And so it happened that millions of churches—and mosques and temples and synagogues—were transformed into other things: supermarkets, shopping malls, apartments, banks, business offices, and so on. But there were no more churches.
You may think that everyone fell into despair. But for many people, it was quite the opposite—for when you no longer believe in anything, there is no longer anything to miss, yearn for, desire. The pure absence of faith means the pure presence of certainty. And certainty is deaf to the beat of the heart.
And yet…there did remain hearts that were beating. And desiring. And despairing. For what and by what, God only knows.
And it was these beating hearts that kept alive a sense of coming and going, of a past and a future, of the beautiful and good and true. It was these hearts that preserved the fragile, failing flame of life.
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Generations passed, until all the bodies died. Now it happened that when the bodies of the beating hearts died, their hearts continued to beat. Underground. In the dead bodies. Until one day a great earthquake opened up the ground, and the bodies wondrously arose, surprised to find themselves upright and alive once more.
A beggar wandered among them. She greeted them. “Come,” she said, “live some more. For you are blessed with life.”
The beating hearts asked the beggar, “How can this be? What are you saying?”
The beggar smiled and responded, “You are the church. You are the life of the world.” (Although I cannot confirm this, it is rumored that she said to others, “You are the mosque,” and “temple,” and “synagogue,” and other such words, I know not what.)
But the beating hearts said, “There is no church. It disappeared years ago when religion died.”
The beggar replied: “Really? Among you, I was welcomed to a table. Among you, I set foot on the way. Among you, I saw goodness where before I had seen none. Among you, I looked into the eyes of others and saw an invitation. Among you, I marveled at mysteries. Among you, I heard a promise and made one of my own. Among you, I practiced surrender. Among you, I learned how to play. Among you, I heard a call.
“Among you,” and here her smile eclipsed the dawn, “my heart beat again.”
The beggar could see the confusion of the beating hearts, and so she continued: “Together you desired and despaired. Especially when religion died. But surely you’ve heard about what happens when even a single grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies? Or about the wineskins into which new wine is put?
“A name, like ‘church,’ is always already too late for what it names. What is happening inside the name ‘church,’ before the name ‘church’ is ever spoken, before certainty closes the church doors, is a mystery of beating hearts. It was happening at your tables, gatherings, games, clinics, wherever your hearts were beating together.”
The beating hearts leapt—as beating hearts do in moments of excitement!—and asked, “Who, kind beggar, are you?”
The beggar responded, “Who do you say that I am? A beggar like me has no name that will stay.” She smiled, “Now come, I beg you, live some more!”
A beggar wandered among them. She greeted them. “Come,” she said, “live some more. For you are blessed with life.”
The beating hearts asked the beggar, “How can this be? What are you saying?”
The beggar smiled and responded, “You are the church. You are the life of the world.” (Although I cannot confirm this, it is rumored that she said to others, “You are the mosque,” and “temple,” and “synagogue,” and other such words, I know not what.)
But the beating hearts said, “There is no church. It disappeared years ago when religion died.”
The beggar replied: “Really? Among you, I was welcomed to a table. Among you, I set foot on the way. Among you, I saw goodness where before I had seen none. Among you, I looked into the eyes of others and saw an invitation. Among you, I marveled at mysteries. Among you, I heard a promise and made one of my own. Among you, I practiced surrender. Among you, I learned how to play. Among you, I heard a call.
“Among you,” and here her smile eclipsed the dawn, “my heart beat again.”
The beggar could see the confusion of the beating hearts, and so she continued: “Together you desired and despaired. Especially when religion died. But surely you’ve heard about what happens when even a single grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies? Or about the wineskins into which new wine is put?
“A name, like ‘church,’ is always already too late for what it names. What is happening inside the name ‘church,’ before the name ‘church’ is ever spoken, before certainty closes the church doors, is a mystery of beating hearts. It was happening at your tables, gatherings, games, clinics, wherever your hearts were beating together.”
The beating hearts leapt—as beating hearts do in moments of excitement!—and asked, “Who, kind beggar, are you?”
The beggar responded, “Who do you say that I am? A beggar like me has no name that will stay.” She smiled, “Now come, I beg you, live some more!”
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