© 2025 Robert Sickles
Back when we lived in Kirkland, Linda and I briefly attended a small Sunday circle of about 30 people. It was led by Laura Cameron Fraser, a brilliant woman who had left (or was asked to leave) her ministry after having been ordained as the first female Episcopalian priest in the Pacific Northwest. That in itself was controversial, but then she stirred it up with her unorthodox ideas, and that led to her going out on her own. We discovered her in the midst of a series of talks about the Joseph Campbell writings on the power of myths, and the metaphysical meaning of the Hero’s Journey. We enjoyed the way she engaged her audience in Socratic discussion and wove it all into a meaningful sermon. It was quite fascinating.
Her overall message in those talks, as I’d put it, was that modern society has lost sight of some of the powerful archetypes and symbols that unite a culture; and we’ve abandoned important rituals, like the way tribal societies would send their adolescents off with elders for bonding ceremonies. These were often intense rites of passage where the youths stretched their limits and learned the mysteries and myths that define their ethics: it was all about becoming a functional adult, a warrior and a hunter, a parent and a keeper of the hearth. She pointed out that the task of initiating our youths into the roles of adulthood and creating strong family and community ties seems a bit hollowed out and neglected nowadays. We often haphazardly relegate the job to institutions—the schools, Scouts, sports teams or the Army. And, in too many cases, cults, 12-step programs, or prisons. Reversing the trend could result in a rebirth of the human spirit.
Ms. Fraser’s talks also somewhat touched on the mood of the 1990’s men’s movement, and she referenced the writing of poet Robert Bly, (Iron John) who advocated the need for men to find their true masculine roles, and find a way to rebuild the ancient rites of passage. She made mention of a Men’s Support Group, and I perked up with the idea of a bunch of like-minded guys united with a solemn purpose. “Wow,” I thought, “How cool would that be, to build strength among brothers in this New Age!” But in fact, Linda and I might have continued going to Laura’s optimistically named Foundation for Inner Enlightenment and Spiritual Freedom, had I not decided to drive out to the home of one of the members for the Tuesday evening Men’s Support Group.
Well… I can characterize it briefly:
“OK guys, let’s say hi to Robert. He has decided to join us this evening. Go ahead Robert, you have the talking stick, why don’t you tell us about yourself?”
I spoke earnestly, really hoping to impress the men with my exemplary ideals. “I’m an artist and work alone at home, and am often isolated except for occasional meetings with clients and gallery owners. My social life consists mainly of the people I know through my wife—mostly married couples—her colleagues, friends and their spouses. Of course, I enjoy them all immensely, but now I ‘m drawn to the idea of a community of men dedicated to awakening. You know, sharing what it’s like with others who are navigating a new age of masculinity; balancing male-female energies in the heart and home. And practical stuff, like learning strategies for modern situations, like being a stay-at-home stepfather, and being a secondary bread-winner. I’m all for liberation, and that includes stepping up to the plate for my brothers in our journey of self-discovery, becoming leaders with a sense of purpose, better husbands and all…”
Ooh, did I say too much? There was an awkward five-second silence when I stopped rambling. I looked out to a room full of men with “What the bloody hell?” expressions. Piercing the stillness, someone cleared his throat; another removed his glasses and blew his nose.
Then without a single comment, all six of them turned their attention away from me and began the serious business of the meeting, which was, I swear to God, unabashed bashing of women. I sat in shock as the conversation went free-for-all, and with no further regard for that silly old talking stick. Here’s the gist of it:
The host facilitated. “OK Mike. How did that meeting go with your ex and her lawyer? They still intent on taking your 401K, the house? And oh please, not your Corvette?”
Mike was steamed. “Oh guys, what a hot mess… Stella and her eff-ing bitch of a lawyer are bleeding me dry! When they're done, I'll have nothing. Zilch!”
The other guys expressed their disgust, shaking their heads and cussing.
“So sad, Mike, you know, some of are going through it too.” He turned to the next guy. “Now, Jacob, do you have any news on your job situation?”
Jacob hung his head. “Like I expected, I got passed over. Same old shit. Guess who got the promotion instead… yeah, right, the one I told you about who looks like a llama with lipstick, ‘Ms. Dominatrix.’ I really hate that woman. And I can’t do or say anything about her, legally you know, us guys in the office are totally oppressed. Totally!”
And it went like that around the room as each man shared his grievance about women in the home or the workplace, and in positions of authority. It wasn’t a matter of supporting a troubled brother and guiding him to light, but of getting right down with him and wallowing in his mud. I had no affinity with a room full of men who were such resentful victims. All I could do was wait for the break, make an excuse, and get out of there.
I don’t remember being asked if I would come again next time. Must have been as obvious to them as it was to me that I didn’t belong there. Thus, I had come to terms with my third church-related fear, angrophobia, the fear of angry people. (Which, by the way, is not to be confused with the fear of open spaces, agoraphobia, nor the fear of fluffy things… that’s angoraphobia. Of course everyone's heard of anglophobia, the fear of Englishmen.)
Unfortunately, the men’s group experience deeply affected the way I felt about Ms. Fraser’s Sunday gathering. I could have asked her if she knew what the guys were up to, but was afraid she might say “yes,” which would have been so disappointing. Linda and I stopped going, and before very long, the gatherings and the Foundation ended anyway upon Fraser’s death.
Since then, we have attended a few more spiritual gatherings and churches, but the Ministers seem to drop out just after the time we show up. We have a sneaking suspicion that we are Serial Church Killers.
I don’t want to spell out names and details. I might rub some of my readers the wrong way, since some of them either still attend the churches I refer to, or are, in fact, the very ex-Ministers themselves. More often than not, as soon as we got comfortable there, our spiritual teachers retired, took leave for health reasons, were transferred to another part of the country, had a crisis of faith, imploded into scandal, were fired, or flat out closed up shop and left the state with barely more than a forwarding address. Somehow, we must be responsible—you can see how the law of cause & effect explains everything, right? If any congregation sees us coming, fair warning: expect an upheaval in short order!
As I should have known all along, church isn’t really for me. I have my belief in a loving Higher Power, and I continually discover more about the mysteries of the universe that explain my existence. I’m patting my heart because that’s where my church is. ’Nuff said.
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