An interview with Dominic Laing

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz with Dominic Laing

I've never met Dom in person...I don't know how he takes his coffee, whether or not he has a dog, or what kind of car he drives. However, there are few people in my life that have personally pushed me forward, encouraged, and inspired me in the manner that he has.

I couldn't afford to record my last album Promised Land out-of-pocket, and needed to raise the money through Kickstarter. The campaign started off strong, but hit a lull mid-point. There were a couple of $10 and $20 days, and I started to seriously doubt myself...to question why I had put myself out there in the first place, and to doubt the songs I had written. 

It was during this point that I received a very substantial contribution from a guy named Dominic Laing from Philadelphia (he's now putting down roots in Portland, OR). I thought it must have been a mistake, but a few minutes later he sent me a message containing these lines: "...much of what you hope to see, much of what you believe exists in the heart of every person -- I believe and walk with you. I'm too broken to be cynical, too hurt to be angry. I'm just gonna believe every word you say and do what I can to support the howl in your heart."

I collapsed weeping in my wife's arms, repeating I don't understand, I don't understand. And I still don't...strangers don't give like Dom. But I knew in that moment that the album was going to be funded...and it was. Over two hundred people gave to make it come together in the end, and I'm incredibly grateful for every person that poured so much into the process. But it's Dom's gift that I will always remember. I later connected with one of Dom's friends through a project, and when I told him the story of Dom's gift he said that he wasn't surprised at all...and that Dom was "one hell of a guy".  

As it turns out, Dom is also one hell of a poet.

Dom's poetry is rich, and it leaves an ache...often it's simultaneously holy and profane (perhaps as are we all), simultaneously "Now and Not Yet". From the interview below, which is poetry itself: "This form of communion isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. If anything that’s more confirmation that I need to keep doing it. Poetry pulls me close to God and into his appalling strangeness. Poetry is my whistling in the dark, my undignified dance and my sackcloth and ash."

From the correspondence we've had, and from his poetry, I've come to know Dom as both fiery and gentle...gracious, kind, and full of humility. One hell of a guy to be sure.

I've posted a handful of my favorites from his book of poetry, "Smoke by Day, Fire by Night" below...which he is offering to send to you (yes, you) for free. No catches, no gimmicks, simply a gift - instructions for how to get your hands on one found at the very end of this post, along with his information. Dom also does incredible video work..."When the Saints" - a powerful short film which he wrote and directed - is posted below.

Dom's interview will truly make you a better human being. As my boy Pete Holmes says: get into it.

be here with me,
be now with me — 
presence for present's sake.
not for the sake of "later," 
not for the false promise of
"greater,"
not for pearly gates,
harps, halos,
mansions or yellow-brick roads.
be here with me
and behold with me;
stay awhile with me
and pray wild with me;
dance like amber waves.
church and praise like ocean waves.
burn and blaze, bonfire bright.
smoke by day, fire by night. 

//

do I prefer old ghosts
to new flesh?
am I more comfortable
being haunted,
as opposed to being seen anew?
do I sing old songs and old tunes;
do I wear old clothes
and dig out old wounds?
do I settle for holdable,
malleable, passive memory —
can I turn memories into marionettes?
do I wind back the clock
and seek to reset sun, moon and stars?
teach my hands to be brave,
shepherd.
teach my heart how to be brave, son. 

//

how precious and how glorious —
to confess lack.
to profess wound.
to express gap.
          "here, brother; I fall short."
          "here, sister; I don't know."
          "here, my love; I fear — I tremble."
how rare, how melodious;
how comet-fall, how northern-lights,
how broken, how ashen,
how many-splendored,
how tear-stained and levitating,
how fishes and loaves and po' boys,
how prayer and second-line beads,
how grace and grace
how amazing and amazing.
          to be gathered.
          to be warmed.
          to be known in full.
          to be loved in full.

//

yes, darkness —
but still, light.
yes fear;
but still, fight.
yes, mud — and yes, mire;
but still, blood.
but still, fire.
bare knuckles.
bare souls.
bare hurt.
be whole.

//

shake dust
and be shaken.
raise hell
and be risen.

Can you give a basic timeline of your life up to this point? This doesn’t have to be super in-depth, but I’d love to hear of some of the stages that have helped to shape who you are today.

Dom: I’m Dominic, and I believe in grace, communion, mystery and tenderness. Or, put another way:

— 1 of 4 —

In junior high, I wrote my first short story. It’s not good. It involves a high schooler — a Donnie Darko, moody, introspective type — who kills his cheating girlfriend and her lover in a fit of rage.

Now, cheating partners and crimes of passion are well-worn literary devices; but when you attend a tiny private Christian school, a story about teenagers, sex and murder raises an eyebrow or two.

Glenda Vanderkam, my English teacher for 6th and 8th grade, as well as my art teacher (small school, remember) met with myself and my parents. She didn’t chastise or reprimand me. She didn’t tell me I was wasting my time and should do something more productive.

Instead, with compassion and kindness, she told me to keep writing.

— 2 of 4 —

Also in junior high, I saw the film Amadeus.

Antonio Salieri, a good-but-never-great composer, meets Mozart and considers him a brat, a divine joke unworthy of God’s bequeathed genius. He hatches a plan to drive Mozart insane.

And now, standing at the foot of Mozart’s deathbed, he’s almost succeeded.

Except now he sees Mozart’s unfinished work — a requiem. He examines the sheet music, and he’s overcome by the beauty. “…Let me help,” says Salieri.

Mozart’s spirit awakens. Salieri, armed with ink and quill, transcribes Mozart’s dictations.

“First, the tenors…” In the soundtrack, the voices float over both Mozart and Salieri. The bass voices follow, linked now with the tenors. Bassoon and trumpet and timpani and strings cascade behind them, instrument building upon instrument. Salieri struggles to keep up —

“You’re going too fast!”

“Do you have me?” Screams Mozart.

Salieri finishes the last notation and flips the pages to Mozart, who lunges for them. His eyes scan the pages, his right arm raises as if he’s conducting the orchestra, and —

— with utter majesty, the requiem rises to life, all parts in unison, more beautiful and terrifying than Salieri or Mozart could have imagined. God’s glory on full display.

— 3 of 4 —

The summer after I graduated college, three years after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast, I and six others spent a month in New Orleans, Louisiana, working with various non-profit organizations.

Never before had I encountered such a sweet and aching place. New Orleans bursts at the seams with rage and revelry. Death and dirge to the cemetery, then Life Everlasting and Second Line back to the church.

A city and its citizens, in danger of being forever defined by its trauma, raises song and shout (and Bourbon Street to-go cups) to once more profess belief in healing, to once more unspool a yearning for God’s Electric Shore, once more…When the Saints Go Marching In.

New Orleans is also the birthplace of Jazz. On Sundays, the slaves gathered in Congo Square, just outside the French Quarter. There, they would play their ancestral music, dance, and call on the Name.

“Life hurts like a motherfucker,” they seemed to say, “But we…we shall come forth as gold.”

— 4 of 4 —

When I was 26, I moved to Philadelphia. Eight days later, a kid told me he had a gun and demanded my cash and my phone. He fled around the corner. He was arrested later that day.

We wound up exchanging a few letters, and eventually, I wound up visiting him in prison.

Philadelphia’s a vibrant, precious city. If they love you, they want you at every Christmas dinner. But if they hate you, you’re a leper. In this way, Philadelphia taught me about the necessity of tenderness.

Not about its rewards or benefits, but its necessity.

Hatred risks nothing and rewards nothing. But tenderness risks being broken, battered and blown to smithereens.

It’ll always be easier to tell the world to go fuck itself. Such rejection tosses aside the belief that the world could be something other than what’s seen.

Tenderness, though, demonstrates profound belief in the hearts of others. It acknowledges what is, and hopes for what could be. Such belief does not relent, and is stronger than any weapon.

Tenderness is the clear and consistent declaration of love.

It is the Lord’s current which takes us, cleans us and guides us home.

What is it about storytelling in its various forms that draws you in, and what do you feel is the power of a well-told story within our culture?

Dom: “Once upon a time…” goodness, don’t you love those words?

Good storytelling is a good campfire; something built that seeks out others and calls them to itself. “Come and gather. See and be seen.” Storytelling invites and illumines. It welcomes others to sit and be revealed.

And as you share of yourself, you too are illuminated.  The other person leans in, and through storytelling all ‘other’-ness sheds. By campfire light, we enter a fuller knowledge of our friends.

Again: Invitation. Not proclamation, or defamation. Invitation.

Storytelling plants me in the company of other people. Storytelling allows me to participate in currents of hope and ache with others. We stand in those vibrant waters together.

“The Kingdom of God is like…” Christ healed the sick, made sure no one went hungry, and he told stories. His storytelling always pushed Kingdom, always hummed with love that bent him toward the destitute.

Christ expressed the Now and the Not Yet. Christ could talk about people working in the field, and the audience would understand.

But how are workers in a field like the Kingdom of God? How is something we know and inhabit — Now — like something we’re ignorant of and don’t see — Not Yet?

Storytelling confronts, comforts and places us in loving spaces of tension. The tension of storytelling, that which makes you feel seemingly contradictory emotions — that’s the mystery and romance of God.

There is God, on the cross, bleeding; and there is God, in heaven, silent; and there is God, in our souls, weeping, split wide open and living in perpetual wound.

And yet, in the midst of this angst, we tell stories. We can’t help it. It’s our grasp for the ineffable. The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. My heart is like a throttling trombone on Frenchmen Street.

I take comfort in the fact that words fall short. Words — Now — falling short — Not Yet.

“Once upon a time…once upon a time…yes, and amen…yes, and amen…”

I think what I like most about your poetry is that it blurs the lines between the sacred and the “unholy”, the divine and the destitute. It’s raw, honest, and real...and in many ways it’s what I’m after when I write. I think that a lot of people are tired of the whitewashed and polished ways of describing and relating to God within a world that is full of deep injustice and pain. How have you experienced God in the grit and brokenness of your own life and the lives of others?

Dom: First, thank you. You’re very kind.

Poetry as prayer — as confession — as liturgical orientation. Here I am, and here you are. This is me with a blank canvas — Christ, abide with me.

Think of the poems as emotional coordinates. Along with that, consider the strange truth — sometimes disappointing, sometimes jubilant — that when I’m honest, where I think I am isn’t where my heart tells me I’m located.

Poems allow me to explore my spirit, and I’m not always thrilled with what I find. However, the more I write, the more peace I experience about myself and how I relate to God. I can make peace with the occasional foul language and the repeated use of the word ‘ache’ because that’s where the Maker has me.

So as I am fearfully and wonderfully made, so I make. Again, it’s communion. It’s belief in a song you’ve never sung, but whose words you’ve known from the moment of birth.

This is my story, this is my song.

This form of communion isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. If anything that’s more confirmation that I need to keep doing it. Poetry pulls me close to God and into his appalling strangeness. Poetry is my whistling in the dark, my undignified dance and my sackcloth and ash.

Wendell Berry said it better than I ever could: “It all turns on affection.” The more I write, the more I believe in affection. Even when I want to rage, even when I want to lash out and strike at the world, poetry and communion with God crooks me down to affection, to its slow, peculiar and sonorous work.

Still, I hope. Still, I believe.

I can relate first-hand (without even having met you) that you lead a life of generosity and compassion for others. What is it that you want to pass along to others through your life, and what gives you this fire?

Dom: A hammer can build a home or crack a skull. It’s all in how you use it. I can use whatever funds I have to shore up my walls and my domain and my barricades, or I can open myself, make available time and resource, and invite others into relationship.

I’ve experienced moments of molten grace in my life — kindness so emboldening that it makes me want to fly, and kindness so rich and laden it presses my face into the wet dirt.

Grace, Good Grace — that which pulls me up to Heaven, and draws me down to Earth.

I’m thinking back to times where there’ve been samaritans in my life — back in key moments when my heart was breaking — on account of betrayal, on account of loss, on account of confusion — and someone was there to listen, to lift up, to sit in the brokenness.

I can remember my heart melting like ice cream in the middle of August. I can remember feeling like I was going to weep until I was dehydrated. I can remember feeling like I was going to spontaneously combust.

And in those moments, Christ saw fit that I would not be alone.

Generosity — Affection — Tenderness — Abiding — L-O-V-E —

It’s the miracle of God in which we’re allowed to ride side-saddle. It’s living proof of Now and Not Yet.

I was thinking about “thank you” recently — those words, “thank you.” — Saying “thank you” always seems incomplete, but when I try to say ‘thank you’ again, the words feel even smaller, and the more I try to say ‘thank you’, the less it adds up to.

Sin is new every morning, and Grace is new every morning. I can’t say “thank you” all at once, so I shouldn’t keep trying. Instead, profess grace and gratitude; sown one day at a time, one breath at a time.

In the name of the Father,
thank you
In the name of the Son,
thank you
In the name of the Holy Spirit,
thank you

//

Dom's instructions to request "Smoke By Day, Fire by Night", the free book of poetry:
-Follow me on Instagram (@dominiclaing)
-DM me w/ address and number of books
-Wait :)

Dom's blog and website: www.dominiclaing.com/

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An interview with Lisa Eversgerd

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz with Lisa Eversgerd

In the summer of 2015, my wife and I quit our jobs and traveled west for four months. We were newlyweds and the world was ours. We spent time in some of the most incredible cities in America: Chicago, Seattle, Portland, San Fransisco, San Diego...and we visited a dozen national parks. We hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back in one night, and we backpacked in the Tetons. We hiked Angel’s Landing and waded through the Narrows in Zion, we camped on the coast in Olympic, we hiked our first 14er in Colorado, we took in the vastness of Yosemite, and we walked among the Redwoods.

But almost surprisingly upon our return, when people would ask what our favorite spot was on the trip, my answer was Chesaw, Washington. Chesaw is a no-stoplight town near the border of Canada, holding a rodeo area used only for the Fourth of July, a mercantile, a gas station, and a small bar and restaurant. Chesaw also holds some of the most gracious and kind people I’ve ever met - including now my friend and one of my true heroes of life: Lisa Eversgerd.

Lisa is an endurance athlete, a garlic farmer, a homesteader and builder, a soap-maker, a beekeeper, a dreamer and a tireless worker, and a patient teacher with a generous laugh. Lisa also weaves pine needle baskets, sharpens crosscut saws, and is a vegan but doesn’t talk about it much.

In other words, Lisa is one of the rarest breeds of humanity: a humble badass.

Lisa and her husband Jason are homesteaders on twenty acres - where every structure, fence, and row of crops is the direct result of the labor of their hands. Their property contains a beautiful and simple straw bale home (heated by a woodstove in winter, and due to the thickness of the straw is cooled effectively merely by fans in the heat of summer), a sauna, a small guest house where we stayed, a drying cellar, sheds, lovingly maintained gardens and rows of garlic (their cash crop), and since our stay they have added a large greenhouse.

We connected with Lisa and Jason through the WWOOFing database (Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms), and stayed for three weeks on their farm. Our time was spent primarily with Lisa, as Jason works for the Forest Service as a Wildland Fighter and the fires were especially bad that year. In the mornings, Danielle and I would wander the grounds picking strawberries and raspberries for breakfast, and then do a few tasks - mounding potatoes, building rudimentary cabinets that closely resembled coffins, harvesting, planting, weeding, and generally following Lisa around to learn whatever we could - before she would tell us we’d worked too much and chase us off (although she seemed to never stop, from dawn to dusk). We would go to the lake, read books or play music, throw sticks for their pup Lucy, or wander to the neighbors’ houses to hear stories. Lisa and Jason’s farm borders communal hippy land - the remaining families from decades past are incredible and warm people, and have built their own pieces of paradise in the foothills.

Danielle and I arrived in time for garlic harvesting, and several evenings after the sun went down (as bright sunlight can burn garlic), we would dig up garlic with Lisa, row after row - occasionally sharing stories but mainly silent, united in our common work.

The guest house where we stayed had an outdoor composting toilet (essentially a bucket with a seat), and I loved the simplicity of it all. I loved showering under the stars at night, and I loved the need to do so - I loved the black soil, alive, underneath my fingernails.

We learned a lot on that farm from Lisa, and it is an experience that I will never forget. It is people like Lisa that give me hope for our culture, for our planet. It is an honor to share some of her story and insights in the interview below, and my hope is that it will add a spark to us all.

Can you give a basic timeline of your life?

Lisa: I grew up in a small town in the mid-west with three beautiful sisters and two very supportive, loving parents.  Life was sheltered in this small town, but I began to break away and find myself at an amazing summer camp tucked away in the middle of the Shawnee National Forest. I returned to this camp for 10 summers, and this is where I developed my deep love of nature, learned the joy of hard, dirty, work and found a family in all of the friends I made there.

After earning my degree in Outdoor Recreation, I started working for the Forest Service on a Trail Crew and again found incredible joy in the hard, physical, work and in the magic I found in the forests and mountains of the west. I spent 16 incredible seasons working on Trail Crews in Alaska, Arizona, Montana and Washington. I went out with a crew for nine days at a time…camping, clearing trails of downed logs with a two-man crosscut saw, and building bridges across swift rivers. This experience - spending 18 days a month living and working in Wilderness areas - solidified my connection with mother nature. The forest, the mountains, and the rivers became my home. The rugged terrain and often adverse weather conditions humbled me, the hours around a campfire in the dark morning hours grounded me, the endless hours of hiking with a heavy backpack and tools made me tough, and the glorious scenery enlivened me.  

The Trail Crew work usually ended by November, and I would then load up my backpack for adventures of a different kind. I would travel to other countries and continue exploring this beautiful planet and the incredible people that inhabit it. I would often spend time WWOOFing on farms, enjoying the connection with families, learning about organic farming, and exploring the countryside. I met kind, generous, inspiring people everywhere I traveled. Traveling is where I first discovered the joy of living in my moments - taking each day as it comes and enjoying every moment - no matter what the situation…finding peace in uncomfortable situations, discovering beauty in simple things and appreciating all of the little things that often go unnoticed.  I found incredible peace and joy in learning to fully live in the moment, and I carry this life lesson into all of my days.

Sometime between Alaska and Montana, I left the US to serve as a Peace Corp Volunteer in Mali, West Africa. This experience was so many things...living alone in a rural African village, communicating solely in a local tribal language, encountering extreme poverty, extreme sickness, extreme malnutrition and starvation, trying to find a way to help my new community...it was exciting, tragic, humbling, and overwhelming at times. But of all the things I remember about my time in Mali, it is the spirit of the Malians that I remember the most.  The people who lived there were beyond kind, generous, and happy. They had very few possessions, but they would sing and dance and celebrate the life they had at every opportunity. They were quick to laugh, help out a neighbor, or to share what little food they had - they taught me so much.

After the Peace Corps, while living and working in Montana, I met my wonderful husband Jason. We relocated to a 20 acre piece of land in rural Washington close to the Canadian border, and began building our life together. We’ve been here for nine years now, and our love for each other, for the land, and for our community here continues to grow every day.

Do you have any spiritual practices or principles?

Lisa: I believe in the power of being in nature and being grateful for every moment of my life. I believe in simple living, nourishing my body and soul with organic and healthy food, helping out neighbors and those less fortunate, and never, ever, forgetting how lucky I am to be alive and healthy. I believe in being kind, generous, patient, and open-minded and accepting of all people - regardless of their race, sex, political and religious beliefs. I believe in finding the good in everyone and every situation I encounter in life. I believe in hard work, living without greed, celebrating life every day, living in the moment, and loving with all of my heart.

What has ultra-running and other long distance feats of endurance taught you?

Lisa: My long distance adventures have taught me many things. I have learned, and am continually reminded, that any feat is 90% mental - you can do anything that you set your mind to doing. Your mind is what normally determines your success. I have learned that you can keep going, even when you think you are exhausted…the 2nd, 3rd…10th wind always comes and gives you energy to continue. You just have to be patient, have confidence, and wait for it. I have learned that there are places in our minds that can only be accessed by certain activities - meditation and ultra distance adventures, to name a few. It is like a secret key to parts of your brain otherwise unavailable - where you discover peace, heighten senses, and a general feeling of calm and focus. Long distance adventures also humble me; exposure to the elements, rugged terrain, lack of water sources and other challenges that arise on these type of adventures make me realize how small I am in the world, how insignificant my “problems” may be, how the world and life is so much bigger than all of the petty stuff we humans stress about. I learn to appreciate the small things: a few moments of luxurious sleep on the side of the trail, cool mountain water when your thirst is huge and warm sunshine when you have been so cold. These adventures also reinforce my desire to live in the moment...to simply enjoy the journey, and to not focus on how many miles are left or how much elevation gain there will be today - I just enjoy the ride. All of these lessons I take back to my daily life.

My hope is that in this generation there is an uprising of people going back to the land in an array of capacities, and I also feel that there is at times an over-glorification - or a glossing over - of the true work involved. Having taken an ‘empty’ piece of land and created it into what it is now, what advice would you have for aspiring small farmers or homesteaders?

Lisa: I would highly encourage anyone who desires a back-to-the-land life. We have the ability to create our own reality in this big, beautiful world. Living a simple, self-sufficient, happy life - growing food, tending animals, and working the land can be amazing. This dream requires lots and lots of hard work, planning, knowledge, money, and determination. The amount of financial support needed to build a homestead should not be underestimated - building anything is very expensive. People often think if they are doing the work themselves, that it will not cost much. You will certainly save money by providing the labor, but everything else will cost you more money than you imagine. Drilling a well can cost $10,000-$20,000, getting power (conventional or solar) can cost another $10,000-$20,000, concrete for a foundation can cost $3,000, roofing material can cost $5,000 - it is all expensive. In addition, the amount of work needed to create a homestead is also beyond what most people can imagine.

Building anything is slow, and there are a million important steps to consider. Search out multiple people and books for information, get experience building small structures and growing spaces, learn from others, and never, ever, cut corners. Skipping a step, or not researching a step fully, can cause nightmares in the future.  Do it right the first time - always! Listen when people give you tips - people will tell you what has worked or not worked for them - you can learn so much from other people’s mistakes. Get to know the people at your local building or gardening supply and ask lots of questions - these people can be a wealth of knowledge. Break the work up into steps with tangible goals; sometimes looking at the big picture of all you have left to do can be overwhelming and seem impossible to complete. Take it step by step, one task at a time, and reward yourself. It is also important to remember during the tough times...when you are working a million hours a week, exhausted, frustrated and overwhelmed, that you are doing it - you are creating your homestead. Celebrate your accomplishments…you are living your dream!

One of the main impressions I have of you is that of a tireless worker, but one who finds rest and joy in the process and labor. If this holds true for you, how have you come to this place, and what makes you want to get out of bed in the morning the next day to do it again?

Lisa: I do find joy and peace in working hard towards a goal - simply being in my moments. I love growing organic food, creating a home, building a dream and establishing a way to make a living from my rural, peaceful, homestead. I feel incredibly fortunate to be working on my dream. Even when tirelessly working on a project or task, I feel so blessed to be on my land and free to live my life as I choose. Each morning I rise, I thank my lucky stars for everything I have...my health, my beautiful family, my loving husband, my freedom, my land, healthy food, and my mind.

I am, however, trying to slow down the “work” aspect of my life and find more time for fun - adventures in the mountains, and time with friends and family. I have worked hard my entire life, and I am looking to slow down a bit and add a little balance to my life...to reward myself for all we’ve created and simply enjoy it.

We didn’t get to spend much time with Jason, but my main impression of him is: “man, there’s a guy who loves his wife.” How has working, dreaming, and creating with your partner in such a tangible way strengthened your relationship?

Lisa: It has been lovely - truly wonderful - building a life together. Every day we are grateful that we found each other in this big ol’ crazy world. Building a homestead and farm of course has its challenges and stressful moments, but through communication, hard work, love, and understanding anything can be accomplished.  We try and keep it all in perspective if a situation becomes stressful…in the big picture of the world, with war, disease, poverty, starvation…we are living the dream life. We celebrate our successes and learn from our failures. We support each other, nourish each other’s passions, and are the rock in each other’s lives.  Together we have learned that we can do anything; we can create our own reality - there is such peace and comfort knowing that you will always have your partner by your side and that anything is possible in this life.  We have worked through so much together, and this provides us the confidence that we will work through anything that happens in our future lives…with love and kindness.

For more information on Lisa and Jason’s farm, or to order handmade soap (it’s incredible), garlic powder, or a pine needle basket, visit lostcreekorganics.com

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The Pursuit of Bravery: This is my religion

Author: John Lucas Kovasckitz

The pursuit of bravery is the pursuit of love, for love is the purpose; love is the beginning. In the beginning there was love, but love has no beginning for love always was. Love caused the stars to be formed, and love caused man to rise from their dust.

I believe that love, the beginning before the beginning (what always was), the great Mystery or Spirit which can be experienced but not explained, are ways to describe God - among countless others. I believe that God is alive...that the fabric of God is within us and that we are within the fabric of God.

From a young age, I was given the language of Christianity to describe and to encounter God. I still speak in this language, for it is my mother-tongue, and I now believe that this is perhaps the best way to describe Christianity or any other religion: as a language by which humanity attempts to speak to each other about God, and as a means to know God.

Languages are imperfect means of communication, limited by the use of words we have created. In fact, much more is communicated without or beyond words. All religions are imperfect means to know God - a God I believe to desire to speak to us all in a language that we can understand. I believe that what, and how, we communicate (read here: how a religion or faith is acted upon, and how it works within) is more important than the language in which the words are contained. From the pen of the Apostle Paul: “If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn't love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.” (1 Cor. 13:1)

I prayed the simple prayer of salvation when I was seven, and I was baptized weeping as a teenager...I meant it. As a child I read the Beginner’s Bible with colorful pictures several times through before I graduated to the one with no pictures and the passages that are often dark and confusing. It too I read cover to cover. The church is where I learned to sing; I played on music teams and led worship services every Sunday for years, and as a teenager I would often lead on Sunday mornings and then again that Sunday night for my peers in youth group. Friday night worship gatherings, Wednesday night Bible studies. All of this to say, I was deep within the culture and I took my faith seriously. I spoke the language and I spoke it well.

But as I approached my college years, I found that I could not wait to go out on my own, away from the church that held much of my identity. This was not because I believed my church to be evil (I have only the highest respect for the community in which I was raised, and the integrity of the people within), or that I myself wanted to go through a “wild and sinful” stage to perhaps experiment with drugs and sex, but rather I had a growing dissatisfaction with, and aversion to, much of the doctrine and underlying messages of the Christianity with which I was presented.

I wouldn’t have had the words for it then, but I wanted to meet God on my own terms, away from the avenues in which I was raised, and to find my own story. What followed were years of deconstruction to the bare bones of what I believed, and the subsequent reconstruction of my faith. This reconstruction is not over, and I hope that I never consider myself to have arrived at ultimate spiritual truth, refusing to grow deeper or to continue to seek God in more fullness. I have much to learn, and I still have many questions...yet I believe my language and life to be richer on the other side.

Much of my spiritual dissatisfaction grew primarily from exclusionism; I feel that within the culture of Christianity, there is either blatantly professed spirit of exclusion, or a mentality found beneath the surface. We hold the one truth; us against the world, either sinner or a saint, saved by the blood of a savior who has done all of the work and heavy lifting for us.

For years I wrestled with the concept of a loving God that would create the earth and humanity full of beauty and innocence, but open to be wrecked...for the earth to become for so many a place of literal hell through wars, genocide, extreme poverty, and other unbearable injustices. And then, at the end of it all, if we did not accept loving and forgiving Jesus as our savior - through a simple prayer, and within the murkiness of human consciousness - we would not merely perish, but we would burn forever within the torments of an eternal hell. The privileged who had accepted Christ would receive salvation and live forever within heaven, a place of peace and fullness - communion with God.

I found that I could no longer believe in this narrative of God.

Richard Rohr writes, “Any discovery or recovery of our divine union has been called ‘heaven’ by most traditions. Its loss has been called ‘hell’. The tragic result of our amnesia is that we cannot imagine that these terms are first of all referring to present experiences. When you do not know who you are, you push all enlightenment off into a possible future reward and punishment system, within which hardly anyone wins. Only the True Self knows that heaven is now and that its loss is hell - now … Heaven is the state of union both here and later.” He further concludes, “If your notion of heaven is based on exclusion of anybody else, then it is by definition not heaven. The more you exclude, the more hellish and lonely your existence always is.”

When hell is solely something to come, we ignore the deep injustice happening all around us. When heaven is solely something to come, we ignore the present existence of God.

I still believe in some form of afterlife or reunion after bodily death, void of the suffering and darkness evident today. But I believe that the kingdom of heaven is to be found - and brought about - here, and now...amidst all of our beauty and wreckage.

I believe that we are eternal beings, and that in some form heaven or hell can be eventually fully entered by our own choosing (for love requires a choice); we can either live from the True nature in which we have been created, or we can choose to live fully from the ego - which ultimately tells us that we are god. The ego is not necessarily primarily evil, but has evil capabilities - unlike our True selves. The journey of shedding our false self, or ego, and realizing and reconnecting with our True self (that which is already one with God) I believe to be the way of “salvation”.

I have personally found the life of Jesus to be the ultimate example to humanity of transcending the ego, and further, that what Jesus represents transcends Christianity. I believe God to be bigger than our religions and the names we have ascribed to God, which divide the “believer” and the “infidel”.

I believe that the truth of God can be found in the pages of scripture, that its writers were inspired by God and intimately knew Him, but that the Bible is a part of humanity’s journey to discover and to know God, and not an overarching guidebook to be taken out of cultural and historical context. I believe that the character, heart, and desires of a living and infinite God can not, and should not, be limited to what we read in the Bible or any other text.

I believe that God is love, and that love is the most universal and fundamental language of all. I believe that God is within us all, regardless of our actions or beliefs.

Many people within the Christian community, many whom I respect deeply, would say that my convictions are at best a watering down of the Gospel, and at worst dangerous assertions. I would submit personally that I have found the true watering down of the Gospel to be a faith that costs nothing.

For if our faith costs nothing, it is worth nothing.

This is not to say that we are “saved” by our outward actions, but if my faith does not change the way that I live and love others, if it does not aid in my treatment of the land and my abhorrence to my own selfishness and greed, if it does not bring forth greater yields of the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, and self-control, then my faith is worthless. My prayers are empty and self-centered, my heaven is empty and self-centered.

My words are not an attempt to attack Christianity or the church, and are certainly not meant to separate myself from the foundational teachings of Christ. Rather, my words are an attempt to call forth something greater both personally and collectively.

Jesus did not live a life of comfort or excess. He had little patience for religious dogma. He challenged oppressive authority. He broke down barriers and stereotypes. And he gave up his life for love.

I believe that we’re more alike than we are different. We may not vote the same way politically, hold the same beliefs about God (or even agree on His existence), but we all hold love.  

Love is the master key to it all. Love does not stand for injustice. Love does not count differences, it transcends. Love unites, love heals. Love is not a weakness, but a power beyond measure.

My religion is love. My creed is to love God and to love others, no matter the cost.

In this confusing world, both broken and beautiful, containing the first smiles of newborns, nuclear weapons, sunsets, marriages, divorces, poverty, racial discrimination, sex trafficking, favorite songs, the smell of coffee, the touch of your partner’s hand, murder, species extinction, deforestation, and seeds in good soil, God can be found and made known when we love.

This is my religion.

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