In Search of Grace: A Journey Across America's Landscape of Faith

320 Pages·2003·0.79 MB·English

by  Kristin Hahn

A JOURNEY ACROSS AMERICA’ S
LANDSCAPE OF FA ITH
I N S E A R C H O F
G R A C E
K r i s t i n H a h n
To Charlie—my muse, my mirror,
my best friend
Contents
Acknowledgments vi
Introduction vii
Native American Beliefs
one Communing with a Medicine Man 3
two Appropriating with Non-Indians 20
Christianity
three Yielding with the Amish 31
four Congregating with Monks and Nuns 51
five Testifying with Mormon Missionaries 67
six Praying with Practical Christians 82
seven Spreading the Word with Preachers 97
eight Spreading the Wealth with Unitarian
Universalists 111
Spiritualism
nine Listening with Spiritualists 121
v Contents
Judaism
ten Sanctifying with Jews 139
eleven Improvising with the Self-Taught 156
Islam
twelve Fasting with Muslims 165
Buddhism
thirteen Meditating with Masters 185
Hinduism
fourteen Worshiping with Devotees 201
Sikhism
fifteen Stretching with Yogis 217
The New Age
sixteen Godding with a Bestselling Author 235
Self-Help
seventeen Recovering with a Friend 247
eighteen Crossing the Bridge
with Scientologists 257
Neopaganism
nineteen Casting Spells with Witches 275
Epilogue 291
Notes 297
About the Author
Praise
Other Books by Kristin Hahn
Credits
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I would like to thank the many individuals who opened their
homes and sanctuaries to share with me their most intimate expressions of faith.
To Maxine and Hillary for speaking the right words at the right time; to
Huston Smith for digging my letter out of his garbage can; and to Shainee
and Nick for never tiring of reading rough drafts—your encouragement
and contributions kept me on track.
A special thank-you to Lotus for her illuminative guidance and her
humor about all things spiritual.
And to my agent and friend, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh—there is no
greater super-heroine to have on your side.
This book would have remained only in my imagination were it not for
my editor, Jennifer Hershey, who fearlessly went the distance with this self-
taught writer, earning through every step of the process my admiration and
respect.
To those who gave their time and patience to my fact-finding—
and -checking—missions, I am indebted to each of you. I of course assume
full responsibility for the application of those many suggestions.
My gratitude goes out to my very small family for their very big sup-
port, and a particularly hearty squeeze to my grandfather for very inten-
tionally planting in me the instinct to explore.
And to my old friends whom I adore—your faith in me is my ongoing
revival.
For anchoring what follows, I’d like to single out Gene Begay, whose
lighthearted wisdom has taught me many things, not the least of which is
the deeper meaning of “going home.”
Introduction
I once braved a ride at a state fair, a ride that was shaped like a giant angel
food cake pan. I and other scrawny youngsters just tall enough to make the
cut were strapped to its curved walls by a bearded carny. Having secured us
to his satisfaction, the man sauntered over to a control panel and with the
casual flip of a switch set the cake pan spinning, centrifugal force throwing
each of us off our feet and pinning us against its cold steel sides. Then the
ride began to buck wildly like a mechanical bull. Our collective howls of
thrill soon turned to terror, our pleas to stop drowned out by bass-heavy
Top 40 hits reverberating from blown-out speakers. Traumatized by this
hunk of metal, I vowed in midwhirl that if I survived this version of “fun,”
I would never again choose—and especially not pay—to repeat it.
Some twenty years later, my self-preserving vow began to haunt me
when I realized my adult life in Los Angeles had begun to simulate that
ride. What had indeed been fun at the start was changing, Hollywood’s
grind of performance and pretense pressing and stretching me out of my
natural shape, as if the town’s switch were being manned by a dozing
carny. I knew it was time to get off.
At the age of twenty-nine, I’d spent ten years working long hours in
television, theater, and film. During that time I perfected the art of distrac-
tion, doing all the multitasking things we do that keep us from seeing
clearly what is right in front of us, or confronting what lurks just below the
surface of ourselves. Parts of me that I had ignored and neglected were
shouting to be heard—internal howls overwhelmed by my own bass-heavy
busyness. Like many Los Angelenos—and countless other overstimulated,
overworked, but adequately fed, clothed, and sheltered Americans—I had
viii Introduction
developed a host of remedies to quiet my acutely preoccupied mind,
soothe my exhaustion and anxiety, and submerge the inconvenient feelings
I didn’t have time for. I had my aura, chart, palm, and coffee grounds read;
I was acupunctured, acupressured, and hypnotically regressed; I was depo-
larized, magnetized, and analyzed; I regrouped by way of the occasional
“spiritual” workshop, and was always reassured by New Age bestsellers that
my life was happening this way for a reason.
But I grew tired of hiring people to make me feel better. I aspired to
thrive, not simply survive on the laurels of others’ experiences and insights,
many of which eased my symptoms, though with an effectiveness that
tended to last about as long as the time-release of an over-the-counter cold
tablet. It was becoming increasingly apparent how easily secondhand clarity
or comfort can be misplaced or forgotten. I longed for something more
enduring, more tangible and direct, something I could do to instigate per-
spective, stability, generosity, and peace when my head started to buck and
spin like that state fair ride.
Instinctively drawn to ritual, I turned my attention to the myriad ways
others find and sustain the balance I longed for. The realms of traditional
devotion were almost completely unknown to me as the offspring of an
irreligious family. I wanted to learn more about how Americans’ religious
and spiritual practices satisfy our shared human needs: to belong, feel
“whole” and part of a “people”; to succeed and earn second chances; to
equalize anger, fear, self-doubt, guilt, love, and forgiveness; to celebrate life’s
passages and mourn its losses; to sense the sacred and feel renewed; to create
purpose and meaning; to be guided; to assure justice and equity; to temper
excessiveness; to earn a legacy; and, for some, to secure immortality.
So in a torrential downpour, I left Los Angeles. For the next few years,
I settled here and there, seeking out people of faith everywhere I went. My
desire wasn’t to “try on” each religion in the hope of finding myself a good
fit; rather, I was compelled to understand—firsthand—how and why peo-
ple practice what they preach. For this informal investigation, I focused on
those for whom religion is not merely an affiliation—an identity worn like
a name tag at a convention—but a daily effort, an integrated way of life. I
witnessed—and sometimes participated in—the intentional and disciplined
gestures that people make in observance of their beliefs. I wanted to illumi-
nate the impact, real or perceived, those acts of devotion had on the ques-
tions that preoccupied me: how we develop and maintain our character,
Introduction ix
overcome our personal struggles, experience life more completely and
fully, and enhance the quality of other people’s lives.
Born at the end of the 1960s—part of an age group generically termed
“generation X”—my peers and I have at our disposal a staggering number
of options, whether in the market for underarm deodorant or inner solace.
No longer must one travel the world to find and explore diversity. We live
in the Noah’s Ark of countries, where a sampling of the globe’s multitudes,
including religious peoples, have come to call a single vessel of land
“home.” Since its founding, America has been one nation under many
notions of God—a place where differing ideas about creation and the Cre-
ator coexist. Having so many religions concentrated in my own country
both contained my mission and complicated it.
In organizing my intentionally unscientific journey into America’s
world of faith, I divided the topic categorically. I began where our country
began, with a sampling of this land’s oldest known practice, as embodied in
one indigenous medicine man. I devoted the most time and energy to
Christianity, as the faith statistically embraced by about 80 percent of our
nation’s population. I also allotted chapters to other world religions gener-
ally acknowledged as “primary”: Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism.
In addition, I dedicated time to examples of practices that originated in
America, such as Scientology and one that evolved from the book-driven
“pop-guru” movement, as well as three modern outgrowths of ancient tra-
ditions: Spiritualism, 3HO Sikhism, and Neopaganism. Unfortunately,
because of limitations imposed by page counts and publishing deadlines, and
by the inherent difficulties of breaching people’s sacred time and space,
dozens of sects, schools of thought, and entire faiths fell from my itinerary.
A lifetime or more could undoubtedly be spent probing the subtleties of
any one of the traditions treated in these pages. What I’ve compiled is not a
comprehensive resource of comparative religion, but an account of a very
personal journey—an up-close chronicle of Americans caught in the act of
faith. Many strangers granted me permission to participate in their private
rituals, and shared with me their most intimate thoughts about their beliefs
and daily practices. The thrust of each chapter is shaped by both my own
impressions and the words and deeds of those willing accomplices.
I did not set out to validate or invalidate any one religion or individual.
Rather, my aim was to attempt to understand the highest intentions that
inform people of faith in their search for truth, ideals, inspiration, comfort,