As an adult I have always identified myself as a non-denominational Christian, although I was christened in a Baptist church and confirmed in an Anglican church. But my identification with Christianity was always loose and sometimes even contemptuous. Earlier this year, I finally overcame the fear of God’s impending wrath if I declared I was no longer a Christian.
I started working on my answer to the question that would certainly come up in the future: What religion are you? The top responses on my list were: I do not do politics, the religion of God, and every religion.
I have finally settled on an answer: I do not practice religion, I practice life. This statement represents my knowing that the separation between religious life and secular life introduced to the African community through slavery and colonization is counter intuitive. Everything in life, as a creation of the Most High, is sacred. Everything that is manifested in the material world houses a spirit that is one and the same with the Holy Spirit. I know this, so instead of behaving as though there is nothing I can do about it, I am rejecting the notion of a separation for my life.
I am benefiting daily from the unification of my secular and sacred being: my imagination is expanding; my creativity is flowering; my desire to express gratitude is becoming more instinctive; and my sense of well-being is increasing.
What does it mean for everything to be sacred? Well, I performed a ceremony today to consecrate four trees in my backyard to honour their sacred nature: the mango tree, ackee tree, otaheite apple tree and breadfruit tree. (I say ‘my’, but of course it is really ‘my parents’ backyard’, or more accurately, the universe’s trees in my parents’ backyard) It was a naming ceremony I invented.
Every year the stringy mango tree bears in abundance. For as long as I have known myself, I have known that mango tree. Every year, we fill bags and bags with mangos; we eat them, freeze them, juice them, cook them, and give them away. Mangos ‘cyaan done’. The best thing about the mango tree is how sweet and juicy the mangos taste: they taste like the Promised Land. In honour of that feeling, I named the tree Heaven.
The ackee tree is relatively young compared to all the other trees, but it towers above them same way. Every year we get about three crops from the ackee tree, in such quantity I am contemplating going into to wholesaling. In honour of the ackee tree’s bountifulness, I named it Abundance.
The otaheite apple tree is occupied by the spirit of my grand mother, Ethlyn Gage. My mother planted the tree over 20 years ago, when Mummy Gage transitioned, and to this day it still makes my mother feel close to home. In honour of a mother’s loving touch, we named the otaheite apple tree Comfort.
The breadfruit tree is a special specimen. If you cut the root of a breadfruit tree, another tree springs up from the soar wound. The breadfruit trees in my backyard keep reproducing. And the fruits of their labour are in constant supply. In honour of the breadfruit tree’s generosity, I named it Infinity.
So yesterday, with a calabash full of water I blessed each tree and conferred it with a new name. I told each tree: “Thank you for the joy you bring into the life of my family, and the joy you enable us to share with friends and family. I honour you and give you thanks. I offer you my gift of love and ask that you continue to be blessed and to share your blessings with us.”
To ensure the rest of the plant life in my backyard did not feel jealous (we have lots of trees), I offered a general blessing for everything of nature in my backyard.
So that was my toast to life, in which the material and spiritual are one, and everything is sacred.