New Time Religion Part II: House
of God
A defrocked priest at the University of Creation Spirituality
promotes
a post-denominational religion that combines medieval Christian
mysticism, socialism, yoga, and techno music.
By Summer Burkes
EVER SINCE WE humans figured out how to be vain and make money, the
idea of one religion (yours) being the "right" one has remained a
cultural bastion, the proud child of xenophobia and alleged genetic
superiority. In recent history though, multiculturalism has caused
more-enlightened Westerners to rethink the idea of
one-god-per-household: cross-immigration exploded with
industrialization, media outlets like PBS and National Geographic made
the study of religion available to the lazy masses, George Harrison
went to India and came back with some bland songs, and selfish
ex-hippies invented New Age. Today those who were collared in Vacation
Bible School for asking if their Hindu friends were really going to
hell and suggesting that Buddha sounds like an OK guy -- if not total
atheists by this point -- probably wouldn't mind some guilt- and
imperialism-free spiritual reassurance. As if on cue, the Rev. Matthew
Fox, defrocked Episcopalian priest and founder of a small university in
Oakland, has invented a bizarre, well-thought-out mutt of a religion
called "Creation Spirituality" that combines (among other things)
Christian mysticism, yoga, the big bang theory, multimedia technology,
socialism, and techno music. And at last Sunday's "Techno Cosmic Mass:
In Praise of Angels," Fox provided a space for about 350 people to
"creatively explore" alternative means of worship and shake a
spiritually driven tail feather.
Near the deserted 19th Street BART stop in Oakland, a cavernous,
abandoned five-and-dime store has been transformed into a painstakingly
elaborate rave scene, complete with slide projectors, murals, lighting
systems, Day-Glo paint, and giant mirrors. Ambient music and mounds of
fragrant herbs tossed on the floor add to the atmosphere. Upon entry,
everyone receives a "blessing" and a program, which says, "Some parts
of the Mass may work for you and others may not. We ask that you take
that which works and place the rest aside with respect." The crowd (all
ages, largely white) mills about perusing four elegant altars that
symbolize the elements in the four corners of the dimly lit room. Fox
takes the stage to deliver some opening comments.
"Worship has become so boring that even the angels have left," quips
the spry, articulate host in his welcoming "greeting." Matthew Fox, a
Dominican priest, was marginalized and finally fired by the pope's
henchmen for his radical (for them) beliefs about such topics as
mysticism, feminism, and social justice. He witnessed his first
rave-mass in England last decade and decided to popularize the
post-denominational, multimedia-fueled movement over here. Followers of
Creation Spirituality believe in active group participation as a means
to invoke the spirits, and at the Techno Cosmic Mass, Fox exhorts the
crowd to "pray hard, dance hard, and sweat hard" rather than accept
being preached at. Fox points out that in one African language, the
word for breath is also the word for dance and spirit. He would not be
popular at my Evangelical junior high school. Wouldn't be popular in
the movie Footloose either.
Far from the attention-tyrant one expects of the leader of a budding
religious movement, Fox turns most segments of the worship over to
quite a diverse group of hosts: a Jewish woman sings a hymn, an African
American woman leads a gospel-choir sing-along, an Asian man conducts a
relaxing group yoga session, and an Episcopalian woman quotes medieval
mystic Hildegard von Bingen. Fox returns for a short sermon on the
nature of angels, their presence in almost every religion, their
trivialization in modern culture, and ... my mind starts to wander,
just like in real church. "So! Let us pray with these angels," Fox
intones and then puts the microphone down. Techno music blares from all
sides, and after a split second's hesitation, everyone gets up to get
down. Old women wave their arms, leotarded modern dancers shake
maracas, Deadheads do that chicken-dance they do, revelers whoop and
holler, and a man with a baby strapped to his chest gallops through the
throng. I spot an eight-year-old gleefully stomping up and down next to
his parents, and I get a flash of jealousy. Religion shouldn't be this
fun. Should it?
After about 20 minutes an Indian musician brings the crowd's adrenaline
back down with an "om nama shiva" chanting session. The next part of
the mass, titled "Negativa," shows where Creation Spirituality diverges
from touchy-feely New Age twaddle. Fox encourages the now-sobered
throng to shout out bad things ("Anger!" "Racism!" "Advertising!" "The
Starr report!") and then begins what he calls the "detox ritual." The
screens above project sad and infuriating images of poverty and war to
ominously symphonic music, the sucker-punched vibe that washes over the
gathering is unmistakable, and Fox tells the crowd to holler out their
bad feelings. (Yikes, it sounds like the apocalypse. I hope no one's
dosing.) The crowd then stops hollering and harmonizes on a major
chord, "turning pain into joy." The vibe poignantly and instantly
returns to one of celebration. There's another moment when the crowd
speechlessly greet one another by roving around and touching palms; the
silence makes the episode cinematically creepy. This part of the
service I "place aside with respect."
The third part of the mass, titled "Creativa," ends with a communion,
not the kind with the morbid yum-you're-eating-Christ's-flesh sort of
symbolism but with a Native American food-as-nature-as-us-too sort of
symbolism. To Indian sitar and singing. With white zinfandel and wheat
bread. (California Ÿber alles, no?) The techno dance starts again for
the "Transformativa," and although I must admit I feel something, that
feeling doesn't stretch to a sudden embrace of a musical genre that's
actually employed in seven reservoirs along the Thames to keep salmon
from getting too close to tempting-yet-deadly reservoir pumps. Trance
and dance (and drugs, come to think of it) have been a part of most of
the world's religions forever, though, and epiphany can't come easily
without a sense of abandon. So, in this multimedia-driven context at
least, techno music does actually make religious sense. But I still
can't dance to it.
By Summer Burkes < m y c h i n g o n a @ a o l . c o m >
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