I went to a funeral earlier this week on the island of Åland. I hadn't known the person who passed very long, but I'd come to admire him in the months that I did. A friend and I went together, taking a ferry from Sweden to the Finnish islands lying in the Baltic.
Despite the fact that I didn't understand a word of the service (or perhaps because of it), I found the experience deeply moving. The austerity of the church; the light streaming through tall, unadorned windows; the crows flitting amongst treetops outside; the indecipherable yet soothing sound of the minister's voice as he carried on the ancient rite: it all came together to make space for our individual and collective grief and to carry us together through this difficult passage. I was touched by the profound yet comforting simplicity of every element of the space and act of the service.
I don't come from a church-going family, so the notion of sacred community gathered in a sacred space (other than Nature) is foreign to me. Although I have been to other funerals, this was perhaps the first time that I have deeply felt the power of ritual to move a community through a painful passage of life. Further, every element of the church that day--the pews, the psalm books, the slanted window ledges, the organ pipes, even the crucifix--held some unknown but subtle significance for me.
All week I haven't been able to stop thinking about churches, and sacred spaces, and rituals, and spiritual community. I am not a believer, but I can't help feeling that belief, and the community that often accompanies it, offers something that secular society generally does not. I am led here to think of Alain de Botton's Religion for Atheists: A Non-believer's Guide to the Uses of Religion
I am also led to reconsider these words from author Jack Miles, which I read in an interview published in The Sun magazine (read an extended excerpt from the interview here).
In my old age I've gone from attending to what religion claims to know to focusing on how religion copes with unknowing. Sometimes it does this with faith. Other times it engages in practices--dance, song, pilgrimage, almsgiving, confession--that carry our lives forward.
...Human ignorance is invincible. One dazzling [scientific] discovery leads to another, but no matter how much we learn, questions always remain. This means there is no closure now and never will be -- not through science nor anything else that human beings can do with their minds. I returned to the practice of religion the moment I gave up hope for any true closure through science. Religious practice gives me a type of closure, not by answering my questions but by enriching a life in which some questions remain unanswered.
What have you been thinking about this week? What are the rituals and traditions that enhance your life? What are the spaces that provide you consolation and communion? What are the communities that hold you up?
By the way, publishing this post scares the bejeezus out of me. Reassuring words are always welcome. =)
Photos by Jez Timms, Nikko Tan, Soukéïna Felicianne, and Annie Spratt
Sabrina Derrington says
Beautifully written Jodi. I think you already know what I think about this, so I'll be brief. Blaise Pascal's quote about the "God-shaped vacuum" in each of our hearts resonates. We are spiritual beings whether we like it or not. And mystery - so much that we cannot, and maybe ought not explain - is everywhere throughout life and death. For all these reasons sacred spaces and rituals are absolutely necessary.
Love,
Sabrina
Jodi says
Yes, Sabrina, I thought about you and our many conversations on this topic as I wrote this post. I think these things can be more obvious to someone who comes from a Christian or church-going household. But for those of us who came from entirely secular families who never spoke of religion and never (apart from a few Easters along the way) went to church, the notion of strength, comfort, and spiritual community coming from church or religion is so vastly foreign as to be almost unfathomable. I have felt tinges of it while nestled in a true yoga community with an ancient tradition, but almost nowhere else. The experience I wrote about here was one of the first experiences I've had of rituals of the Christian church not feeling forced or empty.
I am so grateful that you have such a strong spiritual life and that we have been able to discuss it through the years (though perhaps with differing terms).
Thanks for sharing this beautiful comment, my dear.
Sophia says
What beautiful photographs and words. We so need structure, ritual and places of beauty both to cope and to mark the passing of time. I have never been a believer in god, but am quite happy to adopt and adapt religious rituals to suit me. Often I find the feast and eating delicious special things together is what I take and run with. Whether it is pints in a pub after a funeral or a lovely meal after a wedding or sweet things at a birthday they are often what I remember most vividly and fondly.
Jodi says
Thanks, Sophia. Have you read Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton? He talks, essentially, about using religions and their traditions and rituals as a sort of smorgasbord from which to find and make meaning in life, especially in community. I like your reflection on the feast and the idea of breaking bread with others to mark a special moment or passing. Do you have any special recipes for certain traditions or times of year?
Amy says
Beautiful, Jodi. These are things I have been thinking about recently, as I search for sacred spaces in my own life.
Does it help to know that, as I was reading this, I was thinking, Wow, she writes so beautifully and has so many important things to say. I wish I had the creativity+discipline to keep up with a blog of this caliber.
Jodi says
Thank you, Amy, for your kind comment. I am so honored that my writing resonates with you. I remember reading one of your blog posts years ago (about your father's passing, I think), that moved me so deeply. In fact, I don't even remember the post itself, but echoes of it still resonate within me. Thank YOU for your beautiful writing.