The Blues Brothers is the one film that I recall being about a group on a mission from God. Their’s was the Catholic God, as I recall there were nuns involved, and I’ve known and loved a nun or two, one or two I wasn’t all that fond of, but then ‘Retha was there, too, with the Blues Brothers, and I have a hard time seeing ‘Retha as anything but Baptist, and the Queen of Soul, but I could be wrong, but probably not, because I decided back when I was just a wee child that if anything could save my soul in terms of the standard religious packages on offer to a WASPY white kid, redundant, I know, it would be Gospel Music, which tended to be birthed by Southern Baptists.
Mostly I accepted the music, rejected the god. That had god the Blues, bigly, even if I did love the blues, too, and He mostly taught about waiting for the good life after death, an idea which Bob Marley did a lot to divest lots of folks of, having found the good life here on Earth himself.
But then something grabbed me by the butt, or smacked me upside the head, or maybe touched my heart, who knows, but it made itself palpably felt, non-audibly heard, somatically experienced in ways new and different, and as is my wont, I set out to figure out just WTF it was, and starting formulating multiple hypotheses.
First, I asked a smart guy what this thing was the I was experiencing, as it seemed he and some others with which he associated had experienced as well. He told me God, which I capitalize as a proper noun since he tends to, not God, but the smart guy.
I internally LOL’d at that one, or at least rejected it as non-testable right away.
The thing is, had he not used the G word, I’d have been a lot more comfortable with it. I had lots of experience with the religious, and the ridiculously laughable religious, at least to me, they exist, believe me, folks who believe that anyone who uses the G word to describe anything other than an old white guy with a white beard, a guy living in the sky, one who dictated the revised (he does a lot of revising) King James Bible is damned to the eternal flames of hell, amen, including everyone who happened to be born in some other culture without even the benefit of learning that story, so sorry, amen.
Poppycock. Such an easy god to reject.
Thing is, again, well, when I first set out on my own personal mission from The All (I’ll use term in honor of another guy who used it in discussion with me), that which had grabbed me, physically, I used the G word to try and persuade my sisters to work with me on it, the mission, a collaboration of writing and reading and editing and putting stuff online, with one small caveat: it had to be offered in the gift.
All of it.
I’d pay for the web pages, any expenses, if the work got donations they could be used to pay for the web pages, but all of the work would be offered for free, no exceptions, donations accepted, and never would there be any effort to make profit beyond living expenses. If we got not one donation, no big deal, neither of them worked, one likes to read, one likes to write, and do web stuff, I like to write, web stuff, not so crazy about, no matter how easy, I think I’ll change my attitude, right now. Done.
It also seemed a good way to mend fences with family, the Three Sisters Project. And really, they both often claim some connection to god, that laughable one, so I figured WTF, I’d use that term, too.
No luck, not having it, which is fine, it is for the best. The god I know is very, very different from theirs, and much, much bigger, its energy boundless.
I can write, I can read, and edit, I swear the nanobots invade my stuff, I'll edit, I can publish. I can make it fun. After all, I’m on a mission from God.