The Path of a Christian Witch (17 page)

He elbowed his way out of the crowd until we were back in the open air. I felt empty. It is true that southern Italy is a bastion for traditional Catholicism. But I felt sick at the hypocrisy, the travesty of this interpretation of what are truly beautiful teachings. We walked a little farther along and sat on a stone wall. I was heartbroken. I sighed and looked up. In front of me was a rendition of the Lady of Fatima with the three children she appeared to. There she was, looking young and beautiful, with strangely short hair and without her traditional veil. In her hands, she held up a cup and a host. She was a priestess under a beautiful willow tree. I turned to my husband and whispered, “Look, this is my church.”

A couple of years later, I finally found my way to my first Pagan festival. My husband joined me with some apprehension. I was not without apprehension myself. I had been in Pagan circles long enough to put my fears of hags and vampires to rest. Nevertheless, I still wasn’t sure how far down the rabbit hole it was safe for me to go without completely losing track of myself.

We gathered on the beach and prepared for the opening ritual. The priestess called down Isis and spoke her message. But my body felt encased in stone. My legs would not move; I felt dizzy. It was an altogether unpleasant feeling. Maybe I wasn’t grounded enough. Maybe the excitement of being here was throwing my energy off. I felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t my place. Dear God, would I ever find where that place might be?

I have always felt an intense need to be part of a group, either through sports or church or magic classes. In my darkest moments, when I felt torn between the guilt of abandoning my tradition and the desire to fulfill myself magically, I felt truly alone. The most disturbing aspects of both traditions would poke at me, in a back-and-forth dance that seemed endless.

Nevertheless, I ended up having a great time at the festival. I met wonderful people, participated in workshops, learned and shared with people of like mind . . . From a magical, energetic point of view, I was in the right place. From a spiritual, religious point of view, it was another story.

Community is a gathering of people who have something in common. It is based on relationships, on a web that interconnects and binds. It is above laws and dictates. It is a thing of the spirit. This need for community stems back to the very beginning of the Christian tradition. We were a community before we became a religion. We would gather informally to celebrate, to learn from each other, to remember the teachings that were passed on to us. We drew strength from each other. We created a safe haven from the outside world in which we could speak freely, away from the persecution and accusations of the world. Alone, we were fragile and vulnerable. Together, we cultivated peace and strength.

It is the tragedy of the Christian Witch that she often wanders alone. She may participate in Pagan rituals and connect with the elements of earth and energy and female divinity that are so important to her. She may also continue to attend traditional Christian services to commemorate the life and teachings of Jesus and to celebrate with others who share this devotion. Sitting in a circle, sharing bread and wine and praising the Lord in her own way, is a practice that is still quite solitary. Too few of us speak out about our beliefs to reach out and form communities of our own. This is why I am sitting here writing these lines. We need not be alone. We can rush inside and escape the questioning and persecution, and sit together in peace and worship.

To light a candle in a poorly lit space,
like we used to do,
To share a meal of bread and wine,
like we were told to do,
To look within and find Spirit,
like we were meant to do.

Out in the open

I was finishing my first year at Crescent Moon School. It was open-house night, a chance for new students and the general public to come in and ask questions about the curriculum and satisfy their curiosity. All our work was displayed, and people walked around from table to table, casually asking questions of the teachers and students.

Out of nowhere my teacher burst in, in front of me, startling me somewhat. She said, “Here’s someone who’d like to talk to you.” I stood there quite perplexed. I was a lowly first-year. Why was I being singled out? A shy-looking woman in her thirties stood in front of me, looking down. As she spoke, I could hear a faint Spanish accent.

Without looking up at me, she whispered, her voice shaking, “I’m a Christian.”

I took in a deep breath of relief and laughed. I whispered back, “Me too.”

The woman looked up and smiled. She said she was Christian with such a tearful, apologetic voice that it broke my heart. I had felt that torn apart a couple years previously. But it was all gone now. I felt only relief that the torment had receded and that I could give some dignity and hope back to someone suffering the same conflicts I once suffered.

We went on to talk about our attraction to Witchcraft and magic, the elements of nature, and the sense of a sisterly bond. I told her that Christ and his teachings were an ever-growing part of my spiritual life, because I now had a daily spiritual practice that tied it all together. She thanked me for sharing my experiences and walked away. I felt that a load had been lifted from her shoulders.

At that moment, someone tapped me on my own shoulder. It was a young man approximately my age. He said, “Hi. I’m Jewish.” I laughed and said, “I guess that makes us kindred then.”

From that night on, I was the official Christian spokesperson at Crescent Moon School. I was no longer in hiding. I had reconciled the core of the Christian faith to the practice of Witchcraft. I felt no shame or guilt or doubt. It felt right in every cell of my being. As was eminently clear that evening, there were others who urgently needed to hear that they were not alone. In making my voice heard, I could help them and bring them hope. I had to step out of the shadows where I had practiced in secret. It was time to live in the world.

___

We are not alone. It may feel that way very often, but there are many of us looking for our way in the dark. And we may be closer than we think. Maybe it’s that ancestral fear of persecution. So many Witches—good, faithful women—were tortured and killed for their practices, so we remain fearful of speaking out. Maybe the patriarchal society in which we live makes us shy about expressing any truly personal spiritual aspirations. This holds true for men as well. The bottom line is we don’t expose our beliefs to others.

In certain contexts, I am reticent to advertise myself as a Christian Witch, and honestly I see no real purpose in doing so. Some people relish the shock value of the assertion “I’m a Witch.” I find this attention-seeking behavior offensive. Being a Witch is about finding something divine deep within yourself. It is not about getting a reaction from people. But I hide no longer. My books are proudly displayed in my living room, and if someone comments on my collection, I will not deny my affiliations to the Craft.

I was lucky to find a school with the open-mindedness to let me develop my own beliefs and practice, and to let me share them with others. There are many ways to reach out to others. I have faith that we will find each other, whether in groups of two or three, on the Internet, or through a common, shared focus. We are connected already through our common aspirations. We are a community, growing together in spite of time and space. May it please God that we meet physically to celebrate one day. In the meantime, we are discovering a new mission we can partake in. We are discovering our legitimacy in stepping forward into a state of priesthood, shedding the guilt and the blame and finally letting our inner light shine into the world.

One single sheep

Good Friday was upon us once more. It always rang for me of nostalgia, making the innermost of my being vibrate. I needed the silence and the contemplation and a solemn, private commemoration of the events of that day. I wrapped a scarf around my head in a sign of mourning and walked to the riverside. There would be no church service for me this year. I had just moved and did not feel that our neighborhood church offered me the privacy to mourn in peace. I sat on a rock in the chilly spring air, listening to what my Lord and Lady had to say. I heard him speak to me, one word at a time springing into my head, telling me a story:

There was a shepherd who grew tired of watching his sheep. He sat down in the shade of a tree and rested. He soon got hungry and ate, and then he fell asleep. When he woke up, he saw a single sheep standing in front of him, staring at him. A single reminder of what his purpose was.

You are that sheep.

I turned to Mary Magdalene, but she refused to speak to me. I begged and begged, and finally she turned to me and said, “Our order and priesthood have always been underground and secret. That’s the way it has always been, and the way it must remain.”

There are many reasons why we may want to walk a different path from the traditional one. I have gone through many reasons, some more valid than others. I’ve been through rebellion, rage, anger at the politics of the church. I went through phases of justification based on historical facts, romanticism, maybe eccentricity at times. But there is only one way to build a new community. The only thing a community should be founded on is peace. With peace in our hearts, we can truly sit and look at each other in total honesty. In peace, there is no doubt. Without doubt, there is no fear, and without fear there is no need for aggression.

In peace, we can sit in our own truth, listening to others with an open heart. We can see the simplicity and greatness of our brethren, and we can build the spiritual bonds a community is made of. We can be the sheep who calmly, without blame or aggression, reminds others of their true purpose. We enter a state of being that shines unto others the peace and serenity we cultivate within our own sanctuary. Being, rather than doing or preaching or acting. Being a witness of our own inner light.

Many of us fantasize about secret societies and hidden documents, legacies of teachings that have been lost to the world. In that sense, I guess Mary Magdalene’s words are quite exciting. But her tone and demeanor did not imply that sense of privilege. Rather, they suggested a sense of severity and responsibility. This mission is not to be taken up for prestige or fame. It is not to be brought to the world to change the world and cause a religious revolution. It is a private matter.

We must work from a place of humility. This priesthood, or service, is a source of underground strength with which we can climb back into the world and do what we have been told to do: fight the inequities, tend to the weak and the poor, and give hope to those in need.

I get the sense that it is not up to us to pass on this priesthood to everyone, because it is not what all people need. It is the
light
we must pass on, first and foremost, not the belief system. The belief system should never become the focus of our mission. How many people have died because they did not adhere to the religious dictates of the church? It is true of this church, and it is true of most other religions as well. That is why I think what Our Lady was saying is that we should never let a belief system overshadow its primary mission. By keeping it underground and secret, we put the focus back on our mission of compassion and take the light away from our own egos.

Some might say that I’m contradicting myself by writing about a practice that I believe should remain secret. Everyone has the right, the responsibility even, to find their place of power in the world. Everyone’s talents are necessary to reach an age of enlightenment and peace. Humans are social animals. We are not made to be alone. By finding a community, we find a place to plant our roots and grow into the fullness of our gifts. All these gifts are needed, and without them we are lost. My hope is that these few lines are the blueprint to a new community of people, who will cultivate their light in a new-old way and spread a new wave of love into the world.