bad metaphor

This past weekend, I accompanied Eli on a trip to a kind of hippie religious camp. I remember learning a little bit about Sufism in a class on “Women in Islam,” and then I had gotten the impression that it is like what Kabbalah is to Judaism – a little more mystical, softer and more inclusive than the mainstream branches. Imported into America, it became tremendously popular among mystics and hippies. These hippies relaxed the rigid Islamic rules even further, to the point where the Sufism practiced in America bears hardly any resemblance to what one would observe in a typical mosque, apart from both services assigning the name “Allah” to the divine being. American Sufism strives to be inclusive of all world religions – not just half-assing it like the Cao Dai people* who for practical purposes only include three major Eastern religions.

Now, coming from an atheist perspective, that sense of looseness is precisely why I felt more comfortable coming to this event. Paradoxically, though, I think it is the same reason I felt a little – I don’t know. Bored isn’t quite the right word. Maybe disappointed?

Sunday worship service was like this: everyone who wished to participate in the service, or observe it as we did, was welcome to come to the lodge at a certain time(ish). Since the Service began with a soothing chanting song, accompanied by a diverse array of pan-continental instruments. Then the head…guy, or whatever, announced that today, the group would be forming break out circles assigned to each of the major world religions’ holy scriptures. People were assigned to groups not according to interest…but to a completely randomized numbering-off system! (I noted audible groans from the people assigned to the New Testament). We were the closest to the group assigned to a Native American book of poems, so we observed them.

Now the head guy instructed the break out circles to “pick a passage from the scripture – any old passage, no theme today, just something that you think represents the religion. Try to keep it short, since we have so many groups.” The groups were to then share the passage with everyone, by simply reciting it, or setting it to song, or whatever. Our group decided to choose a passage by having everyone put their hand over the book before opening it to a random section. The defacto group leader didn’t care for the randomized passage that was chosen, and a little bit of discussion ensued.

“What about music? Anyone know any Native American songs?” “Well, I know the one that goes dah de dah…” “Hey, maybe the band will know something.” We bailed to go play chess before this situation was resolved. I guess I am more of a traditionalist when it comes to religion than I thought, liberal atheism be damned. But the whole thing seemed like a fast-food religion to me. Here are these religious texts, some of them thousands of years old, all of them steeped in long histories…people died for the sake of these words, either on behalf of them or because of them. Even though I didn’t believe in many of the precepts behind these traditions, and outright reject quite a few of them, it seemed shockingly irresponsible to just ignore the context, gloss over the bad parts, zero in on “something you like” and treat it as if you had effectively represented that particular faith. It was like a big, tacky world religions buffet.

More to my liking was the zikr, an evening ceremony of devotional song and dance. Everyone, even the “teens**,” hold hands and sing along, their voices swelling harmoniously in a joyous crescendo. A dancer languidly breaks away from the circle, bows reverently towards…Mecca? The center of the larger circle? She lifts her head, face shining and ears taking in the music…and then slowly starts to rotate, whirling faster and faster. One whirling dervish near me was spinning so rapidly, I actually felt a chill from the wind she created. The dervish could be swaddled in tons of scarves and sweaters and a clownish hat. But when he whirls, he transforms into this delicate, astral being.

Next to the adult dervishes spun their children, who lacked grace and finesse, but made up for that in energy and giggles. Even a jaded, cynical jackass such as myself can see the appeal of something like this to Eli, who has long lasting ties to people here. Sure, I’d probably much rather engage a theologian or professor in discussion about the religion itself, than some vaguely happy hippie. But, intellectual pursuit is not exactly what draws most of the people here. It’s family.

* Okay, so Cao Dai gets points for its shoutout to Victor Hugo, cause that’s totally cool.
** “Teens” tends to mean anywhere from 13 to 35 in this camp. Hoorah for arrested development!

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