What does it mean to be spiritual? It’s hard to pin down, really. Is it abstract? That would include ideas and emotions. Is it religious? So many people have gone to a lot of trouble to distance themselves from that term, fearing legalism and hypocrisy. Is it the heavenly realm? That would leave out humans, or wouldn’t it? Is it supernatural? Same. Can animals participate in the spiritual? I would guess that would depend on what version of spirituality one subscribes to. Are some spiritual things more real or more true than others? Is there some overlap? There certainly is some overlap in subjects, and, therefore, content. The same terms are used in more than one creed. Are creeds spiritual, or religious? And what about music? Some believe that all music is spiritual. Does it depend on the lyrics? That seems superficial. Does it depend on the subject matter? Or whether it quotes from a holy book? Are all holy books equal? Aren’t religious institutions the keepers of the holy books? That sort of complicates things a bit. More questions than answers, unfortunately. But that is better than assuming one knows all the answers.
I was about twelve years old when my parents divorced. I was an angry teenager, and my mom, whom I lived with, was quite depressed. I used to send her into a rage on a regular basis. Although she was never tested or diagnosed, I think she has bipolar disorder, like me.
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One night, I said something that enraged her. I ran to the front door, unlocked it, and ran outside. I was in socks with no shoes, and it was raining. I kept running down the sidewalk for several blocks, crossing streets and running through intersections. Finally, I arrived at my friend Curt’s house.
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Curt was a police officer who lived next door to a close friend of mine, Brian, and his family. Curt was a severe alcoholic, who liked to listen to rock music well into the evening, blasting away on his stereo, and smoking his Marlboro menthol lights. He also had pornographic magazines underneath his sink in the guest bathroom.
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Curt never locked his front door. So, when I came running up to his house, soak and wet, I just went right in. Curt was sitting naked on his couch, drinking beer. He only wore clothes at home occasionally. It was Miami, Florida, so the weather was hot. Curt had his sliding glass back door open, so his dog, Noel, could come back and forth to his backyard.
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I told Curt what happened, crying. He hugged me and held me, and told me “You’re okay, you’re right here.” Curt always kept Pepsi in his fridge, ice cream and chocolate in his freezer, and barbecue Fritos on the kitchen counter. I helped myself, and soon I was feeling better.
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Curt let me calm down and listen to music for a while, then he gently suggested I call my mom to let her know where I was. My mom would usually scream and yell over the phone at us, demanding for me to come home immediately. Curt would then put on some clothes and drive me home.
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Curt was raised in the Catholic Church, and served as an alter boy when he was little. His father was violently abusive, and when he was a teenager, one night, after watching his father beat up his mom, Curt threw him out of the house. Curt looked after his two younger brothers and his mom until he and his brothers moved out, one of his brothers, Mike, serving in Vietnam.
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Curt married his wife, Linda, but one day Curt came home from work to an empty house. Linda had left him and took everything. My friend Brian’s family helped him with a mattress to sleep on until he could get some furniture. Curt used to pay me to mow his lawn when I was in middle school. I spent many hours sitting in his living room, listening to rock music on his stereo.
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I eventually went to Florida State University in Tallahassee for college. Curt’s brother Mike had moved to Tallahassee for work, so Curt came up to visit. Curt decided that when he retired, he would have a house built in Wakulla, just south of Tallahassee. Curt moved up here, and settled in. Curt and Mike attended an art and poetry exhibit that I had in the student union.
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When Curt was a police officer, he fell off a roof, and he fell down a flight of stairs. He hurt his back and his knees. Curt didn’t believe in doctors much, and he couldn’t afford surgery, so he took Advil all day long, every day. When he got older, his back or knees would occasionally go out, and he’d be bedridden. I’d take him food, go grocery shopping for him, and nurse him back to health. It was very meaningful for me to get to care for Curt, after he had helped me so much.
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Curt didn’t have much to say about God. He didn’t like churches or pastors, and he believed the Bible was just a book written by people, like any other book. He knew I always went to church, as did my friend Brian and his family, so he didn’t say much about it. One time the Vienna Boys Choir came to a Tallahassee church to perform, and Curt went with me and my wife, Jackie, to see them. He really liked it. He had always wanted to have children. It just didn’t work out for him.
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One day I hadn’t heard from Curt and he wasn’t answering his phone. I asked Jackie to ride down to his house with me, and sure enough, Curt had passed away. I had no regrets about Curt. He was always supportive of me and hospitable to me and my family. I saw him as a good person who had a rough life and just didn’t fit in.
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I don’t know if Curt went to heaven, but he was more loving than most church people I know. I think his heart was in the right place, and he is in some type of everlasting peace. He may have lived as mostly an agnostic, but I like to think he went to be with Jesus.
God please show me that you are here. I want to believe, but I am full of doubt. How could you kill all those people and ask Abraham to kill his son and allow your prophets and church fathers to kill so many people? And what about the crusades? All that killing just because people had a different religion. How could you allow that? How could the church participate in war? Are you the same God as Jesus? If so, why are you so different?
Smile lack so sad smooth life is not that weep for the end is near the beginning is coming the satisfaction of all will be found on the mountaintop.
Close the door (the end is near) but don’t fear for god is here. Womb shallow river pour out on this congregation of ne’er do wells and corrupt citizenry and ghost town revelers.
So much to leave behind a simple backpack is all I carry a sack with no lunch nothing but a cup to fill with water when I can.
Can you find the ancient ruins beneath the supermarket? The burial ground under the rollercoaster? What’s new? I don’t have a clue.
I like endings. Beginnings, not so much. I like meandering and intoxicating and flurries on a cool night. I like rivers and hills and dead man’s curve.
Do you see the end coming? It’s near, I tell you! Really close but doubt comes closer and I believe in doubt. I like to humor doubters and double crossers and hooligans.
How many doubts does it take to make a faith? How many truths does it take to make a scripture? So many confusing sorts of dreams and all kinds of visions and stalactites and frosting.
I believe in God the Father Almighty, but if he’s almighty, why doesn’t he stop crime, hunger, murder, rape, theft, abuse, neglect, war?
Maker of heaven and Earth, but why did God make the world? Was he lonely? Was it a mistake? If not, why the flood?
And in Jesus Christ, his son, our Lord, even though Jesus never directly proclaimed to be the Son of God,
Conceived by the Holy Spirit, but how does that happen?
Born of the Virgin Mary, ???
Suffered under Pontius Pilate, yep, sadly,
Crucified, dead and buried, again, sadly,
In three days he rose from the dead, but the witnesses weren’t recorded until long after, and by people other than the witnesses,
He ascended into heaven, ???
And sits at the right hand of God the father almighty, no witnesses for this, of course.
From there he shall come to judge the living and the dead, sooner or later, at the end of time.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, some evidence like evidence of the wind. You can’t see it, but you can see it’s effects.
The holy universal church,the church is holy, but not due to its own state, actions or deeds, but by Jesus saving grace, boasting nothing but God’s grace and mercy.
The communion of saints, this happens every Sunday, does it not?
The forgiveness of sins, we trust and hope this happens,
The resurrection of the body, simply a matter of faith, not science, which is okay.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 