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matt_doyleWhat it says on the tin. If you're not interested in hearing me talk about how I pray and why and et cetera, don't click on the cut tag. This may take me a while. Though I'll note that despite the fact that I address my prayers to a deity I believe in; the reasons I pray are largely unrelated to religious conviction.
I'm trying to remember when I started thinking seriously about prayer. High school, I think. I know it was before my cousin Will died, when I was sixteen or seventeen. I know it was significantly past middle school. Not too surprising. But since I first began thinking about it, I have prayed at least once a day, every day. The only exceptions might be when I was ill or unnaturally exhausted; since I pray when I go to bed each night. Passing out before having a chance to compose my thoughts is the only thing that makes me miss it.
And prayer has helped me. I don't mean that it's helped me in terms of my prayers being answered, though I admit to the suspicion that some of those prayers have been. Prayer is a measurement, for me, a way to put the day's blessings and burdens in perspective, to reach inside myself and also reach to the world around me, to give my gratitude to the world. I am unquestionably happier because I pray.
To explain that, some history.
When I was thirteen years old the Book of Job made me walk away from Christianity. The problem of theodicy seemed to me to be looming and insoluble. No-one thought to explain to me the historical context of the book, to try and understand it in a non-literal way. Nobody, including the priest at my church, seemed to have a theological handle on the problem. That confused and infuriated me. How could people devote themselves to this muddle of uncertainty and injustice? I didn't become an atheist, per se, but I did become an agnostic. A skeptic. And a strong secularist, which I still am. I require that my beliefs and values function independently of the existence of the supernatural. I strongly believe that any ethical system which requires a deity or an afterlife is inferior. The rules must work in any context. Justice must be universally accessible, or it is not justice. I happen to believe that the ethics enumerated in the Gospel can be applied universally with no more adaptation than it takes to apply them in any other context, but I understand that not everybody believes the same way, and I'm cool with that, in both directions.
Maybe I digress. From agnosticism, I turned to faddish teenage paganism, out of no deep conviction, but because my friends were embracing it. I was nominally a Wiccan, but a Silver RavenWolf Wiccan of the shallowest kind -- but let me be clear that my own experiences in no way reduce my regard for Wicca or Paganism in general, nor the practitioners thereof. I wanted magic. I wanted a numinous world that I could exert control over; that I could gain understanding of, whose ethical boundaries were strong and clear to me. Like any teenager, I wanted to bargain with the world on terms that were favorable to myself.
But I was already a skeptic. My friends seemed unbothered that not one of the spells or invocations we tried (not many) gave us any visible result or worked in any way, with one minor exception involving hypnosis (and that may have been a teenaged prank). I grew disillusioned again. Slowly, with little outside direction, I turned back to Bible study and Christianity -- by default as much as by conviction. I was less literal, and more flexible. I could accept that there were mysteries and dilemmas beyond my immediate understanding, and be comfortable in that ambiguity -- life without belief had plenty of that too, after all. I developed a distaste for blind faith and literalism that I maintain. As Socrates said, the unexamined life was not worth living.
And when I began searching for God, when I accepted that I would always have more questions than answers, that's when I began to pray. At first it was a holdover from my Wiccan experimentation -- I bargained, trying to wrestle meaning, understanding, tangible benefit from my worship. My home life was unhappy. I needed to believe someone was listening, understanding, looking out for me.
I got past that quickly. If there is a divine force or being out there, it may listen and understand. But it's not mine to manipulate. It (He? She?) has a broader perspective, a cosmic view, and surely the Butterfly Effect must apply to prayer. A little favor granted to me could destabilize much in ways beyond my perception. So I still ask for things in prayer, but less in expectation of gifts granted, and more as a way to understand and acknowledge my wants and needs.
Reading or re-reading the Gospels, I was struck by Matthew 6. The instructions on prayer seemed pretty damned specific to me. So I began to pray exclusively with the Lord's Prayer, and only on my own, unobserved. Even today, I tend not to steeple my fingers or cross myself where anyone -- even my wife -- can see. My worship is between myself and God.
This persisted for years, and it was sufficient for me. The Lord's Prayer, to me, contained every element that is necessary in prayer.
"Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who tresspass against us.
Lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory.
World without end. Amen."
It praises the Lord -- expressing gratitude for the Lord's works, i.e,, everything which exists.
It expresses trust in the existence and rightness of a divine order, subordinating selfish personal needs and wishing for universal justice (for I assume universal justice is God's will). It asks that basic Maslovian needs be met; that grudges not be held; that we move past our wrongdoing; are penitent and understanding; and grant forgiveness and understanding to others. It renounces personal pride in accomplishments (which is damaging in excess, though helpful in moderation).
But after I had recited it once a day for years, it was just a bunch of fucking words.
When it became a rote recitation, it lost its meaning for me. Gradually, I adapted the words, rephrasing them in an echo that would remind me of what I meant, of why I prayed. At this point (the end of high school? the beginning of college? End of high school, I think, for purposes of this essay), I was still regularly depressed, unhappy with myself and my life. It was very important to me to measure the days (like several of my younger siblings, from early on in high school I literally counted how many days were left before I could leave for college and escape that vampiric and damaging hole I called home). It was important to me to acknowledge that my problems were small and surmountable, and to appreciate the goodness around me and within me. Expressing gratitude and establishing perspective in healthy ways is the center of prayer for me.
I'm now on my second or third complete revision of that prayer, and it may not be entirely recognizable anymore as the Lord's Prayer, Edition 3.5. But here's what I say every night:
Lord, thank you for this great day.
I hope that your day has been great as well,
and I ask that the upcoming day is even better, for you and for the world.
I ask that I accomplish all that I ought and all that I must in this upcoming day,
That any sins I have committed be forgiven, as I forgive anyone who has sinned against me.
Above anything that I ask for myself, I ask that your aid, comfort, and protection go out to those who need it most,
And that your love be made manifest and visible to those who need most to see it.
Above all else, Lord, I ask that your will be done and your plan be carried out.
I believe in you, I trust in you, I have faith.
Thank you, Lord.
My thanks and love are yours, now and forever more.
Amen.
It feels very weird -- very naked -- to type or share these words. I've never written them down before, that I recall, and certainly never shared them. And writing them, I see that there are plenty of implicit assumptions in this prayer that may not be evident to the reader.
Lord, thank you for this great day.
Not every day is a great day. Sometimes it's just a good day. Rarely, just day. Minnesota nice understatement perhaps, but it's part of this gratitude and perspective thing, the process of becoming happy in my skin and with my life -- since I started thanking God for my days, counting my blessings, I have had very few bad days. I stuck that thanks on the beginning when I was sixteen, and in the eleven years since then, I've had maybe two dozen "days" and another three dozen "good days." I enjoy my life, and I think it's a great place to be.
I hope that your day has been great as well,
and I ask that the upcoming day is even better, for me and for the world.
When I ask that God's day be great as well, what I'm really saying is that it's a good day for humankind. That kindness, justice, and prosperity should be a little more prevalent than they were yesterday. Do I think every day is actually that objectively great for God, the world, and all the peoples thereof? No, of course not. But I pray that it is so, and that helps affirm my commitment to making it so.
I ask that I accomplish all that I ought and all that I must in this upcoming day,
I'm a procrastinator. Asking that I do what is needful in the future is relatively essential.
That any sins I have committed be forgiven, as I forgive anyone who has sinned against me.
Acknowledging my faults and vices is another part of putting the day in perspective, just as vital. Forgiving others, generally, reminds me of how kind and thoughtful the people around me are -- it's a rare day when I can think of anyone who needs forgiving.
Above anything that I ask for myself, I ask that your aid, comfort, and protection go out to those who need it most,
And that your love be made manifest and visible to those who need most to see it.
Aid, comfort, and protection -- distinct things. Aid, in that we often lack the resources to accomplish our goals and meet our needs. Comfort, in that this is just as true on an emotional and spiritual level as it is on a mental and physical one. Protection, because the world hurts us, and we hurt ourselves.
All of these things mean that I regularly doubt my own worth. I have many, many friends who are the same way. When I composed this version of the prayer, I had many friends who were struggling with self-injury or suicidal ideation, who were thoroughly convinced of the ugliness and futility of their existence. I prayed, then as now, that they feel themselves loved and valuable, precious to the universe, because they are. You are. We all are.
Above all else, Lord, I ask that your will be done and your plan be carried out.
I don't believe in a singular destiny, in a divine schedule or checklist that must be precisely followed. But I do believe in a benevolent will. I believe that the wholeness and health of humankind, being good to one another, is an essential facet of creation. That's the Will I want carried out, even if its paths and methods are beyond my understanding. I will gladly subordinate my own needs, because, well... the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.
I believe in you, I trust in you, I have faith.
Again, three distinct things. I believe in the existence of a supernatural power. I trust that it is benevolent and wishes me well. I accept that my understanding is limited, that my beliefs are to some extent irrational and are certainly unprovable, but I hold fast to them in any case -- though not without constant and healthy doubt! But I do have faith.
The rest is re-affirmation and conclusion.
Sometimes these words are enough on their own. When I think to, and am not too tired or lazy, I embellish. I specify. I name people (or nations) who I believe could particularly use aid, comfort and protection; or specific tasks I need to accomplish; or particular sins I commit with enough regularity to concern myself with my own bad habits. I ask for guidance on questions that trouble me. Sometimes I cry, and shiver, and shake, and beg for a moment of truer faith, because I fear I will fail. I fear that when I die I will simply cease existing. And I am terrified of that nothingness.
But usually, what I add to my prayer is more gratitude. I am thankful for my friends, my wife, my creativity. I am thankful for the vast and unknowable wonders of the universe, for the beauty of the stars or the clouds at night, for the numinous and transcendent beauty in the way a tree branches, or dew beads on grass, or a hundred other things. I express my love for the scope and variation of the world, from microscopic to macroscopic, from answers found to questions unthought of.
Just now, I think I'm talking about this because I am reaching the point where I need to find myself new words, and new form. The substance of the prayer is meaningful to me, but the words are becoming little more than any mantra or incantation, something to be repeated at the auspicious moment and then forgotten. Maybe sharing the meaning will rekindle the prayer for me, or maybe this meditation on meditation will help me to find new words that will renew my gratitude and mindfulness when I use them.
So. There. That's why and how I pray. It's a very private subject, but you're free to ask more about it, if you have questions. And if and only if you're comfortable sharing, I'd like to hear about your prayers as well.
I'm trying to remember when I started thinking seriously about prayer. High school, I think. I know it was before my cousin Will died, when I was sixteen or seventeen. I know it was significantly past middle school. Not too surprising. But since I first began thinking about it, I have prayed at least once a day, every day. The only exceptions might be when I was ill or unnaturally exhausted; since I pray when I go to bed each night. Passing out before having a chance to compose my thoughts is the only thing that makes me miss it.
And prayer has helped me. I don't mean that it's helped me in terms of my prayers being answered, though I admit to the suspicion that some of those prayers have been. Prayer is a measurement, for me, a way to put the day's blessings and burdens in perspective, to reach inside myself and also reach to the world around me, to give my gratitude to the world. I am unquestionably happier because I pray.
To explain that, some history.
When I was thirteen years old the Book of Job made me walk away from Christianity. The problem of theodicy seemed to me to be looming and insoluble. No-one thought to explain to me the historical context of the book, to try and understand it in a non-literal way. Nobody, including the priest at my church, seemed to have a theological handle on the problem. That confused and infuriated me. How could people devote themselves to this muddle of uncertainty and injustice? I didn't become an atheist, per se, but I did become an agnostic. A skeptic. And a strong secularist, which I still am. I require that my beliefs and values function independently of the existence of the supernatural. I strongly believe that any ethical system which requires a deity or an afterlife is inferior. The rules must work in any context. Justice must be universally accessible, or it is not justice. I happen to believe that the ethics enumerated in the Gospel can be applied universally with no more adaptation than it takes to apply them in any other context, but I understand that not everybody believes the same way, and I'm cool with that, in both directions.
Maybe I digress. From agnosticism, I turned to faddish teenage paganism, out of no deep conviction, but because my friends were embracing it. I was nominally a Wiccan, but a Silver RavenWolf Wiccan of the shallowest kind -- but let me be clear that my own experiences in no way reduce my regard for Wicca or Paganism in general, nor the practitioners thereof. I wanted magic. I wanted a numinous world that I could exert control over; that I could gain understanding of, whose ethical boundaries were strong and clear to me. Like any teenager, I wanted to bargain with the world on terms that were favorable to myself.
But I was already a skeptic. My friends seemed unbothered that not one of the spells or invocations we tried (not many) gave us any visible result or worked in any way, with one minor exception involving hypnosis (and that may have been a teenaged prank). I grew disillusioned again. Slowly, with little outside direction, I turned back to Bible study and Christianity -- by default as much as by conviction. I was less literal, and more flexible. I could accept that there were mysteries and dilemmas beyond my immediate understanding, and be comfortable in that ambiguity -- life without belief had plenty of that too, after all. I developed a distaste for blind faith and literalism that I maintain. As Socrates said, the unexamined life was not worth living.
And when I began searching for God, when I accepted that I would always have more questions than answers, that's when I began to pray. At first it was a holdover from my Wiccan experimentation -- I bargained, trying to wrestle meaning, understanding, tangible benefit from my worship. My home life was unhappy. I needed to believe someone was listening, understanding, looking out for me.
I got past that quickly. If there is a divine force or being out there, it may listen and understand. But it's not mine to manipulate. It (He? She?) has a broader perspective, a cosmic view, and surely the Butterfly Effect must apply to prayer. A little favor granted to me could destabilize much in ways beyond my perception. So I still ask for things in prayer, but less in expectation of gifts granted, and more as a way to understand and acknowledge my wants and needs.
Reading or re-reading the Gospels, I was struck by Matthew 6. The instructions on prayer seemed pretty damned specific to me. So I began to pray exclusively with the Lord's Prayer, and only on my own, unobserved. Even today, I tend not to steeple my fingers or cross myself where anyone -- even my wife -- can see. My worship is between myself and God.
This persisted for years, and it was sufficient for me. The Lord's Prayer, to me, contained every element that is necessary in prayer.
"Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who tresspass against us.
Lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory.
World without end. Amen."
It praises the Lord -- expressing gratitude for the Lord's works, i.e,, everything which exists.
It expresses trust in the existence and rightness of a divine order, subordinating selfish personal needs and wishing for universal justice (for I assume universal justice is God's will). It asks that basic Maslovian needs be met; that grudges not be held; that we move past our wrongdoing; are penitent and understanding; and grant forgiveness and understanding to others. It renounces personal pride in accomplishments (which is damaging in excess, though helpful in moderation).
But after I had recited it once a day for years, it was just a bunch of fucking words.
When it became a rote recitation, it lost its meaning for me. Gradually, I adapted the words, rephrasing them in an echo that would remind me of what I meant, of why I prayed. At this point (the end of high school? the beginning of college? End of high school, I think, for purposes of this essay), I was still regularly depressed, unhappy with myself and my life. It was very important to me to measure the days (like several of my younger siblings, from early on in high school I literally counted how many days were left before I could leave for college and escape that vampiric and damaging hole I called home). It was important to me to acknowledge that my problems were small and surmountable, and to appreciate the goodness around me and within me. Expressing gratitude and establishing perspective in healthy ways is the center of prayer for me.
I'm now on my second or third complete revision of that prayer, and it may not be entirely recognizable anymore as the Lord's Prayer, Edition 3.5. But here's what I say every night:
Lord, thank you for this great day.
I hope that your day has been great as well,
and I ask that the upcoming day is even better, for you and for the world.
I ask that I accomplish all that I ought and all that I must in this upcoming day,
That any sins I have committed be forgiven, as I forgive anyone who has sinned against me.
Above anything that I ask for myself, I ask that your aid, comfort, and protection go out to those who need it most,
And that your love be made manifest and visible to those who need most to see it.
Above all else, Lord, I ask that your will be done and your plan be carried out.
I believe in you, I trust in you, I have faith.
Thank you, Lord.
My thanks and love are yours, now and forever more.
Amen.
It feels very weird -- very naked -- to type or share these words. I've never written them down before, that I recall, and certainly never shared them. And writing them, I see that there are plenty of implicit assumptions in this prayer that may not be evident to the reader.
Lord, thank you for this great day.
Not every day is a great day. Sometimes it's just a good day. Rarely, just day. Minnesota nice understatement perhaps, but it's part of this gratitude and perspective thing, the process of becoming happy in my skin and with my life -- since I started thanking God for my days, counting my blessings, I have had very few bad days. I stuck that thanks on the beginning when I was sixteen, and in the eleven years since then, I've had maybe two dozen "days" and another three dozen "good days." I enjoy my life, and I think it's a great place to be.
I hope that your day has been great as well,
and I ask that the upcoming day is even better, for me and for the world.
When I ask that God's day be great as well, what I'm really saying is that it's a good day for humankind. That kindness, justice, and prosperity should be a little more prevalent than they were yesterday. Do I think every day is actually that objectively great for God, the world, and all the peoples thereof? No, of course not. But I pray that it is so, and that helps affirm my commitment to making it so.
I ask that I accomplish all that I ought and all that I must in this upcoming day,
I'm a procrastinator. Asking that I do what is needful in the future is relatively essential.
That any sins I have committed be forgiven, as I forgive anyone who has sinned against me.
Acknowledging my faults and vices is another part of putting the day in perspective, just as vital. Forgiving others, generally, reminds me of how kind and thoughtful the people around me are -- it's a rare day when I can think of anyone who needs forgiving.
Above anything that I ask for myself, I ask that your aid, comfort, and protection go out to those who need it most,
And that your love be made manifest and visible to those who need most to see it.
Aid, comfort, and protection -- distinct things. Aid, in that we often lack the resources to accomplish our goals and meet our needs. Comfort, in that this is just as true on an emotional and spiritual level as it is on a mental and physical one. Protection, because the world hurts us, and we hurt ourselves.
All of these things mean that I regularly doubt my own worth. I have many, many friends who are the same way. When I composed this version of the prayer, I had many friends who were struggling with self-injury or suicidal ideation, who were thoroughly convinced of the ugliness and futility of their existence. I prayed, then as now, that they feel themselves loved and valuable, precious to the universe, because they are. You are. We all are.
Above all else, Lord, I ask that your will be done and your plan be carried out.
I don't believe in a singular destiny, in a divine schedule or checklist that must be precisely followed. But I do believe in a benevolent will. I believe that the wholeness and health of humankind, being good to one another, is an essential facet of creation. That's the Will I want carried out, even if its paths and methods are beyond my understanding. I will gladly subordinate my own needs, because, well... the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.
I believe in you, I trust in you, I have faith.
Again, three distinct things. I believe in the existence of a supernatural power. I trust that it is benevolent and wishes me well. I accept that my understanding is limited, that my beliefs are to some extent irrational and are certainly unprovable, but I hold fast to them in any case -- though not without constant and healthy doubt! But I do have faith.
The rest is re-affirmation and conclusion.
Sometimes these words are enough on their own. When I think to, and am not too tired or lazy, I embellish. I specify. I name people (or nations) who I believe could particularly use aid, comfort and protection; or specific tasks I need to accomplish; or particular sins I commit with enough regularity to concern myself with my own bad habits. I ask for guidance on questions that trouble me. Sometimes I cry, and shiver, and shake, and beg for a moment of truer faith, because I fear I will fail. I fear that when I die I will simply cease existing. And I am terrified of that nothingness.
But usually, what I add to my prayer is more gratitude. I am thankful for my friends, my wife, my creativity. I am thankful for the vast and unknowable wonders of the universe, for the beauty of the stars or the clouds at night, for the numinous and transcendent beauty in the way a tree branches, or dew beads on grass, or a hundred other things. I express my love for the scope and variation of the world, from microscopic to macroscopic, from answers found to questions unthought of.
Just now, I think I'm talking about this because I am reaching the point where I need to find myself new words, and new form. The substance of the prayer is meaningful to me, but the words are becoming little more than any mantra or incantation, something to be repeated at the auspicious moment and then forgotten. Maybe sharing the meaning will rekindle the prayer for me, or maybe this meditation on meditation will help me to find new words that will renew my gratitude and mindfulness when I use them.
So. There. That's why and how I pray. It's a very private subject, but you're free to ask more about it, if you have questions. And if and only if you're comfortable sharing, I'd like to hear about your prayers as well.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-19 04:57 am (UTC)Somewhere around seventh grade I hit agnosticism, mostly; I knew I didn't believe in the teachings of Christianity (among other things, what I was being taught had no place for me as a young woman, and if it didn't want me I didn't want it.) Around sixteen I was introduced to Paganism via the Silver RavenWolf books, and I've mostly stuck around in the general Pagan mold, though I long ago gave up her specific teachings. My current practice is wildly individualized and syncretic; I did myself have some significant successes with ritual and spellcasting, but they were all things focused on myself (be more confident, be better with money, be more loving, be better at school) and thus were really a form of ritualized psychology more than anything else; I figured this out around age eighteen, shrugged, and said "if it works, AWESOME."
Around college I started connecting with more Pagan-identifying people online, and one thing that I found was that few of them talked to God/dess the way I do. They would invoke deities for ritual purposes or for holidays or spells, but not sit down and have a chat. They used the imagery, but not...the spirit, I guess? I am failing at words for this.
I don't pray as often as I'd like, and that's part of my goal set for this year: to do it more. A few years back I made myself a pagan rosary: nine sets of nine beads (three each for the Goddess, the God, and Brighid, who is my patroness) separated by a sort of general invocation to being-a-better-person, intro'd by casting a circle and invoking the elements and closed in reverse. I liked the rosary when I was taught it in high school, and for a couple years I prayed it monthly; the practice was soothing even if the prayers were meaningless to me.
But the rosary I built myself (my initial version was so ugly and unwieldy; my sister-of-the-heart made me a smaller and more elegant one for my birthday one year, one of the most thoughtful gifts I've ever received) has meaning. I designed it; I wrote the prayers for it; I chose the structure and what it would mean to me. It has both the ritual resonance I was looking for, and the more powerful and personal words.
(I also have over the years developed a prayer-chant of sorts that has a specific beat and meter for when I fly; I am the most nervous air passenger ever, and the least little bump can put me in a tizzy. I counter it by saying a prayer as I buckle myself in, reciting the chant in my head as often as needed during the flight because the meter soothes, and saying another prayer as we land.)
no subject
Date: 2012-01-19 05:07 am (UTC)I should probably also have said that, yes, I have seen a lot of people have a lot of significant success with self-focused magic, whether for psychological or mystical reasons I am certain I could not say. That was, alas, not the brand of magic I saw practiced EVER as a teen, or I might have stuck with it.
Conversational prayer is a beautiful thing. A deity is the ultimate confidante, in a sense. While it's not part of my daily ritual of prayer, most of my prayers at other times of day fall into that pattern. Hey, Big Dude In The Sky Or Whatever You May Be, here's some stuff I'm thinking about right now, what about you?
Also, one of my favorite things about Judaism, (tangentially) is my sense that there is an ongoing dialogue with God where the human voice matters, and one of my biggest problems with conventional Christianity is that the notion that while god may still have things to tell Christians, Christian contributions to the cosmic conversation seem limited to Assent and Obedience or Dissent and Disobedience -- there's little notion that we have a significant part to play that might transform the nature or end result of the Conversation.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-19 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-19 05:14 am (UTC)You're entirely welcome; as you can see, I have ~feels~ and thoughts on this subject, and. Yeah. Apparently I am chatty tonight.
This. My goodness, this. This is the other big part of how I wound up in Paganism; in addition to lacking things focused at my experiences as female (rather than just Another Child of God, which somehow always works out to boy-children in the particular branches I was learning), I had the sense from Paganism that the deities actually gave a damn and would listen. I really didn't get that from Christianity.
(On an odd related note, one of the reasons I have drifted farther from organized Paganism/Wicca is that I found they took the pendulum too far over to the other side; many people I interacted with seemed determined to forget the God exists at all, except as a balancing item, and that saddened me.)
no subject
Date: 2012-01-19 05:41 am (UTC)I think a failure to address female experience is common in a lot of ancient religious traditions, and that it's a Big Problem.
Organized religion as a whole doesn't do much for me. A deity has to be (I think) peculiarly balanced between cosmic and intimate in order to be relevant both to the universe at large and each worshipper personally, and that means that all of us, however much or little we admit it, carry around our own god or gods. Even the most dogmatic would find on close examination that their experience of the divine is unique, different from fellow worshippers in dramatic and perhaps alarming ways.
That said, I also see the value in church community, giving people a common ground on which to express their spirituality; and I see the good in an educated clergy who can help people articulate their faith and who can counsel them in that context. The *authority* of clergy over congregation is somewhat different, however...
I'm pretty syncretic and individualized as well. I mean, I'm a Universalist (I do not believe in Eternal Damnation for anyone, ever); I find things like Talmudic commentary much more meaningful and compelling than any Christian theological perspective I've run across; I'm with the Baha'i in that I believe in a deity who delivers multiple messages to different peoples over the ages, and always packages that message in a way that will be comprehensible and relevant to people in their time... and I consider "All You Need Is Love" by the Beatles to be, if not Gospel, at least a Psalm. :-)