Extract: The Calling, by Niki Harré

In 2021, psychology professor and atheist Niki Harré spent a year as a self-appointed secular priest. She attended church, immersed herself in Christian writing, created bespoke vows, and delivered regular Sunday services.

It didn’t go as planned. Her secular friends largely stayed away. She formed new relationships. And she slowly developed a sense of what it means to regularly turn towards humility, the unknown, reflection, listening to and caring for the other, and an awareness of the world as it is rather than as we wish it was: qualities of a religious orientation as she experienced it.

The Calling details Niki Harré’s year as a priest without God. A year does not last forever, but it is long enough to gain a sense of what it is to see and live in the world differently from the way one did before.

Extract from The Calling by Niki Harré, Auckland University Press, RRP $35, with kind permission.

Despite Shaia’s warning to hold tight when having arrived somewhere new and pleasing, four days later I told Marlies about my Sudden New Feeling of Happiness (SNFH). We were at her house for dinner. When we had eaten and were seated on the couches in her lounge, tea made with mint from her garden in hand, she asked me, ‘So Niki, what are you learning from your project?’

After a moment of internal deliberation I decided to come clean. ‘Well, I’ve been experiencing this strange new feeling of happiness.’

‘That sounds intriguing, tell me more.’ Marlies has a way of emphasising the occasional word that makes her hard to resist.

‘It’s like ordinary happiness in some ways, but it feels more solid than that, as if it is beyond the ups and downs of daily life. Like an underground stream that is always present. Like I’ve stopped struggling against what is happening in the world or even in me.’

‘That sounds amazing,’ Marlies said, her voice rising with enthusiasm.

‘It feels like grace, I guess. Received rather than earned.’

‘But you’ve worked hard for this,’ Marlies insisted. ‘Everything you’ve been doing this year, your services, meditation, reading, conversations, it isn’t just random.’

‘Maybe, but that isn’t what it feels like. I didn’t start this project to find a state of bliss. I’m one of those people who doesn’t think bliss is cool. Way too “spiritual” for me.’ I smiled as I gestured air quotes. ‘And,’ I added, ‘I am aware it could disappear any moment. Poof! Gone!’

‘Well it might go,’ Marlies replied. ‘But you might be able to start again and arrive back there. Turning back is talked about a lot in Mindfulness for Change.’ Earlier in the evening Marlies had described Mindfulness for Change as the ‘closest thing I have to a spiritual family’.

As we were talking, I was aware of a growing feeling of connection to Marlies, as if we had slipped into alignment and there was nothing separating us from each other. It was unnerving and somewhat embarrassing. What if she didn’t feel it too? I did not tell her what I was experiencing, and after a time we said our goodbyes and I drove home.

—

After two weeks of the SNFH, it had become familiar. There were times when I could feel it beginning to drift away, but I was able to rein it back in. Once, after an awkward social event that took longer than anticipated, I needed to shop for food, bake a birthday cake, and make a salad; and it all felt too much. I could sense the SNFH dissolving. I was, however, able to tell myself that what had happened earlier and everything I needed to do now was simply that – what had happened and what I needed to do. There was no point lamenting the time and effort involved. On another occasion I arrived home one evening and the fire was blazing. The room was so hot I felt overcome with discomfort and restlessness. I knew the SNFH was at risk. After putting away my bag, I got out my knitting and it settled back down. In my pre- SNFH state I might have tried self-talk or distracting activities when miserable, but I was inevitably unconvinced by my attempts to pull myself up by my bootstraps. Now, the bootstraps were handy – ah, SNFH, you are close enough that I remember how much better my life is with you in it.

—

In the middle of June, in an effort to further reduce the religious language of services and do another publicity push, I decided to reframe the three months from 4 July as a six-part ‘connection series’. I made a poster and Facebook event that stated: ‘You are invited to a series of sessions exploring the importance of connection to our lives. Each session will cover a different topic and allow time for personal reflection and conversation.’ (See, not a hint of religion, except that people were directed to the Secular Priest website, which may have been a giveaway.) I sent notice of the series to several people and networks, including the listserv of ninety-three people who had now signed up at www.secularpriest. org. As my project notes record: ‘Getting replies . . . nothing huge, but this has definitely inspired some people to respond, more so than in the past . . .’

Around the same time I started using a Pomodoro timer for my desk work. Pomodoro uses a phone app to time twenty-five-minute work sessions with five-minute breaks in between. A student had told me about Pomodoro years previously and at the time I thought that only fifty minutes of work per hour wasn’t enough. But by the end of June I was, to quote my project notes, ‘addicted’. One may or may not get more done with Pomodoro, but for me at least, it removed the niggling chaos of self-directed work. Over the course of several breaks I would do my Pilates routine, ballet practice or small tidying or cleaning jobs. And by the end of the larger work session, I knew I had done what could be done.

I was also now doing my version of centring prayer almost daily. Sometimes I silently repeated a short phrase designed to reach outwards, like ‘here I am’; other times I imagined the people I knew with kindness and gratitude, or focused on the sensations in each part of my body.

The SNFH lasted all through July, August and September. I wondered if the combination of an anticipated fresh start to services, the container Pomodoro provided for my work life, my meditation practice, and, as Marlies suggested, ‘everything’ I’d been doing during the year had allowed it to take hold. Ideas, structure, reflection, stillness, and time in the presence of people with more training than me may have all contributed. I had a sense of spaciousness, as if there was room to move, and so no need to retract into myself and fuss and fret and rush and blame.

But the SNFH did pass. One day in October, I realised it had drifted beyond my capacity to pull it back. Maybe, I thought when it went, with constant application you can stay enlightened (if that is what I was), but life has a way of interfering with the gentle ride. Too much happens all at once and before you know it your serenity has snapped and you are back in the fray where most human life happens. Still, it left an imprint, like a wonderful country once visited. Ah, SNFH, that was quite something. I guess people are still walking those streets, eating that food, looking at those stunning views. I wonder if I’ll ever go back.

The Calling is available in all good bookstores now.