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My church these days is much more profane and earthy and real and Hozier like than the dualistic world of my youth. My church is sexy, young, and vibrant; my church is energetic and free; my church is water flowing swiftly; my church is the world; my church is love and awe and recognition of God’s grace and basic goodness all through it.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I haven’t eaten any meat today, but I’m not entirely sure I’ll make it to mass. To be honest, I feel more like fucking someone I barely know in a celebration of life and mystery and the infinite possibilities for love.

I would rather be in a desert bathed in starlight, looking up at the Giralda of Seville through the branches of orange trees in the clearness of evening light after rainfall, or even gazing upon the Eiffel Tower and all the dreams of men it has inspired feeling gratitude for my dream that has been realized.

And yet, Sacre Coeur draws me, built by fellow modern humans who knew about Darwin and built a huge church with Christ Pantocrator looking directly at you with a calm expression and intense eyes.

If I go to church tonight, it will not be for the hierarchy or fear of hell, it will be for the sheer beauty of a moment when we recall the goodness of God to give us this life, however fleeting in its beauty, and the much more surprising goodness of men to build such a beautiful house to worship.

That life exists, and identity- hear I say beauty- and that you might contribute a verse.

I am a pilgrim soul, I don’t pretend to have any of the answers, just God within me as in all of us.

I worship God all over this world He/She has created, marveling and travelling to know Him everywhere.

I worship God when I say yes to life, even to all my human frailties and missteps.

I worship God when I connect with another human being, wondrous sacrament of communion that it is.

I worship God in the mystery of all that is said and unknown, and scrambling towards him, humbly but doggedly, no longer pretending that the path is straight or clear; no longer asking God for bright lines and right angled paved streets, just content to forge my own path, to let God reveal my own truth to me.

And I think this is the biggest revolution/revelation, that there could be many truths.

Perhaps this is what I have to accept in order to know and embody mine.

I think the biggest lie that’s ever been told is that God won’t come to you himself, that you need some kind of intermediary, and there’s a fucking bureuacrat that levies a toll on the path to God.

This is the universal lie that is told by all the religions.

It is much, much harder, to believe and then to acknowledge the much more troubling, life upsetting, renewing, and challenging truth that God is in your heart.

Really, really hard to admit that, and follow Him.

It’s much easier for me to believe that Jesus rose from the dead than to think that a God of love has appointed such craven and cowardly men to preside over the kingdom of God on earth; I think his message was lost in translation that all of us craven cowards as they are hold the keys to the kingdom of heaven within.

I am afraid to think this way, of final obstinacy in sin, that so many of the people  I know and love are dead wrong.

But I am through thinking that I have to live someone else’s life to be good, or that there is only one way to live.

No, I am forever young again, always allowed to question, not hardened into a false sense of certainty

Sans reperes, without fixed points but going down a path that is full of guideposts and angels, if we only have the courage to listen.

It seems very arrogant but to deny the still small voice would be even more so.

Whether I go to church or not, whether I let them smear ashes on my head.

From dust I came, and to dust I shall return–

Thankful, amazed, overawed by this life, and the eternity that surrounds it–

How great is our God.