Nov. 24, 2000

A comment that is offered, sometimes, when the idea of the Shrine is described, is that there is little to inspire awe. There is no priesthood. There are no solemn rites. In their place are festivals, discussions and parties. To this, some will ask, "Is this supposed to be religion?" No. These are things that put us in the right frame of mind to practice religion. Religion is what happens when the worshipper is alone in the sanctuary, and none stand between her and her god. If awe is to be found, it is to be found in that moment of silence.

It is forbidden for any to enter with her, unless she is in need of assistance. Perhaps one may stand guard over the sanctuary. Vandalism is a practical concern. But he is to stand quietly and clear his mind, neither approving nor disapproving of the visitor. He is not a priest.

Reverence is reserved for the Divine. It is not for us. By stilling our voices in the moment of worship, as a group, in every sense, we act to insure that as the worshipper strains to hear the faint voice of divinity, our chatter does not drown it out. By separating our presence (as a group) from this moment, we honor the Ancient Hellenic dictum of "know thyself". That is to say, to know that we are not God. Sometimes, people are prone to forget.

In Roman Catholicism and in Greek Orthodoxy, the priest is greeted with a certain reverence. But these traditions have roots that reach back continuously for thousands of years. When an institution endures as long as these have and enters its members lives in so rich a fashion, it begins to take on a life of its own, almost becoming a sort of god in its own right, one that serves those that are worshipped. The priest, as he is greeted, is not greeted as the man, himself, but as the representative of something far greater than himself, which his whims (and his failings) can not mold to their own liking. If he ceases to struggle against his own best instincts and opens his heart, it will guide him. If he does not, many will remain who will have retained their calm and their perspective, and will know to oppose him and remove him from his post, if need be.

Such is not the case in any portion of the Pagan community. Even the largest "denomination" contains no more than a few dozen groups. A determined political backbiter can, by isolating and driving away his opponents, rise to a post in such a small gathering that his positive qualities would not justify. Even the oldest of the extant traditions is no more than 70 years old. There is not the sense of immemorial tradition that will serve to curb the excesses of passion that lead to clerical disgrace, on a wide scale.

We have said that we have refrained from establishing a clergy, because we lack the authority to do so. That is true. But we also refrain from doing so because the time is not right, and probably will not be for centuries. Without the presence of that living tradition which takes so much time and work to build, unwholesome things begin to happen when any sort of reverence is attached to the roles we play. Unrestrained by that presence that only deep antiquity can bring, we find it all to easy for that reverence that is to attach to our roles to attach to our own personal selves, because there is not enough distance between the two. That's a quick, short road to raving lunacy.

Temptation must be driven from our midst. To claim clerical status might impress the easily impressed, and in the short run, make it easier to find members. But this is a faustian bargain that will poison the soul of clergy and faithful alike, and create a gathering that can not endure.

See for yourself. How many groups are there, out there, that will speak of growth even as they scale back from monthly meetings to biannual ones, because they can't get people to come. That should be a wakeup call, especially when one remembers that the Christian denominations are packing people in once per week, and Synagogues feel that they are hurting because only a third (or so) of the membership is there each sabbath. Friends one sees but twice a year are not friends, for life is too short for them to become so on such a schedule. Their absence speaks loudly. They no longer find much in the way of peace or fulfillement by attending. It has become a duty, or maybe a compulsion.

It is for that reason, that when we are together, all reverence and solemnity is to be banished from our midst, though seriousness may remain. Let us suffer from no illusion that the pitfalls so many of our Wiccan brethren have succumbed to will be of no concern to Hellenic Reconstructionists. It is pride to imagine that we are so more worthy than they, that we can not partake of their failings. It is pride that undid them, and will undo us, and our good sense, if we let it.

We must never walk that well traveled path, and, along the way, find that we have failed to "know ourselves".

Sermon over. As our story ended, "the Temple of Prima Nocturne" had but recently been ejected from our midst. I then appealed to the sense of honor and fair play, of the community, in telling our side of the story.

It is never a loss to have appealed to another's sense of honor. But sometimes, it is not very satisfying.

Most of the "community" (ie. those Pagans who maintain a high profile at the open events), true to form, concerned itself with nothing more than the identities of the parties in question and their places in the pecking order. The rest were silent. Those who spoke, did so loudly, and hysterically. We came to wonder if they were capable of any other tone.

The first Shrine must now be spoken of in the past tense. Its' members had but recently arrived, and having had insufficient time to grow comfortable with one another's presence, found that their discomfort had grown beyond acceptable bounds. Very few decided to stay.

It may seem that we were back to square one, but something had been gained. A little clarity came and replaced a little rigidity. We had persisted in looking for new membership in "Pagan" venues, even as it became clear that these were not places that the sort of person we were looking for would feel at home in, because we could not let go of the notion that these we were the places we should look.

What we needed was to be knocked out of our rut. Events were to do so for us, very kindly and gently, at the cost of no more than a mild annoyance, in a conversation on one of the e-mail lists.