“While I was by the river Chebar among the exiles, the heavens were opened and I saw visions of God.” Ezekiel 1
“Now John had a garment of camel’s hair and a leather belt around his waist.” Matthew 3
“I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like the sound of a trumpet.” Revelations

Some of the prophets did REALLY weird things!
People who are mentally ill do REALLY weird things!
People with dementia sometimes do REALLY weird things!
Religious mystics do REALLY weird things!

We may not recognize it, but a very thin veil separates those who are inspired and enlightened and those who are suffering from delusions and personality disorders.
Sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between the visions of a holy man or woman and the hallucinations of someone who is simply psychotic.

I was thinking about this recently after attending a church service. It was a church I’d never been to before. I enjoy doing that, going to churches where I’ve not attended. I gravitate toward the more traditional and liturgical, they seem somehow to be more grounded and authentic, rich with art and history. I admittedly have a bias against the modern mega-churches which seem so plastic with the pastor trying so hard to convince people that he or she is genuine that they obviously are NOT! (Wow, I can still be so very judgmental!).

Anyway, on this specific Sunday I was in a catholic church. Beautiful stained glass windows and statues—no, it doesn’t bother me that Mary has a prominent place like it might other recovering protestants. Though it does seem a bit ironic that a church that is so steeped in patriarchy can put a woman on such a high pedestal. Shortly into the service I noticed a man sitting by himself across the aisle and a few pews in front of me. He was dressed in western style clothes, with a vest and jeans and boots, which I discovered later even had spurs on them. He had a beard and actually kind of resembled the depictions of Jesus that are most prevalent in ecclesiastical art. His dress made him appear somewhat out of place, his mannerisms more-so. He was a bit theatrical, some might even say odd acting. While standing he would raise his arms high with hands extended in a somewhat cupped configuration. He placed his first three fingers– pointer, middle and ring–together so that they formed a type of intertwined trinity. He would extend them in a type of blessing gesture, usually during prayers, and then bring them back over the top of his head and down each side of his body so that they would come to rest on his hips. This action was repeated in a very slow and very deliberate fashion.

At first sight it was odd and out of place, like a jester in the court of royalty. But as I continued to watch his motions were almost mesmerizing, his actions seemed to have some kind of spiritual symmetry. It seemed as if he was synchronizing them with what was being said and done by the priest. They weren’t disruptive—though it was easy to see why no one was sitting near him—but rather mysterious in a kind of other-worldly way. It was almost as if he was simultaneously blessing the priest and receiving the blessing into himself.

When it came time for communion he exited his pew very slowly and deliberately, stepping first on the spur-studded heal of his boot, and then rolling the rest of his foot down very carefully. I recognized this as a mindful, meditative type of movement, the kind you might see a Buddhist monk making. When it came his turn to take the host he paused, repeated the motion of raising his hands and bringing them down over him as if the spirit was being poured out in an invisible baptism, and then received the sacred morsel with great piety and solemnity.

At the end of the service he remained standing in his pew. As I exited the main door I stole a glance back to see him still there, now with face upraised as if soaking in the invisible light rays of heaven, his own private communion with the divine.

So who was this unique catholic cowboy? Maniac or Mystic? Slightly unhinged or able to connect with the holy in a realm of other-worldy reality in a way that few of the rest of us can? Maybe if I knew the rest of his story it would be easier to determine. But I’m glad I don’t. Because for me he is an icon reminding me that there may not be much difference between those who are crazy, and those who are more fully conscious and connected with what and who is more complex. And there is a manner of being mindful and meditative that may be extremely beneficial, even if it does make others think you’re out of your mind.