There’s No Difference Between a Witch and a Christian
Both ask for help from a mysterious source
I’m in the midst of trying to help my little brother find an apartment, which could be life changing for him — and for everyone who loves him. He is a 33-year-old man who has spent two of the last three years in psychiatric hospitals, and the rest of the time in homeless shelters or on the street.
When I told my good friend about our quest, she said something astonishing.
“May the perfect apartment come to him, quickly and easily, under grace in perfect ways.”
I loved the sound of that! Particularly the “quickly and easily” part. Because at the first four apartment viewings, I couldn’t help feeling anxious and desperate, and no doubt projected that to his potential landlords.
One reason I’m so anxious is my brother has been issued a housing voucher, which is a practical miracle. No one can explain to us how he received this blessing — not his social worker, or psychiatrist, or the woman at the Housing and Urban Development department who helped us to fill out a cascade of forms over multiple tense appointments. It’s a mystery — a glorious mystery.
We have two months to find someone who is willing to rent to him — a man with almost no employment or housing history, little income, a criminal record and a psychiatric disorder.
What it means is that for the first time since he developed a major mental illness 15 years ago, my little brother might actually be able to afford to live off the street — providing he can exercise the voucher before it expires.
It’s the expiration date that worries me. We have two months to find someone who is willing to rent to him — a man with almost no employment or housing history, little income, a criminal record and a psychiatric disorder. Plus, we live in the Bay Area, where there’s a lot of competition for very few affordable units.
The situation makes me frantic. It feels like someone has thrown a lifeline to my drowning brother, but the boat is drifting away. I want him to latch on!
Compounding the problem is my brother has developed a unique form of Tourettes Syndrome. At every appointment, he blurts out something alarming for no apparent reason. “I have bad credit!” he told the first agent, apropros of nothing.
The situation makes me frantic. It feels like someone has thrown a lifeline to my drowning brother, but the boat is drifting away. I want him to latch on!
“Why would you have bad credit?” she asked kindly. “How did that happen?”
“It’s just because of the bail bonds...”
Afterwards, I tried to set him straight in the car. “Why did you say that!?!” I scolded. “Now she’s never going to rent to you!”
“It’s good to be honest,” he countered. “I wanted her to know I wasn’t trying to cheat anybody. I just couldn’t pay the bail.”
That’s what I’m working with.
At the fourth viewing — a no smoking unit — he told the landlord on the way out the door that he was working on quitting…
Then he went alone to the fifth viewing because I had to work. That gave him some much-needed confidence. And for the sixth, he directed the process, telling me what forms to put in his folder, and suggesting we write down all the information we might need for an application beforehand, so we could fill it out easily right on the spot. On the drive over, I shared my friend’s prayer.
“May the perfect apartment come to you, quickly and easily, under grace in perfect ways.”
And sure enough, the viewing went well! My brother didn’t blurt out anything strange or self defeating. He ran the encounter, stepping forward to shake the property manager’s hand and introducing himself. The property manager liked him! He gave my brother an application and is considering renting the unit to him. (Fingers crossed!)
I called my friend afterwards to give her an update. “We said your incantation in the car on the way over. I really think it made a difference!” I told her excitedly. “We were much more relaxed and easygoing at this one.”
“It’s not an incantation, Pats, it’s an affirmation,” she said. I could visualize her shaking her head. “The universe wants to provide what you need. You just have to make your wishes clear.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. We loved your affirmation!”
I didn’t want to annoy her or contradict the positive juju that was flowing in our direction. But honestly, what is the difference between an affirmation and an incantation? Do we really believe that one is good and the other is evil? That one comes from a Christian and the other a witch?
The truth is, they are the same. In both cases, the supplicant is asking the mysterious powers that be to help her, to give her something — whether it be material or spiritual — to make her life better.
It’s telling that when Christianity spread over pagan lands, the church adopted all of the existing holidays and just changed their trappings. We still celebrate the coming of spring with Easter, but instead of honoring fertility with sexual rites like the pagans, Christians honor the myth of Christ being reborn. Both mean the same thing. Both illustrate the cycle of life, and joyfully welcome the time of year when what appeared dead in winter comes back to life — same old idea in new clothes.
Just because I’m not strictly Christian doesn’t mean I’m an athiest. I believe in something that we can access through prayer, or meditation, (or affirmation, or incantation,) which is available to help us. I call it god and see it as a river. The religious book that speaks most clearly to me is the Tao te Ching. But I’m catholic, in the original meaning of the world. I like to take what I can from all religious traditions.
For example, I’ve been getting spiritual direction from a Catholic nun for as long as my brother has been ill. Every month, I visit Sister Carmen at her nunnery on the Peninsula. I remember our first meetings, when I couldn’t use the word “god,” because I didn’t (and still don’t) believe there’s an old man in the sky who rewards or punishes people for their behavior.
If there were a god who was concerned with individual human lives, there wouldn’t have been a Holocaust. If there were a god who was handing out gold stars and demerits, my brother wouldn’t have gotten ill, my mother wouldn’t have died young...
Sister Carmen gave me permission to use the word god, even though I didn’t believe it meant what she did. She said god is a mystery. That in her tradition, god is presented as an old man, but that’s just a metaphor, to help our feeble human minds form an idea of him. She said no one really knows what god is, or can understand god, and if I wanted to envision god as a woman, or a river, that was fine with her.
That was a great blessing — that permission from Sister Carmen. Because now I’m able to pray to god again, and to utter incantations, and recite affirmations, and welcome good juju, and cross my fingers, and tell the universe specifically what I want and need, and to throw everything I’ve got at this quest to house my brother.
“May the perfect apartment come to him, quickly and easily, under grace in perfect ways.”
(Fingers crossed!)
Patsy Fergusson is the editor of Fourth Wave. Take a look!