An ancient Roman Catholic mission church marks the center of town on the Zuni reservation in New Mexico. It was built in the 17th century by the conquistadors, with the intent of converting the locals to Christianity. In almost every way, it looks – and feels – like an old colonial-era chapel: cool and dark, with wood hewn pews and the stations of the cross, framed, hanging just above one’s head on the plaster walls. I stumbled across it recently on a family vacation: I did not seek it out and was not at all prepared for what I would find inside.
Over the past 30 years, a Zuni father and his sons have has taken it upon themselves to paint the walls – the stretch of soft white plaster above the stations of the cross to the wood-beamed ceiling – with pictures of the Zuni gods, in ceremonial masks, dancing the dances they do each year at the summer and winter solstice. They are outrageous, vivid, huge: feathered, wearing big hats, carrying sticks, with beads and more feathers dangling from their joints. What is this place? A Catholic church? A place that celebrates pagan ceremony? A Zuni child, sitting in a pew, would see the Christian Lord and the Zuni kachinas, all in one, sweeping, upward glance.
Here’s the point: the rabbis and the church authorities have always wanted believers to be exclusive, but believers, historically have not been. Monotheism appeared out of nowhere more than 600 years before the birth of Christ and since its arrival on the scene, its authorities have repeatedly stressed, over and over, the importance of believing in the One God. What is the First Commandment? “I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other Gods before me.” Punishment for defying this commandment has been severe: death, torture, hell.
But people, even people who say they firmly believe in the God of Abraham – or in no god at all – also believe in and practice more than one thing. The ancient Hebrews worshipped their ancestors. They fed them and gave them ointments and thirst-quenching drinks in spite of their rabbis’ injunctions not to. Medieval Christians carried amulets and fetishes they believed held special powers – such idolatry was, in part, the trigger for the Reformation; yet today, church-going Protestants frequently practice yoga, an activity that includes chanting prayers to Hindu gods. Bar-mitzvahed Jews practice Buddhist meditation and tell their children about the tooth fairy. Pakistani-American Muslims zealously read their horoscope in the daily tabloids and seek advice from psychics. Avowed atheists believe in a universal spirit.
Purity of thought, orthodox religious practice, sheer rationality – all these are noble goals and the rabbis, the religious authorities and the scientists cannot be blamed for encouraging their followers to follow as closely as possible. But the human heart (and soul, if you believe in such things) is too complex and its yearnings are too inconsistent. Such purity is, in fact, the exception more than the rule and it always has been. Atheists who believe in a universal spirit are no more or less surprising, or troubling (depending on your perspective), than Christians who believe in the healing powers of yoga or Zuni who believe in Jesus.
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