The long-haired American vicar stood up there and chuckled. Not in a jolly-faced-country-vicar way. He didn’t look much like typical vicar material. In fact, I had the distinct impression he had been on a career path of rock and roll stardom before being called to this profession. But here we were, in small-town New Zealand, at midnight mass, in St Luke’s Anglican church. 

‘Why,’ he asked, ‘are you here tonight?’

Uncomfortable shuffling. The effort to think worthy thoughts - to be good enough to answer this question - was audible. 

But his response was disarming. He listed a few reasons why he thought we might have been there. Because that’s what you do  at Christmas. The tinsel effect. Carols. Yearning for something more than superficiality. Needing a bit of church action. 

It was disarming because there was no judgement. Here we all were, many of us midnight mass tourists (me included). What was I there for? I don’t belong to any church. I walk in the grass and among the trees to feel connected to Source. I have my deepest spiritual conversations silently, or bending over seedlings in my garden. If ‘mister god’ is anywhere, he is everywhere, so I don’t usually go to church to meet him.

So, what was I looking for that night? Well, carols make me cry. But only when I sing them with other people, and give myself permission to sing loudly, imperfectly, in a group, fighting that huge lump in my throat. They make me cry in the same way that watching an exceptional and buried talent emerge on X-Factor makes me cry. Something to do with release, connection and unity. Of promise. X-Factor and carols make me cry because they make me feel alive and loved. And the act of coming to a place with others - of joining together in some  kind of contemplation is too rare for me. So I guess if I had to put a finger on why I had shown up, it would have something to do with being witnessed in love. Because when you’re feeling a little invisible, what can you do but show up, as you are? 

The evening was deeply entertaining as well as uplifting. As a midnight mass tourist, I’ve been to a few Catholic ones (my mother’s family - lapsed catholics) and found them dry and scripture-heavy. Wake me up for the carols, indeed. Part of the reason I never liked going to that church was that whenever I did, I’d leave feeling faintly guilty. Not good enough. Slightly sinful. See ya later. I think you’ve missed the point, dear bishop. Back to my carrots. 

But long-haired vicar Andy in Greytown? You know what he pulled off? Making us reflect on ourselves without feeling guilty. Making us feel accepted and loved. And, as well as some pretty funny god-as-a-sea-monster and jesus-and-modern-physics metaphors, he asked us this:

‘How much living have you done this year? How many of us are existing instead of living?’ 

The ripple that went through the crowd this time felt sadder. Like too much mere existing had been going on. Too much making ends meet, too much churn, too much mindless spending and too little playing, living, and stopping and smelling that beautiful honeysuckle bush you drive past because you’re in too much of a rush to walk. 

The vicar’s point was that too many of us are putting up with just existing because to change is scary. In his words, we might be scared to meet god that night, because if we did, it would be hugely transformative. Life would change. We would change. 

For me, those words resonated on a slightly different level and I’m not writing this to get into Conversations About God. I was thinking about all the things that had surfaced for me and I realised that in my case, ‘meeting god’ was really ‘meeting the most powerful and loving and divine version of myself’ (OK, so this is probably the same thing, but I have a point, and it’s to do with you and me and how we show up.) 

How many of us are disabling or sabotaging or blocking that self from coming through because we’re scared?  

Showing up, playing bigger, getting more visible, having a point of view, standing up for what you believe: all of these are scary because, chances are, we probably haven’t been doing them nearly as much as we need to. And the funny thing is: that person standing next to you is feeling just as scared as you. That person who seems to have their shit together was just as scared as you. That successful entrepreneur has to deal with just the same feelings too. I am just as scared as you. 

That’s the reason I was there that night. Because showing up, committing to change is scary. What’s the answer? Surround yourself with people who understand. Who accept you and can do that with love and compassion. Whether those people are in a church or at a coffee morning, a Google+ circle, a mastermind group or next door to you. I’ll join in with long-haired Andy’s parting sentiment here: 

Courage. I bid you courage to live the life you always dreamed you would. 

And I’ll ask you another question: how much are you using your multipassionate nature as a safety net to NOT decide? To not move forward. ‘I don’t know what to choose’ is safer than ‘I’ll try this and learn from it.’ Choosing to help everybody is ‘safer’ than committing to helping just a few people, but waaaay less effective. Getting into action is scary. Indecision, shiny object syndrome and wanting to say yes to everyone are crippling. Just because you are capable of doing so much, of doing anything others ask of you, does it mean you should?

It takes courage to just start. Show up as you are. And ask yourself whether ‘I could do anything’ is actually preventing you from really living.  

Leave a comment and share below. And, in the spirit of surrounding yourself with supportive people, find out how you AND a buddy could take part in the next group programme starting on Monday 7th Jan for less. 

(Like the art? See this and my other fine art prints here)