Writing the Shadow: The Shadow in religion
“The forbidden object becomes dangerous and revered.”
—Connie Zweig, Meeting the Shadow of Spirituality
I stood in the packed church, surrounded by the faithful as they lifted their arms to heaven and spoke in tongues. As the band played on, the pastor prayed aloud, calling for those who would commit their lives to Jesus to come forward.
It was 1990. I was fifteen and in a turmoil of hormones and angst, desperate to belong to something bigger than myself. The soaring music and mass emotional power of the event swept me away, and I went to the front of the church to accept Jesus into my heart. The community laid hands upon me as they prayed, their eyes full of acceptance, and I was welcomed in.
I was particularly drawn to the idea of a Father God who loved me as his special child. My parents had divorced years before and in those teenage years, I saw my dad occasionally but we weren’t close, as we are now (love you, Dad!), so I sought love and approval from a father figure. The evangelical church gave me that through the image of Father God and also through the strong male leadership in the church, who I still remember as kind and good men.
Religious faith was a haven for me, but it was also a rebellion. My dad was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness and rejected it in his teenage years, along with all religious faith. My mum embraced much of what the church called ‘new age.’ Neither were religious, so the church was a place I could be a different person away from the expectations of family and school.
I’m so grateful for those years. I was part of an energetic youth group, with holiday camps combining outdoor activity and education around faith. I loved singing along with the band and helping out at church in the youth group. I took a year out before university and worked in a Christian community outreach program, taking assemblies and classes in schools, and helping run youth groups and holiday camps. I even went on a mission to Berlin and also worked for a Christian charity at a school near Bethlehem.
My various teenage boyfriends were Christian, and our physical behaviour was constrained by the strength of our faith. We often prayed together, rather than indulging in the usual things teenagers get up to. Probably for the best!
But my faith was built on a fragile base of heightened emotion fuelled by evangelical fervour. When I started a degree in theology at the University of Oxford, my faith began to crumble under the rigour of intellectual examination.
But it was the Shadow that finally finished it.
My church taught that sex before marriage was a sin. The physical, animal act was held up as something pure and holy and dedicated to God. It should only be done after committing to someone for life in marriage — and, of course, that person had to be of the opposite sex. God loves the sinner but hates the sin, as they used to say about all kinds of things, including homosexuality. I began to question everything I was taught and whether I wanted to be part of a church that had views I didn’t agree with.
My doubts crystallised in 1994 when the serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer was baptised and became a Christian in prison. He had been convicted of the murder and dismemberment of seventeen men and boys, and those stark words hide the horror of what he did to their bodies before and after death. The man was everything we might consider to be evil.
I still remember the sermon at my church when the pastor praised Jesus that this man had asked forgiveness and come to God. According to the gospel, he had been forgiven. Christ had died for his sins, as much as he had died for mine.
Later that year, Dahmer was beaten to death in prison by another inmate, and according to my church, because he repented, he was now in Heaven.
At the same time I was told — as a nineteen-year-old at that point — that if I had sex before marriage, I would go to hell unless I repented and changed my ways. They also said that the kind Muslim family down the road would go to Hell, and that the friendly lesbian police officer who used to be a lodger in our house would go to Hell, too.
But Jeffrey Dahmer would go to Heaven.
That’s the day I lost my faith. I didn’t want to be associated with a God whose idea of justice I could not agree with.
Of course, I know now that Christianity is not one thing, faith is not one thing, and God is not organised religion.
Every religion — and ideology and political party and worldview — has its own way of including insiders and banishing the Other.
God — or the Universe, or whatever you believe — is surely above such petty human matters. But at the time, my faith was vested in these flawed people who told me things had to be a certain way.
I gave up on my evangelical faith.
I had sex a few months later and really enjoyed it. Perhaps my rebellion against the church made it even better. Sex had been pushed into the Shadow for too long and so I indulged with enthusiasm!
A new religious convert is often over-enthusiastic and proselytises in the first flush of faith. Losing a religion can be equally as galvanising, but eventually both settle into equilibrium. The emotions may dissipate, but the questions remain.
I have a master’s degree in theology. I specialised in the psychology of religion and wrote my thesis on why people perform evil acts because “God told them to do it.” But I am not a Christian.
I do not believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God and died to save us from our sins. I will not recite the Apostle’s Creed. I don’t believe in a personal Father God who cares about me individually.
However, I believe there is more than just this physical world.
I experience moments of spirituality, mainly in nature or in places of deep historical faith, like cathedrals, where beauty brings me closer to whatever universal spirit ties us all together. I wrote about some of these in my memoir Pilgrimage and will keep exploring these connections through the voices of my fictional characters.
Religion also continues to be a creative muse. Almost all my books contain questions of faith, supernatural elements related to demons or angels, and places that resonate with religion and its dark side. The bones and blood of religious relics, ecclesiastical facades depicting the torture of saints and sinners, the persecution of the Other, secrets kept in the Vatican archives — all these things fascinate me and appear in my stories.
The Bible is full of dark things — a vengeful God who dashes the heads of babies on rocks, asks a father to kill his beloved son, and arranges the destruction of all who stand against him; incest and murder and rape; the destruction of cities; betrayal and hate of other tribes.
The cross of Christ is an instrument of torture and murder, and the Catholic crucifix has the tortured body of a man hanging there, blood pouring from his wounds. The Bible — and the history of faith — is full of the Shadow of humanity, and that is why it continues to inspire my stories and those of countless others.
The Shadow in rejecting or leaving a religious tradition
Religious faith can be your strength and solace, the centre of your community, and an integral part of your life. But there is a problem with making a religion out to be perfect, and holding the people who run places of worship up to be somehow incapable of darkness.
What happens when you question the ‘truth’ espoused by leaders of your faith community?
Perhaps you still have faith in God, but not in those who claim authority in the name of religion? How do you manage your disillusionment?
If you leave your religious community, what impact does that have on your family, friends, and community?
One of the greatest human fears is to be cast out of the tribe, alone in the wilderness. Ending a relationship with a religious group can result in ostracism and grief, which may be pushed into the Shadow and emerge later in life.
“Sadly but inevitably, the longing for the light typically evokes its opposite: a shattering encounter with spiritual darkness, an emptying out of hope, meaning, and previous images of god. Our suffering hollows us out, tears at veils of spiritual persona, smashes religious idols, and ultimately leaves us bereft.”
—Connie Zweig, Meeting the Shadow of Spirituality
Questions:
• What is your personal history with religion and faith?
• How has that shaped who you are today?
• Do you have guilt or shame associated with religion or aspects of faith? Examine why that might be and whether it’s something you can bring out of the Shadow.
• Do you judge yourself? Do you judge others? How does that relate to your religious history and tradition?
Resources:
• List of books I love, many with religious or occult elements — www.jfpenn.com/bookrecommendations
• Meeting The Shadow of Spirituality: The Hidden Power of Darkness on the Path — Connie Zweig
• Pilgrimage: Lessons Learned from Solo Walking Three Ancient Ways — J.F. Penn
