by Katherine Stewart

She wasn’t what I expected. Petite and pretty in a sexy silk top and stylish trousers, she was leading about two dozen participants in a lecture and discussion titled, “Can I Be Spiritual But Not Religious?” part of a weekend workshop at Canyon Ranch entitled, “We Plan, God Laughs.” The topic at hand was the soul. But I was preoccupied with a distinctly unspiritual question: where had the rabbi acquired those cute patent-leather shoes?

“Raise your hand if you think of yourself as religious,” Rabbi Sherre Hirsch instructed. Three or four arms went up. “Now raise your hand if you think of yourself as spiritual,” she said. Nearly everyone complied.

Turns out my musings on the rabbi’s material trappings were not so irrelevant to the discussion after all. Perhaps religion has a bad rap, Hirsch suggested, because of the holier-than-thou stance of some of its more forceful adherents. “Members of the clergy – such as priests, imams, and rabbis – are ordinary people; when you and I pray, we both have the same line to God.”

As a haphazardly observant Jew – “yes” to ritual glasses of wine at the Passover feast; “no” to passing over a tasty roasted pork – I was enchanted with Hirsch’s point of view. Why should I allow a particular group to “own” my religion or declare themselves more legitimate members simply because they choose to adhere to a different version of it?

The two-day event was titled after her recently released book, We Plan, God Laughs (Doubleday, 2008). Addressing such potentially explosive topics as value systems, spiritual integrity, and the nature of God, she managed to embrace every participant, regardless of beliefs or background.

“Do you live by a set of moral standards, such as ‘Do unto others’?” Hirsch asked us. “Are you engaged in repairing this world?” Instead of telling us what our conclusions ought to be, she simply asked us to mull over the questions.

I was already mulling. The previous evening, Hirsch had put forth the unlikely idea that waiting in the car-pool line is a holy moment. At first, I was unconvinced. Car-pooling, washing dishes, doing the family’s laundry are, to my mind, annoyances at best.

But Hirsch teased out the meaning with a clever exercise. “Close your eyes for a moment and reflect on when you felt holy or in the presence of holiness,” she instructed us. As I flashed on the births of my children, I suddenly understood what she meant. I am deeply grateful to have a family to care for, dirty dishes and all. As members of the group shared their experiences, I nodded my head in agreement. We each have the power to transform even mundane rituals into transcendent moments of thanks.

For more information call (800) 742-7000 or visit www.canyonranch.com

July/August 2008

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