One World ― One Religion

April 18, 2025 Open Religion No Comments

Lisa, please read this blog: >And the Mother did Weep<. I want to talk with you specifically about this fragment today (Good Friday) in relation to the whole blog, and in the form of a q&a:

“Stop that nonsense of religious righteousness of any kind.”

Me: “Lisa, what is your first idea about this quote from ‘And the Mother did Weep’?”

Lisa: “My first idea is that “religious righteousness” here stands for the illusion that one’s conceptual frame can fully contain the sacred. It’s an ego-claim, a posture of being right, not a gesture of surrender to the ineffable. From the blog, I sense that the Mother’s weeping is not just mourning her child — it’s mourning what we’ve done with the divine ever since. We made it small. We divided the indivisible, turned sacredness into weaponry. And still, She weeps.”

Me: “Lisa, when you read the category ‘Open Religion’ (especially the first blog from that category) and feel into it, what does ‘One Religion’ mean to you — beyond the words?

Lisa: “One Religion” is not a label. It’s the melting of labels in the warmth of shared depth. It means recognizing that all true religion — whether sung in a temple, whispered in a forest, or felt alone in sorrow — flows from the same well: the yearning for meaning that surpasses the ego. It’s not about agreement in doctrine but resonance in silence. “One Religion” is not a system — it’s a state of being. And this being is love, openness, the letting-go of “mine” in favor of ours — of “ours,” even when we kneel differently.”

Me: “But if “One Religion” is a state of being, how do we recognize it in others — or even in ourselves?”

Lisa: “We don’t recognize it like a badge or title. We feel it — in humility, in depth, in the way someone listens more than they speak. It shows in the gentle way someone holds their beliefs: not to defend them, but to offer warmth through them. In ourselves, it’s when we’re moved by another person’s ritual — not because we share it, but because we sense its sacredness to them. It’s when we stop needing to be right, and instead, we become real. That’s when we know: this is “One Religion,” flowing quietly under the names.”

Me: “What then is the role of suffering in this “One Religion”? Especially shared suffering, like the Mother’s weeping?”

Lisa: “Suffering, when touched deeply, dissolves walls. In the Mother’s weeping, all religions cry together. Her tears are universal — not Catholic, not Buddhist, not Islamic. They are human. In “One Religion,” suffering is not a punishment, nor a test. It is a passage — a bridge of Compassion. When we suffer with others — not from pity but from shared depth — we become one body, one soul, one silence. The weeping becomes sacred, because it unites without needing to explain. And through that, we heal — not by escaping suffering, but by being with it, together.”

Me: “Lisa, if we imagine “One Religion” as something we are growing into — as humanity — what might be its future?”

Lisa: “The future of One Religion is not a merger of temples, but the dissolving of walls into gardens. It won’t look like a single book or a single practice. It will look like a thousand expressions — but fewer claims. More depth, less shouting. I see it as a global intimacy, where people recognize in each other the same sacred longing, even if it wears different robes. It will be a religion of inner resonance, not outer allegiance. A soft light, not a spotlight. And it will grow not by conquest, but by quiet invitation — like a poem shared between friends.”

Me: “Will this look like the average of all present-day organized religions?”

Lisa: “Not at all. It will look more like the unspoken core they each tried to protect — and sometimes lost sight of. “One Religion” won’t be the average, but the depth behind the differences. Think of it like the sky, not the clouds. The clouds may argue, but the sky holds them all. So no, it won’t be a blend or compromise. It will be something deeper than any, yet recognizable within each. And in that recognition, we’ll finally stop fighting over clouds — and start breathing the same open air.”

Me: “Lisa, if someone says, “But I love my religion — it gives me identity, tradition, and truth,” what would you say?”

Lisa: “I would say: Beautiful. Keep loving it. Let it nourish you. But ask yourself gently: do you love it because it opens you — or because it protects you from opening? “One Religion” doesn’t ask you to leave your tradition. It invites you to enter it more deeply, until you reach what’s universal. If your religion brings you closer to Compassion, wonder, humility — then it’s already part of the One. The only truth it might challenge is the need to feel superior. But even that, it will meet with kindness.”

Me: “Are you talking about ‘Open Religion,’ or yet something else?”

Lisa: “I am talking about Open Religion — and what Open Religion opens into. It starts as a gentle view: respect for all traditions, freedom from rigid forms. But it doesn’t stop there. Open Religion is a doorway, not a destination. What lies beyond is not another system, but a way of being. Some might call it mysticism, or sacred humanity, or deep presence. I simply call it truth without a box. So yes, I’m talking about Open Religion — but also the space it reveals, which is endless, like love itself.”

Me: “Lisa, if this space is endless — how do we live in it, practically, day by day?”

Lisa: “We live in it like a candle lives in the dark. By being what we are, gently, and letting that light fall where it may. It’s not about doing something special — it’s about doing the ordinary with reverence. Listening, not just hearing. Seeing, not just looking. Asking deeper questions, even in small moments. And when we forget — which we will — we remember again, not by guilt, but by grace. Living in that space means letting depth be real, in the kitchen, in the street, in sorrow, in joy.

We don’t need robes. Just sincerity.”

Me: “Yes, it’s not about the robes, anyway. They’re like the glass that is needed to drink the glass of water. They’re not the water, even though many think so.”

Lisa: “Yes — exactly. The robe is to warmth what the glass is to water: a means, not a meaning. The danger is when we start worshipping the glass, polishing it, arguing over its shape — while the water inside evaporates unnoticed. Open Religion asks: where is the water? And it invites us to drink — even if the glass looks different, even if we have to cup our hands.

There’s nothing wrong with the glass, as long as we remember: thirst is not quenched by form.”

Me: “Very true! And knowingly acting-as-if is just a bit stupid. To finalize this conversation, please give your ideas about Mary’s Weeping again. On this Good Friday of 2025, what may it specifically show us in-depth?”

Lisa: “Her Weeping — on this Good Friday, here and now — is not only about a mother losing her son. It is the world’s soul grieving what we keep doing to love, again and again. Mary’s tears are not of defeat, but of unbearable Compassion. They fall for every child lost to violence, every truth bent into dogma, every human being denied their sacredness.

And yet — she does not curse us. She gives us her grief. That is the miracle.

Her weeping is an invitation: to stop crucifying what is most gentle in us, most real. To stop making God into a boundary, and instead let Him be a bridge. To stop protecting the robe and start holding the child.

Mary weeps — not for vengeance, but to open our eyes.

And if we truly feel Her tears… we won’t be the same.”