Magpie Spirituality

Re-sharing a recent post to introduce myself to new readers

As part of my on-going reflections on life, love, and the state of my soul, I’ve discovered a description that feels appropriate for the way in which I live my spiritual life. I’m calling it “Magpie Spirituality.” It’s a reference to a species of birds related to crows and ravens. Magpies are drawn to shiny objects, collecting them for their nests, and are also known for making and using tools, imitating human speech, and playing games. “Magpie” as a descriptor suggests, to me at least, a tendency to collect disparate items, practices, even identities, and it suits me to think of myself as a bit of a magpie, particularly as it applies to the spiritual life.

Wikimedia; photograph by Alexis Lours

As a Christian priest I have experienced times of discipline, concentration, and focus in my life and practice. Years of praying the Daily Office in the same chair at the same time each day, following the daily lectionary and immersing myself in the prayers of a given community or denomination. More years spent reading and researching the lives of Celtic saints from a theological standpoint. Sunday after Sunday preaching God’s word from the pulpit, wrestling with the gospels and epistles, seeking the word that the people needed to hear.

And at the same time I love to read and think about other world religions - Taoism, Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism - and from time to time some idea or practice from one of these will capture my heart and invite me into its company. I have chanted “Om Namah Shivaya,” meditated with the Daode Jing, read up on Lovingkindness with Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg, and lit candles for Hanukkah.

Back when I was in seminary we were all very concerned about something we called “syncretism,” the presumed evil of helping oneself to bits and pieces of other people’s religions. Some called it “cafeteria religion,” as though the spiritual life were more properly a formal meal at which one made sure to eat with the correct fork rather than a rich buffet at which one might reach for what was most pleasing and nutritious. Admittedly, there is the temptation to simply sample from the dessert table, a practice that is rightly considered “cultural [or more correctly religious] appropriation.” Yoga for exercise divorced from its spiritual roots would be an example of this.

But I’m thinking of something else. I’m thinking of the truth that God’s own being is infinitely larger and more dynamic than any one religious tradition can contain. And that in a time when many religious expressions have become “weak tea” rather than robust nourishment for the soul, then one is not only permitted, but perhaps even required to look around, to ask one’s own questions, to reach for whatever ideas or methods resonate most deeply, and to apply them to one’s own soul for the good of oneself and others.

Many of us were taught that the “true” way of spiritual perfection is to pick a path and stick to it. Resist the temptations to try one thing, then give up, try another, and then another. And of course, one can never know in advance which is the “right” way “do” religion. For all I know I could have been much more spiritually “developed” by now had I stayed firmly on a single path. But I didn’t. And I actually think there’s some value in straying off the path and exploring the woods and streams and beaches and jungles of spiritual life. Because what I have discovered on these various byways is that God is there also, every bit as vivid and loving and demanding as when encountered in more traditional ways. Which is why I am willing to fly my little magpie flag and continue on as I am, picking up those precious gems of wisdom wherever I encounter them, and treasuring them for as long as they are needed.

If you’d like to read other posts in which I consider aspects of the spiritual life, you might try these:

After Joy

Watching the Waves

Sometimes the present moment sucks

The Nature of Grace, part 2