Writing from the Heart: A new religion based solely on love

One of my closest friends died last Wednesday night, and I hadn’t had any time to process or participate in any ritual to grieve her death. Then I remembered, by coincidence (although I don’t believe in coincidences), another good friend had invited me to a special service called Tenebrae at the Congregational Church in West Tisbury.

The invitation came with an explanation that the service was somber and especially beautiful, because as the evening progresses, the lights gradually dim, until it’s almost completely dark. She explained that the dimming of the lights is a symbol of the darkness and suffering of Christ’s passion. I said yes to the invitation immediately. Maybe I had some intuition that this particular service was exactly what I needed at this particular moment in time, or maybe it was just because I love that church.

Twenty years ago, at the end of my “Writing from the Heart” workshop, one of the gals and I started harmonizing on “Joy to the World.” It was August, and there we were, bellowing at the top of our lungs a Christmas song. When we finished, she said, “Nance, you’re really good at harmony. The Congregational Church is looking for a tenor. Why don’t you go check it out?”

I said, “Nik, I’m Jewish.’ She said, “They don’t care.” And lo and behold, they didn’t care. And I joyously sang in the choir every Sunday for the next two and a half years.

So being back in that healing space was just what the doctor ordered for my hurting heart.

And my host was right. The service was absolutely beautiful.

During the ceremony, chosen members of the congregation got up one by one and read statements that the Apostles might have made at the Last Supper. And then the fellow who was reading Jesus’ part said, “Someone here is going to betray me.” And one after another, each Apostle responded. I Googled when I got home, because I think I missed something, and one of the sites said, “Everyone said, ‘Is it I, Lord?’ But when it came to Judas, he said, ‘Is it I, Rabbi?’ And somehow that’s how Jesus knew.”

Over the years, I heard the story of the Last Supper many times, and of Judas and the kiss and the betrayal. I remember I heard my teacher, Ram Dass, explain it in a totally different way. He said the kiss was an acknowledgement of the sacred contract Jesus had with Judas, that their souls had agreed to come back in a future incarnation, in the roles they would play that would serve God in the greatest way possible. And if you believe in many lifetimes, and you believe that the two of them would be willing to take on those very painful roles, then you might be like me. It just makes the most sense, because the event did in fact create a huge shift. A new religion based solely on love was born. (What happened later because humans are flawed is of no consequence here.)

We left the church almost whispering, as if we were at a spiritual retreat doing walking meditation, and walked to Alley’s, where we had parked the car. On the way home, I kept thinking about how hushed and holy that service had been. I felt blessed that I was able to have a good sob and feel safe and held. It turned out to have been the perfect “funeral.”

Whatever way you think about the story of the Last Supper, this is my letter of gratitude to the Congregational Church and to my friend, Joanie LeLacheur, for that generous and propitious invitation.