O, But Then What Shall We Sing?

"Tell us, oh, but then what shall we sing?

When we gather together?

When our souls come untethered?

To catch our breath?"

Mandolinist and songwriter Chris Thile asks these questions at the tip top of his 2021 record, "Laysongs"- his fervent attempt at apostasy, a record which in turn seethes and groans at and for the Divine, while professing to live apart from it. And I don't know if he ever answers this question, though this record is the best attempt I've found (but "Spanish Toast" by Alanna Boudreaux is also superb). 

The word Religion allegedly comes from the same root as the Latin word for asphalt- the root literally  meaning "sticky", "adherent". And what does that asphalt accomplish except for to pave a smooth path for Man to progress? We are religious when we stick to something. And we are justified in sticking to something when we believe in it (And in a larger sense, when that belief is justified). Any man worth his weight believes in something, anything. In his family, in the importance of integrity, in the goodness inherent in living, or even the lack thereof. Absent of an objective good, meaning is derived from a set of standards of the good by which outcomes are measured and assessed. In sticking to his beliefs, a person will forge a path toward a life of meaning. And therefore even in this basic sense, all should be religious, that their life may be lived meaningfully.

People know this in their heart, and so they look for something to believe in, and then hope that it sticks, or rather, that they stick to it. This is how one builds a life.

However, one problem is that it is not enough to have a personal religion. Humans are social animals, so the benefits of being religious are most fully achieved when lived out communally. Here lies the rub, because if is very difficult to gather and agree on a shared set of good things we value. This is because peoples and cultures are very different from each other, more than any individual really can fathom.

Furthermore, it is even more remote that a gathering of people which agrees on a shared set of good things will agree on how to adhere best to those good things, how to begin to pave a road wide enough for them all to share as they journey onward.

And oh, but where will they meet?

In Boulder, the term "Third Space" arises, wafts from the patio of the Alpine Modern and tumbles off the cobblestones of Pearl. It rolls out in gasps from the mouths of Riverside dancers, and curls off the smoke of cloying Naropa incense. It is delivered with the calm of a therapist, but signifies the panic of the patient. An interior plea shrouded in the singsong voice of the enlightensia.

Are any third spaces good enough to hold our hearts, even for a moment?

When seen from this perspective, it seems as though the project of living meaningfully had better be abandoned. It's too difficult. 

But we who know better know better.

The simplest form of shared religion is friendship, which finds its fulfilment in charity. The most ornate and grand form is the Ekklesia, and its fullest expression is Liturgy. We who have found both are lucky bastards, and everybody knows it.

Where can our home be, except for in Heaven? What songs would ever fulfill us except for the ones which effuse the hope in our attainment of this home? We long for the supreme expression of solidarity, and we search for it everywhere, but even sometimes begrudgingly so, we find it in the Liturgy. You can see it all around you, witches getting more witchy and "rediscovering" or "recreating" ancient ways. You see it in anyone who gets serious about their sports team, or one who worships at the altar of Star Wars, or of patriotism. The man who spends eight months in Tibet, or in the Amazon, to find himself. We must escape into something else, because our culture is devoid of what we really need. But when we escape, do we find what we are looking for?

At best, any approximation of the Liturgy is trite (on the part of the witches), insubstantial (on the part of the nerds), or inaccessible/unsustainable (on the part of the Ayahuasca devotee). I've even thought of what it would mean to write a liturgy for national holidays or such commemorations as Donut Day. What of the antiphons, and noble readings from the inventor of the donut him/herself! In the absence of Liturgy, society will work hard to fill in the gaps, but never to true satisfaction. Even Christmas dinner rings hollow without something to anchor it to the things of the spirit. Can there be an expression dignified enough, substantial enough, and also normal enough and so devoid of privilege that it could serve for the spiritual growth of every man from every age from every level of society?

The people long for a shared path of devotion to a Great Good. They long for the Liturgy.

There is no song we can sing, except for the "Sanctus". There is no place we can gather, except for our humble stone church. We know how frigid it is outside her walls. We know how limpid are the songs of the world, the songs of our spiritually meager age. In the cold misery of the World, you will not survive long. But at the altar, you will thrive eternally.

"If we let the river of life permeate us, we become trees of life, for the mystery that the river symbolizes takes hold of us."

- Jean Corbon, The Wellspring of Worship