This week, Kriyabans from the Assisi Institute share aspects of the spiritual life as Isha Das turns to other work on our behalf. Today’s passage comes from Mary McFee.
For as much as I have wrung my hands and railed against the religious tradition I grew up in, it still has blessed my life immeasurably, and one of my favorite blessings is this: I love churches. Yogananda said, “The true basis of religion is not belief, but the intuitive experience of God.” Churches brought me a taste of the intuitive experience of knowing God that had little to do with belief or dogma. Churches were a beautiful, tangible, and sensory experience. I was taught that the little light always kept burning near the altar of a church signified the real and literal presence of Jesus. Churches were filled with colored light streaming through stained glass, images of saints, candles, the smell of incense, and beautiful music. The beauty of churches has always filled my soul, invited me to pause, and broken open my guarded heart and mind. These spaces have been the setting of some of my most important life moments… thrilling, spirit-filled moments when I was a teenager, fervent, tear-filled prayers and “come to Jesus” moments, babies welcomed, love celebrated, and loved ones sent back home to God. And to this very day, my happiest moments are those I spend on Sundays, way up in the choir loft of a church from a different tradition than the one I grew up in.
And now, in addition to the collection of all of these holy churches of my life story, I have the dear, old, solid, temple at the Assisi Institute. It holds history, lots of character, a few quirks, and most importantly, silence and stillness. The silence is tangible; it is that magical, transcendent “IT,” the sense of presence and the intuitive experience of God. Newcomers are usually intrigued and puzzled by our images from east and west, but invariably, the comment I hear over and over again is, “I just felt something when I walked in.” As beautiful as our temple is when the candles are lit or the sunlight streams in, full of colors, smells, and music, there is something that is the most precious of all: the faces of those who come to meditate together. We come as we are. There is no need to speak. In the silence and in the beauty, we share our collective sense of fatigue, heartbreak, and sensory overwhelm as well as the relief of letting it all go. We share smiles, quiet joy, and at least for a short time, a greater sense of child-like ego-lessness. We are brothers and sisters.
A little over a year ago, I was going through a very painful time of transition in my life, and I went to the Assisi Institute to stay for about a week. When I was opening my trunk to pull out my suitcase, one of our residents met me in the parking lot with two words which were exactly the words I needed: “Welcome home.” I will never forget it. Perhaps it is those words that we each feel in some way when we enter our dear old temple. May it be so.
“Divine Mother would never make it hard
for her children to come home.”Isha Das
