awareness that felt missing from Chris’s re-telling of this one story. His evaluation was, to me, lacking because it did not acknowledge now, from his present vantage point, that this series of events was somewhat awe-inspiring in its unfolding. He included the story, but then missed the opportunity to experience any kind of wonder at the coincidence. It didn’t have to be a wonder born from a Christian context — or even any context which ascribes all meaning to the supernatural — in order for there to be wonder.

And as a religious person, I value wonder. I value uncertainty. I value and honor the mystery of human life and its intersection with non-human life. Chris demonstrates throughout the book a deep love of justice, equity, and humanity. His love is commendable; inspiring, really. I wonder if there’s any way for Chris — or other non-theists and Humanists — to cultivate some degree of love for and wonder at the mysteries surrounding the experience of being human.

Is it possible for an atheist to make a space for the kind of wonder that feels integrated into the lives of many religious people, without adopting a set of beliefs that is in contradiction with hir ethics and principles?

Perhaps that answer will come in the memoir Chris writes about his life from ages 25 to 50. Or, I might be able to shoot him a message on Twitter and see about interviewing him for the blog!

Chis Stedman Bedroom Eyes

Even the straight boys are crushing on this picture. Don’t lie.

Now, onto the discussion!

Did you have a similar reaction to this section of the book? How did (or do) you read it?

If this ties into another section of the book that resonated with or affected you, feel free to share that as well. This is the first of several book club posts inspired by Faitheist, and I will likely bring elements of this first conversation into my subsequent posts.

[And for our March BITG Book Club Book, check out the icon at the top of the right sidebar or the BITG Book Club page!!]

I haven’t packed.

I have piles of things scattered around my office, and none of them are in any order.

Pantheacon starts tomorrow — tomorrow!! — and I haven’t packed.

In part, I’ve been slow to lay out all of the necessities because this trip is not just a weekend trip for me. I’ll be in San Jose for Pantheacon from Friday through Monday afternoon, attending workshops, giving a few workshops, and doing my best so write! write! write! Then, on Monday afternoon I leave for Los Angeles. I’ll be in LA until the very end of February.

So, packing for this P’Con is a little more complicated for me.

Here’s a short list of things I’m bringing:

1. Ribbons

Druid Ribbon Image

If you haven’t been to Pantheacon, you might now know about this crazy P’Con tradition. People give out ribbons. It’s a thing. People attach the ribbons to their attendee badge, and by the end of the weekend you’ll see badges with 30 ribbons on them. It’s zany, and I’m totally participating in the tradition this year with my Solitary Druid Fellowship/The Druids Are Coming combo ribbon.

2. Faithiest

BITG Book Club

Somehow in the midst of an insane Pagan conference and two weeks of songwriting (which I’ll be documenting on my music blog, #allofthesongs), I need to finish this book. I’m either going to be regimented and read a certain number of pages at a time (unlikely), or I’ll cram it one night when the fairy dust settles (probably).

Either way, this book is going to be read in the next two weeks, and we’re going to start talking about it on March 1.

Rain or shine.

I’m like the postman up in here (except on Saturdays).

3. Knitting supplies and my beret

photo 1

You can’t plan on knitting while walking without having some sort of wrist-bag, right?

Yes. I made a wrist bag.

am a Golden Girl.

I intend to wind a few balls of yarn to take with me on the trip with the intention of knitting some prayer squares. Prayer squares are smaller versions of prayer shawls or prayer cloths. I recently made a prayer cloth for my grandmother, who’s sister is in hospice. It was meant to help remind her that she is loved, and to provide her with comfort during this challenging time.

But you can make them for anything. You can knit up a little square for any reason — to encourage someone, to give someone strength, to inspire them to creativity — bless it, and then give it as a gift.

I’m hoping to finish a few while I’m traveling, and I’m thinking about inviting the Fellowship to join in some sort of creative work around the creation of prayer squares. That’d be cool, right?

Presentation Announcement 3

This beret is a new edition to the wardrobe, and I’ll be sporting it throughout the conference. I love how it turned out, and so did one reader of Bishop In The Grove. He’s commissioned me to make one for him! It’s my first paid knitting gig!

(And do you like the SDF patch? I had a local embroidery artist make that up for me so that I could represent the solitaries of the Fellowship!)

There will likely be a lot more on my packing list before the day is out, but this is a start. I will do my best to blog here throughout the next few weeks, but if this site goes a little silent please don’t worry. Check #allofthesongs or follow my happenings on my Facebook profile or Matt Morris page. I’ll be around and busy! busy! busy!

My love to you all!

Teo

Photo by the Catholic Church England and Wales

Photo by the Catholic Church England and Wales

The first thing that sprung to mind when I learned that Pope Benedict was resigning from his station of service was a series of quips and puns.

 

WWBD? He’d quit.

Two living popes in Rome? It’s like Buffy and Faith all over again.

Well this is a good way of dodging the child abuse scandal, no?

My Catholic grandmother is in her 80’s too, but I think if she was called to be the voice of Christ she would do it to the death. Just sayin’.

 

They kept going for several minutes. It wasn’t my most sensitive, kind-hearted moment, but it was funny.

Once the fairy dust settled a bit, my husband and I began to consider the real conflict this would (or, perhaps should) create in the hearts and minds of Catholics. This situation, the leader of the Catholic church resigning his position — a position which make him the mouthpiece of the Godhead, the voice of Christ in the world — calls so many things into question for the faithful, doesn’t it?

As the title of this post says, I’m not Catholic. But what about my grandmother and my aunt? A great deal of my family is Catholic, and there will likely be readers of this blog who know and love Catholics. While it is easy to make fun of this situation, especially for those who found the current pontiff’s politics to be unsavory, I wonder if that response is really appropriate or helpful.

This is not my crisis of faith, admittedly, but it is a crisis of faith for others. As I consider what it means to be a servant to my community, and a believer in interfaith dialogue to boot, what is the best response to a situation such as this?

Humanism, perhaps? Is the best interfaith response to a religious crisis one that does not acknowledge at all the religious implications, but rather seeks to focus on the struggle of the individual?

I’m reminded of Chris Stedman, the author of this month’s Bishop In The Grove Book Club book, Faitheist. He is not a religious man, but he has dialogue with the religious. In my personal conversations with him I’ve found him to be incredibly compassionate and caring. As a humanist Chaplain, I wonder what it would be like for him to be approached by someone in a religious crisis. What would Chris Stedman do? (#WWCSD)

This puts into context why reading this book is valuable at this time. I’ve often wondered if the religious (i.e. theists of all sorts) can learn something from their non-religious counterparts. Could we take a lesson from them on how to reach out to one another on a purely human level? Does the humanist movement provide the religious with a reminder that our religiosity doesn’t always encourage us to be better humans to one another? And if we find that it doesn’t, does that mean that we should re-evaluate our religion?

I don’t know the answers to these questions.

There are many atheists in the Pagan world. Some of them write brilliantly about their perspectives. At times these voices sound most reasonable and compassionate, such as in the case of John Halstead or B.T. Newberg. Halstead is always rooting things back into his ordinary life, filled as it is with ordinary, sometimes very difficult challenges, and Newberg’s writing inspires me to think more deeply about how I’m rooted in the world (and how the world is rooted in me). This current crisis in the Catholic Church doesn’t belong to either of them, but I wonder how they might respond to it as humanists.

And I wonder how you might respond.

Do you find yourself responding with humor to this situation? With compassion?

Is your perspective about this transition — a historic one, for certain — colored by your own religious beliefs and practices? Is there any way for you to hold space for those who value the institution of the Catholic Church, or is that an unacceptable proposition for you?

What’s your take?

Blessed Imbolc to all!

In case you missed it, I published an Imbolc post on HuffPost Religion called A Faith Made of Fire. Check it out, and feel free to leave a comment there if you feel so inspired.

After a wonderful round of comments on my last post, I’m happy to announce that we’re moving forward with the Bishop In The Grove Book Club!

 

BITG Book Club Big

As you can see in the image above, we will take February to acquire the book and read it. Then, we will start our discussion on March 1st!

Click on that image, and you’ll be taken to an Amazon.com page where you can purchase this book. Buy it through this link, and you’ll send a few pennies my way.

Thanks to all who expressed interest in doing this. I’m excited to read what people think of the book, and I may even be able to get Chris involved in a Twitter chat. I’m thinking I’ll use #TeosBookClub as a hashtag. Seems memorable, no? I mean, if Oprah can have a book club, certainly this Druid can.

To share this photo on Facebook, visit the Bishop In The Grove Facebook page. Like the page, find the post with image, and then click “Share.”

Happy reading everybody, and a blessed February Cross Quarter to you. May you be inspired to ignite the fire within, and may that fire illuminate the world around you!

I’m starting a book club. The Bishop In The Grove Book Club.

Cool, right?

For those who are keeping track of the number of projects mounting on my desk, the thought of one more new endeavor probably seems like insanity. But I don’t care. I think a book club sounds like fun. I could use a dose of fun.

(The 19 year old me might never have expected himself to one day think of a book club as a “dose of fun.” I was a hot mess, though. What did I know?)

“So many books, so little time.”
― Frank Zappa

 The inspiration for the book club came after I posted this photo to Twitter. Beacon Press, at the request of my friend, Chris Stedman, sent me a copy of Chris’s book, Faitheist. I was thrilled.

First, it’s a hardback, and I really love the weight and feel of a hardback book. Second, how adorable is he? Not to undermine his position by objectifying him, but isn’t he charming? With those big glasses and little suit. I mean, how could you not want to know how he came to let go of God?

So I posted the picture and one of my Twitter followers, the word nerd, dog dad, hiker, runner, actor, accordionist, bicylist, bookworm, coffee snob, and ’80s freak, Jeremy, wrote the following:

That was all it took.

And here’s why I think it could work:

I’ve seen time and time again how the readers of this blog are willing to engage deeply with the subject matter I present. You are willing to dig in, to challenge assumptions, and to open your minds up to new ideas. That sounds like the makings of a wicked book club, right?

Here’s the thing, though — I’m not exactly sure how to structure this. Before I can put a plan together, I need to gauge your interest. I need to see who would be up for joining in this internet-wide book club, and I need to know a little bit about you.

If you’re into it, if you want to be a part of the Bishop In The Grove Book Club (is #bitgbc a good hashtag?), please answer the following questions in the comment thread. They’ll give me some perspective about how to move forward from here.

  1. How much time would you need to read a 175-250 page book?
  2. Are you interested in reading books about religion, theology, polytheism, Celtic culture, Druidry, and creativity?
  3. What are you interested in reading? (In case none of the categories in #2 are interesting to you.)
  4. What 3 books do you think would be good reads for the audience of this blog (based on what you know from our discussions in the comments)?
  5. Are you comfortable using Twitter? In addition to dialoguing on this blog, would you be open to scheduled Twitter chats?
  6. Do you think this idea is something that your friends would enjoy, and would you be willing to post about it on your social networks?

Lay down some thoughts, and feel free to elaborate.

If you’ve done online book clubs before, what worked? What didn’t? If you can, tell me what you’ve seen succeed — that information will help me out a great deal.

Yay books!