26 January

The Divine Feminine Comes To My Mansion Meditation Class. The Idea Lit Up The Room, And Shocked Every One In The Class

by Jon Katz

I’ve been waiting for months to throw out the idea of the Divine Feminine, which I believe is the force that will soften our country and help save the planet. Like most people, the Mansion Residents in my Meditation Class – all female but one – never heard once in their lives that God was always meant to be a male and female entity. It wasn’t until men decided to push women aside and take over organized religion that God became our “Sacred Father.”

The meditation class has broadened to include discussions on spirituality, faith, aging, and compassion. Today was the most exciting class yet, at least for me.

The residents were stunned to hear that God – “our Father – does not make the idea of God a male idea. The story of how men took over God, made him a man and pushed women aside left the residents wide-eyed. They couldn’t hear enough about it. And every one of them said they had never heard anything about it. This isn’t something the male-dominated faiths seem eager to talk about as church after church bans woman pastors and seeks to control their pregnancy.

The divine feminine is described as an energy inside everyone and everything, often associated with female traits – compassion, nurture, forgiveness, intuition, and empathy. The feminine aspect of divine or godly power connects the earth. The sacred feminine primarily focuses on the inner being and our emotional world. Tapping into this energy can help heal your mind, body, and soul and can assist you in showing more kindness to the world and those around you. Keep reading to learn more.

When I read this, I thought these are the leaders we need, not the testosterone-heavy children pretending to be patriots and leaders.

In her famous essay, Ancient Roots, spiritual author and monastic Joan Chittister wrote this chapter below, which I read aloud to the Mansion residents. Everyone said they had never heard of this idea or heard any priest, pastor, man, or husband talk about it. They pleaded with me to chat more about it next week.

I will honored to do that.

From Joan Chittister, “Essential Writings:”

The book of Genesis reads, as does every scripture of every religion on earth, about male/female creation out of the same substance: “Let us make humans in our image, in our image let us make them, male and female let us make them.”(Gen.1:26 – 27) God is male and female, not male. The scriptures reflect the reality of it, and the meaning is clear: how we see God determines how we see ourselves. The language we use shapes public perceptions of God. If we see God as only maleness, maleness becomes more God-like than femaleness. Maleness becomes the nature of God and the norm of humankind rather than simply one of its manifestations. If we limit ourselves to the Divine Masculine, we will never see the Divine Feminine.”

Have you ever heard about this? I asked Sharon, a poet and deep and original thinker. “No,” she said, “I never heard a single word about it.” I’m looking for a spiritual book that might help her.

That was the idea. The male popes, rabbis, and imans of organized religion decided it needed a male manifestation, and women were pushed into service or less relevant positions. The early Christian theologians never argued that women could not be holy or become priests. That came up in the letter when it was apparent how powerful and influential these institutions were becoming. Women were pushed aside, and the Christian women I am teaching how to meditate said this was the first time in their lives they heard that the first idea of God in Western civilization had no gender. God was about all of us.

We’ve come a long way; our former President regularly refers to women journalists and political features as being ugly, dishonest, and weak. Think of the difference it would have made if the values associated with women – compassion, empathy, and kindness – were still the church’s values and our political culture. Men are still fighting, more complex than ever, to keep women powerless and controlled, even in the most intimate parts of their lives.

My classes are not political. We never discuss politicians’ campaigns or candidates. But I think they really need to hear this story, and I’m looking forward to more talks about the Divine Feminine. It seems to be precisely what our world needs.

Chittister continued (what I read to the residents):

The great figures of early Christianity centuries ago – Origen, Irenaeus, Anselm, Benard of Clairvaux, and Aelred – believed that the womb of God is the Divine Feminine and that without that awareness of the motherhood of Good, as well as the fatherhood of creation, we will never know the fullness of God in our own lives. None of us, neither women nor men. In the end, the real depth of the spiritual life, the real development of the psychological life, the real development of the psychological-emotional life, depends on whether or not we each nourish the feminine image of God in us and around us as fully as we do the image of the fatherhood of God when they delete  female pronouns and so collapse the male the female into “all men” and “dear brothers,” and “God, our Mother,” into “God the father,” they derive us of the whole  spirit of God.

It was riveting to watch the women’s faces in my class, and they processed the idea that they had been misled all of their lives about the values of their religion as it relates to women and power. In 2024, thousands of years of the most potent faiths of history were formed, and a presidential candidate, Govern DeSantis, has made it illegal in public schools to teach what Chittister has written in her books. He wants to make sure the truth about women and religion does not influence children.

He thinks it makes America look bad.

But his problem is that the true history of religion is well-known and documented. And that women are voting in record numbers to block people like him.

Nuns in the Catholic Church can clean and wash sick priests, but they can’t conduct services. Many of the most powerful men in the church insist equal rights for women is blasphemy, even though the Bible never forbids it. Wholly and suddenly (thanks to Mr. Trump), the Republican Party has also embraced the persecution and control of women and their very bodies.

Zinnia and Alissa.

22 December

What Is Christmas Really About For Us? I Think We Know. Monday, We’ll Be Delivering Christmas Meals To Five Different Families In Need. We Plan To Get Out And Do Some Good.

by Jon Katz

Christmas is about doing and cherishing good, not scrambling for low prices for computers, smartphones, and TVs. On Monday, we have decided to do some tangible good. Talk is cheap. Actions speak loudly. Christmas is not, at least for me, about more profits and greed.

We’ve signed up to help the good people of the Cambridge Community Christmas Dinner distribute food and make Christmas something of true meaning for us and brighter for families in need. Selfishly, it will help us feel meaningful and hopeful in a troubled world.

I’ve written several times that the best way to feel good about life is to do good and remind ourselves how uplifting and healing that can be. I’ve learned that at the Mansion and while dealing with refugee children who are traumatized and in need.

I’m not a Christian, but I respect and appreciate the holiday’s true significance, often overwhelmed by profit.

I’m a lifetime admirer of the teachings of Jesus Christ, whose whole life stood for mercy and compassion-  my family always celebrated Christmas in spirit, even though I was born Jewish.

Jesus pleaded with his followers to love and care for the poor and vulnerable. It was an idea that changed the world but still struggles to be heard. His message is being drowned out by hatred and grievance.

We worship money, profit margins, and bargains in America, not compassion and empathy. This is something anyone can do, and it can change lives. It is what the spiritual life is really about, regardless of politics.

As I’ve written a hundred times, it feels better to do good than to argue about what good is. For me, that has been the best medicine I’ve ever taken.

Much of the world is at war and is divided. It’s hard to feel good or safe.

My blog, my wife, our farm, and my blog help ground me, but it is sometimes difficult to feel straightforward about what is happening to my country and the world.

The impulse to do good – to ease suffering –  does not belong to the left or the right or any partisan entity.

It is a universal impulse embedded in every human being and suggests the very best of being a human being. It is the height of humanity. Doing good is a natural human condition; rage and cruelty are aberrations, violating what it means to be human.

That is the very idea of almost every idea of God.

Maria and I have found an answer for us this Christmas, something we think about yearly.

We are bringing food to five families that need help celebrating this Christmas. They are struggling to afford food and celebrate Christmas. We’ll bring them each a good hot meal. Every year, we ask what Christmas means. This year, we won’t have to ask.

I woke up feeling low this morning. Sometimes, I wake up at night and think empathy is fading away. My flower photos are all about that, in a way.

Some days, the anger and rage splitting the country get me down. Almost anyone reading this knows that feeling.

The blog is a source of comfort, color, and safety. But it can’t work miracles. To be truly fulfilled, I have learned that I need to step out of myself and try to lift the lives of others. That is a meaningful reason to be on the earth and to have a blog that tries to do good.

For much of my life, I’ve suffered from a mental illness – acute anxiety and panic. I am much better. The idea of doing good when I was failing helped to save me and put me on a path to recovery. It did pull me out of myself and up to a better place.

I believe doing good has saved my soul, along with love, and Christmas is the only holiday we have that celebrates being good to others. It’s not about sales on iPads; it’s about being human with compassion. Maria and I are excited to be doing this together.

Several weeks ago, we agreed to volunteer for a community group offering free meals to people who needed help celebrating Christmas in comfort and dignity. We didn’t hear back.

We didn’t hear from the community food group until this afternoon. We were on the waiting list, but other volunteers had to drop out.

We were asked if we still wanted to help – they needed help –  and said yes immediately. We didn’t need to think about it. Maria lit up like a Christmas and couldn’t say yes fast enough. “Thanks for asking us,” she said.

On Christmas morning, we’re going to the local American Legion building to pick up 17 meals prepared by cooks and volunteers distributed among five families in and around our small town- 17 different meals.

I believe it is impossible to lead a fulfilling life without faith, and it need not only be religious faith. Faith also comes from inside us; we don’t need temples or cathedrals to do good.

These civic and community food programs exist all over the country.

Think how good we could feel about our country if tens of millions of Americans brought food on Christmas to the tens of millions who need help feeding their families.

I don’t tell others what to do; I only write about what I do.

Now, I feel the joy about Christmas that the day deserves and that Christ and many others are owed.

. I know what it’s about for me.

 

29 August

Me And The Jesus Men. How One Pastor Took Me In And Saved My Skin

by Jon Katz

I had been living on the first Bedlam Farm for nearly six years when I finally broke down in a gruesome, lonely, and fearful way. I had left everything behind and then lost everything I had.

My then-wife Paula, who suffered faithfully through much of my mental illness, was living in New Jersey; her work was in New York, and she had no desire to live in the country.

When I moved to the first Bedlam Farm, I told myself and my family that I was going there to write a book and then would sell the farm I had just bought for that purpose. I believed that. After six years, I still felt it, even though it was clear to everyone who read my books or knew me that my wife wasn’t moving up there with me.

I had come to love the country, solitude, nature, and animals. I needed all of those things in my life.

With the help of a rugged and plain-speaking Saratoga shrink, I finally realized that I was no longer married and proceeded rapidly into a delusional nightmare and a breakdown.  By that time, I had given away all of my money and was convinced I was carrying out the work and wisdom of Jesus Christ.

The good news, and the only good news, was that I finally got help and began the long and intense recovery process.  I am still recovering, and perhaps for the rest of my life. Most mental illness is treatable but not entirely curable.

The best thing about being mentally ill is that if you are fortunate and work hard, you can recover a bit every day.

A friend noticed my breakdown and struggle, suggested I attend the United Presbyterian Church in Argyle, New York, and asked the Pastor, an almost legendary man named Steve McLean for help.

Reverend McLean had an great reputation in our county. He was a member of the Fire and Rescue team and rushed out at all hours of the day and night to tend to injured people in accidents and plunge into the dark and dangerous work of the rural volunteer firefighters.

He didn’t just talk the Jesus talk, as so many Christians do, he lived it.

There was no time of day or night when the Reverend McLean would not rush out to help someone in his congregation. He was their shepherd, and they came to him and adored him.

He talked openly about the difficulties in his marriage and preached against divorce and people who abandoned their marriages. I wondered why he put up with me.

He was an old-style pastor, the country kind,  strict, and unyielding in his faith, and generous to his congregation. He would go to widows’ houses and install their storm windows in the winter.

He was stern when he needed to be, loving when he wished to be.

He invited parishioners into his house – just across the street from the Church – to talk at any hour, sit with him, and eat peanuts in his backyard. He was forever rushing out to fires and car crashes, often to give the last rites to the injured and dead.

I was in a dreadful state when I went to Church to meet Steve. We met in his office at the church, and afterward, I spent a lot of time in his house across the street.

My religious background did not fit well or naturally into the Presbyterian liturgy or Steve’s beliefs. And I didn’t dare talk politics.

When we met, he saw how much trouble I was in – my shaking, my panic, my sadness – and he generously invited me to Church on Sundays and offered to meet with me once a week.

I told him I was born Jewish, converted to Quakerism, and followed Jesus Christ and his beliefs but did not worship him.  He didn’t blink, but he knew he was in for it.

I was searching for God. I wanted to find him. Steve had obviously had a lot of experience in crisis counseling; he made me comfortable and asked all of the right questions.

Steve made himself clear. I was welcome to attend Church, and he was happy to meet with me. “But I should tell you that I am a Jesus man,” he said to keep the record straight.  I knew what he meant. He expected my search would lead to accepting Christ as the son of God. He was after my religious soul.

Steve, I learned, was a soul savior.

He took in the lost and vulnerable – anyone who showed up in trouble –  and brought most of them to Jesus.  That was what he did.

I suspect he knew I wouldn’t end up embracing Jesus as a God, but he also noticed, he said, that I was more faithful to the teachings of Jesus than many people who called themselves Christians.

Steve had faith in what he did. It was all, after all, in God’s hands.

He never expected to fail. He was, after all, a “Jesus Man.”

Steve and I became almost instant friends. I admired his conviction mixed with compassion and his unwavering commitment to his flock. He lived to worship Christ and was devoted to helping needy people.

His congregation, which was enormous when I got there, was crazy about him. He was the real deal.  He preached that we were all born sinners, even children coming to be baptized.

We talked on the phone, e-mailed one another, and had lunch. I was starting with my blog, and my desire for good works.

Steve read it, commented on it, and gave me some good advice. His was one of the first photographs I ever took. I had just purchased my Canon 5 D, the first camera I owned.

I invited him on one or two of my Hospice visits (I am a hospice volunteer, but he came only with the understanding that the patient accepted Christ, not that he wanted some insurance. He meant it.

When I told him that I was dating Maria, whom he had invited to dinner with me at his house, he asked to meet me at a church picnic up on a hill and sat down with me.

He said Maria was wonderful and he was pleased that I was seeing her. But, he said, he wanted to caution me against having sex with her. “Sex out of marriage is a sin,” he said. I loved Steve so much by then that I wanted him to marry us, but Maria and I agreed it would be awkward.

I believed he would have to say no. This wasn’t a person who compromised his principles, especially his religious ones.

I realized that Steve had not given up on me, a Jesus man. The sex talk was probably the last chance to steer me away from sin, something he couldn’t overlook.

I leaned over and touched his hand, saying, “Steve, I respect you, but I will be  honest. I haven’t had sex for a long time, and if Maria wants to have sex with me, I can assure you, I’m going for it.”

He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. We had a nice lunch and a warm goodbye.

Steve would be would be uncomfortable marrying two non-believers out of the Presbyterian faith.  Maria is a lapsed Catholic; she is not a Jesus woman. He could not have abided this by marrying two sinners, much as he liked them.

I didn’t want to put him in that position. I did invite him to our wedding.

I was so glad he came to the wedding; he offered a prayer for us, a touchingly gracious gesture given his feelings about his faith.

Talking to Steve, whose faith and empathy were so powerful, I sometimes considered accepting Jesus and joining his Church. I wanted a place to land, a place of comfort and safety and faith. I couldn’t do it.

Steve was a religious person I loved and respected and perhaps could follow.

I should say that Steve helped save me during that awful period.  Sometimes, knowing I could go and talk to him kept me going.

I didn’t know Maria when I first met Steve, and I had nowhere to go, no one to talk to but the friend who had introduced us.

Steve took me in when I was lost and stayed with me until I found myself again. I’ll never forget him for that.

The friend who brought me to Steve told me the Church was her life, and our friendship didn’t last long after I  met Maria.

She was an Evangelical Presbyterian, and there was too much distance between us.

Steve was the closest I came to a genuine religious revelation. He was the real deal, bristling with integrity, faith, and a sometimes ruthless conviction. He was a hero who saved lives and turned others around.

If anyone could have brought me to Jesus, he could have. Yet I did feel that he and I were cut from the same cloth in many ways. I guess I’ll never know how close I could have come.

After I got married, I continued with my therapy work and began to recover. I felt I had no right to go to his Church if I didn’t embrace the faith. We stayed in touch, but as a Jesus Man, I knew Steve would put his energies into Christians in need, not in a Jew-turned-Quaker with a blog, something quite strange to him.

That was his calling, his faith.

He wasn’t a social worker for the world. He had a mission.

If I wanted to be close to him, I needed to accept him and who he was. I wish I could have; I have rarely met a better man than Steve.

I seem to tend to get close to the pastors who worship Jesus.

I am good friends with Ron Dotson; we are always getting more intimate. Ron is more accepting than Steve. He is also a “Jesus” man, and a pastor, but shows no interest in persuading me to embrace Jesus as a God or in trying to affect my religious beliefs. Then there was Bishop Moise.

We accept each other as we are. As I got healthier, I stopped going to Church.  The congregation there mostly stayed away from me. I decided I needed a therapist more than a pastor. They each treated me very differently.

I am ever grateful to Steve for taking me in like that, listening to me, welcoming me. As a writer, he was fascinated by me, and we spent some beautiful hours sitting in his backyard eating peanuts together.

He was a tease and a wiseass.

Like me, the irony of it all is that I have read and been driven by the preaching and beliefs of Jesus Christ for much of my life.

I see Christians all around me abandoning him, but I can’t and won’t. I love what Jesus said being a Christian means, even if it often doesn’t mean what he said.

I’ve gone from one faith to another and back, but I’ve never dropped Jesus or stopped being inspired by him.

Perhaps that what God means, but it’s beyond me for now,  I’ve found my place with it. My relationship with Jesus is longer than any other in my life.

Steve left the Church a few years ago and moved to Philadelphia to be near his parents.

The last I heard of him, he was doing missionary work in Texas and the Southwest. That sounds right. Steve would never stop taking on the complex and thankless job of helping people nobody wanted to help.

Nor could he ever retire. There were way, there were too many people who needed to have their souls saved. Jesus preached that on the Mount.

I knew our friendship couldn’t hold up for too long any more than my friendship with Moise, a Bishop in the Amish faith. Both are true “Jesus Man.”

Steve wished me well; we shared the same sense of humor and a  human drive to help the needy.

But I was drawn to these men, I think, because of their great faith.

I remember the last time Steve and I had lunch.

I’m sorry, I can’t be a Jesus Man,” I said. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You ARE a Jesus Man. You’re just not a Presbyterian Jesus man.

We hugged and said goodbye. I will always remember this good man for being able to help me when I was the neediest I have ever been.

That’s what a true “Jesus Man” would do.

9 April

Happy Easter. Celebrating Christ’s Humanity, Not His Piety. Was Jesus Grumpy And Impatient Like Me?

by Jon Katz

Human beings are not born once, and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but… life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”- Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

_____

More than any other religious figure, I’ve identified with Jesus Christ, and while I don’t worship him as a God, I do follow him as a human being committed to doing good.

He inspires and guides me, preaching as he did for the poor, people in need, and the vulnerable. He asks us to have a purpose in life and, for that purpose to be doing good.

I’ve read about him all my life and honor him on Easter, a day for celebrating his rebirth and resurrection. A day the corporations haven’t yet figured out how to co-opt and market.

I’m familiar with regeneration; I am in the process of being reborn and strongly embrace the idea. My process is a lot easier than his.

Marquez was right. We humans often give rebirth to ourselves more than once.

Even though Christ himself has been betrayed and abandoned by the White Christian Nationalists and Evangelicals seeking to take power in our country,  I find Christ’s teachings more relevant and vital than ever.

I read many books about the true Christ and his life, not just the myth spreaders; scholars are learning more and more about him all the time, and as we might guess, what they are finding doesn’t always support the common God-like portrayal of him.

American Scholar Bart Ehrman has been investigating and explaining myths and truths about Christ for more than a decade; I find him consistently intelligent, knowledgeable, honest, and balanced.

I’m now reading his latest book, Jesus Interrupted, which is as good, thoughtful, and surprising as his other writings.

In his research, he’s found good and bad news about Christ, but the raw portrayal of Jesus is as persuasive and credible as any I’ve read. It makes me love him all the more.

For the first time, I am learning that not only do I relate to his teachings and values, but it’s possible that he and I were alike in other ways – he was often irritable, judgemental, and impatient.

I love this idea on many levels, some quite selfish. As I am learning, you don’t have to be Buddha, the Dalai Lama, or Mother Teresa to be spiritual and do good.

Like all of us, and like Christ himself, you just have to be a human being, a remarkable but profoundly flawed species.

Ehrman found that Jesus was no Buddha. He had a short fuse and an ironic and often and-cutting wit.

He was often and openly annoyed by what he thought was the stupidity of many of his followers and their inability to grasp apparent points.

Do you have eyes but fail to see?” he asks one poor disciple after preaching.

Unlike charismatic leaders like John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Malcolm X, who stood up for oppressed people,  Christ was enigmatic, confusing, “verbally spry,” and sometimes even shifty.

He was taken in his preaching with defiant, enigmatic, and pregnant parables that went nowhere,  never entirely ended and sometimes didn’t make sense.

He might, wrote Ehrman, have been deliberately obscure to avoid angering the Roman authorities, who were monitoring his every word and building a case against him.

None of this makes me think any less of Christ. It just means he was a human being, not necessarily a messianic God who lived and soared far above ordinary people like me.

Ehrman is persuasive, careful, and responsible in his widely praised writing.

You don’t have to be all that good to do good.

You certainly don’t need to be perfect.

It’s okay to be grumpy, judgemental, and impatient – I think of the often stunningly dishonest and unknowing messages I get online every day and hoe irritating they can be.

I’m relieved. I don’t want to be any kind of God.

On this day, celebrating his rebirth and resurrection, I appreciate Jesus all the more.

He was, after all, just one of us, and if you can’t be one of us, you can’t possibly understand us.

I know it is arrogant for me to assume Jesus would warm to me, but usually if I warm to somebody, they return the favor.

Christ’s ordinary humanity makes him all the more credible to me, even as I admit it makes me feel even closer to him. We can rise up trying to heal the world by doing good. It doesn’t matter what we are like.

Perhaps it takes outsiders like me to appreciate what Jesus did and what he taught; maybe that’s the only way his messages can be kept alive.

The money changers have left the Temple and bought the churches instead. Christians who use faith to hide their hatred and anger better be ready to run if the legends are true and Jesus Christ really is planning to come back.

19 February

Sunday Morning: The Spiritual Life. Religion Is A Means, Not An End (Sick Day 2 Today, Coughing All Night) Looking For The Good

by Jon Katz

According to spiritual philosopher Joan Chittister, religion is a means, not an end. “When we stop at the  level of the rules and the laws, the doctrines and the dogmas…and call those things the spiritual life, we have stopped short of the meaning  of life, the call of the divine, the fullness of the self.”

When it comes to organized religion, I’m a parasite and a cherry-picker. I take something from St. Augustine and Christ and Christianity, something from the Kabbalah, something from  Buddhism, and something from the Koran. It’s a feast of thought and enlightenment.

The Western world’s first great thinkers and philosophers came from organized religion; they taught me most of the essential things I know.

But real enlightenment and self-awareness, at least in my experience, are more than dogma, as Chittister suggests. Enlighten is the ability to go beyond our notions of God to find a God that works for us. Real enlightenment is self-awareness, the desire to go inside.

That isn’t simple.

When I look for God, I look for goodness. Goodness is clear, constant, and visible in the simplest of people, the most unlikely places. Many see   God in fancy cathedrals, mosques, and synagogues but not in life’s bleaker or barren dimensions.

Enlightenment, to me, goes beyond the shapes and icons of religious teaching. My idea of God lives in the goodness, hope, and striving of ordinary people who work hard to survive.

To be enlightened is to be in touch with the idea of God within. As I grow older, I understand I have no place to go but inside.

To be enlightened is to see that “heaven” is not up there but right here. My idea of God is the spirit that helps Maria make art, me take pictures and write,  Ian McCrae write poems,  our friend Alfreda live in a trailer so she can send money to her family in Mexico,  my farmer friend Cindy make soap, and my friend Bob make music.

That’s where the spiritual life takes me.

This kind of God speaks to me through everything that seeps through the universe and speaks of love, the creative spark, and the ability to stand in the shoes of others. There is plenty of evil out there; there is plenty of good. I go with the the good.

Self-awareness and acceptance are holy to me. I am who I am, and that is sacred too.

I don’t have to go anywhere to find this idea of God. He’s right here, deep inside of me and all around me.

Bedlam Farm