The following rant was first shared privately within Black Stone Sanctuary's inner circles only, and then released to the public in 2020. It became a reader favorite, so in 2024 the Sanctuary is bringing this lightly edited and updated version onchain.

"Every person who walks away from Christianity is an opportunity to grow the Pagan movement. […] Some are looking for the many Gods. Some are looking for magic and witchcraft. Many don't know what they're looking for, but if we build it they can find it… if we build the deep, vibrant traditions and institutions we need today, they will be ready for those who come looking for them in the future."

~ John Beckett

Nice pep talk, John Beckett, but here's what I want to know: what about when the tables are turned? Is every person who walks away from Paganism an opportunity to grow the Christian "movement" too? Because this disillusioned, burned-out animist and polytheist attended an Episcopalian church out of sheer disgruntlement and frustration with Paganism.

Why? Well, I’m writing this to tell a bit of that story.

TL;DR: "if we build it, they will come" hasn't worked out well for me. Nor for any of the Pagans I've known for the past 25-30 years, for that matter. (I started circa 1995).

Dana of Druid's Garden wrote a blog piece called "On Being a Minority Religion and Paths to Building Respect." Among other things, she addresses intolerance, the invisibility of Pagan religions, and lack of places to celebrate.

In late 2019 I read Dana's piece, and nodded my head in recognition. I felt something snap inside me — a thread that had been unraveling for a long time. Her words served as a mirror that clarified for me how utterly burned out I am on minority and counterculture religious groups.

I've been involved in Paganism/Heathenism for half my lifespan, yet so little has changed. I pray and worship deities with as much devotion as ever, but these days I usually avoid calling myself a Pagan or a Heathen in public. I'm not even too thrilled about "Norse polytheist" at this point. Most often I just opt for “animist.“

I'm fed up with scrappy, loose-knit, marginalized spiritual groups. I'm fed up with endless drama, herding the cats, Pagan standard time, festival culture, BNPs, TERFs, cancel culture, witch wars, flakiness, unclear sexual boundaries, tolerance of abusers, resistance to getting organized, never-ending money issues, the shoddy public image of Paganism… I could go on and on.

Heathenism isn't any better, although sometimes it likes to think it is. I'm equally fed up with all the sniping about Wiccatru, and the frequent shunning of polytheist devotional practices such as kneeling in prayer because they're "too Christian." I'm fed up with sexist brosatru, academic snobbery, elitist dick-measuring, "U R doin it wrong," Heathen Viking tropes, the prevalence of racism, folkism-tribalism-universalism debates, the whole "UPG" thing, etc. Again, I could go on, but I'll spare you. You get the picture. I found Heathenism in 2004, but these things are just as problematic now as they were then.

To be clear, it's not my intent to cast aspersions upon anyone in particular. I'm involved myself, so I'm just as implicated as anyone else.

But here's the thing: I'm an elder now. And with age comes perspective.

I'm in my early crone years. I'm single and have lived alone in a studio for 16 years. I make a living entirely online. I have no kids (and have never wanted to be a parent). I'm close to my mother, but my folks live across the Pacific Ocean; they're in their 80s, and my stepfather has an advanced terminal illness. I'm long-divorced and reclusive by nature; odds are I'll never date or marry again.

Much as I appreciate many things about my situation (I've got great neighbors, which is fortunate), I'm also rather isolated. While nourishing solitude and religious hermitage are one thing, isolation is another. That's the paradox of a calling to monastic hermitage: to pull it off — especially at my age — I need steady, reliable religious fellowship woven into the fabric of my daily life.

Let me repeat that for emphasis. To properly live out my monastic calling, I would need reliable religious fellowship. In daily life.

A loosely structured religious community that mostly communicates online and gathers a few times a year at one another's homes for ritual on holidays is fine, but it’s insufficient for me as an elder, and especially as a contemplative monastic.

Monastics (and non-monastics too, for that matter) in Paganism and Heathenism need local, in-person, reliable, organized religious infrastructure. But for the most part, we haven’t built it. While there are surely many reasons for this, one big factor is that there just aren't enough of us at this stage of our development.

The roads are littered with the broken dreams of many, including myself, who once fervently believed some variation on "if we build it, they will come" and learned the hard way that we were mistaken.

Much as I love the forest, I also harbor a deep yearning to gather with an organized religious community at an actual church. A witches’ coven, Heathen kindred, study group, meditation group, etc., is insufficient for a monastic, and will never be sufficient. Monastics need built-in, established structure: a building dedicated to religious practice, not an occasional potluck that cycles between living rooms.

I yearn for regular access to religious infrastructure like statuary, public shrines, and sanctuary gardens. A monastic calling is best served in a physical place — including some degree of separation from one's personal living quarters — for reliable worship and prayer. Preferably alongside (or at least nearby) others who also prioritize religion in their lives. A monastic calling is best served in the context of formal, structured, well-honed liturgy conducted daily by appropriately trained people.

As far as I know, Paganism doesn't offer any of that. Nor does Heathenism.

I do appreciate hearth cultus and other polytheist revivalist practices. Nonetheless, they are insufficient to live out my full calling to service. In addition to being a scribe, I'm a shrine-builder and keeper. My counterpart in other religions is called a sacristan. I create contemplative atmospheres and spaces. I coordinate things like the decor, lights, furnishings, vestments, incense, music, and physical arrangement of the worship space.

I have much to offer to an organized religious group. Aesthetics and atmosphere matter to me. I do the best I can to accomplish this work within the context of my home and hearth space. But there's no infrastructure in place that will enable me to make optimal use of what I have to offer in a more public way. And I have tried to build it. Oh, how I have tried. (I'll save those stories for another time). Every attempt I've ever made to build such a context in Paganism or Heathenism in a dedicated long-term space has been unsuccessful. For over two decades!

Over and over again, doors have slammed in my face. I'm a veteran of a failed intentional community effort that collapsed on the launching pad. While I'd ultimately like to set up some kind of land-share, community trust, or neighborly co-op arrangement with one or two other monastic-friendly folks, I question whether I have it in me to take that level of risk again. Especially in a country like the US. There are so many hurdles, and many of them seem well nigh insurmountable.

Still, after 25 years in Paganism, some part of me can't help but wonder: where are the established congregations or "nodes" of people who are both willing and able to step up to the plate to care for one another if a church member needs it? Where are the church-led meal delivery services for congregants who are ill? Whether we like it or not, the Christians are still way ahead of us here.

For that matter, where are the hospice services? Where are the casual drop-in theology discussions, fellowship meetings, organized and regularly updated websites, and welcome groups for newcomers? Where are the steady schedules of worship, music, contemplation, prayer, and study? Where are the weekly or monthly religious events I can count on, trusting that no one's going to flake out at the last minute? Monastics need predictably scheduled gatherings with well-trained organizers, and sufficient funding so the poor overworked organizers aren't always left holding the bag if events don't break even.

I'm certainly not going to stop being a devotional polytheist. I'm not going to stop venerating goddesses or serving the development of Black Stone Sanctuary. And I genuinely loved the local Heathen kindred I worshiped with for a decade in Portland until the group's "center of gravity" moved north to Olympia, WA.

Having been part of such a great group makes it clear that my religious calling can't be addressed by finding a better Heathen group. Yet the yearning continues, and in some ways the past success I've had finding fellowship in Heathenism throws the depth of my unfulfilled religious yearning into even sharper relief.

Anyway, in January 2020, I finally got fed up enough that I decided I'd try attending a local Episcopalian church.

Not because I'm a Christian, and not because I've suddenly started talking to their God, but because the Christians have exactly what I need to live out a monastic calling: established and well-funded religious infrastructure. They're the only ones with thriving churches located close enough to me to make it worth the effort to go regularly. (Especially given that I rely on public transit).

I was not raised Christian, and I know very little about Christianity. I went to a Unity church for a short time before I found Paganism, but I'd call them New Age, which is not the same thing as Christianity even if it shares a similar worldview in some ways.

I also went to a Unitarian Universalist church for awhile, but that didn't "take" either. Their membership seems to be dominated by activists, which is good, and I definitely do like their feminist and anti-racist work… but religiously speaking, it's too vaguely abstract for me. I crave religious practice that includes prayer, contemplation, and actual deity worship. But I was always too self-conscious to do that in UU spaces. I had the sense that my inclination to fall to my knees and prostrate to worship specific goddesses (as opposed to an amorphous, nonspecific notion of "the goddess") would be wholly out of place at most UU churches. (And most feminist "goddess worship" groups too! But that's a can of worms for some other time).

Before attending the Episcopalian church, I at least did some basic research about Christian denominations. I didn't want to show up clueless. I also needed time to prepare psychologically, since this was a giant step for someone with my free-wheeling religious background. I read feminist writings about female figures in Christianity: Mary Magdalene and Mary of Nazareth. I also stumbled upon some inspiring writings about Taize, an ecumenical monastic community in France with some great meditative singing.

As part of my preparation I also made a solo trip to The Grotto, aka The National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother. I've loved that place for years, even though it's Catholic. Several monastics live on the premises year-round and maintain the gardens and statues. I've always wished something similar were available for polytheists. I'd start building it myself immediately — I would've started two decades ago, in fact — if only I had access to a suitable place to do it!

I went there on a quiet weekday afternoon, to maximize the chances that I'd have some solo time to pay my respects in the Chapel of Mary.

I was not disappointed. I spent about a half hour there, kneeling in a church pew, with hands folded in prayer. It was exactly what I needed. Only one other person came into the chapel during that time.

Episcopalians are informally known as the most likely denomination to welcome Pagans, or so I've heard. They're theologically liberal and liturgically orthodox. While I was searching out church info I learned that there's even an Episcopalian church in Eugene that used to hold an afternoon contemplative mass in a darkened room. Sounds like the atmosphere might be right up my alley. Well, uhhh, except for that whole monotheistic thing.

The church I attended in Portland held services at a beautiful old gothic cathedral. They have a famous pipe organ (I love organ music!), skilled musicians to play it, and a formal choir. Their website explicitly states that people of any religion (or none at all) are welcome to attend their services. They also host a queer group, a contemplative meditation group, a sacred dance group, and a yoga group. They have a labyrinth walk and even a scheduled talk on sacred water "in the tradition of the goddess Brigid and Saint Brigid of Kildare." I haven't had any interaction with Brigid, but still, that's about as good as it could get for a polytheist's first foray into Christianity, no?

Life is strange, isn't it? If someone had told me I'd seriously consider attending a Christian church to address deep religious needs that Paganism and Heathenism would never fill, I doubt I would've believed them. But I did it.

Admittedly I was nervous while I was in the church, fearing I'd stand out like a sore thumb. I even considered making jokes to ease my nerves. "So, this Nordic animist and polytheist walks into a church, and…"

But I refrained. I participated in the service, but declined to take communion. I especially enjoyed singing hymns. I talked to a couple of people briefly after the service, but overall my feelings about the experience were… mixed. I’ll leave it at that.

On the train ride home, I thought to myself: I've just crossed some kind of threshold. Maybe I’ll write about it one day. Maybe this will even cost me some Pagan friends. But so be it.

I remember the gnashing of teeth in the Pagan blogging world when the contemplative polytheist blogger formerly known as Teo Bishop left his Solitary Druid Fellowship work behind and took up Christianity. I certainly don't know all of his reasons, but now I understand at least part of the desire to do something like that, albeit from my own vantage point which has nothing to do with Jesus. I'm nowhere near as well known or popular as Teo Bishop was, of course. But there are definitely people within my circles who would not understand.

The story ends there because, as it happens, my connection with the Episcopalian church came to a halt quickly — partly because the pandemic lockdowns began a few weeks after my only visit to their church, and partly because actually being there in person made me realize that I just cannot participate in Christianity. Not even liberal Christianity of the sort that ostensibly welcomes Pagans. I won't go back, because I do not fit in there. Never have, and never will.

Even though I ultimately decided I can't swing this "Episcopagan" thing, I did feel welcomed by Mary. So that's something.

The Christians have the churches and organization I crave, and interestingly enough I heard no objection at all from any of the deities I worship from polytheistic traditions… but for whatever reason, I simply cannot worship the Christian God in good conscience. Which makes sense, but…well, I'm still glad I tried.

An earlier version of this post can be found at the Wayback Machine.